📚🔥 Gerona de Benito Pérez Galdós | Heroísmo y tragedia en la Guerra de la Independencia 🇪🇸⚔️

📚🔥 Gerona de Benito Pérez Galdós | Heroísmo y tragedia en la Guerra de la Independencia 🇪🇸⚔️

In this installment of the National Episodes, Benito Pérez Galdós transports us to the city of Girona during the heroic days of the French siege during the Peninsular War. Through an intense and emotional narrative, the author portrays the courage, resilience, and suffering of the people of Girona, facing the brutality of war and the hardships of the siege. This novel not only documents a crucial moment in Spanish history, but also exalts the collective spirit of a city determined to never surrender. Chapter 1. GIRONA. In the winter of 1809-1810, things in Spain could not have been worse. The least of it was that we were defeated at Ocaña, four months after the almost indecisive victory at Talavera: there was something even more disastrous and lamentable, and that was the storm of evil passions raging around the Central Junta. Something was happening in Seville that will not surprise my readers, if, as I believe, they are Spanish, and that was that everyone there wanted to command. This is an old complaint, and I don’t know what such command has for the people of this century, which upsets the most solid minds, gives prestige to fools, arrogance to the weak, audacity to the modest, and shamelessness to the honest. But whatever the case, the fact is that back then they were at each other’s throats, oblivious to the formidable enemy that surrounded us from all sides. And that was the enemy; the rest is just nonsense. I laugh at absolutist and republican insurrections at a time when the central government has ample resources to suppress them. That was not like any of these childish antics of today, for with the troops Napoleon sent to Spain at the end of 1999, the invading army numbered 300,000. Our men, scattered and dispirited, had no experienced general to command them; There was a lack of resources of all kinds, especially money, and in this situation, central power was a hive of intrigue. Unjustified ambitions, misery, ridiculous vanity, pettiness inflating itself to appear great like the frog that tried to imitate the ox, intolerance, fanaticism, duplicity, and pride surrounded that poor Junta, which, in its final days, didn’t know which saint to commend itself to. It was teeming with cheap politicians of the first batch we had in Spain, pygmy generals who didn’t know how to win a single battle; and although there were also men of merit in both the military and civil spheres, either they lacked the courage to overcome fools, or they lacked those qualities of character without which, in governing, virtue and talent are of little value. Back in March, the Junta reached the terrible agreement to reestablish the Council of Castile, merging all the other suppressed councils into it ; And when this antique was seen alive again; when this filthy, useless, and worn-out machine was found once again in motion, it was clear how it intended to rule the world. The fatuity of those councilors who had so flattered José was unparalleled . From the moment they were put into play, they began to intrigue with the very person who had brought them out of oblivion, and they claimed that the Junta was illegitimate. Using Don Francisco Palafox, brother of the defender of Zaragoza; Montijo, whom we have seen elsewhere; the Marquis of la Romana and other snobs, they filled the Junta and the Executive Commission with confusion. Finally, during the Regency, the final metamorphosis of that power as national as it was unfortunate, those in the Council also sowed discord. This gang was none other than the absolutist party, which was already beginning to show its true colors; and so that from the beginning there was complete awareness of its existence, it also distributed money among the troops, pinning its hopes on a military rebellion that was frustrated by then. None of this was new in Spain, because the mutiny of March 19 in Aranjuez, which, if I remember correctly, I mentioned, was the work of the same people; but they did not use only the troops, but also several faculty and distinguished bodies, such as the lackeys, kitchen boys and grooms of the royal household. In Seville they incited what a great historian calls energetic style – the muzzled crowd – and there were frequent serenades of howls and stamping in the streets; but it didn’t go further than that. A moral weapon the petty politicians wielded against each other at the time was to accuse each other of embezzling public funds , a crude device that had a very good effect on the people. When the Junta was dissolved in Cádiz, there was a search of luggage, the most vile and shameful that our modern history contains; but nothing was found in the patriots’ suitcases, because these, bad or good, foolish or discreet, had no souls in their pockets, nor did their immediate successors, years later. Forgive me if I dwell on these farces of the epic. The strange thing is that the miseries of the parties – for there were parties then too , although some may doubt it – did not impede the continuation of the war, nor did they weaken the formidable thrust of the Nation, regardless of the victories or defeats of the army. It is true that the discord from above had not spread to the common mass of the country, which retained a certain savage innocence with great vices and no small number of eminent qualities, for which reason the homogeneity of sentiments on which nationality was based was still powerful, and Spain, hungry, naked, and flea-eaten, could continue the fight. I would tire my beloved readers if I recounted in detail my life during that fateful year of ‘9, which began with the exploits of Zaragoza, ended with the disaster of Ocaña and the dispersion of the Spanish army. Fortunately, I was not there that day, for, having joined the Army of the Center at the beginning of the year, I was assigned in August to the Duke of Parque’s division, and I witnessed the action at Tamames. I can say little about the Talavera battle other than by reference, for on July 27 and 28 I was at Puente del Arzobispo; and although I could tell something about the Duke of Parque’s campaign, I omit it so as not to tire my friends. At the end of the year, I was serving in the division of Don Francisco Copons, which, with those of Don Tomás Zeraín, de Lacy, and Zayas, was guarding the Sierra Morena Pass; for it must be known that the French, emboldened to the utmost and reinforced with fresh troops, were preparing to invade Andalusia, eighteen months after the Battle of Bailén—eighteen months! The forces at our disposal barely deserved the name of army, and that of the Duke of Alburquerque, the only one still in good condition, was also unable to withstand the onslaught of the victorious French and was retreating around noon to protect the seat of central power. What a situation, my friends! This happened, as I have said, shortly after that brilliant and rapid campaign of June and July 1808; And the same places that had previously seen us victorious and full of pride now witnessed the sad parade of those dispersed from Ocaña, who every moment turned their heads in anxiety, thinking they could hear the footsteps of Víctor, Sebastiani, and Mortier’s horses. “Who would have believed,” I said to Andresillo Marijuán, while we were having lunch at an inn in Collado de los Jardines, “that we would have to retrace this path so soon! Now it seems to me we won’t stop until Cádiz. ” “Patience wins heaven,” he replied. “I have all the patience that seven months of a blockade like the one in Gerona can give me. I’m still amazed to find myself alive, Gabriel. But tell me, where did you earn that epaulette? Do you think I’m nothing? I say it wrong, because inside the plaza they made me look like a sergeant, and at this time no one has recognized my rank. I will file a complaint with the Junta.” “I earned my ranks in Zaragoza,” I replied proudly, “and I can also assure you that after a year I still have some doubts about whether I am the same person who was in those fierce battles, or if after death I will have become someone else. ” “They say that in Zaragoza and in the Army of the Center, ranks were given out like someone throwing a wheat meal to chickens. Friend Gabriel, in Spain only fools and those who make a fuss without doing anything are rewarded. Tell me, Lieutenant of syrup, did you eat in Zaragoza?” Skinny mice and pieces of matting fried with old donkey fat? I laughed at the question, and those around me joked with Marijuán, because since he joined us near Almadén del Azogue in the last days of the year, he had been boring us with his endless recounting of his privations and hunger in Gerona. “In my backpack,” the Aragonese continued, “I have a diary of the siege that Mr. Pablo Nomdedeu wrote in the square, and I’ll give it to you to read, to whet your appetite when you’re feeling listless. For now, let’s move; it seems to me they’ve given the order to head down the slope. Indeed, after an hour’s rest, we set off around noon, and Marijuán repeated the song that had been pounding our ears ever since we met him: “Tell me, Girona, if you’ll surrender… Lirom lireta.” With the will that I return If Spain does not wish to leave Lirom makes the guard, Lirom makes the guard. We spent the night in Bailén. What a sad impression the sight of those fields made on me, when I considered that we were crossing them after leaving almost all of Castile in the hands of the French, whom a short time before we had so successfully subdued in the same place! How I imagined what I had seen and heard there: the prospect and the glorious roar of the action, illuminated by the ardent July sun! Everything was cold, frozen, still, sad, silent, dark: it seemed that over the plains and gentle hills of Bailén, a heavy, formless shadow was walking along the ground. Marijuán and I then visited the palace of Rumblar, believing we would still find the Countess and her family there, and although it was already night, we decided to enter, certain of being well received. When we first knocked on the door, we were answered by the distant barking of a dog, without any sound to indicate the presence of any human being in the palace, which made us realize that it was abandoned. We persisted, however, in knocking, and at last we heard a voice from the courtyard in an angry tone answering us, or rather, rebuking us, in this way: “I’m coming. Damned boys, what do you want at this hour!” Uncle Tinaja, a former servant of the house (for it was none other than the one who guarded it at that time), opened the door to us, spewing toads and snakes from his ugly mouth. As soon as he recognized us, he unfurrowed his brow, invited us in, offering us a seat by the fire, and there he told us how the whole family, along with a good part of the servants, had gone to Cadiz to flee from the French invasion. “My lady the Countess Doña María was determined to stay, ” he told us. But her cousins ​​from Madrid, who arrived around All Saints’ Day, turned her head upside down. Don Paco was also very afraid, and between him, his cousins, and the three young ladies, all weeping and sniffling in the crowd, they softened the Countess’s bronze soul, forcing her to leave. “Hasn’t Don Felipe come too?” I asked, understanding what kind of people Uncle Tinaja was referring to. “Don Felipe hasn’t come, because, as they say, he’s with the Frenchman. His sister, the Marchioness, is very Spanish, and you should have seen how she argues with her niece, who laughs at the Lord and says that no Spanish general is worth two centavos. ” “Has Don Diego come too? ” “No, sir. Well, the girls have shed few tears, and few oceans have flowed from the lady’s eyes because of Don Diego’s pranks !” There’s no one who can get him out of Madrid, where he hangs out with freeloaders, freeloaders, freeloaders, and other bad people who drive him crazy. It seems he’s not going to marry Miss Inés anymore, which is why my mistress is furious, and the other day she and her cousins ​​talked more than usual. Don Paco got in the way and delivered a Latin harangue. The young ladies began to cry, and that day at the table no one spoke a word. The only noise to be heard was the sound of teeth chewing, forks clicking on plates, and flies going for a snack. “And when did you leave for Cadiz?” –Four days ago. The three young ladies were very happy, and Doña María was very sad and absorbed. Mr. Diego’s bad behavior has her on tenterhooks, and the good lady is coming to an end. That man said nothing more to me worth mentioning, and to several of my questions, quite long-winded and impertinent, he answered nothing of any use. After he offered us part of his supper, he told us we could stay in the house for the night, and since the troops were staying in the village, we remained there. Alone, and while Marijuán slept, I walked through several upper rooms of the house, lit only by the moon, and a sweet, inexplicable clarity filled my soul during that silent and solitary exploration. There was not a piece of furniture that did not tell me something, and my imagination was populating the deserted rooms with familiar beings. The carpet retained an indefinable imprint in my eyes , more thought than seen; I saw a cushion that hadn’t yet lost the depression caused by the arm that had just pressed it, and in the mirrors I thought I saw not a footprint or a shadow, because these voices aren’t my own, but a nothingness, or rather, a void, left there by the image that had disappeared. In a room overlooking the garden, I saw three small beds. Two of them seemed to have a fixed place at the right and left ends. The third, which blocked the way, seemed to have been set up for a guest of a few days. All three were covered with snow-white quilts, beneath which the cold mattresses swelled weightlessly. The font of holy water was still full, and I dipped the tips of my fingers in it, making the sign of the cross on my forehead. A
strong shiver ran through my body at the icy touch, as if the fingers that had taken the last drops were touching mine on the surface of the water. I picked up a small ribbon from the floor and some twisted, oiled, and perfumed pieces of paper that seemed to have been used to shape the curls of a head of hair. The silence in that place didn’t seem to me like the silence of an undisturbed place , but rather like the silence that occurs during the eloquent intervals of a conversation, when, after a question has been asked, the interlocutor ponders his answer. I left that room, and after wandering around others with equal interest, finally feeling tired, I lay down on a sofa, where, near dawn, I fell into a deep sleep. Daylight streamed in through the windows and balconies when Andrés woke me singing his Catalan refrain: “Tell me, Girona, if you will surrender.” During those days, the last of January 1810, the most lamentable misfortunes of the Spanish army occurred. One would think that the genius for war, fundamental to us like the axis of the soul, had failed us, and the fight was disordered, and the adventure itself was in disarray. General Desolles attacked the Girón division at Puerto del Rey, which disbanded near Las Navas de Tolosa, and at the same time Gazan attacked the Nuradal Pass, while Mortier forced the Despeñaperros Pass. Marshal Victor entered through Torrecampo to fall upon Montoro, and Sebastiani through Montizón, so that the invasion of Andalusia was carried out from four different points with an admirable strategy that ended up disconcerting us. It is true, and let this serve as an excuse, that we had as our Commander-in- Chief Don Juan Carlos Aréizaga, a man incompetent in the art of war, and in whose head there was no room for three dozen men. The skill of some subordinate commanders was of little use, and the demoralized troops, convinced of their inability to resist, saw neither glory nor honor ahead of them, but the comfortable refuge of Córdoba, Seville, or the island of Cádiz. The French only encountered formal resistance at Montizón, between Venta Nueva and Venta Quemada, where Don Gaspar Vigodet commanded, who, after fighting with great courage, ordered a formal retreat. In short, gentlemen, it is painful to say and painful to remember; but it is certain that the French advanced toward Córdoba when we were weeping over our impotence on the way to Seville. And what can I tell you about the spectacle offered by this mutinous city, subjected to the intrigues of a faction as small as it was audacious? I would gladly say nothing, swallowing everything I know and hiding everything I saw, so that such ugliness would not sadden these scenes; but fame has already said all that needed to be said, and even if I keep silent, it will not cease to be known. If it were up to me, I would cover up this and other holes in our history , a lot of them. The fact is that once the Central Office fled, the conspirators erected a supreme junta there, and the mob, incited, heard nothing but cheers and deaths, forgetting the Frenchman knocking at the gates, as if on home soil there were no more enemies than those unfortunate central offices. What political passion, gentlemen! I know of no worse or more vile sentiment than this, which drives one to hate one’s compatriot more vehemently than the foreign invader. I was horrified to witness the abuses committed against some and the savage invasion of the homes of others. And thank goodness they escaped with their lives from the lazy, screaming mob! In a word, that was the most degrading thing I’ve ever seen, and if the Central Junta was worth little, the individuals who, in Seville and later in Cádiz, undermined its foundations like restless, free-living reptiles, do not occupy, despite their great bustle and the different positions they took, a visible place in history. Their smallness makes them disappear in the perspectives of the past, and their echoing names arouse neither admiration nor bitterness. They belong to that vulgarity that, despite being so vulgar, has influenced the destiny of the country since the first revolution here; A small people without ideals, who would be lost in the crowds like raindrops in the ocean, if the reprehensible political neutrality of the honorable, decent, understanding, and patriotic majority did not allow them to act in public life, treating the country as an object of their exclusive property, which has been given to them for amusement. But I want to put an end to this matter, which has little appeal to my understanding. Continuing our retreat, we arrived at Puerto de Santa María, where we spent two days and nights, and it was there that I acquired wonderful news about the formidable siege of Gerona. I owe my readers an explanation, and I am going to give it. My purpose in beginning this last session, in which we met peacefully, my beloved gentlemen, was to relate the many good things I saw in Cádiz when we took refuge there, after the French entered Andalusia; But a patriotic duty obliges me to postpone this natural desire of mine for a short time, giving priority to some events from the siege of Gerona, which I will also recount, although I will relate them from hearsay. A friend from those days, and who later also became a friend in more prosperous times, entertained me for two long nights with the description of marvelous exploits that I must not and cannot pass over in silence. I present them here, then, suspending the course of my story, which I will resume shortly, if God grants me life and you patience. I only allow myself to note that I have somewhat modified Andresillo Marijuán’s account, respecting, of course, all that is essential, since his rough language caused me some difficulty when trying to associate his story with my own. I make this warning so that some may not be surprised to find in the pages that follow observations, phrases , and words unbecoming of a simple and rustic youth. Nor would I have expressed myself in that way in those times; but bear in mind that, at the time of which I speak, I am a little over eighty years old, a life long enough in my judgment to learn something, while also acquiring a little polish in my way of speaking. ACCOUNT OF
ANDRESILLO MARIJUÁN Chapter 2. I entered Gerona at the beginning of February, and lodged at a locksmith’s house on Cort Real Street. At the end of April, I left with the expedition that went in search of provisions to Santa Coloma de Farnés, and a few days after my return, he died as a result of his wounds. received in the second place by that good man who had given me asylum. I believe it was on May 6, that is to say, the same day the French appeared, when, returning from guard duty at Fort Queen Anne, I found M. Mongat dead, surrounded by his four children, who were weeping bitterly. I will speak of the four orphans, who were already completely orphaned, having lost their mother a few months before. Siseta, or as it were, Narcisita, the eldest, was a little over twenty, and the three boys did not add up to an equal number of years, for Badoret was barely ten; Manalet was no more than six, and Gasparó was just beginning to live, finding himself at the twilight of discernment and speech. 1 Diminutive of Salvador. 2 Ibid. of Manuel. When I entered the house and saw such a pitiful sight, I could not contain my tears and I began to weep with them. Mr. Cristopher Mongat was an excellent person, a good father, and an ardent patriot; but even more than the memory of the deceased’s fine qualities, I was saddened by the loneliness of the four children. I loved them very much, and since my good humor and frank nature tended to unite the souls of those innocent children with my own, in a few months of association, Badoret, Manalet, and Gasparó went out of their way for me. I won’t mention Siseta here, because for her I had a strange feeling, one of mixed pity and admiration, as will be seen later . My occupation in the house while Mr. Mongat lived was, first of all, to talk with him about the affairs of war, and secondly , to entertain the children with all kinds of games, teaching them the drills, and acting out with them behind a chest the scenes of the attack, defense, and conquest of a trench. When I was on guard, either at Montjuich, or at the Condestable or Cabildo strongholds, the three of them, including Gasparó, followed me with canes on their shoulders, imitating with their mouths the sound of drums and trumpets, or neighing like horses. Cordially sharing their misfortune, I consoled them as best I could, and the next day, after we had thrown the earth under the good locksmith’s feet, and after the pesky neighbors who had come to pout and sympathize loudly with the orphans but without offering them any help had left, I took Siseta by the hand, and leading her to the kitchen, I said to her: “Siseta, you know… But first I want to say that Siseta was a plump and fresh girl, who without having a dazzling beauty, captivated my soul in a strange way, making me forget all other women, and especially the one who had been my girlfriend at Doña Godina’s Almunia. Rosy and round, Siseta looked like an apple. She was not slender, but neither was she plump. She had a very graceful gait, and possessed a considerable wit and ease of conversation, yet she knew how to adapt to situations, distinguishing herself by a great disposition to never be out of her place, from which traits one may gather that Siseta had talent. Well, as I indicated before, taking her hand, I said to her: “Siseta…” I don’t know what came over my tongue, for I remained silent for a long time, until finally I was able to continue thus: “Siseta, you know that I have been staying in your house for four months now…” The girl nodded, showing that she was convinced of my remaining in the house for four months. “I mean,” I continued, “that for so long I have eaten your bread, although I have also given you mine. Now, with the death of Mr. Cristòful, you have been left orphans. Do you have any land, a house, an income?” “We have nothing,” Siseta answered me, casting sad glances at the kitchen utensils. “We have nothing but what we have in the house. ” “The tools are worth something,” I said; “but, anyway, there’s no need to worry, for God gives you money, but He doesn’t drown you. Here’s Andrés Marijuán’s arm . Did your father leave any money? ” “Nothing,” she answered, “he didn’t leave anything. During his illness, he worked very little. ” “Good, very good,” I said. “With that, you can receive the bonus that They’re giving me now, and the ration I get every day. There’s no need to hurry. You’ll be the mother of your brothers, and I’ll be their father, because I’m determined to hang myself with you. Come on, stop whining; Siseta, I love you. Perhaps you think I don’t own any land. What a fool! If you saw what two dozen vines I have in Almunia; if you saw what a house… it only needs a roof; but it’s easy to fix it up, without building it all from scratch. So what’s said is said. As soon as this place is finished, which will be a matter of days as I think, you’ll sell the blacksmith’s junk; they’ll give me my license, since the war will also be over; we’ll put Señora Siseta on a donkey with Gasparó and Manalet, and I’ll take Badoret by the hand, walk as fast as you can, we’ll go to that lower Aragon, which is the best land in the world, where we’ll settle. Once I had finished this speech, I returned to the workshop to examine the tools, and all that furniture seemed of very little value to me. After hearing me, the orphan girl, without saying a word , began to arrange the belongings, tidying everything with a skillful hand, and to clean the dust. The boys immediately surrounded me, rushing to bring their canes, poles, and other war equipment. I felt obliged, by reason of this diligence, to commend them to great zeal in the service of their country and the King, for very soon, if the French tightened the siege, Gerona would need all its children, even the smallest. Finally, after they had spent half an hour shouldering and reloading weapons, loading, attacking , and firing several imaginary volleys that echoed in the narrow workshop, I saw them drop their weapons, their martial ardor fading, and turn to their sister with eloquent expressions in their eyes. “What?” “Siseta, ” I asked, understanding the meaning of that silent interrogation. “Siseta, isn’t there anything to eat?” Siseta, hiding her tears, was searching the black scaffolding of a cupboard, in whose cavernous depths the poor wretch was determined to find something. “How is that?” I said. “Siseta, you didn’t tell me anything. What would it cost me to go to the barracks and ask for an advance on tomorrow’s rations? And why do I want the seven centavos I’ve saved? Nothing, my child: it’s necessary not only to bring what’s necessary for today, but also abundant provisions, in case food supplies become scarce within the plaza. They say they’re going to give us two reales a day now. I can imagine what you’ll do with this wealth. But this isn’t the time to dwell on gossip, these brave soldiers are dying of hunger. Take the seven centavos; I’ll go straight for the notebook.” I soon returned with the bread, and I had the pleasure of watching my children eat; from then on, I began to call them by this name. Siseta remained within the bounds of excessive sobriety, and while the feast lasted, I spoke to them about the large supplies of provisions being made in Gerona, a conversation that seemed very much to the liking of the little ones. At this point, Mr. Nomdedeu, who lived on the upper floor of the house, passed by the shop on his way to the adjoining porch. He greeted us all affably, and after saying a few words of condolence over the loss of the excellent Mr. Mongat, he went upstairs, asking me to accompany him. I was in the habit of going every morning to tell him what was being said in the guardroom, and these visits had for me the double attraction of sharing what I knew and of listening to the pleasant conversations of Mr. Nomdedeu, a man with whom one never spoke once without learning something useful. Chapter 3. Mr. Pablo Nomdedeu was a doctor. He was no more than forty-five years old; but his studies or domestic hardships, unknown to me, had so affected his nature that he appeared to be much older than half a century. He was stiff, gaunt, yellow, with a deep curvature along his spine, and his head was flecked with sparse blond and white hair, like grass that grows haphazardly in an ungrateful soil. Everything about him indicated weakness and premature old age, except his expression. Penetrating, the image of an energetic soul and active understanding. He lived in peaceful mediocrity, without luxury, but also without poverty; much loved by his fellow countrymen, devoted outside the home to the sick in the hospital, and within it to the care of his only daughter, also ill with a painful and incurable illness. So that you may fully understand this esteemed individual, I must tell you that Nomdedeu was a man of great learning and very amenable in his wisdom. He observed everything, and did not allow himself to ignore anything, so that there has never been a man who asked more questions. I did not believe that lips would ask foolish questions that a rustic is not ignorant of; but he told me several times that the science of books would be worthless if one did not pursue a doctorate in conversation with all kinds of people. I will say little about his home. He was as humble as he was decent. Many books; Some French anatomical prints, paired with others of saints, and quite a few paintings that displayed countless dried herbs behind glass, each with handwritten inscription at the bottom. But what most impressed my mind as I went up to Mr. Nomdedeu’s house was a tender and sensitive creature, a wasted and withered beauty, a sad life that, beside the small window open at noon, sought to prolong itself by absorbing the sun’s rays. I am referring to the unfortunate Josephine, daughter of the illustrious man I mentioned, who, sick and bedridden, seemed to me like the dried flowers kept by the doctor behind glass. Josephine had been beautiful; but some of her charms had been lost, others had been sublimated in that descending twilight that was diffusing the shadows of death over her. Motionless in an armchair, her appearance was usually one of absolute indifference. When her father came in with me on the day I am referring to, Josephine did not respond to his caresses with a single word. Nomdedeu told me: “Her leaden existence hangs by a thread of silk.” He spoke these words aloud and in front of her, for Josephine was completely deaf. “The profound silence that surrounds her,” continued the father, “is favorable to her health, because, since her illness is an excessive development of sensitivity, anything that diminishes external impressions will increase the repose to which she owes this languid and decadent life. I do not hope to save her, and all my efforts today consist in embellishing her days, pretending that we are surrounded by happiness and not by danger. I would like to take her to the country; but duty and patriotism oblige me not to abandon the care of the hospital when we are threatened by a siege, which seems likely to be more severe than the first two. God help us . So, did that poor Mr. Mongat die? ” “Yes, sir,” I replied. And there you have four helpless orphans who would beg for alms in the streets of Girona, if I weren’t determined to take the bread out of my mouth to give it to them. ” “God will reward you for your generosity. I too will do what I can for those unfortunates. Siseta seems like a good girl, and sometimes she comes up to keep my daughter company. Tell her to come more often, and today I will order Madame Sumta to give to Cristoful Mongat’s children everything that is left over in the house. But tell me: what did you hear at the guardhouse? First, tell me what happened on that expedition to Santa Coloma de Farnés. Did you go there? ” “The same as Asunción. ” “Yes, sir; but nothing unusual happened to us. The French appeared to us on the afternoon of April 24; But since we were few, and our objective was not to fight them, but to bring provisions to Gerona, once we had loaded the wagons and mules, we came here with Don Enrique O’Donnell. The pigs dominate the entire Segarra, but the somatenes make them lose many men, and they have a hard time supplying themselves. The French General Pino recently sent a battalion to San Martín in search of provisions. Upon arriving, the colonel asked the mayor for a certain number of rations of bacon for the next day at dawn because the little animals are abundant in that town. his eyes lowered; and since the battalion was tired, he gave them bills for lodging, distributing the soldiers in the homes of the neighbors. The mayor pretended to want to serve the colonel, and at dusk the town crier went out into the streets shouting: “Eixa nit a las dotse, cada vehí matará son porch.” 4 In Catalonia, during the invasion, they called the French porchs. “And each neighbor killed his Frenchman. ” “So it seems, sir, and so they told me on the road; but I can’t vouch for its truth, although San Martín’s people are capable of it. After they had carried out their massacre, they hid weapons, helmets, and everything else that could uncover them; and when General Pino showed up, they tried to prove to him that no one had been there. ” “Do you know, Andrés,” Nomdedeu told me, “that this seems like the stuff of a fairy tale? ” “Whether it is or not,” I replied, “these and other stories cheer people up.” The _swine_ are already upon Gerona, and this morning we saw them on the heights of Costa Roja. Here inside we are no more than 5,600 men, which is not enough to defend half of the forts. Of these, the one that has not fallen is because it has not been given permission. If Zaragoza, which had 50,000 men within its walls, has finally fallen into the hands of the French, what is Gerona going to do with 5,600? “That must be a few more,” said Nomdedeu, pacing around the room with the nervous and playful restlessness that took hold of him when talking about the affairs of war. “All the citizens of Gerona are taking up arms, and today the lists of the eight companies that make up the _Gerundense Crusade_ are being drawn up in the cloister of San Félix. I wanted to join; but as a doctor, whose services cannot be replaced, I have been left out, to my regret.” The women’s battalion is also being formed today , of which Doña Lucía Fitz Gerard is a colonel: do you know her? Truly, I tell you, my friend Andrés, that amidst the sorrow caused by considering the disasters that threaten us, one rejoices when seeing the warlike preparations that so exalt the citizens of this city. While we were saying this, each of us expressing ourselves with considerable excitement, Josefina fixed her eyes on us in surprise and terror, and listened to our gestures, showing that she understood them as well as the word itself. Her father noticed this, and turning to her, he calmed her with affectionate gestures and smiles, saying to me: “The poor thing understood instantly that we are talking about war. This causes her extraordinary terror.” The sick woman had in front of her, on a small pine table, a large sheet of paper with quill pens and an inkwell. Writing served as a means of communication for daughter and father. Nomdedeu, taking up his pen, wrote: “My child, don’t be afraid. We were talking about the flocks of pigeons Andresillo saw yesterday in Pedret. He says he killed all he wanted, and that he’ll bring you a couple this afternoon. No, don’t be afraid, my child, there won’t be any more pigeons in Gerona. The war’s over! Well, didn’t you know? Mr. Andresillo brought that news. Isn’t it true I forgot to tell you? We’re even. We’ll see if you can go out for a walk in Mercadal tomorrow. We’ll go to Castellá next week . Our Lord Mansió says the rosebushes are so laden with roses!… And what about the cherry trees? This year there will be so many cherries that we won’t know what to do with them. I’ve ordered two more hives, and it seems that in a month the cow will have her young. The guinea fowl has had a good clutch of six or seven duck eggs.” In ten days he will get them all out, and it will be a pleasure to see that family.” As soon as he wrote this, Mr. Pablo turned to me and, trying to hide his distress, said: “In this way I am deceiving her, to tear her spirit from sadness. If she knew that my country house with all the plants and animals I had there no longer exists… The French have left no stone unturned. Poor me! Surrounded by disasters; threatened, like all the people of Girona, by the horrors of war, hunger and From the misery, I have to pretend, alongside this unhappy girl, a well-being and a peace that are very far from us, and I have to hide the bitterness of my broken heart, lying like a theatrical. But this is how it must be. I am convinced that if my daughter were to find out about the situation we find ourselves in, and were to learn of the bombing and the shortages that threaten us, her death would be immediate; and I want to prolong her life as long as possible, because I trust that if one day God and Saint Narcissus resolve to put an end to the misfortunes of this city, I will be able to leave Gerona and take her to enjoy country life, the only medicine that will relieve her. Josefina, upon finishing reading the paper, sadly shook her head in disbelief, and then said: “Then let’s leave tomorrow for Castellá. ” “This is a real predicament,” Nomdedeu told me, taking up the pen to answer his daughter. “What am I going to say?” But without pausing, she wrote: “My child, be patient. The weather, which seems fine, is very bad, and it’s going to rain tomorrow. I know it from what my books say. Besides, I have work to do at the hospital for a few days.” Then the sick woman, who was undoubtedly tiring herself with talking or had no taste for uttering words she couldn’t hear, also took up her pen and, with nervous haste, wrote the following: “Andrés is talking about battles.” “No, no, Miss Josefina!” I exclaimed aloud, for it is our instinctive habit to raise our voices in front of the deaf, even knowing that they cannot hear us. “Precisely,” wrote Don Pablo, “he was just telling me that they are going to give him a leave of absence, because soldiers are no longer needed. Thank God those cursed wars are over!… My child, some friends will come here this afternoon to dance the sardana and entertain you for a while. Why don’t you continue reading?” And then he placed in his daughter’s hands a volume, which was the first part of Don Quixote, which she opened where she had marked, and began to read calmly. Chapter 4. Nomdedeu, taking me to the window, said to me: “The idea of ​​war and bombardment causes her great horror. It is natural that it should be so, since her nervous disorder and the passion of mind that has her in such a lamentable state come from a strong and painful impression of fear. In the second place, my friend Andrés, I can say that I lost my dear child, my only consolation on earth. You know that the barbarian Duhesme arrived here in the middle of July of last year, when he said those arrogant words: “On the 24th I arrive, on the 25th I attack, on the 26th I take, and on the 27th I razes it.” A man who spoke such boasts, equaling himself to Caesar, was necessarily a fool. He did indeed arrive and attack; But he couldn’t take or destroy anything, except his own pride, which was crushed before those walls. He had nine thousand men, and here inside there were barely more than two thousand, including the peasants who had armed themselves in haste. Duhesme laid siege to the square, and having opened trenches against Montjuich and the eastern and Mercadal forts, on the 13th he began to bombard us mercilessly. On the 16th they tried to assault Montjuich; but yes… it was there for them. The Ultonia regiment defended it… But I’m getting to my point. As I was saying, my poor girl lost her composure, and her terror kept her awake day and night. Her state of excitement, coupled with her resistance to food, brought her close to death. Imagine my grief and that of my nephew. Because I must warn you that I had a nephew named Anselmo Quixols, son of my sister Doña Mercedes, resident in La Bisbal. I don’t know if you know that my sister and I had arranged for Anselmo to marry Josefina, a marriage that was very agreeable to both young people, because for some months before they had spent a few hands of paper writing letters to each other, and exchanged a thousand loving words in honest language. We were then living on Neu Street, very close to the square. On the 15th we had gone down to the doorway, where we thought we were safer from the bombing, and we were eating in the company of Anselmo, who for a short time He left his duties for a while to come and inquire about our situation. Oh, my friend Andrés! What a day, what a moment! A bomb penetrated through the roof, crossed the upper floor, and piercing the floorboards fell into the lower floor, where it exploded with a horrible crash and caused frightful havoc. Anselmo was killed instantly, his chest pierced by a helmet; my servant was mortally wounded, and so was Mrs. Sumta, though not seriously. I received a blow, and only my daughter remained apparently unharmed; but what a disturbance in her system! What a derangement, what a horrible perturbation in her poor soul! The horrendous explosion; the sudden danger; the death of her cousin and future husband, whom we picked up from the floor at the moment of his death— The risk we ran with the burning of the house struck such a rude blow into her weak and resentful nature that from that time on, my daughter, that amiable, graceful, and discreet girl, ceased to exist, and in her place, heaven left me this helpless and pitiable creature, whose sufferings pain me more than they do her. This life is fading away in pain and melancholy, without anything being able to revive her. At the first moment of the catastrophe, Josephine was as if she had lost her mind. Despite our efforts to restrain her, she ran out into the street, and her painful cries detained the passenger and saddened the invincible soldier. We followed her, and, calling her incessantly with the most affectionate words, we tried to lead her to a safe place where she could calm down; but Josephine did not hear us. In her mind, agitated by boiling excitement, absolute silence reigned. I thought she wouldn’t survive that ordeal; but oh, Andresillo! She’s alive, thanks to my care, to my vigilant and foresighted efforts to save her. She’s remained in bed all winter. You see how she is. Will she live? Will she prolong her sad days until summer? Will I be able to leave Gerona in a few months, if we withstand the siege and the French leave ? What fate does God have for us in the days to come? My poor little girl! Innocent and weak, she will suffer the horrors of the siege perhaps better than we strong ones. I don’t know what I wouldn’t give to have this situation end soon, allowing me to go out for a while in the country with my poor sick girl. But imagine what they would say about me if I escaped from Gerona now. I don’t want to think about it. They would call me a coward and a bad patriot. Truly , my boy, I don’t know which of these two epithets hurts me more: coward or bad patriot! No… here, Mr. Nomdedeu, Mr. hospital doctor; here, in Gerona, at the foot of the canyon, with a bandage in one hand and a scalpel in the other to cut legs, remove bullets, dress sores, and prescribe medicines for feverish and plague-stricken patients. Let the grenades and bombs come… My daughter may die; perhaps the weak light of this little lamp may go out, not only from lack of oil, but from lack of oxygen; she will die of terror, of physical exhaustion, of hunger; but what are we going to do! If God so wills it!… Saying this, Don Pablo, turned toward the balcony window, wiped his tears with a red handkerchief as big as a flag. Chapter 5. At night, after standing guard at the Gironella Tower, I returned to my lodgings and found some news. Pichota had given birth, yes, gentlemen, and the family of which I proudly considered myself the head had grown by three children, whom I had to support. I don’t know if I’ve told you about Pichota, a beautiful brown spotted cat, for whom the three boys professed boundless love. Forgive me for not having mentioned her before, and now it only remains to say that upon seeing the three offspring she had given us, I said to Siseta: “Two of these little gentlemen must be thrown into the Oñar, because we can’t afford to support so many people. Once they have finished suckling, a daily ration will be necessary to feed them, and they say we’re going to be short. ” “Leave them, man,” she replied. “God will provide for everyone, and if not , let them look for it themselves. There will be no lack of food in Gerona. The “pigs” won’t interfere with you, and it even seems to me that they won’t They’ll dare to poke their noses around here. “Oh, how dare they!” I exclaimed with playful irony. ” They’re very afraid of us. Come up with me to the Gironella Tower, and you’ll see the mosquitoes that are swarming around there in the Levant and the Midi. French in Saint- Mediterranean, Montagut, and the Côte d’Azur; French in Saint-Michel and Les Anges, and, for a change, French in Montelibi, Pau, and the Salt plain. You’ll see, my dear. We’re 6,500 men here, which isn’t enough to begin with, and we’ve got these little walls… what works, my God! They’re frightening to look at. Just imagine, when the lizards run among the stones, they move and crash against each other. You can’t speak loudly next to them, because with the shudder of the sound they’ll fall from their place. Anyway, I don’t know what’s going to happen when the French open fire and start bombarding us.” Mrs. Sumta, Don Pablo Nomdedeu’s housekeeper, who used to come down to chat with us in her spare time, poked her nose into our conversation, saying: “Andrés is right. The walls of forts look like almond cake made with sugar without any point. My late husband, may he rest in peace, and who campaigned in Roussillon against the republic of the _swine_, used to tell me several times: “If it weren’t for San Fernando de Figueras with its diamond walls, and the Girona people here with their hearts of steel, all the strongholds of the Ampurdán would fall into the hands of any daring man who crossed the border.” Anyway, the stone will be the least of it, as long as there are men of heart and a good Spaniard who knows how to command them. And what do you say, Mr. Andresillo, about that puny Governor they’ve appointed us? ” “Don Mariano Álvarez de Castro. He was the one who refused to surrender Montjuïc in Barcelona to the French. They say he’s a man of great courage.” “Well, it doesn’t look like it,” replied Mrs. Sumta. “When this fellow was sent here in February and I saw him, I immediately argued with him for nothing. What can you expect from someone who doesn’t rise that high off the ground! The other day he walked by me, and… believe me, he doesn’t even come up to my shoulder. That Don Mariano Álvarez de Castro would serve me as a walking stick. Have you seen his face? It’s as yellow as old parchment, and it seems he has no blood in his veins. What men those days! Who knew that General Ricardos, who couldn’t fit through that door, with one chest and one back… It was a pleasure to see his round face and his cheeks like carnations… ” “Mrs. Sumta,” I said, laughing, “when generals have a profession similar to that of wet nurses, then we’ll be able to disown those who are skinny and puny. ” “No, Andresillo, I’m not saying that,” replied the matron. What I’m saying is that without presence, you can’t command. Consider: when you see Doña Lucía Fitz Gerard, colonel of the Santa Bárbara Battalion; when you see that flesh, that imposing gait, you want to run after her and kill Frenchmen. But tell me, Siseta, aren’t you affiliated with the Santa Bárbara Battalion? “I, Señora Sumta, am no good for that,” my future wife replied. ” I’m afraid of gunfire. ” “The thing is, we don’t fire, my daughter, at least not while the men are alive. Carrying ammunition, helping the wounded, giving water to the artillerymen, and if necessary, going here or there with an order from the General: this will be our job. I’ve already told them to count on me for everything, everything, even if it’s just carrying the battalion flag.” Truly I tell you, Andresillo, it is a great pity not to have better walls, and a General less yellow and with a few more fingers of stature. I laughed at the things of Señora Sumta, a woman as amiable as she was meddlesome, and far from being annoyed by her antics, they gave Siseta and me great pleasure, especially when we saw that on her visits the housekeeper of Don Pablo Nomdedeu never came down without bringing some food for the orphans. Around nine o’clock she took her leave to return to her lodgings, and then she said to us: “The young lady should be in bed by now. The gentleman has just come in, and now he will be writing his _Daily Diary_, one in the style of choir book, where she notes down what’s wrong with her. Oh! The master is confident that the girl will recover, and I, without being a doctor, say and assure you that if he drags it out until the leaves fall, it will be dragging on for too long… Now we’re determined to make her believe that next week we’ll go to Castellá. Yes, a good time in the country awaits us! Bombs and more bombs. The girl won’t find out a thing, and the master says that even if the whole city burns and the houses fall to pieces, Josefina won’t know. Well , I say, if the “pigs” tighten the siege, as they say, and provisions are scarce… But the master doesn’t want the girl to understand that provisions are scarce either. If we’re hungry, my master Don Pablo is capable of cutting off his arm and cooking it up in a stew, making the sick woman believe that we have a leg of mutton that day. Well, well, well. Goodbye, Siseta; Goodbye, Andrés. When we were alone, I said to my future wife, looking at the kittens: “Save the three infants of Spain. If there is famine in Gerona, they say cat meat is not bad. Oh, Siseta of my heart! When will we see each other outside these walls! When will this cursed war be over! When will you and I be with the boys, Pichota and her children, on the way to Doña Godina’s Almunia! Will it be God’s will that we will not sit in the shade of my olive trees, gazing at the branches to see how the olives are setting?” Speaking in this way, I was immersed in sad forebodings; but Siseta, with her observations imbued with Christian sentiment, gave a certain celestial serenity to my spirit. Chapter 6. On June 13, if I am not mistaken, the French opened fire on the square, after demanding surrender through a parliamentarian. I was at the Tower of San Narciso, near the Galligans ravine, and I heard Don Mariano’s reply, saying that he would receive machine-gun fire from any Frenchman who returned with embassies from then on . They continued throwing bombs until the 25th, and tried to assault the towers of San Luis and San Narciso, which they completely destroyed, forcing us to abandon them on the 19th. They also captured the Pedret district, which is on the France road, and then the Governor ordered a sortie to prevent them from building a battery there. But except for the sortie and the defense of those two towers, there were no major military events until the beginning of July, when the two armies began to fiercely dispute possession of Montjuïc. The French were confident that with this castle they would have everything. Would you believe that there were only 900 men inside the enclosure , commanded by Don Guillermo Nash? The Imperials had erected several batteries, including one with twenty large-caliber pieces, and they constantly threw bombs at those in the castle, who repulsed the assaults with howitzers loaded with rifle bullets. Four times the “pigs” turned on us, until the last time they said “no more” and retreated, leaving on those rocks a mere two thousand men, dead and wounded. I cannot claim even a tiny part of the glory of this defense, because I witnessed it peacefully from the Gironella Tower. Throughout the month of July, the French continued to build structures to approach the fortress, and seeing that they could not take it by force, they strove to prevent us from receiving supplies. This plan began to make our already alarmed stomachs suffer. At Siseta’s house, although there was not much abundance, things were not bad, and with what I brought them, together with the frequent gifts from Mr. Pablo Nomdedeu, the unfortunate inhabitants of the locksmith’s shop were able to get by. It is true that most days I spent gazing at the sky to give them what was mine; but the soldier with a morsel here and another there survives, also sustained by the spirit, which draws its substance I know not from where. I had immense pleasure in retiring to rest for a few hours or simply a few minutes, watching how Siseta worked in her house, fixing by pure instinct and native domestic genius that which could not be fixed. Broken plates were subject to a scrupulous daily inspection, and the most perfect tableware could not have been arranged in better order or with such brilliant equipment. In the cupboards, where there was nothing to eat, a thousand trinkets of earthenware and tin, which had once been trays, bowls, tureens, and jugs, awaited the delicacies for which the craftsman had intended them, and the shabby furniture, barely fit to burn in a fire, acquired an unusual luster with the torment of the daily washing and scrubbing to which the diligent girl subjected it. “Look, my darling,” I would say to her, “it seems to me that no visitors will be coming. Why are you breaking your hands on that worm-eaten mahogany and that moth-eaten pine that is no longer good for anything?” Nor is the dazzling whiteness of those tattered curtains and tablecloths relevant , on which, unfortunately, no roast turkey will drip. I laughed, and even pretended to mock her; but meanwhile, a secret satisfaction swelled in my chest as I considered the eminent qualities of the one I had chosen as my companion. One day, after discussing these things, I went up to visit Mr. Nomdedeu and found him extremely agitated beside his daughter, who was still reading Don Quixote. “Andrés,” he said to me, softening his expression to conceal with his eyes what his words expressed, “food supplies are beginning to run out at an alarming rate, and the French won’t let even a pound of beans into the market. I am determined to buy everything there is, at any price, so that my daughter will lack nothing; but if food should become completely lacking, what shall I do?” I’ve gathered quite a few birds; but I’ll run out in a couple of weeks. The poor things are so thin it’s pitiful to look at them. Friend, you know that starting today we’re going to start eating horsemeat. What a beautiful future! Álvarez says he won’t surrender, and he’s issued a proclamation threatening death to anyone who speaks of capitulation. I don’t want us to surrender either… under any circumstances; but what about my daughter? How is it possible for her nature to withstand the hardships of a rigorous blockade? How can she live without healthy and nutritious food? The sick woman threw the book on the table, and at the sound of the impact, her father turned around, and I saw the expression of sorrow change with the greatest speed to affected joy. At that moment, Mrs. Sumta brought the young lady’s meal, and when she saw a piece of hard, black bread, she pushed it away with an unpleasant gesture. Her father tried to laugh and immediately wrote the following: “You fool!” This bread is no worse than the other days’, but much better. It’s black because I ordered the baker to knead it with a medicine I sent him, and it will do you a world of good. While she was reading, he was carving up a half chicken, or rather a half chicken skeleton, over whose gaunt bones a yellow skin was stretched . “I don’t know how I’ll convince her that she has something delicious before her ,” he said to me with profound pain, but taking care to keep a smile on his lips. “My God, don’t abandon me!” Madame Sumta, behind the sick woman’s chair, spoke these words: “Sir, I didn’t want to say it, but it’s necessary: ​​of the five hens that were left, three have died, and two are sick. ” “Is it possible? May the Holy Virgin help us!” exclaimed the doctor, sucking the chicken bones to encourage his daughter to imitate such meritorious self-denial. “So they’re dead!” I had expected it. They say all the birds in town are dying. Have you been to the Plaza de las Coles to see if there’s any fresh, fat hens? ‘ ‘I’ve seen nothing but wire, and some disgusting owls. ‘ ‘God help me! What are we going to do?’ And saying this, he sucked and sucked a bone, then savored it with a smile of satisfaction, thus demonstrating to the sick woman the excellence of the food. But Josefina, after tasting the dry animal, pushed the plate away in disgust. Don Pablo, without stopping to write, because in his bewilderment and anxiety, he lacked The patience to resort to such a slow means, she exclaimed aloud: “What, don’t you want it? Well, it’s exquisite, delicious. A little thin; but thin chickens are in fashion these days. That’s what hygiene dictates, and good cooks never put a half- formed bird in the stew. ” But Josefina, as was to be expected, wasn’t listening, and closing her eyes in dismay, seemed more inclined to sleep than to eat. Meanwhile, Don Pablo got up and, pacing around the room with his hands crossed and a look of terror in his eyes, made no effort to conceal his despair. “Andrés,” he said to me, “you must help me find something to give my daughter. Hens, ducks, pigeons: have they run out of poultry in Gerona yet? ” “Everything’s finished,” Mrs. Sumta affirmed officiously. This morning, when I went to the formation—I belong to the second company of the Santa Bárbara battalion—all the soldiers were complaining about the shortage of meat, and Colonel Luisa said that they would soon have to eat mice. “Go to hell with your battalions and colonels! Eating filthy animals! No, my poor sick girl will not lack healthy food. Let’s see: look around… I’ll pay a hen’s weight in gold.” Then, turning to me, she said: “They say that a convoy of provisions is expected in Gerona, brought by a General Blake. Have you heard anything about this? The Intendant himself, Don Carlos Beramendi, told me , although he also told me that he doubted it would arrive safely here. It seems they are in Olot with two thousand pack animals, and everything has been arranged so that Don Blas de Fournás can leave here with some force, in order to distract the French.” Oh, if only this would happen soon, and we would get fresh flour and some meat! If not, I doubt we’d escape a terrible epidemic, because bad food brings with it a thousand ailments, which are aggravated and communicated by the unhealthiness of a cramped, filthy enclosure . My God! I don’t want anything for myself: I’ll be content to pick up a raw bone in the street, one of those thrown to the dogs, and gnaw on it; but let my innocent and unfortunate little sick girl not be deprived of a piece of wheat bread and a piece of meat… Andrés, if you could see how miserable I am in the hospital! The Governor has ordered that the best provisions left be given to the wounded soldiers and officers, which seems very well arranged to me, because they deserve everything. This morning I was distributing their food. If you could see what hams, what wings, what breasts there were! I had the intention of slipping a hand gracefully through the plates and fishing out a chicken leg, to slip it surreptitiously into my jacket pocket and bring it to my daughter. I struggled for a long time between the desire that dominated me and my conscience, and finally, elevating my thoughts and saying, “Lord, forgive me for what I am about to do,” I decided to commit the theft. I stretched out my trembling fingers, touched the plate, and when I felt the contact of the flesh, my conscience gave me a loud cry and I withdrew my hand; but the pitiful condition of my child dawned on me, and I went back to my old tricks. I already had the leg in my claws when a wounded officer saw me. At once I felt the blood rush to my face, and I released my prey, saying, “Sir Officer, there is no doubt that this meat is excellent and that you can eat it without scruple…” I came home with a clear conscience, but empty-handed. And speaking of other matters, my friend Andrés, they say that Montjuich will finally have to surrender . “So it seems, Señor Don Pablo. The Governor has offered rewards and ranks to the six hundred men of Don Guillermo Nash; but even so, it seems they cannot hold out any longer. Those inside the castle are no longer men, for not one of them has survived intact, and if they hold out for a week, it’s fair to believe that Saint Narcissus will perform a miracle today more prodigious than that of the flies, which occurred six hundred years ago. ” “This morning they told me that those in the castle are no longer in the mood for celebration; but that Governor Mr. Álvarez orders them to resist and resist even more.” as if the poor men were made of iron. The French have raised nineteen batteries against that fortress… so imagine the countless sweets that must have rained down on Don Guillermo Nash’s people. “I don’t need to imagine it, Señor Don Pablo,” I replied, “because I’ve seen it all before, since the Gironella Tower, where I am, doesn’t have any magic wand to prevent the bombs from falling on it. ” The sick woman, rising from her seat without being noticed, approached us. “My daughter,” Nomdedeu said to her with surprise and affection, despite the certainty of not being heard, “your willingness to walk proves to me that you are much better. A few walks around the outskirts of the city will make you as good as new. Oh, Andrés!” she added, turning to me, “I would give ten years of my life to be able to take ten walks with my daughter along the Salt road.” For many months she had remained in a pitiful prostration, and now her nature, feeling itself reborn, sought movement and wanted to shake off its deadly drowsiness. Josefina paced the room with a light step, her cheeks tinged with the faintest crimson. “Oh, what joy!” exclaimed Don Pablo. “In a whole year you haven’t walked so far as you have in these three minutes. Look, Andrés, how her face brightens. The blood circulates, the limbs acquire ease and vigor, the dull pupil shines with new ardor, and a rhythmic and energetic breath comes from the oppressed chest. Saying this, my friend embraced and kissed his daughter with enthusiasm. “Here you have, illustrious Marijuán,” he continued with jubilation, “the result of my system.” Everyone said: “Señor Don Pablo Nomdedeu, who is such a good doctor, will not cure your daughter.” And I say: “Yes, you fools: Mr. Pablo Nomdedeu, who is a bad doctor, will cure your daughter.” My daughter is better, my daughter is well, and with a few months’ stay in Castellá… The sick woman, in fact, showed some animation. Seeing her father’s demonstrations, she made and repeated energetic signs that I didn’t understand. Her hearing loss had taken away her habit of expressing herself through words, thereby imperceptibly acquiring the rapid facial and manual mobility of the deaf-mute. Only in difficult cases and when she wasn’t understood did she instinctively resort to using her tongue, expressing her ideas with a certain obscurity, and always with rapidity and little harmony. “I want to get dressed,” she said, waving her footmuff. “Why, daughter? ” “Aren’t we going to Castellá this afternoon? I saw two horses in the courtyard… I saw them. ” Nomdedeu made painful negative signs with his head. “Those horses,” he told me, “are mine and Don Marcos’s neighbor’s, going to the slaughterhouse. ” Josefina ran to the window overlooking the courtyard, then returned to our side. “I want to go out… street!” she exclaimed vehemently. “My child,” said Don Pablo, associating the signs with the word, ” you know it’s been raining. The floors are full of mud. It won’t do you any good. Take my arm and let’s take a few walks from the living room to the kitchen and from the kitchen to the living room. ” Josefina showed immense annoyance and looked disconsolately out at the street. “You have a big commitment here,” the doctor told me, pulling at a lock of hair. The unfortunate girl, looking at the sky through the glass, exclaimed: “How beautiful… the sky! ” “That’s true,” replied her father. “But… it’s better for you to sit down in your little armchair. Why don’t you have something to eat? Look… one of these little buns.” Josefina ran to her seat and sank down, pushing away with disgust the sweets her father offered her. Then she shook her head from side to side, closing her eyes, and uttering these words that fell upon her father’s heart like bombs in a besieged city: “War in Gerona!… War in Gerona again! ” Nomdedeu, not daring to contradict her, had sat down next to her, and with his head in his hands, he was crying like a child. Chapter 7. Montjuich surrendered two days after the events I’ve described. What could those four hundred men, who had been nine hundred and were now walking, do if they weren’t any? On August 12, the castle garrison consisted of about three or four hundred men, some without legs, others without arms. Montjuich was a heap of dead, and the strangest thing about it was that Álvarez insisted it could still defend itself. He wanted them all to be like him, that is, a man to attack and a statue to suffer; but that couldn’t be the case, because from Don Mariano’s stuff, God had made Don Mariano, and then said: “Enough, we’ll do no more.” The castle surrendered after the few serviceable cannons were mounted, and in the afternoon of that day we saw what had been the garrison parade, most of them marching to the hospital. We all wanted to see Luciano Anció, the drummer who, after losing an entire leg, continued for a long time signaling the exit of the bombs with drumbeats; but Luciano Anció had died shaking his drum while his arms were pressed against his body. It was pitiful to see those people, and I said to Siseta, who had gone with the three boys to St. Peter’s Square: “I’ll be with these half-men soon, Siseta, because since they’ve finished with Montjuic, now they’re going to attack Gironella Tower , whose walls haven’t yet fallen… completely.” The French didn’t wait until the next day to attack the city, which was within their grasp once they had the great fortress, and from the same night they began to raise batteries on all sides. They made such a haste that in a few days we saw countless mouths of fire above, below, on the mountain and on the plain, against the wall of St. Christopher and the Puerta de Francia. The Governor, who was well aware of the weakness of those marzipan walls, ordered works like those in Zaragoza to be carried out: excavations everywhere , parapets, ditches, and earthen walls at the weakest points. The women and the elderly worked on this, and I took my three children to St. Peter’s Square , who were making a lot of noise without doing anything. At night, they returned home completely covered in filth and with their clothes in tatters. “Here I bring you these three gentlemen,” I said to Siseta, “so you can review them.” She became angry seeing them so defeated and wanted to hit them; but I restrained her, saying: “If they went to work, it was because Governor Don Mariano Álvarez de Castro ordered it. They are all three very good patriots, and if it weren’t for them, I don’t think the excavation that blocks the passage on Calle de la Barca would have been finished today. Do you see?” That arroba of mud that Gasparó has on his head is because he also tried to get his hands in the flour, and climbing onto the parapet, he then rolled to the bottom of the ditch, from where they pulled him out with a hoe. Siseta, hearing this, began to sing to him at one point, urging him in forceful words on the advisability of not taking part in the fortification works. “Do you see this welt Manalet has on his cheek and right temple?” I continued, saving Gasparó from his sister’s injustices . “Well, it was because he got too close to the Governor when he was going with the Intendant and all the staff to examine the works. These little creatures, not content with seeing him up close, got into the group, tangling themselves between Don Mariano ‘s legs in such a way that they wouldn’t let him walk. An aide was scaring them away; but they returned like flies at Saint Narcissus, until finally, tired of the game, the officers began to distribute blows, and one of them fell on your brother Manalet’s face. “Oh, what children!” exclaimed Siseta. “They all want the siege to end so they can live, and I want it to end so there can be a school. ” Meanwhile, the three patriots turned their ardent eyes in every direction , in whose pupils shone the ray of a vigorous and demanding life; they looked at their sister and at me, paying special attention to the movements of my hands, to see if I would put them in my pockets. “Siseta,” I said, “is there nothing to eat? Look, these three captains-general are trying to swallow me up with their eyes. And really, how can they serve the country if they don’t have some weight on their shoulders? ” “There’s nothing,” said the girl, sighing sadly. “We’ve finished what you brought last week, and for two days now, Señora Sumta hasn’t given me a crumb because it seems that provisions upstairs are also lacking. Will you bring us anything tonight?” My only reply was to fix my eyes on the ground, and for a long time we all remained profoundly silent, not daring to look at each other. I wasn’t carrying anything. “Siseta,” I said at last. “The truth is, I haven’t brought anything today. You know they only give us half a ration, and I had taken two or three in advance, saying they were for a sick person.” This morning a companion gave me a piece of bread… and why deny it? I was so hungry that I ate it. Fortunately for everyone, Mrs. Sumta came down, bringing some crumbs of bread and other leftover food. Chapter 8. Thus days and days passed, and the hardships caused by the siege were compounded by the harshness of the hot season, making our lives even more difficult. Everyone was preoccupied with the defense, but no one cared about the filthy sewers that formed in the streets, nor about the rubble, among whose stones lay the forgotten corpses of men and animals; nor, in general, did the growing shortage of provisions worry people more than at the present moment. Every day the longed-for relief was awaited, and relief never came. Yes, some men arrived, who at night and with great difficulty slipped into the square; but not a single convoy of provisions appeared during the entire month of August. What a month, good Lord! Our life revolved on an axis whose two poles were fighting and not eating. On the walls, it was necessary to be constantly firing, because the scarcity of the garrison didn’t allow for relief, and the Governor, as an enemy of rest, wouldn’t let us catch a bad night’s sleep. There slept only the dead. This continuous work meant that during that fateful month I went for up to eight days without seeing my beloved children and Siseta, who thought I was dead. When I finally saw them, it was almost difficult for them to recognize me at first: such was my exhaustion and weakness from the long vigils, the hunger, and the constant struggle. “Siseta,” I said, embracing her, “I am still alive even if it doesn’t seem so. When I remember the enormous number of my comrades who have fallen, never to rise again, it seems to me that my poor body is also among yours, and that this thing with me is a phantom that will frighten people. How are you getting food around here?” “With the money I had left from what you gave me, we bought some horsemeat. They sent us some from above, because the sick young lady won’t eat from these dishes they’re using now. Mr. Nomdedeu is going crazy, I see, and yesterday he was here all day stuffing two chicken skins with straw, with which he makes his daughter believe she’s received fresh birds from the market. Then he gives her horsemeat , and, giving her written speeches, makes her eat a few slices. Madame Sumta went out yesterday with her rifle and came back saying she’d killed I don’t know how many Frenchmen. The three boys haven’t let me breathe these past eight days. Do you believe that yesterday they climbed onto the roof of the cathedral, where the two cannons the Governor ordered to be placed are ? I don’t know how they climbed up; but I think it was through the ceilings of the cloister.” What you won’t believe is that Manalet came yesterday very proud because a bullet had grazed his right arm, leaving a regular wound, so he had a piece of paper stuck with saliva over the graze. Badoret limps on one foot. I want to stop the little one; but he always runs away, going off with his brothers, and yesterday he brought a A bomb about half a cup full of rice grains he picked up from the stream… And what have you heard? Is it true that help is coming from Olot? Señor Nomdedeu thinks about nothing else , and at night, when he hears a noise in the streets, he gets up and, leaning out of the courtyard window, says: “Neighbor, those people passing by seem to have called for help.” “What I can tell you, Siseta, is that this morning some troops will leave here through the Hermitage of the Angels, and it is said that they will delay the French on one side while the convoy enters on the other. ” “God willing, it all goes well.” We were saying this when a loud noise of voices was heard in the street. I immediately opened
the door and soon found some companions who, having been quartered in the nearby houses, came out when they heard the roar of running and voices. Mrs. Sumta also appeared before me, rifle slung over her shoulder, her face as pleasant as if she had just returned from a party. “We have the relief here,” said the warrior, resting her rifle on the ground with martial abandon. At once, the bust of Mr. Nomdedeu appeared in the high window, unable to contain his joy as he shouted: “Relief has arrived! Good news, people of Girona! Mrs. Sumta, come up and tell me everything. But has the convoy already arrived? Bring everything you find immediately, no matter what price they sell it for. ” A soldier, a friend and companion of mine, told us: “The convoy hasn’t entered the square yet, nor do we know when or from where it will enter. ” “The truth is that towards Brunolas, a strong fire can be heard, a sign that Don Enrique O’Donnell is fighting the French there. ” “Shooting can also be heard near Los Ángeles, where they say Llauder is.” The convoy will enter through the Mercadal, if I’m not mistaken. “Señora Sumta,” said Don Pablo from the window, “go up and accompany my daughter while I go and find out what’s going on; but leave those military trappings outside, and put on your apron and goggle. In the meantime, light the fire, put water in the pots, and if you go get the provisions, I’ll peel the six potatoes I bought today, and do everything else that’s necessary in the kitchen.” These conferences didn’t last long, because the summons sounded and we ran to the wall, where we had the indescribable satisfaction of hearing the lively fire of the French, suddenly attacked from the rear by O’Donnell’s and Llauder’s troops. To aid those who came to our rescue, all the pieces were fired, a lively rifle fire was opened from all the walls, and from various points we went out to harass the besiegers, thus facilitating the entry of the convoy. Finally, while a fierce battle raged toward Brunolas in which the French took the worst of it, two thousand pack animals quickly entered through Salt, guarded by four thousand men under the command of General Jaime García Conde. What immense joy! What frenzy the arrival of the relief produced among the inhabitants of Gerona! The entire town went out into the street at dawn to see the mules, and if those four-legged creatures had been intelligent beings , they would not have been received with more affectionate demonstrations, nor with such a generous burst of applause and cheers. As I passed through Cort Real Street, late in the day, I ran into Siseta, the three boys, and Don Pablo Nomdedeu, and we all embraced, communicating our joy more with gestures than words. “Gerona is saved,” we said. “Now let the pigs tighten the siege,” exclaimed Don Pablo. “Two thousand pack animals! We have enough provisions for a year. ” “I was right,” added Siseta, “that it had to come from somewhere. That day and the following ones, great joy reigned in the square, and the French even harassed us slightly, because they delayed for a few days occupying the positions they had abandoned because of the trick played on them. As for the aid, after At first glance, we all realized that the very same people who had brought them to us would take them away from us, because the garrison, reinforced by Conde’s four thousand men, were helping us consume our provisions. The fatal dilemma of all besieged cities! Few mouths to eat give few arms to fight. A large number of arms brings a large number of mouths: so that if we are few, the enemy’s art defeats us; if we are many, hunger overcomes us. The entire military art of sieges is truly based on this contradiction. This is what I said to Don Pablo a few days after the arrival of the two thousand pack animals, announcing that we would soon be left without food again , to which he replied: “I have made great provisions. But if the siege continues much longer, they will also run out. Now, they say, Álvarez will make a great effort to rid us of that rabble. ” You already know that with cannon fire they have opened a breach in Santa Lucía, Alemanes , and San Cristóbal. From one day to the next they will attempt an assault. Will it be possible to resist , Andrés? I will go to the breach like everyone else. But what can we, unfortunate countrymen, do against the onslaught of such a fierce enemy? From those days until September 15, when Don Mariano arranged a most daring sortie, there was no talk of anything but preparations for the great effort, and the friars, the women, and even the children spoke of the feats they planned to accomplish, the dangers they would endure, and the difficulties they would face, with such feverish anxiety and novelty as if they were awaiting a festival. I told Siseta to prepare to take part with her fellow members in the grand performance; but she, who always refused to wear the bustier of heroic actions, replied with laughter and jokes that it was of no use to the task. but if they took her into battle by force, she would try to kill some Frenchman with the blacksmith’s tongs. The sortie on the 15th only emboldened the “swine” lords, who, eager to end the siege by taking the city, attacked us on the 19th, assaulting the wall from various points with four formidable columns of two thousand men. In Gerona that morning, the enthusiasm and anxiety were so great that we even forgot that we were once again short of a piece of bread to eat. The soldiers maintained their serene and imperturbable demeanor; but among the peasants, a hallucination was evident, something like intoxication, which was not natural before a triumph. The friars, rushing in groups outside their convents, went to demand that the most dangerous position be pointed out to them; The city’s serious lords, some of whom dated back to the second third of the previous century, also ran around with their hunting rifles, their animated countenances revealing the presumptuous belief that they were going to do everything. Less boisterous and more reasonable than these, the members of the Girona Crusade did their best to imitate the troops in their calm equanimity. The ladies of the Santa Barbara Battalion gave themselves no time to rest, yearning to prove with their tireless comings and goings that they were the soul of the defense; the boys shouted, believing that in this way they resembled the men, and the old men, very old men, who had been eliminated from the defense by the Governor, shook their heads with incredulous and disdainful expressions, implying that nothing could be done without them. The nuns threw open the doors of their convents, simultaneously breaking bars and vows; They arranged their virginal cells, never trodden by a man’s footsteps, to collect the wounded , and some went out in phalanxes to the street, presenting themselves to the Governor to offer their services, once the national interest had temporarily altered the rigors of the holy institute. Inside the churches a thousand candles burned before a thousand saints; but there were no services of any kind, because the priests, like the sacristans, were in the wall. In short, all life, from the religious to the domestic, was in turmoil, and the city was not the city of other days. No kitchen was smoking, no mill was grinding, no workshop was operating, and the disruption of the ordinary was complete across the entire social spectrum, from the highest to the lowest. The strange thing was that there was no confusion in this spontaneous overflow of Girona’s civic spirit; for alongside this, subordination shone. Truly, Don Mariano knew how to establish it rigorously, and he did not allow excesses or abuses of any kind, being inexorably energetic against anyone who strayed from their designated place. The bells rang out in a row, with the town’s boys taking over the service in the absence of the bell ringers, and the French cannon began to deafen the air very early. Drums rolled through the streets, beating their warlike music, and the flashes of parabolic fireworks began to cross the sky. Everything was perfectly organized, and everyone went straight to their place, not needing to ask anyone where it was. Without its inhabitants leaving, the city was abandoned; that is, no one cared about the burning house, the collapsed roof, the homes constantly destroyed by the horrible bombardment. Mothers took their infants with them , leaving them sheltered behind a wall or a pile of rubble while they carried out the task entrusted to them by the Santa Bárbara Institute . Except for those where someone was sick, all the houses were deserted, and furniture and mattresses, rags and cauldrons in a jumbled heap obstructed the Oil and Wine Squares. Chapter 9. I was in Santa Lucía, where there were many troops and civilians. There I met Don Pablo Nomdedeu, who said to me: “Andrés, my duties as a doctor and my duty as a patriot oblige me to leave my daughter’s side today. I have lectured Mrs. Sumta at length to stay home; but that tomboy threatened to denounce me to the Governor as a lukewarm patriot if I persisted in diverting her from the path of glory where events are leading her. Look at her: there she is among those artillerymen, and she will be able to serve the 12-pounder alone if they let her. Good old Siseta has stayed behind to keep my dear little sick girl company. I have already told her that I will give her a nice present if she can keep the child entertained so that she will not understand anything of what is happening .” It’s a difficult task, even though he can’t even hear the cannon shots… I’ve nailed all the windows shut so he can’t look out, and, leaving the room closed to sunlight, I’ve lit the lamp, making him believe there’s a violent storm of thunder and lightning. Unless a bomb falls right there or nearby, he’ll probably understand nothing, deceived by the profound and healthy silence in which his mind rests. My God, take my tribulations away from me and free my home from enemy fire! If you must take away the only consolation I have on earth, give him a peaceful death, and don’t disturb his last moment with the cruel agony of terror! If he’s to go to heaven, let him go without knowing hell, and may this angel not see demons at his side at the moment of his death! Lady Sumta, pushing from side to side with her muscular arms, came to us, speaking thus to her master: “What are you doing there, my lord, like a Sunday boy?” “But don’t you have a rifle, a shotgun, pistols, or saber? Yes… you only have the tool to cut off the arms and legs of anyone who needs it. ” “I am a doctor, not a soldier,” replied Don Pablo. “My gear is bandages and ointment; my weapons are the scalpel, and my only glory is leaving crippled those who should be corpses. But if necessary, bring me a rifle, and I will cure Spaniards with one hand and kill Frenchmen with the other. ” We had as our leader in Santa Lucía one of the bravest men in this war: an Irishman named Don Rodulfo Marshall, who had come to Spain without anyone bringing him, just for the pleasure of defending our country. Holy cause. Adventurer or not, Marshall, given his bravery, must have been Spanish. He was rosy-cheeked, corpulent, with a festive countenance and a fiery gaze, somewhat similar to that of Don Juan Coupigny whom we saw at Bailén. He spoke our language poorly; but although some of his swear words made us laugh, they were spoken clearly enough to be understood, and it didn’t matter that he destroyed Castilian as long as he also destroyed the French, as he did on several occasions. You should have seen the pressure of those columns of “swine,” gentlemen. They seemed nothing more than hungry wolves, whose objective was not to defeat us, but to devour us. They threw themselves blindly at the breach, and there at us to block it. Twice they entered through it, ready to throw us out of the curtain; but God willed that we should throw them out. Why ? How? This is something I won’t be able to answer if you ask me. I only know that we didn’t care at all about dying, and that perhaps says it all. Don Mariano appeared there, and don’t think he harangued us by talking about glory and the national cause, the King, or religion. Nothing of the sort. He placed himself in the front line, unleashing saber blows on those who tried to advance, and at the same time he said to us: “The troops behind have orders to fire on those in front if they retreat even one step.” His grim expression terrified us more than the entire enemy army. When some commander told him not to approach so close to danger, he replied: “Seize your duty, and don’t worry so much about me. I’ll be where it’s convenient.” He then marched to another point, where he thought he was needed, and without him we were stunned again. That man carried with him a miraculous light, which allowed us to see the place better and measure our movements and those of the French, so that they couldn’t rush us. The enemy soldiers died like flies at the foot of the breach; but our own fell by the dozens as well. I remember that a beloved comrade of mine was wounded in the chest and fell beside me in one of the moments of greatest distress, of the most intense fire, of true anguish, and when a slight reinforcement from one side or the other would have decided whether the wall faced France or Spain. The unfortunate boy tried to get up, but in vain. Two nuns approached, scorning the fire, and pulled him away. But the most sensitive loss was that of the commander, Don Rodulfo Marshall. I have the glory of having picked him up in my arms at the very breach , and I will never forget what he said shortly afterward, lying in the street at the moment of his death: “I die happy for such a just cause and for such a brave nation.” When this happened, the French were already indicating that they had given up entering the city from that side. And they were right, because we were increasingly determined not to let them in. If we couldn’t hold them back with gunfire, we stabbed them mercilessly; And as if this were not enough, we still had the stones from the wall at hand to hurl at their heads. This was a weapon the women wielded with great daring, and from the surrounding countryside pebbles weighing half a quintal rained down on the besiegers. When the performance on the wall of Santa Lucía was over, we could not see each other because the dust and smoke formed a dense atmosphere throughout the city and its surroundings, and the noise produced by the two hundred French pieces spewing fire from various points could not be compared to any noise of earthly engines or storms from heaven. The wall was full of dead people whom we trampled inhumanly as we went from one side to the other, and among them some heroic women were dying, confused with the soldiers and patriots. Lady Sumta was hoarse from shouting, and Don Pablo Nomdedeu, who had thrown many stones, had his fingers bruised; But he did not stop caring for the wounded, helped by many ladies, some nuns, and two or three friars who were not fit to carry a weapon. Suddenly I see a boy coming towards me, doing somersaults, He was shouting at me from a distance, brandishing a stick with the last shred of his beret floating at its tip. It was Manalet. “Where have you been?” I asked him. ” Run home; find out if your sister has had any news, and tell her I’m safe and sound. ” “I’m not going home now. I’m going back to San Cristóbal. ” “And what do you have to do there, in the middle of the fire? ” “The beret has three bullet holes in it,” he said with the greatest pride, showing me the shredded cap. “When it ended up like that, it was on my head. Don’t think it was on the stick, Andrés. Afterwards, I put it here so people could see it full of holes. ” “And your brothers? ” “Badoret was in Alemanes, and now he told me that he alone had killed I don’t know how many thousand Frenchmen, throwing stones at them.” I was in San Cristóbal: a soldier told me he’d run out of bullets, and that I should bring him some cherry pits, and I brought him more than twenty, Andrés. “And Gasparó? ” “Gasparó is always with my brother Badoret. He was also in Alemanes, and although Siseta tried to lock him up in the house, he escaped through the back door. Now we’ve been together, looking for something to eat in that pile of rubbish on Calle del Lobo; but we didn’t find anything. Do you have anything, Andrés? ” “Something, what is that? Is there anything left to eat in Gerona? Here they eat nothing but gunpowder smoke. Have you seen the Governor? ” “He was going up there just now. It seems he’s going to Calvary. We were going down with other boys, and when we saw him, we lined up, shouting: ‘Long live His Majesty Governor Don Mariano!’ Do you think he told us anything like that?” He didn’t even look at us. “Man, how rude! Not to greet such respectable people!” Then Badoret went into the Capuchins, because the door was open. “Andrés, do you know there’s a dead soldier holding a cabbage stalk? If you give me permission, I’ll take it from him. ” “One doesn’t touch the dead, Manalet. We’ll see if, now that we’ve destroyed the French, they’ll give us anything.” Countless women were busy there removing the wounded, and they were also distributing some rations of black bread and very little wine to the healthy. We saw the French retreating across the plain ahead, and we couldn’t repress a feeling of burning pride at seeing such a colossal result with such small means. It truly seemed a miracle that so few men against so many such seasoned men could defend ourselves behind walls whose stones could be torn out with bare hands. We were dying of hunger; they lacked nothing; we could barely handle the artillery; They fired two hundred cannonballs into the square. But alas! They didn’t have a Don Mariano Álvarez who ordered them to die with an inescapable command, and whose mere sight instilled in the troops a singular sentiment that I don’t know how to express, for in him there was, besides courage and self-denial, what might be called a fear of cowardice, a fear of appearing cowardly in the eyes of that extraordinary character. We said that the anvil and hammer with which God forged Don Mariano’s heart had not been used to make any piece afterward. Manalet separated from me, and a short time later I saw him appear with many other boys, all barefoot, dirty, ragged, and covered in soot, among whom came his brother Badoret, carrying Gasparó on his back, whose arms and legs dangled over Manalet’s shoulders and waist. They were all very happy, and especially Badoret, who was distributing some cherries to his companions. “Here, Andrés,” the boy said, giving me a cherry. “You’ll have enough for the whole day. Take this other one and share it with your friends, they ‘ll be really hungry… Do you know how I won them? Well, I’ll tell you. I was walking with Gasparó on my back along Calle del Lobo, and I saw the door of the Capuchin convent open , which is always closed. Gasparó was screaming and screaming and asking me for bread, and I was hitting him with my head to to be quiet, telling him that if he didn’t, I would tell the Governor. But when I saw the convent door open, I said, ” There must be something here,” and I slipped in. I went into the courtyard, then into the church, passed through the choir stall, then into a long corridor where there were many small rooms, and I didn’t see a soul. I searched everything, in case anything fell; but all I found was some candle stubs and two or three skeins of silk, which I sucked to see if they yielded any juice. I was just turning back to the street when I heard behind me: _pist, pist…_ well… as if calling me. I looked and saw nothing. How frightening, Andrés, how frightening! Way at the end of the corridor, there was a large painting on which was painted the devil with a big green tail. I thought it was the devil calling me, and I started to run. But alas! I couldn’t find the way out, and all I was doing was going round and round in that damned corridor. And all of this, _pist, pist…_ Then I heard them say: “Boy, come here,” and I looked so much at the ceiling and the walls that I managed to see behind a grating a white hand and a wrinkled, petite face. I was no longer afraid and went there. The little nun said to me: “Come, don’t be afraid; I have to talk to you.” I approached the grating and said: “Madam, forgive me, Your Grace, I thought you were the devil.” ” It must have been a poor sick nun who couldn’t get out with the others.” “That’s exactly it. The lady said to me: “Boy, how did you get in here? God sent you to do me a great service. The community has left. I am sick and crippled. They wanted to take me; but it grew late and they left me here. I am very afraid. Has the whole city burned down already ? Have the French come in?” Now, half asleep, I dreamed that all the sisters had been slaughtered in the slaughterhouse, and that the French were eating them. Boy, do you dare go right now to the Alemanes fort and give this notice to my nephew, Don Alonso Carrillo, captain of the Ultonia regiment? If you do, I’ll give you this plate of cherries you see here, and this half a loaf of bread… Even if she hadn’t given it to me, I would have, you see… I grabbed the notice; she told me where to go out, and I ran to the Alemanes. Gasparó was screaming even louder; but I told him: “If you don’t shut up, we’ll put you in a cannon like a bullet; we’ll fire, and you’ll end up rolling where the French are, and they’ll boil you in a pot to eat you…” I arrived at Alemanes. What a fire! This place is nothing. The cannonballs were flying around like a flock of birds. “Do you think I was afraid of them? Quia!” Gasparo continued crying and shrieking; but I showed him the lights thrown off by the shells, I showed him the sparks from the muzzle flashes, and I said to him: “Look how beautiful! Now we’re going to fire the cannons too.” A soldier slapped me out, throwing me into a pile of dead people; but I got up and kept going. The Governor came in, and taking a large black flag that looks like a cloth of souls, he waved it in the air, and then he said that anyone who wasn’t brave would be hanged. What was that? I stood in front of it and shouted: “It’s very well done.” Some soldiers ordered me to leave, and the women who were tending the wounded began to insult me, asking why I was carrying this creature there… What a fire! They were dropping like flies: one now, another next … The French wanted to come in, but we wouldn’t let them. ” “You too?” “Yes: the women and the peasants were throwing stones down the wall at the pigs who wanted to climb up. I released Gasparó, placing him on top of a box containing the gunpowder and cannonballs, and I also began to throw stones. What stones! I threw one that weighed at least seven quintals and it hit a Frenchman, splitting him in half. That had something to do with it. There were many French, and nothing more than that they wanted to climb up. You should have seen the Governor there, Andresillo. Don Mariano and I moved forward… and we positioned ourselves where the people were most pressed against each other. I don’t know what I did; but I did something, Andrés. The smoke didn’t let me see, nor did the noise let me hear. What shots! In the same ears, Andrés. One is deaf. I started shouting, calling them pigs, thieves, and saying that Napoleon was a mess. Maybe they didn’t hear me over the noise, but I gave them a hard time. Nothing, Andrés, so as not to tire you out, I was there as long as they didn’t leave. The Governor told me he was satisfied: no, he didn’t say anything to me; he told the others. “And the letter?” “I looked for Mr. Carrillo. I knew him; I finally found him when everything was over. I gave him the note, and he gave me a message for the nun. Then, remembering Gasparó, I went to pick him up where I had left him, but I couldn’t find him. Everything became like shouting: “Gasparó, Gasparó!” but the child was nowhere to be seen. Finally, I saw him curled up under a gun carriage, his fists in his mouth, peering out through the spokes of the wheel, and with every tear… I threw him on my back and ran to the Capuchinas. But here’s the good part: as I was thinking about battles, and with my head full of everything I had seen, I forgot the message Mr. Carrillo had given me for the little nun. She scolded me, telling me that I had torn up the letter and wanted to deceive her, which was why she wasn’t going to give me the plate of cherries or the bread she had offered. She began to growl and called me a bad servant and a beast. Gasparo was bleeding from his toe, and the little nun wrapped a rag around him; but the cherries… no. Finally, everything was arranged because Mr. Carrillo himself arrived, whereupon the lady gave me the cherries and the bread, and I ran out of the convent. “Take this boy to your house so your sister can take care of him,” I said, noticing that poor Gasparó was still bleeding from his foot. “Later,” he replied, “I’ve saved some cherries for Siseta. ” “Boys,” shouted Manalet, who had left his companions and was running back, “the Governor is coming down Ciudadanos Street with a large crowd, carrying many flags; in front of them are the ladies singing, the friars dancing, the bishop laughing, and the nuns crying. Let’s go.
” Like a flock of birds rising and fleeing, so those children ran and flew, leaving the wall of Santa Lucía free of their childish uproar . I didn’t move from there all day, and the ladies distributed us rations of bread and meat, both delicacies of detestable taste and smell; but since there was nothing else, we had to put up with it, without showing disgust, repugnance, or reluctance, so as not to anger Don Mariano. At dusk, as he was marching from Santa Lucía to the Constable, he found Don Pablo Nomdedeu on Zapatería Street, where several wounded men were lying on the ground. “Andrés,” he said to me, “I haven’t returned home yet. Is something wrong? I don’t think a bomb has fallen on Cort Real Street. So many wounded, my God! It has been a glorious day, but it has cost us dearly. Just now the Governor was here visiting these poor people, and he told them that the garrison and the peasants had left behind today the greatest heroes of antiquity. ” “Have you treated many wounded?” “A great many, and there are still quite a few left. My companions and I are multiplying ourselves; but it’s not possible to do more. I wish I had a hundred hands to attend to everything. I too am wounded. A bullet hit my left arm; but it’s nothing to worry about. I’ve wrapped myself up in a mess and haven’t had time for anything else… What has become of my poor daughter? ” “We’ll soon know, Señor Don Pablo. Night is coming. Once the first treatment of these wounded has been given, you can go home for a while, and I hope they’ll give me a leave of absence for an hour. ” Chapter 10. When I went home, around ten o’clock, Don Pablo had still not returned. I left my rifle downstairs and went upstairs without delay, eager to hear from Siseta and the young lady, and at two o’clock I found them in the living room in a not very reassuring attitude. Josefina was leaning back in her chair, showing signs of languor and prostration, but with her eyes open, fixed intently on the door. On her knees beside him, Siseta held his hands, and with tender gestures and words, despite not being I tried to reassure her. “Thank God someone’s coming home,” Siseta told me. “What a day we’ve had! And what about Mr. Pablo, and Mrs. Sumta, and my three brothers?” I replied that no misfortune had befallen any of us, and she continued: “The young lady wanted to go out into the street, and I had to fight with her to stop her. She understands everything, and although she doesn’t hear the cannon shots, she shudders all over and trembles when one is heard, even if it’s very far away. She was now crying and now falling into my arms, fainting, calling out incessantly for her father. The poor thing knows very well that there’s war in Gerona. I’ve been scared too… Imagine: here alone… Every moment it seemed to me that the house was going to collapse. But the worst was that some men came in here… I don’t want to remember, Andrés.” At about two o’clock, when it seemed the shooting had died down, six or seven patriots entered, some in uniform, others out of uniform, and all with rifles. When they saw us, they began to laugh at our fright, and then they began to search the house, saying they wanted to take all the food there was, because the troops were starving. The young lady became as if she were dead when she saw them, and they jokingly pointed their rifles at us so they could hear us shout for help. Although they were barbarians, they didn’t harm us at all except the fright they caused us, and they took everything they found in the kitchen and the pantry. Oh, Andrés! They haven’t left anything that Señor D. Pablo had stored away, and tonight you won’t find even a crumb of bread here to eat. How the damned things laughed as they put everything they had found into a big sack! I begged them to leave something behind; But they pointed their rifles at me again, saying that the troops were hungry, and that Mrs. Sumta had told them that these stores were well stocked. My friend had hardly finished her story when Mr. Don Pablo entered; but rather than present himself to his daughter with his arm stained with blood, he went into an inner room to tidy himself up a bit and bandage his wound. I immediately joined him to tell him what had happened. “God and the Blessed Virgin protect us!” he exclaimed in dismay. “So they’ve looted my house! It’s all the fault of that damned and ever-talking Sumta, who must be going around shouting everywhere whether we have provisions or not. And my daughter? The poor thing will surely understand that she is in the crater of a frightful volcano, and all our antics will be useless to convince her otherwise. We must find something to eat, Andrés; yes, something to eat. My daughter will die of terror; but I don’t want her to die of hunger.” “Nothing can be found in Gerona,” I replied, “especially at this hour. ” “What a calamity! But how is it possible?” she said in the utmost confusion, while I bandaged her wound and she changed her clothes. “Oh! How my arm hurts; but I must pretend not to. Andrés, don’t go. Tonight I need your help… We must find some food.” When he appeared before his daughter, she clearly showed her joy, embracing him affectionately; but immediately her eyes revealed vivid terror, she threw back her head, and crossing her hands , she exclaimed: “Blood! ” “What are you talking about blood, my child?” said the bewildered father. “I’m stained with blood… Yes… yes, there are a few drops on my jacket… but let me tell you. Do you know I went hunting?” The girl didn’t understand. “I went hunting,” Don Pablo wrote on the piece of paper. “A commitment; I couldn’t get away.” The magistrate and Don Pedro took me, and boom, out to the field… I’ve killed three rabbits.” The sick woman, holding her head in her hands, cried: “War in Gerona! ” “What are you talking about war? What’s up is that we had a violent storm today… I’ve changed my clothes because I’m as fat as a grape. Have you eaten well today? ” “You haven’t had anything,” said Siseta. “Your grace will know from Andrés that Some scoundrels looted the house. This was happening when we heard a great rumble in the lower part of the house, not the explosion of bombs and grenades, but a shrill and strident clamor, a thousand discordant noises composed of kicks, snorts, banging, and warlike sounds of various kinds; but which at first revealed themselves to be coming from a crowd of children who had forced their way inside through the doors. Nomdedeu, filled with confusion, looked around , wondering with his eyes what this could be; but soon he and the others were cleared up, seeing a mob of children enter who, shamelessly and without respect for anyone, snuck into the living room, banging, pushing, shrieking, cackling, and yelling in the most discordant tones. Two of them carried pots hanging from their belts, on whose dented bottom they were beating with sticks from old chairs; Several played the trumpet with their noses, and all, to the unbearable music, danced with agile leaps and capers. They looked like an infernal rabble emerging from the schools of Pluto. I need hardly say that at the head of the army came Manalet and Badoret, the latter carrying Gasparó on his back, just as I had seen him on the wall. Not one of them was without a stick, an old cauldron, or a pole with rags hanging from the end, which were used to simulate rifles, drums , and flags. A straw saddle-bottom tied to a rope and dragged along the ground served as a trophy for one, and another adorned his head with a half-destroyed basket. There were also tattered military jackets and helmets of an old design adorned with faded feathers . Don Pablo, blinded by rage and beside himself, apostrophized the boys so violently that they almost lost their warlike enthusiasm. “You scoundrels, get out of here at once,” he said. “What shamelessness is this? Breaking into my house like this!” Siseta, outraged by such audacity, grabbed Manalet by the arm, as he happened to pass by her, and began to beat him pitifully . I also took part in the pursuit of the swarm, and the distribution of blows began right and left. But suddenly we noticed that the sick woman was looking at the shameless boys with complacent attention, and she was smiling with such spontaneity and relief, as if her soul felt inexpressible joy at the spectacle. I pointed this out to Don Pablo, and he immediately sided with the rioters, restraining Siseta, who was charging at them with implacable fury. “Leave them,” said Nomdedeu. “My daughter shows that she is very pleased to see this rabble. Look how she laughs, Andrés; see how she applauds them. All right, boys; run and shout around the room.” And with that, Don Pablo, in the middle of the room, began to keep time. At the wrong time, they were ordered to continue. Good God! What a racket, what a din! It seemed as if the room was collapsing. Suffice it to say that they went so far, allowing themselves to be carried away to the last delirium of mischief, that at last it was necessary to put a stop to all the playing and shouting, for it even came to the point that passersby stopped in the street, surprised and scandalized by such an unusual noise. “Where have you been all day?” “Siseta asked, grabbing Badoret and stopping him. “And the baby has blood on his foot! Come here, damn it, you’ll pay for it all at once. Wait until we get back home, and you’ll see. And you, Manalet, you son of a bitch, what have you done with your shirt? ” “They were treating some wounded men on the Rue des Ballesterias and they had no rags. I took off my shirt and gave it to him. “Why have you brought so many ill-bred boys home?” “They’re our friends, Sister,” replied Badoret. “We’ve been to the Capitol, and there they gave us a little wine. Siseta, I’ve brought you five cherries here in my bosom. ” “Marrano, do you think I’m going to eat them from your filthy hands? Come here, Gasparo. This poor little thing hasn’t eaten anything. What have they done to your foot, that you’re bleeding? ” “Sister, a cannonball passed right where we were, and if Gasparo hadn’t He steps aside, dragging her halfway across; he only grabbed her by the little fingernail. If you could see how brave he was! He got under the cannon and stood there staring at the French who were trying to climb the wall. And he was threatening them with his closed fist. My boy has a fine temper! Well, don’t believe it… not a single Frenchman bothered him. “I’m going to skin you alive,” Siseta told him. “Wait, wait until we come down. Let’s see if all that rabble leaves here soon. ” “No, let them wait a bit,” Don Pablo indicated. “They’re very salty youngsters . Look how happy Josephine is. What I want, Badoret, is for you not to make too much noise. Dance and march from end to end throughout the house; but don’t shout, so as not to scandalize the neighborhood. And tell me, Manalet, have you brought anything to eat?” “I’ve got five cherries,” Badoret said quickly, taking them out of his bosom. “Give me everything you bring discreetly and without my daughter seeing it, and I’ll give you pennies to buy gunpowder. ” “Pauet has four cherries,” Manalet said. “Then come here. ” “And I also have a piece of bread left over from what the nun gave me. ” “Pepet,” said another of my boys, “bring here that half cucumber you took from the dead soldier. ” “I’ll give this piece of cod,” said another, handing the offering into Don Pablo’s hands. “And I’ll give you this raw chicken head,” added a third. In a moment, various delicacies were gathered together, such as stalks of cabbage, which bore the imprint of the clean hands of their generous owners; raw chickpeas that had been scooped out of the holes in the sacks by the finest fingers; some pieces of cured meat; rags of fritters; carrots; two or three candied almonds, which had already been munched many times, and other victuals, as liberally given as they were cheerfully received. Trying to keep his daughter from finding out , Don Pablo called Mrs. Sumta, who had just arrived at that moment, and taking her behind the sick girl’s chair, he said: “Let’s see if you can make a supper for the sick girl with all this. We must make her believe we’re rolling in plenty. ” “What are we to do with this, sir, if not even the cat will want it? There ‘s no shortage of food in the house. ” “Damn sergeant, they’ve taken everything, everything has been looted by those damned soldiers who broke in here! If you weren’t so nosy, so loud-mouthed, and so fond of butting in where you’re not wanted and saying things that no one asks you to say, we wouldn’t be in this situation… And I’ll say no more. Cook up a supper with this, and God will tell you tomorrow. Have you forgotten how to cook?” It’s a pity the rifle didn’t burst in her hands, to see if she’d be cured of her madness! To the kitchen. Phew! Quickly to the kitchen. You’re stinking of gunpowder. The boys, who, like all their age, were the kind to take the lead if given the go-ahead, as soon as they were authorized by the master of the house to do their thing, gave free rein to the boisterous initiative, and it didn’t cause a brawl. Surrounding the table the sick woman had in front of her armchair, they weren’t content with looking at the various objects on it, but put their hands on everything, touching, feeling, and moving whatever they saw. Josefina, far from showing displeasure at such impertinence, laughed at their restlessness. By signs, she indicated to her father that he should give dinner to the importunate visitors, to which Don Pablo replied with words and a certain festive irony: “Yes, now. Sumta is preparing a sumptuous banquet for them.” Father and daughter talked for a while, as God gave them to understand, and finally the sick woman, in a clear and steady voice, spoke thus: “No, you cannot convince me that there is no war in Gerona. You have not gone hunting, but to treat the wounded, and these children who have come imitating the soldiers are now doing the same thing they have seen. ” “You are so talkative!” said Nomdedeu. “That’s a good sign. I haven’t heard you say so many words in a year. It’s clear that the pranks and niceties of these children have revived your spirits. Andrés, and you?” Siseta, let us all laugh, showing ourselves to be very pleased. Following the master’s command, we burst into hearty laughter, immediately joined by the children’s choir. Don Pablo then sat down beside her and, taking his pen, prepared to tell her something serious and lengthy, difficult to convey through signs, since only in this case did Nomdedeu make use of written language. I placed myself behind his seat and was able to read, while he wrote, the following: “My child, you are right. There is war in Gerona. I didn’t want to tell you so as not to frighten you; but since you’ve guessed it, enough with the deceptions and comedies. I have neither been hunting, nor have I thought about it. I am going to tell you what happened so that you do not overestimate or underestimate the events of this great day. It is true that the French have once again besieged Gerona. Some time ago, an army of two hundred thousand men, commanded by the Emperor Napoleon himself, appeared threatening us. »
Josefina, upon reading this, which was of the most important kind, looked at us all, questioning us with her eyes about the accuracy of such news, and we did not need Don Pablo to point this out to make affirmative demonstrations that would have convinced the same doubt. The father continued thus: «You must know that we now have here a Governor called Don Mariano Álvarez de Castro, who, as soon as he saw the French coming, arranged things in such a way that not a single one would be left to tell the tale. He arranged for a Spanish army of 500,000 men, who were there in Aragon without knowing what to do, to come to our aid from the side of Montelibi, precisely when the French were attacking us this morning from the other side. At dawn they opened fire; from the wall of Alemanes you could see Napoleon I mounted on a white horse, and with a very large helmet covered in feathers on his head. The French are charging… Oh! My daughter, you should have seen that! Our soldiers swept them clean away, and when the hour of the battle began, an army of five hundred thousand men appeared like rain, the poor swine didn’t know what saint to pray to. In short, my child, we have given them such a beating that by now they are all on their way to France with their Emperor at their head, which means the war is over, and soon we will have our King Ferdinand here.” Josephine consulted us again before giving credence to such wonders. “I hadn’t wanted to tell you,” continued Nomdedeu, “so as not to frighten you; but the jubilation of the city is so great that not even you, who are so withdrawn, could fail to recognize it. Just like these children, the older ones wander around the town, engaged in displays of delirious joy. Imagine that in the past few days the French, who were around, did not allow food to reach the town, and today everything is in abundance; “And besides what may come, we have everything that has been taken from the enemy, which is, if I’m not mistaken, so many thousands of oxen, I don’t know how many millions of sacks of flour, and thousands upon thousands of chickens, eggs, etc. We can march to Castellá whenever you want…” ” Tomorrow,” Josefina said eagerly. “Yes, tomorrow,” Don Pablo wrote. “We are as we want, and Gerona has never had a happier, more lively season. The people are crazy with joy, and everything turns to singing and dancing, and congratulations and rejoicing. Since the provisions have arrived this afternoon in phenomenal abundance, my daughter, I have brought you everything there is in the square; and although your stomach is still weak, I think you should take everything, as long as it is in very small doses. Above all, I consulted Don Pedro, my companion in the hospital, and he told me that it was advisable to feed you with a great variety of delicacies, taking a very small portion of each, and taking care, as Hippocrates ordered, that they alternate on the same plate the cured meat and the cherries, the fritters with the legume _cicer pisum_, which we call chickpea, and the candied almonds with that salutary plant that is known in science as _Beta vulgaris latifolia_, and that commonly We call chard, a delicacy of great medicinal virtue, if mixed with jam, with nuts, and even a little cod. So get ready for dinner, because tomorrow, if the weather is good, we can go to Castellá; although to tell the truth, my daughter, I now realize that it may be difficult, because all the town’s wagons and horses have been taken by the Junta to organize the great procession and cavalry with which this unparalleled triumph is to be celebrated. But it will take two or three days. You must be brave enough to go out and see the illuminations tonight, although, to be honest, it’s not a good idea for you to take the night watchman. And so that you can share in the common joy, we have Andrés and Siseta here, who will be willing to dance a little sardana and a little tirabou before you with the children, beginning tonight, so that in this house too, the immense satisfaction and patriotic joy that grips the city may be manifest. Since you can’t hear, we’ll do away with the fluviol and the tanora, which only serve to make useless noise. So you can give the signal for the festivities to begin. I’ll go in the dining room for a moment to prepare the rich and abundant dinner with which we’ll entertain these young people, as well as the beautiful and well-behaved children.” And then, turning to Siseta and me, he said: “There’s no other option. We must dance a little, although I suppose, Andrés, that this body, recently arrived from Santa Lucía, won’t be up for sardanas. But, friends, by dancing you are performing a work of charity. Who would have thought it! There are so many ways to practice the Holy Gospel!” Chapter 11. The reader will not believe it; the reader will find it incredible that Siseta and I danced on that gloomy night, precisely at the moments when, several buildings in the city having been burned, the city offered frequent scenes of desolation and anguish within its narrow confines. Forming a large ring with eight children, we danced, yes, obeying the urgent suggestion of that affectionate father who tearfully begged our cooperation in the difficult comedy with which he deceived his daughter’s delicate spirit; but we danced in silence, without music, and our moving, leaping figures had, I know not, a mortuary appearance. Our shadows projected on the wall resembled a dance of ghosts, and the only sounds accompanying that dance were, besides our pacing, the rustling of Siseta’s dresses, the trembling of the floor, and a light, mumbled chant from Badoret, who at the same time made a show of playing the fluviol and the tanora. For my part, I was engaged in a fierce internal struggle with myself to contract and strengthen my spirit in the horrible comedy I was enacting, and Siseta was experiencing similar anguish, as she later told me. Finally, my moral turmoil, combined with exhaustion, made me exclaim, “I can’t take it anymore,” and I threw myself, almost breathless, into an armchair. Siseta did the same. But Josefina, who watched us with inexpressible satisfaction and pleasure, asked us to dance more, and with eloquent glances directed at her father, told us that we were lazy and impolite. You could see the good Don Pablo there, begging us to dance for eternal salvation ; and what were we to do? We danced like fools for the second and third round. Finally, the pretext for rest was that the unfortunate young woman was served the Hippocratic dinner I mentioned earlier, which was accompanied by eloquent mime and oral speeches by Dr. Nomdedeu, who praised his adored patient for the virtues of the repugnant ratatouille, served on nine or ten plates in microscopic portions. All this was a gloomy farce that oppressed the heart, and Don Pablo, who presided over it, the unfortunate Don Pablo, gaunt, haggard, yellow, trembling, seemed to have emerged from the grave and was waiting for the rooster to crow before returning to it. Siseta was crying in secret, and some of the boys, overcome by a powerful sleep and great fatigue, had stretched their limbs and closed their eyes in silence. various points, where each one found more comfort and an easier position. “Sir Pablo,” I said to the doctor, “do not order us to dance anymore, because we ourselves believe we are mad. ” “My children,” he replied, “my heart is broken with pain. I need to be constantly in battle to stem the tears that fall from my eyes. Poor Gerona! Will you exist tomorrow? Will your noble houses be standing tomorrow, and your brave sons alive? I have the spirit for everything: to lament and mourn the death of my native city, and to attend to the care of my poor daughter! What does it cost to act out this farce? Nothing: the poor thing is easily deceived, and since her illness is nothing more than a strong passion of the soul , the cauteries, poultices, tonics, and emollients that I prescribed tonight must be applied to her spirit. We may have saved her life. Do you know what a sad or pleasant impression means in such a delicate, subtly sensitive nature ?” For it means as much as life or death. Yes, my children: if I were not careful to conceal from my daughter the anguish we are experiencing, her soul would weaken to such an extent that the slightest accident would kill her, as a breath of wind extinguishes a light. It is necessary to protect this poor lamp from the air that kills it, and give it the one that gives it life. Thus it goes on, on and on, and who knows if I can save it? Be charitable, then, and try to amuse her. See how she laughs; notice what a lovely color her cheeks have taken. The belief that Gerona is full of happiness, and the hope of soon being taken to Castellá, fortify her and give her new life. Tonight we are doing well; but tomorrow, what will I do, what will I say tomorrow? If food supplies become scarcer every day, as is likely; if famine and epidemic break out, and bombs fall in nearby places, or right here, what comedy will we perform? May God favor and inspire me, for in his infinite mercy nothing is impossible. “I’m dead tired,” I said, seeing that Josefina was asking for more dancing, “and besides, it’s late, and I have to go back to my post.” Siseta could no longer stand, and Señora Sumta, who lay on the floor as motionless as a bag, snored loudly, the distant hum of the cannon echoing in her nasal passages. Badoret, now tired of silently playing the fluviol and the tanora, was sleeping like the other boys. Don Pablo, generous enough not to demand the impossible from us, hastened to oblige the sick woman, who was seized by a certain feverish insomnia, and began to dance in the middle of the room, forming a circle with four of the most alert boys. When I left, the poor gentleman remained doing pirouettes and capers with no skill and with great clumsiness; But his incapacity for dancing, arousing his daughter’s hilarity , induced him to continue dancing. He jumped, raised his arms wildly, dislocated his hands and feet, stumbled every moment, leaning forward or backward; he traced a thousand grotesque and bizarre figures that on another occasion would have made me laugh, and an anguished sweat flowed from his gaunt face, disfigured by the grimaces and expressions forced upon him by the tiring movement and the sharp pains of his wound. I never saw a sight that saddened me so much. Chapter 12. What I have told you was repeated for several days. Then different circumstances arose, and everything changed. The French, chastened by the vigorous and unprecedented defense of September 19, by which they crashed against every point of the wall they tried to breach, did not dare to assault it. They were afraid, let this be said without petulance; They knew that it was impossible to open the gates of Gerona by force of arms, and they stopped in their line of blockade, intending to starve us to death. On September 26, Marshal Augereau, who is said to have distinguished himself in the Wars of the Republic and in Roussillon, arrived in the enemy camp; he brought with him more troops, who, surrounding us very closely on all sides, They sealed it up so that not even a fly could get in. I need hardly tell you that the few provisions they had dwindled until nothing remained, without the Governor attaching any apparent importance to this, for every hour he became more and more determined in his theme that Gerona would not surrender while he lived, even if half the population succumbed to the pains of hunger and the fevers that were developing as they went without food. It was no longer possible to think of relief unless it came from the air. We no longer had the sad recourse of seeking death within the walls, because they took no care to assault them; it was necessary to cross our arms and let ourselves die, gazing at the impassive effigy of Don Mariano Álvarez, whose lively eyes never stopped, scanning our faces here and there , to see if any of them bore any trace of discouragement or cowardice. We were morally imprisoned in the steely grip of his character, and we were unable to utter a complaint or a sigh, nor to make a movement that displeased him, nor to give the impression that we loved liberty, life, and health. In short, we feared him more than all the French armies put together. To die in the battle is not only glorious, but also, to a certain extent, pleasurable. Battle intoxicates like wine, and delicious smoke and vapors rise to the head, erasing from our minds the idea of ​​danger and from our hearts the sweet love of life. But dying of hunger in the streets is horrible, desperate, and in the gloomy agony no consoling sentiment or cheerful thought cheers the soul, irritated and furious against the wretched body that is slipping away. In battle, the sight of a comrade cheers; in hunger, a fellow man is a hindrance. It’s the same as in a shipwreck: one hates one’s neighbor, because salvation, whether it’s a board or a piece of bread, must be shared among many. The month of October arrived, and everything was gone, gentlemen: the flour, the meat, the vegetables. All that remained was some spoiled wheat, which couldn’t be ground. Why couldn’t it be ground? Because we ate the horses that turned the mills. Men were hired; but the men, exhausted from hunger, fell to the ground. The only recourse was to eat the wheat as beasts eat it: raw and whole. Some pounded it between two stones and made cakes, which they baked in the embers of the fires. There were still a few donkeys left; but the fodder was gone, and then the little animals gathered together in pairs and sustained themselves by eating each other’s manes. It was necessary to kill them before they grew thinner. And finally, donkey meat, the most tasteless of all meats, was gone too. Many neighbors had planted vegetables in their yards, in pots, and even in the streets; but the vegetables didn’t grow. Everything died, Humanity and Nature; everything was barren within Girona, and a horrific war began between the various orders of life, destroying each other from the greatest to the least. It was a war to the death in the starving animal world, and if a superior being had existed alongside man, we would have been hunted and devoured. I suffered the cruelest punishments, not only for myself, but for the unfortunate Siseta and her three brothers, who lacked absolutely everything. The boys were the best off at first, because they went out into the street, and wandering around or snooping here and there, they always brought something back ; But Siseta, poor Siseta, had no one to protect but me, and I was driven mad trying to find sustenance for her. There were, indeed, some provisions in the plaza, and there were small fish from the Onyar that looked more like insects than fish, and squalid birds that were hunted from the rooftops; there was also some mule and dog meat; but to acquire these items, money was needed, a lot of money, and we didn’t have any. The ration of dried wheat had become as repugnant to us as poison. Don Pablo Nomdedeu spent all his savings to provide his daughter with a poor meal, and he was one of those who gave sixteen or twenty pesos for a hen, when some peasant, braving a thousand dangers and overcoming A thousand obstacles, but I managed to enter the Plaza. In the days of great famine, Mrs. Sumta did not go down to Siseta’s house, and the boys would dry their eyes, looking at the stairs to see if any manna was coming down. The day also came when Badoret, Manalet, and Gasparo grew tired of their wanderings in the streets, because vagrant boys were being expelled from everywhere because of the bad reputation that existed regarding the cleanliness of their hands. Thin and almost naked, my three brothers, or my three sons, for that is what I always treated them as, inspired profound compassion, and forming a pitiful group around Siseta, they would remain for long hours in silence, without games or laughter, as grave as decrepit old men, inert and broken, with no more semblance of life than the brightness of their large black eyes, full of anxious eagerness. Siseta looked at them as little as possible, wishing to maintain the calm she had imposed on herself as a duty, and even dared to show severity, mistakenly believing that in such a predicament, moral strength was of some use. I went three days without seeing them because my obligations prevented me from going to the house. When I went, I found them in the situation I have described. I certainly admired the fortitude of the poor children, intelligent enough not to bother us by demanding what they knew we could not give them. Only Gasparo, eating his fists and drinking their tears, lacked the circumspection maintained by his brothers. There came a moment when Siseta, unable to contain her grief, began to weep bitterly, then searching the farthest corners of the house to see if by some miracle some food could be found. I went out, came back in, went out again, and returned, after turning around a thousand times, with the terrible realization that I could find nothing. Suddenly a saving thought occurred to me. “Siseta,” I said to my friend. “I haven’t seen Pichota for days, but I suppose she’s out there somewhere with her three kittens. ” “Oh!” she answered me sorrowfully. “Don’t you know that Mr. D. Pablo has finished off the whole family? Poor Pichota! He says it’s excellent meat , but I think I’d die of hunger before eating it. ” “Is Pichota dead?” I didn’t know. And the three little angels too?… ” “I didn’t want to tell you. During these last few days that you’ve been away from home, Mr. Pablo came down frequently. One day he knelt before me, begging me to give him something for his daughter, as he no longer had any provisions, nor money to buy them. As he was saying this, one of the kittens jumped on my shoulder, and Mr. Pablo, quickly grabbing it, put it in his pocket. The next day he came down again and offered me the furniture in his living room if I would give him another of Pichota’s children. Without waiting for my reply, he went into the kitchen, then into the darkroom, lay in wait, and just as a cat hunts a mouse, so he hunted the cat. When he came out, I had to treat the scratches on his face. The third died in the same way, and after that, Pichota disappeared from the house, perhaps because she realized she was not safe. Siseta and I agreed that it was urgent to pray, hoping that, through our prayers, God would send us, through his mysterious ways, something we so desperately needed. But we prayed, and God sent us nothing. Chapter 13. I was meditating on the poor animal’s desertion when Nomdedeu suddenly appeared . His appearance was extremely gaunt and cadaverous, having lost through physical and mental suffering even that kind expression and the sweet accent that distinguished him. His dress was disheveled and torn, and he was carrying a hunting rifle and a long hunting knife. “Siseta,” he said brusquely, forgetting to greet me, even though we hadn’t seen each other for some days. “I know where that rascal Pichota is. ” “Where is she, Mr. Pablo?” “In the attic at the back of the courtyard, which served as a hayloft and barn when I had a horse. ” “Perhaps it isn’t her,” my friend said in her generous desire to save to the poor animal. “Yes, it’s her; I tell you it’s her. I can’t help but notice Pichota. The little rascal jumped through the pantry window this morning and stole a ham I had there. What nerve! Eating the flesh of her own child. We must put an end to that animal. Siseta, I’ve already given you a large part of my furniture in exchange for the young rabbits. I have nothing left of value except my medical books. Do you want them in exchange for the cat? ” “Sir Pablo, I won’t take either the furniture or the books; take Pichota, and since we’re reduced to such extremities, give some to my brothers. ” “Very well,” replied Nomdedeu. “Andrés, do you dare to hunt that terrible animal? ” “I don’t think so much military equipment is necessary,” I replied. “Well, I do. Let’s go.” Badoret and his brother wanted to follow us; But Siseta restrained them, telling them not to be curious or nosy; and the doctor and I alone went up to the attic, entering slowly and cautiously for fear of being attacked by the rabid butcher, whom hunger and the instinct of self-preservation must have given extraordinary ferocity. Don Pablo, to ensure that our prey wouldn’t escape, closed the door from the inside , and we were left in almost complete darkness, for the weak light that entered through a narrow window only clarified the gloomy room when our eyes gradually lost the glare of the outside light. A multitude of objects, old and shattered furniture, obstructed a good part of the room, and thick cobweb curtains floated over our heads, covered with the dust of a century. When we began to see the contours and the dark hues of the room, we searched with our eyes for the fugitive; but we saw nothing, nor was there any sound that indicated her presence. I expressed my doubts to Don Pablo, but he said to me: “Yes, she’s here. I saw her come in a moment ago. We moved some empty crates; we threw aside pieces of a chair and a small barrel, and then we heard the brush of a body sliding along the back of the room, trampling over the piled-up objects. It was Pichota. In the dark depths, we saw her two gold-green pupils, watching with fierce anxiety the movements of her pursuers. “Do you see her?” said the doctor. “Take my shotgun and shoot her. ” “No,” I replied, laughing. “It’s very easy to miss the aim. A rifle’s no use in this case. Stand on that side and give me the knife.” The two pupils remained motionless in their initial position, and that greenish-golden light, which is unlike the irradiation of any other gaze or any stone, produced a strong impression of terror in me. Then I made out the bulk of the animal, and its brownish and black spots on yellow multiplied before my eyes, expanding its body to the proportions of a tiger. I was afraid—why deny it with childish pride?—and for a moment I regretted having undertaken such a difficult task. Don Pablo, who was more afraid than I, was giving his teeth to the sword. We held a council of war, from which the result was that we should take the offensive; but just as we were gaining some courage, we heard a dull snore, a noise somewhere between a cooing and a death rattle, which announced Pichota’s hostile dispositions. In her language, the cat was saying to us: “Assassins of my children, come here, I’ll wait for you.” Pichota, who had first been in the sphinx-like posture, crouched down, placing her angular head on her front paws, and then her gaze changed, emitting a blue light projected from two vertical stripes. She seemed to frown grimly. Then it raised its head; it ran its paws over its face, cleaning its long whiskers, and turned around a few times, then came down to a closer spot, where it assumed a jumping position. The muscular strength of these animals in the joints of their hind legs is immense, and from its position it could leap right up to us. I noticed that the animal’s gaze was directed more directly at Don Pablo than at me. “Andrés,” he said to me, “if you’re afraid, I’ll go after her. It’s a disgrace that such a small animal should frighten two men like this . Yes, Señora Pichota, we’ll eat you.” It seems the animal heard and understood these threatening words, because my friend had hardly finished uttering them when, with extreme lightness, it launched itself at him, seizing him by the neck and shoulders. The struggle was brief, for the cat had already exerted the full force of its offensive power, so that the rest of the combat could not but be in our favor. I rushed to my friend’s defense, and the animal fell to the ground, taking some fragments of the good doctor’s person in its claws and inflicting some damage on my right hand. It then ran in different directions; but as it launched itself at me, I had the good fortune to catch it with the point of my hunting knife, which put an end to the unequal combat. “This animal is more fearsome than I thought,” Don Pablo told me, taking hold of the throbbing body. “Now, Mr. Nomdedeu,” I indicated, “we will divide the prey like brothers. ” The doctor made a grimace that indicated his deep displeasure, and wiping the blood from his neck, he said to me in an aggressive tone that I had heard for the first time from his lips: “What does this mean, ‘divide’? Siseta hired Pichota from me in exchange for my books. Do you know that my daughter didn’t eat anything yesterday? ” “We are all children of God,” I replied, “and Siseta and those downstairs have to eat too, Don Pablo. ” Nomdedeu scratched his head, making rather ugly twitches with his mouth and nostrils; and taking the animal by the neck, he said to me: “Andrés, don’t bother me. Siseta and her scoundrel brothers can feed themselves with any scraps they find in the street; but my sick girl needs some care.” After today comes tomorrow, and after tomorrow the day after. If I give you half a Pichota now, what will my daughter eat in a couple of days? Andrés, let’s have a peaceful holiday. Go find something to give your children somewhere; they ‘ll be satisfied with gnawing on a bone; but please don’t touch my Pichota. In this way, the heart of that kind and simple man was filled with selfishness, obeying the law of great public calamities, in which, as in shipwrecks, a friend has no friend, nor is it known what the words neighbor and fellow man mean. Listening to Don Pablo, the same selfish sentiment about life awoke in me, and I saw in him a hated sharer of the lifeline. “Mr. Nomdedeu,” I exclaimed with sudden anger, “I said Pichota will break, and there’s no other way but that it will break.” The doctor, upon hearing this resolute resolution, looked at me with profound aversion for a few seconds. His lips trembled without uttering a word; he turned pale, and then, with a sudden gesture, he pushed me back forcibly. I felt my blood, scorched, rush to my brain; a sudden shudder circulated through my body and my nerves were on edge. Clenching my fists, I stretched out my hands almost touching Nomdedeu’s face and cried: “So, Pichota won’t break? So much the better. So much the better, because she’s all mine. What have I to do with Miss Josephine, or with her ridiculous ailments? Give her cobwebs.” Nomdedeu ground his teeth and, without answering, went straight to the animal, which was lying on the ground, bleeding to death. I made the same movement; our hands touched; we struggled for a brief moment; I brought my fists down upon him, and Nomdedeu rolled on the ground for a long way, leaving me in complete possession of the prey. “Thief!” he cried. “Is this how you steal what is mine? Wait and see.” Picking up the victim, I was ready to leave. But Nomdedeu ran, or rather, leaped like a cat, to where the shotgun lay, and seizing it, he pointed it at my breast, saying in a trembling, hoarse voice: “Andrés, you scoundrel! Let it go, or I’ll kill you.” I looked around for my hunting knife, but Don Pablo already had it in his belt. I ran to the attic door and could not open it; a terror that I could not overcome suddenly came over me, and I jumped mechanically, Without knowing what I was doing, I headed toward the empty drawers, the old furniture, and the pile of junk where Pichota had appeared. My feet sank between rickety boards, whose nails hurt me, and my head hit the beams of the roof, causing dust, moths, and the disgusting filth deposited by two centuries to fall. “Barbarian,” I shouted from above, “you’ll pay for this all at once.” But Nomdedeu followed behind me, aiming for aim, and with a firm foot he trod the broken boards. I ran from one end to the other, followed by him, and we went around several times, up, down, sinking, and rising in the gorges, labyrinths, and twists of that cavern. Finally, the shot having gone off, Nomdedeu extended his snout like an avid hunter, to see if he had hit me. Fortunately, the bullet missed me. “He hasn’t touched me,” I said with furious joy, preparing to fall upon my enemy. But he instantly drew his knife, and in a tone more frantically joyful than mine, shouted from the middle of the garret: “Come, come!… Thief, you want to starve my daughter to death!… Let go of Pichota; let go of her, you wretch.” And without waiting for me to attack him, he ran towards me. He filled me with greater panic than when he had been chasing me with the shotgun, and again we flung ourselves into the miniature precipices, stumbling and jumping, I in front, he behind; I screaming, he roaring, until, exhausted from fatigue, I fell among the shattered planks that impeded all movement. I found myself weak and recognized myself as a coward, feeling incapable of fighting that fury, a metamorphosis of the meekest, most generous, and most humanitarian man I had ever known. “Mr. “Don Pablo,” I said, “take Pichota. I can’t take it anymore. You’ve turned into a tiger.” Without answering me, and showing the horrible agitation and crisis of his soul in a muffled moo, he picked up the animal that I had thrown far from me, and opening the door, he left. After the irascibility of that fifteen minutes was over, I could hardly bear myself; I left, went down to Siseta’s house, and when she saw me bruised, scratched, and covered in dust, she was afraid. In a few words I told her what had happened, and the three boys listened with horror. “There’s nothing for today,” I told them with anguish. “I’m going out into the street to see if I can find someone charitable.” Siseta hugged her brothers, shedding tears of despair, and I ran wildly out of the house. In the street I walked like a drunk, without direction, poise, or path, and with my mind in turmoil, burdened, crowded, and swollen with criminal ideas. Chapter 14. As I passed, I found helpless families, forming horrible groups of desolation in the middle of the public thoroughfare, their feet in the mud, their heads sheltered from the sun and rain under miserable awnings of filthy mats. They tore from each other’s hands the dried-up legume root, the fetid Onyar fish, the rotten beans, and the bones of animals not bred for slaughter. Skilled butchers, improvised by necessity, chased the poor dogs to every corner of Girona. They, intelligent enough to understand their tragic fate, sought refuge in the most remote corners and even dared to breach the wall, running at full speed toward the French countryside, where such proofs of our hardship were greeted with applause and jubilation . Everywhere, in cellars and on rooftops, cats defended themselves with their rough claws against the onslaught of humanity, determined to survive. The soldiers received their rations of dried wheat; but the city’s inhabitants had to earn their living as God intended . Hunting and fishing were the most important occupations. As for military work, there was nothing, because our situation consisted of receiving bombs and grenades, barely able to return salutes. In several places, I asked for something for some poor orphans; but people looked at me indignantly, and some reproached me for my robustness. I was skin and bones. On Ciudadanos Street and in the Plaza del Vino, I saw many sick people. who had been taken out of the cellars so they would die more quickly. Their illness was what the doctors called ” military nervous fever,” complicated by many other ailments, the result of unhealthiness and hunger; and in the troops, all these ailments were compounded by traumatic fever. 5 Today of the Constitution. Without meaning to, I was constantly straying from my mission, which was to find food for my children, and here they called me to help drag a sick person; there they begged me to help put earth over the corpses. My desire was to throw myself like the others into the middle of the stream, awaiting death; but the example of some who resisted fatigue with unparalleled tenacity compelled me to remain on my feet. On Old Shoe Store Street, we brought several clergymen, old men, and children out of the cellars, earning us some pieces of black bread or cured meat as a reward for our service . The others devoured their share; But I kept mine, acquiring with its possession the moral strength I had lost. The street or alley of La Forsa, which leads from the Old Shoe Store to the cathedral, was a horrible cesspool, a narrow and gloomy ditch, where some human beings lay as if in a grave, waiting for someone to rescue them or kill them. We entered it, led by Don Carlos Beramendi, a man of great merit who multiplied himself to reduce the city’s misfortunes as much as possible, and we collected the bodies, living and half-living, dead and half-dead, taking them to the steps of the cathedral, where they would be bathed in less corrupt air. The cathedral could no longer contain any more sick people, and the plaza was gradually converted into an open hospital. There I saw Don Mariano Álvarez appear at the top of the steps, giving some instructions for the relief of the wounded. His countenance was the only one in all of Gerona that showed no trace of dejection or sadness, and remained exactly as it had been on the first day of the siege. A large crowd surrounded him, and among them I saw, to my surprise, Don Pablo Nomdedeu with other doctors, members of the Health Board, and several influential people. The crowd cheered Álvarez, who said nothing, refraining from expressing displeasure or joy at the ovation, and calmly descended. The stands presented a most pitiful appearance, and with the uproar of cheers and acclamations directed at the Governor, it was difficult to hear the complaints and laments. From a distance it was clear that many of those who made up the hero’s entourage were distressed by such a painful spectacle. They were undoubtedly speaking to Don Mariano about the shortage of provisions, because a voice of protest was heard saying: “Sir, when there is nothing else, we will eat wood.” At this point, Don Pablo, who had strayed a little from the procession, came up to me. “Eat wood!” he exclaimed. “That’s what people say, but it’s not what they do. Andrés, I’m glad to see you here. How are you? And Siseta and the boys?” Although the resentment in my soul was beginning to die away, I shook my fist at Nomdedeu. “Ah, you still hold a grudge against me for this morning!” he said. ” Andrésillo, in these cases one is not master of oneself. I was frightened then, and I’m frightened now after finding myself so barbaric and savage. It’s a question of living, Andrés, and the rogue instinct of self-preservation makes a man turn into a little savage. That I am capable of killing a fellow man is something that is incomprehensible, is it not? Oh, my friend!” The idea that my daughter is asking me for food and I can’t give her anything suffocates my patriotism, my thought, my humanity, turning me into a beast. Andrés, we are nothing but misery. Unworthy human race, what are you? A stomach and nothing more. One is ashamed to be a man when these cases occur in which all social relations disappear, and pure Nature reigns. But I am seeing that the number of wounded is immense. Today we have been counting medicines, and there is not even enough for a tenth of it in a single day. Where will we end up? Is it possible that this will go on? No, no. It could be. Look at the horrific appearance of the steps covered with human bodies. Indeed, the hundred steps leading to the cathedral offered, in a terrifying amphitheater, a complete picture of the evils of the heroic city. Álvarez and his retinue continued to descend, and the crowd parted to make way for him. “Sir,” Nomdedeu said, turning his back on me, “I forgot to tell Your Grace that the medicines we have are not enough for even a tenth . ” Don Mariano looked coldly and expressionlessly at the doctor. How clearly I saw the celebrated Governor then, and how present his features, his gaze, and his words have remained in my mind ever since! The pale, weather-beaten face, the lively eyes, the gray hair, the thin, gaunt figure, the steely build, the imperturbable, statuesque physiognomy, the tranquility and serenity combined in his countenance: I examined everything and retained everything in my memory. “If there aren’t enough medicines,” he replied, “use what there is, and then whatever is necessary will be done. ” This crutch, “whatever is necessary,” was typical of him, and with it he used to end his speeches and admonitions, and it was quite natural for him to say: “If the assault cannot be resisted and the French enter the city, we shall all die, and then whatever is necessary will be done.” “But, sir,” added Don Pablo, “the sick cannot wait. If they are not treated… it could take a day, two…” Álvarez looked serenely around the amphitheater, and then, turning to Nomdedeu, he said: “None of them are complaining. We shall soon receive aid. The city will not surrender, Señor Nomdedeu, for lack of medicines. Can’t you think of some means to alleviate the lot of the sick and wounded? ” “Oh, yes, sir!” “—said the doctor, encouraged by some of the retinue who murmured phrases more in keeping with the doctor’s thoughts than with those of the Governor. “It seems to me that Gerona has already done enough for Religion, Country, and King. It has reached the limits of perseverance, sir, and to demand more from these poor people is to complete its ruin. ” Álvarez lightly waved the baton of command in his right hand, and without flinching said to Nomdedeu: “_I see that only you are a coward here. Good: when there are no more provisions, we will eat you and your ilk, and then I will decide what is most convenient.” When he finished speaking, everyone fell so silent that the buzzing of flies could be heard. Nomdedeu looked back, searching for me with his eyes to hide his embarrassment, and quite confused, he had to leave the retinue. It wasn’t until long after this had happened that my good doctor regained the use of speech, and he was pale and trembling, a clear sign of his fear. “Andrés,” he said to me in a low voice, taking me by the arm and leading me in the direction of the Plaza de San Félix, “that man is going to finish us off. I am a patriot, yes, sir, very patriotic; but everything has its natural limit, and the idea of ​​us devouring one another seems to me savage temerity. ” “Don Mariano’s fortitude,” I replied, “will lead us to devour each other; but as far as I’m concerned, and as long as I know that man is alive, I will sooner devour my own flesh than speak of capitulation in his presence. ” “Great and sublime is your constancy,” he said to me. “I admire it and I am glad that we have at the head of the plaza a man whose memory will live on forever. Oh, if only I were alone in the world, Andrés!” If I had nothing but my unworthy person, if I had no other care than visiting the hospital and checking on the sick who are on the street, I myself would say to Don Mariano: “Sir, let us not give up as long as there is one who can live, eating the rest.” But my daughter is not to blame for one nation wanting to conquer another… However, let us humble our heads before the will of God, of which the executor is in these days that inflexible Don Mariano Alvarez, braver than Leonidas, more patriotic than Horacio Cocles, More energetic than Scévola, more dignified than Cato. This is a man who values ​​neither his own life nor that of others, and except for honor, everything else matters little to him. During the September events, when Vives, the captain of Ultonia, was preparing for a short excursion into the enemy camp, he asked Don Mariano where he would take refuge if he had to retreat. The Governor replied: “To the cemetery.” What do you think? To the cemetery! That is to say, here there is no choice but to win or die; and since defeating the French is impossible because there are a hundred and one of them, draw the conclusion. This is exciting, Andresillo! It fills one’s mouth with words: “Long live Gerona and Ferdinand VII!” It seems to one that one can already see the histories that will be written praising us to the skies; but I would like to be able to shout: “Long live Spain and long live Josephine!” or that at least amidst the smoking ruins of this city and the heap that our shattered bodies will form , my dear only daughter, who has never done any harm to Spain, France, Europe, or the Powers of the North or the South, might rise brimming with health. The doctor stopped to examine several sick people, and I ran to Siseta’s house to bring them the little I had collected. Chapter 15. Almost at the same time as me came in Badoret, who had gone out for a stroll in the Place des Coles, and was returning so cheerful and bouncing that I judged him to be carrying provisions for eight days. “What’s up, Badoret?” Siseta and I asked him. He answered by opening his fists to show some copper pieces, and then closing them, dancing wildly in the middle of the room. “Where did you get that? Did you get it somewhere?” “—his sister asked him angrily, no doubt suspecting that the boy had made unfortunate incursions onto other people’s property. “They gave them to me for the mouse… Andrés, a mouse as big as a donkey. As soon as I arrived with him to the plaza, an old man gave him three reales for him. ” “To eat him?” Siseta exclaimed in horror. “Yes,” Badoret replied, giving him the coins. “Well, you didn’t want to sell him.” “Look, Andrés,” Siseta told me, “as soon as you left, these wretched men went down to the courtyard, and through the little door next to the well, they entered the house of Canon Don Juan Ferragut, which is abandoned, as you know. Shortly after, they came back with a rat as big as by tomorrow morning… What legs! What a tail!” “The meat of this precious and extremely intelligent animal,” I said, giving Siseta what I had brought, “is not bad, according to what the many people in Gerona are saying. For now, boys, let us remedy ourselves with what I have brought you, and God will give us something else later.” We ate, if such an exaggeratedly sober repast can be called, which seemed more suited to give entertainment to the teeth than substance to the body. I fell asleep on the floor shortly after, and when I awoke, Siseta said to me in great distress: “Gasparó is ill. He has stopped crying and is as if he had fainted, his body burning, and he is trembling with chills. Will Mr. Nomdedeu be long in returning?” I examined the boy, and his appearance made me tremble, for I did not doubt for a moment that he was stricken with the fever to which part of the population succumbed daily; But I tried to reassure his sister, assuring her that the symptoms of the illness before her were not similar to those observed at all hours in the most public places of the city. Siseta, in her good sense, did not believe my consolations, understanding the seriousness of her little brother’s condition. With the greatest naturalness in the world, and forgetting, in her concern, the circumstances of the city, she ordered me to bring him some medicine, and I had to use a thousand detours and circumlocutions to tell her that there was none. The unfortunate girl was inconsolable. An hour later, Don Pablo Nomdedeu, whom we had called to attend to the sick man, arrived and he readily agreed to do so. “Poor Gasparó!” she exclaimed upon seeing him. “I have already said that with the food consumed here daily, these boys will not have to die.” grow old. “But my brother will not die, Señor Don Pablo,” Siseta stated weeping. “You, who are such a good doctor, will cure him. ” “My daughter,” the doctor replied coldly, “look around those streets and see what good doctors are worth. What we breathe in Gerona is not air: it is a subtle, invisible matter laden with death. Alas! We who live live by a special gift from God. We have a bronze Governor who commands us to resist these men who are falling down dead at every moment. Don Mariano Álvarez sees in the human body nothing but a thing to fill cemeteries, and if it cannot be used for fighting, it is good for nothing. He only pays attention to the immortal spirit, and fixing his attention on the perpetual life that we cannot see with the miserable eyes of the flesh, he disdains everything else. Yes: the magnitude of that man astonishes me, for the same reason that he is superior to me.” The Governor will endure hunger, privation, and illness as long as he has a drop of blood to keep the urn of his great spirit alive , for his soul is the least tied to its body that I have ever known; and if he cannot endure, he will devour himself… But let’s see what to do with that poor Gasparo, my child. I think you should go and bury him in the Wine Square, where a large grave has been dug, because if we leave his poor body here, the atmosphere of this house may become more corrupted than it already is. “So you consider him dead?” Siseta asked desperately. “Siseta, our mission in the state things have reached, with no food or medicine to recommend, is limited to avoiding the horrible effects of atmospheric decomposition. If we could have good cups of broth on hand, a little white wine, and some emollients and emetics, I think it would be easy to restore that child’s robust nature to health ; but it is impossible: there is nothing.” Happy are those who die! If I cannot save my daughter, I will take my place on the wall when there is another assault, to die gloriously… Poor Gasparo: with what pleasure would I look after you, if I saw in you any hope of life! Siseta, I would be very sorry if my daughter knew the approach of a dying man. Should Gasparo cry or scream, you will tell him to be quiet. Goodbye, goodbye, my children; be careful with my instructions. And he went upstairs. He had all the appearances of a madman. Siseta smashed a piece of furniture, heated water with it, and began to apply to the sick man in various ways a therapeutic treatment of her own invention, consisting of warm water as a drink, in poultices, in rubs, in sprinkles, in patches. Noticing a certain calmness in the sick man, she believed he was suddenly improving, due to her extraordinary specific remedies, and said with as much innocence as joy: “Andrés, it seems to me he is better. He has fallen asleep.” My mother used to say that the water of the Onyar was the best medicine in the world, and with water she cured all her ills. See how calm he is? When he wakes up, he’ll want to go play with his brothers. But where are those damned people? “Badoret, Manalet!” Siseta called out to them several times, but the boys were nowhere to be seen. They were at the canon’s house. I went up to see Don Pablo and his daughter, and I found her so dejected and disfigured that when she closed her eyes, motionless with her head buried in the cushions, she looked practically dead. It was almost night, and the doctor, sitting by the nightstand, was writing his diary. “Andrés,” Nomdedeu said to me, “I appreciate you coming to keep me company. Don’t you hold a grudge against me for what happened this morning? You’re a good boy, and you know how to handle circumstances. In these cases , there’s no friend for friend, no brother for brother.” Right now, if you put your hand in the plate my daughter is going to eat from, I think she’d kill you. “And Miss Josefina,” I asked, “does she still believe there are festivals in Gerona, and that tomorrow she’ll go to Castellá? ” “Oh! No. The illusion lasted until the next day only. Her morale is appalling. Nothing can be hidden from her now, and it’s useless.” to act out comedies like the one from the other night. He knows everything, and is not unaware of the latest details, thanks to an indiscretion of that devilish Mrs. Sumta, whom I would gladly drag by the hair. Imagine, Andrés, that one of these nights, when I was treating sick people in those streets, that Mrs. Sumta, who, besides being curious as a woman, is as nosy and novelistic as a ten-year-old boy, wishing to give her understanding the fodder of warlike reading in harmony with her military interests, took this diary I am writing from the cupboard in my study and began to read it right here in front of my daughter. She immediately felt a desire to find out too, and that very foolish Mrs. Sumta allowed her, adding of her own praiseworthy comments on the efforts and heroics of the siege. When I returned, my daughter had reached the last pages, and in her feverish attention and curiosity, her heart was sinking to pieces. Reading enthralled and killed her at the same time, and terror and admiration shared dominion over her soul. Oh, how hard it was for me to wrest the ill-fated diary from her hands! The poor thing didn’t sleep all night, and with her brain in a state of turmoil, it was obvious how she imagined battles in the streets, how she heard the sound of the bombs, how she claimed to be burning in the glow of the fires, how she gazed at the rivers of blood that reddened the Ter and the Onyar, without me being able to reassure her. The poor woman ran from one side of the room to the other like a madwoman, calling out loud for Don Mariano Álvarez, praising the bravery and great courage of our Governor. At other times, overcome by fear, she asked me to hide her deep in the wells so she wouldn’t hear the drone of the cannon shots or see the glow of the flames. One moment her delicate nervous system, which is her entire nature, would twitch, giving her feverish activity, as when overcome by enthusiasm we multiply ourselves a hundredfold; another moment she would collapse in tears, and her body would fall limp and soft like a skein. Precisely the lack of acoustic sense, which seems supposed to be a relief for her spirit, is a true torment, because she hears rumors that resound in her brain, without real existence, and the specters of sound terrify her imagination more than those of sight. My poor little daughter! I thought I saw her die in one of those crises. Her life was like a thin thread that at intervals becomes taut, taut, threatening to break. My soul was in suspense, and understanding that against such a state neither science nor care are of any use, I crossed my arms and lowered my head, waiting for God’s judgment. She has spent several days in this way, Andrew, and lately all the symptoms of nervous disorder have disappeared, leaving only the fear, a fear at the ultimate level of depression, which has her flattened, moribund. Do you see that face, do you see that sleepy and dejected expression , that clarity so characteristic of the first moments of death? Does this perhaps have the appearance of life? It seems as if this simulacrum of existence remains before my eyes by a miraculous disposition of heaven to console me during the real absence of my true and beloved daughter. After a long and sad silence, she continued: “Andrew, tomorrow the sun will rise; tomorrow there will be what in our language we call day; tomorrow we will have another today, that is, new troubles. We will see what crumb of bread God has in store for me for the day to come. However it may be, my daughter will have her plate on this table tomorrow. So it must be, whatever the cost.” And having said this, she continued writing her diary. When I returned to Siseta’s side, I found her calmer, deceived by the poor child’s apparent relief. Her main concern was the absence of Badoret and Manalet, who, despite the lateness of the night, had not returned home. But we assumed they were busy exploring the next room, and no more was said on the subject. I retired to my watch, sorry to leave her. alone, and all night I was tormented by thoughts and presentiments that kept me awake at night. Chapter 16. The next day nothing special happened. Gasparo was still the same. Badoret and his brother appeared after a long absence, covered with scratches, bruises, bruises, and bites; but very content with the accommodations their industry had recently provided them. In spite of this pecuniary reinforcement, that day the provisioning of the house was more trying and difficult than any other, and Siseta, gradually deteriorating, lost strength and health hour by hour. As terrible events then occurred in our house, I cannot pass over them in silence. At daybreak, I was awakened from a brief and heavy sleep by the pounding of a foot, which, despite being a friend’s, was not without its harshness. When I opened my eyes, I faced the regiment’s drummer, Felipe Muro, who said to me: “A bomb has fallen on Canon Ferragut’s house, on Cort Real Street, and the roof has sought refuge within the foundations. I saw it, Andrés. Your friend the doctor, Don Pablo Nomdedeu, came out into the street shouting and snorting as soon as he saw his neighbor’s beard on fire. Fortunately, the house didn’t burn, and to this day it has no damage other than having been flattened like a doughnut. Aren’t you going there?” I would have gladly run to the scene of the catastrophe; but the regulations tied me to the Alemanes wall for several hours, and I waited with horrible anxiety. When I was free and able to move to Cort Real Street, I saw with joy that my house was intact, although threatened with some deterioration due to the sudden loss of support from the adjacent house, whose facade lay almost entirely on the ground. From the street, the interior of the rooms could be seen, with some of the furniture in the same condition in which the owner had left it when he abandoned his home. I mentally thanked God for having spared my family’s house from misfortune, and rushed to Siseta’s side, whom I found in the workshop, in the same place where I had left her the night before, next to her brother’s bed. The poor girl’s dismay was such that I was unable to reassure her with useless consolations. “Siseta,” I said, “one must resign oneself to what God wants. And your brother?” She didn’t answer me, nor was there any reason to, because her brother was dying. She herself was in such a pitiful physical and mental condition that it was only by the energetic resolve of her strong spirit that she remained vigilant and attentive to poor Gasparo’s agony. Without the pain, Siseta would have fallen to the ground, overcome by insomnia and starvation; but she despised her own existence, and to care for her, it was necessary that the others’ lives disappear. “Has Mr. Nomdedeu not attended to your brother?” I asked her. “No,” she replied. “Mr. D. Pablo says that nothing is needed here except to throw dirt on him. ” “And is it possible that he hasn’t given you some medicine? If he wanted, he could. ” “He says there are no medicines. ” “Tell me: Has Gasparo taken any food? ” “Nothing. With the money the children brought yesterday, he bought a very small piece of cured meat, and I put it on the grills; And this morning Don Pablo came and knelt before me, weeping profusely. And when, despite this, I refused to give it to him, he threatened to kill me and took it away. “Haven’t you taken anything either?” “Oh! I must put a stop to that little thief Don Pablo. Are we obliged to support his daughter? And your brothers?” “I don’t know where they are,” Siseta replied, deeply terrified. “ They haven’t come home since last night. ” “But, Siseta,” I exclaimed in anguish, “they wouldn’t go to the canon’s house. Do you know it’s collapsed? ” “I don’t know if they would go there…” This morning I heard a loud noise. I thought it was this house that was collapsing, and embracing my brother, I closed my eyes and commended myself to God. But as soon as the noise stopped, I looked up at the ceiling and saw him in the same place. People were shouting in the street, and it was difficult to see. breathe, because of the dust. No, my God, it’s not possible that my brothers were inside that house until today. I think they must have gone to the market to sell what they’ve picked. Every word spoken was an anguished effort by Siseta’s withered nature. She covered her brow with icy sweat, and sitting on the ground, she rested her arms on the mat for support. Pale as death itself, and with dull, sunken eyes, it was pitiful to see how that plant was withering away, without being able to give it a bit of water. Suddenly, Mr. Nomdedeu came down making a lot of noise and, upon seeing me, said: “Oh, Andresillo! I’m so glad you’re here! I suppose you’ve brought something. You’re generous, and you don’t forget good friends. ” “I’ve brought nothing, Doctor; and if I did, it wouldn’t be for you. Everyone must manage as best they can. ” “What jokes you play! I suppose you’ve at least brought a little wheat.” And you, Siseta, do you have anything for me? Have your brothers brought nothing? Oh, my dearest friends! Is there nothing for this poor wretch who sees his daughter dying? Andrés, Siseta,” she added, joining her hands and kneeling before us, “do charity, for the love of God, for whatever you lack on earth you will have more in heaven. You know that here they give one percent and there they give a hundredfold. Andrés, Siseta, my dearest friends, you who are swimming in abundance, help this beggar. I have nothing left: I have sold all my books, and with the plants in my magnificent herbarium, which I have collected over twenty years, I have made a decoction to give to her. All that remains is the malignant or poisonous plants, and the incomparable collection of polypodiums, which I can sell you … Do you really have nothing? It cannot be. You hide what you have; you deceive me, and I cannot allow this: no, I will not allow it. In this way Nomdedeu passed between bitter affliction and a hostile and bilious anger, which made Siseta and me quite suspicious. “Mr. Nomdedeu,” I said, determined to remove such an importunate guest from us, “we have nothing. You see. Poor Gasparó is dying, and we cannot give him a mouthful of wine and water. Leave us alone or we will have a disagreement. ” “That will be seen. I am not leaving here without something. You hide what you buy with the money the children bring. My daughter cannot go on like this for many hours, Andrés.” Let Gerona surrender, yes sir, let it surrender, and let Mr. Mariano Álvarez go to hell with a hundred thousand pairs of demons . He said this morning: “When the city begins to fail, whatever is necessary will be done.” I don’t know what he’s waiting for. He still doesn’t believe the city is failing enough. Oh! What the Governor should do is punish the scoundrels who hoard provisions , depriving their fellow men of the most essential things, and you are one of them, yes sir. You have those coffers full of groceries, and at least there are ten ounces of cured meat and a couple of dozen chickpeas. This is robbery, open robbery. Siseta, Andrés, my friends, I’ve already sold all the prints and paintings in my house. Do you want the little dog that my late wife embroidered on canvas when she was in school? Do you want it? Well, I’ll give it to you, though it’s a pledge I’ve esteemed a treasure, and which I’ve resolved never to part with. I’ll give you the little dog if you give me what’s in the chest. We opened the chest, showing him its hideous emptiness; but even then he wasn’t convinced. He was frantic, with appearances of a disorder similar to drunkenness, or the delirium of a feverish man, and when he spoke, his weak tongue cracked the words, intoning them half-heartedly, like a broken clapper that fails to strike the bell. He trembled all over, and tears and laughter, sorrow, anger, resignation, and threats were successively expressed in the rapid changes of his face, agitated and mobile like that of a comedian. When I stood up to force him to leave, he threatened me with his fists, and in a tone that is not definable, because it could just as easily have been painful crying. What a deep rage, he said to us: “Wretched, thieves of others’ property. I will do as the Governor says. Yes, Andrés, Siseta. My daughter will not die; my poor daughter will not die; because when there is nothing else, we will devour you, and then what is most convenient will be decided. ” When he left, Siseta said to me: “Andrés, I do not know if I will live much longer than Gasparó. Please look for my brothers. If God has determined that on this day everything will end , it will end. We are good Christians, and we will die in God.” Chapter 17. Leaving the market exploration for later, I went to the abandoned house of Don Juan Ferragut, canon of the cathedral, who from the first days of the siege fled Gerona in search of a safer place. Although this veteran of Christ’s teaching militia does not appear in my account, I must indicate that he was the first antiquarian in all of Upper Catalonia; A highly erudite and tireless man in the business of collecting coins, excavating ruins, deciphering inscriptions, and sniffing out all traces of Roman footprints on our soil. His numismatic collection was famous throughout the country, and he also possessed a priceless treasure of vases, lamps, harnesses, and rare books; but his great love for these objects did nothing to deter him from his flight, abandoning Roman and Carolingian history to secure the most priceless antiquity of life itself. Then a pump fixed the museum in its own way. The deserted house was entered through a small door that connected both courtyards, and which the neighbors used to keep open when they came to drink water from our well. When I entered the courtyard, I found that a large part of it had been transformed into a covered enclosure, formed by the accumulation of beams and partitions jammed together at an angle before reaching the floor. That improvised roof needed nothing more than a slight push, a loud voice, an insensible tremor to fall to the ground. Carefully advancing, I reached the stairwell, open to light and air by the collapse of the rooms along the facade and a part of the roof through which the bomb had penetrated. The floor was littered with furniture mixed with pieces of wall, glass, and a thousand disparate fragments of artistic preciousness, the chaotic material of history that no scholar could now reunite or arrange. The staircase had lost one of its flights, and to ascend it was necessary to climb, leaping steep heights. From below, one could see the interior of a bedroom that must have belonged to the canon. With one missing headboard and some of its furniture still in place, it resembled a children’s toy room when the lid or side wall is removed, the absence of which reveals the beautiful interior. While some paintings, chests, and wardrobes remained upstairs in the same positions they had occupied for many years, the canon’s bed lay at the bottom of the stairs in a position that could be called upside down. The thick pillars of that piece of furniture, which was nothing more than a medium-sized oak mound, were broken in various places, scattering sharp splinters, and the disordered hangings revealed between their folds the ivory arms of a Holy Christ and the dry branches of some pyxes. From among the remains of the stone, and in the darkness of the corners and recesses they formed, I saw the glow of two luminous discs emerge, like two points, like two eyes looking at me. Despite a sudden fear, I went down to retrieve those lights. They were good Ferragut’s glasses. Unable to climb, I called out at the foot of the stairs to see if any of the boys I was seeking would respond from those lonely hollows . I shouted at the top of my lungs, “Badoret! Manalet!” but no one answered. I went all the way down, exploring the most hidden and dangerous parts of the rubble, and only found the cap of one of the boys; but this was not sufficient reason to suppose that they existed beneath the ruins. Finally, Returning to the hollow, I heard a sharp whistle resounding from the very top of the roof. I waited a while, and soon the same sharp sounds were heard again, and a figure appeared, bending down from above in obvious danger to look down. It was Badoret. The boy, putting both hands to his mouth, shouted: “Manalet, be on the alert!” And then, forcing his voice, he added: “There they go! There goes Napoleon, with all the Imperial Guard and the small troops!” Having said this, he disappeared, and I remained absorbed in the expectation of seeing Napoleon with the entire Imperial Guard. Indeed, a large army was descending at full speed down the broken staircase, their hasty footsteps making quite a noise. They leaped from rung to rung among the fragments of beams, and with the utmost agility they crossed the spans of the stairway, grunting, shrieking, digging, describing pirouettes, curves, circles, and pushing, stumbling, and throwing themselves at one another. In front of them went the largest of all, who was enormous, a being of exceptional size and beauty among his class, and he was followed by others of lesser stature, and many small ones, among whom were playful youngsters and many graceful children. They were not dozens, but hundreds, thousands, what do I know! A veritable army, an entire nation, an imposing mass that under other circumstances would have made me retreat in terror. The oscillations of their long black tails were such that they seemed like snakes scurrying through their midst, and their bright jet-black eyes expressed the bewilderment and anxiety of such a shameful retreat. They came harassed, and the filthy horde passed by me and around me with imperceptible swiftness, slipping through the rubble toward the courtyard. I followed them with my eyes, and through a dark little door I saw in the wall, they all plunged in a second, like a stream falling into the abyss. I hadn’t seen that door, open in a corner and concealed by two barrels placed in the courtyard. I approached it and shouted from my mouth: “Manalet, are you there?” At first, I heard no sound, but a distant, vague sound of fallen leaves that seemed to me to be the footsteps of the imperial guard on piles of dry grass. But soon I thought I heard voices and wailing, which at first seemed to be my own apprehension or an echo of my own cries; but hearing them repeated with increasing intensity , I resolved to venture deeper into the pitch-black chamber that opened before me. I could see nothing at first; but soon after arriving there, I made out the robust shapes of jars and barrels, broken crates, horse harness and wagons, and a thousand objects of indefinable configuration, which gradually emerged from the darkness as my eyes grew accustomed to it. The place was not very pleasant, and I don’t know why the bellies of those jars presented me with a fearful appearance, a source of invincible horror. I recognized in those extravagant shapes those of certain monsters who had come to frighten me in my sick dreams, and all they lacked was four slippery, moist, cartilaginous legs to throw themselves upon me. After a few steps, I made the same noise of rustling leaves that I had heard before, and I noticed that I was treading on great layers of dried grass, doubtless deposited there for beasts that would not eat it. Suddenly, gentlemen, I heard the leaves being trampled by a thousand tiny paws, and my hair stood on end in terror. Why, if there were no lions, no tigers, no snakes, no other truly strong and fearsome animal? The truth is, I was afraid, an immense fear that froze the blood in my veins, leaving me stunned and paralyzed. I wanted to flee, and I sank into the dry grass. I cast my eyes around me, and my terror increased when I saw that the entire imperial army was preparing to attack me from different sides, with the rage of a thousand ferocious beasts. In an instant, I felt myself bitten and scratched on my ankles, legs , thighs, hands, shoulders, and chest. Infamous scoundrel! Their black, beady eyes stared at me, reveling in the victim’s perplexity, and their pointed snouts leaped voraciously upon me. I screamed, kicked, and flailed about; but the softness of the ground on which I stood made it impossible to defend myself, and with extraordinary efforts I struggled to throw myself out of that sea of ​​dry leaves, in which, if running was difficult, swimming was even more so. The insolent mob, spurred on by hunger, dared to attack me. What can one of those miserable little creatures do against man? Nothing; but what can man do against thousands of them, when necessity compels them to join together to combat the king of creation? Finding myself defenseless, I cried out in anguish: “Badoret, Manalet, come to my aid! Help!” Finally, I managed to get my footing on solid ground, and by flailing around, I managed to slow the attack. I ran from one side to the other, and they followed me; I hoisted myself into a large barrel, and as fast as lightning, they climbed in as well. Their strategy was admirable: they guessed my movements before they made them, and as I jumped from one point to another, they would take the lead to meet me in the new position. They encouraged each other in the fight with a hymn of growls that sent shivers down my spine; it seemed as if they were grinding their teeth in concert with military music, demonstrating great rage and spite, all those who could not prey on me. Terrible animal! How admirably has Providence endowed him to seek a life in spite of man, to defend himself against the attacks of superior forces, to overcome natural obstacles , to make his own the most laborious human conquests, to maintain his immense offspring deep underground and in the open air, in unpopulated areas as well as in cities! Providence has made him a carnivore so that he can find food everywhere ; she has made him a rodent so that he can devour in pieces what he cannot carry off whole; she has given him agility so that he can flee; softness so that his treacherous footsteps are not heard; extremely keen hearing so that he can recognize dangers; keen eyesight so that he can discern the machines prepared to harm him; and sharp instinct so that with skillful maneuvers he can evade exquisite surveillance and unjust pursuits. He also possesses infinite resources, and like a cosmopolitan beast, equally adaptable to civilization and savagery, he possesses vast knowledge of diverse branches, so that he is an engineer, and knows how to cut a path between walls and partitions to explore new worlds; he is an extremely skilled architect, and builds grandiose residences in the most inaccessible places, in the hollows of beams and in the openings of walls; he is a great navigator, and knows how to swim long distances of water when his adventurous spirit forces him to cross lagoons and rivers; he sits on the frames of ships, ready to eat the cargo if they let him, and to throw himself into the water in the bay to land if they pursue him; he is an outstanding mechanic, and possesses the art of transporting fragile and delicate objects, secrets that man is not and cannot own; He is such an accomplished geographer that there is no land he has not explored, no region where he has not placed his swift foot, no fruit he has not tasted, no article of commerce on which he has not imprinted the seal of his sixteen teeth; he is a distinguished geologist and a daring miner, for if he realizes that he does not enjoy great sympathy on the surface of the earth, he goes where no human lung has ever breathed, and builds admirable vaults through which he enters and exits proudly, connecting houses and buildings, and orchards and farms, thereby opening rich avenues for trade and destroying routine fences; and finally, he is a great warrior, because besides possessing a thousand skills to defend himself from his natural enemies, when he finds himself harassed by hunger in very calamitous days, he assembles and organizes powerful armies, attacks man, and finally, if he finds no way out of the situation, these armies arm themselves against each other. others, attacking with as much courage as tactics, until finally the victor lives at the expense of the vanquished. Possessing a great sense of civilization, he adapts himself to the character of the regions and districts he chooses to develop his active genius, and always eats what is available. Of course, he respects nothing, nor does he know how to respect anything: in the boudoir of the elegant lady, he devours the perfumes, and in the apothecary’s house, the medicines. In the church, he makes a thousand condiments with the relics of the saints, and in the theaters, he appropriates the buskins of Agamemnon and the breastplate of Don Pedro the Cruel. An artist at times, if fate leads him to museums, he lunches on Murillo and dines on something by Raphael, and when he manages to penetrate the homes of antiquarians or scholars, he becomes one of them through the influence of the locality; that is, he devours books. All these eminent qualities were displayed against me by the immense phalanx. Those fathers who, in order to feed their children, those loving husbands who, in order to save their wives from death, did not hesitate to look face to face with a superior being, displayed all the perversity that life’s supreme demands confer. But it was truly a shame for me to surrender my superiority of strength and intelligence to that rabble from the taverns who, coming from different parts of the city, along paths known only to it alone, had gathered in such a place. So, recovering after some time from my initial fright, I snatched a stick that I saw within reach, and standing firmly on the barrel, I began to unleash blows in all directions, rebuking my enemies with all the insulting, coarse, and shameless words of the Spanish language. If I did not immediately gain any positive advantages by this means, I at least managed to intimidate the little ones, who were the most insolent, and only the grown-ups continued to persist in gnawing at me. But the larger ones offered me a more certain target, and lo and behold, after a time of dangerous, incessant combat, in which I multiplied the movements of my arms and legs with a swiftness more appropriate to a dancer than a warrior, I began to acquire some advantage. Advantage in battle, once it is manifested, grows in geometric proportion, determined by the fears and misgivings of the one who falters, by the pride and courage of the one who gains ground; and this happened to me, that at last, my lords, by dint of work and perseverance, I was able to acquire the conviction that I would not be devoured. When I found myself free from the imperial guard, for I do not renounce giving it that name, I was so tired that I fell to the ground. “If they attack me again,” I said to myself, “they will finish me off.” Chapter 18. But in the rout of the numerous army, not all the combatants left the field; No: there in front of me, dragging his formidable belly along the ground, was one, the largest, the strongest— why not say it?—the most handsome of all, fixing upon me the sparkling ray of his black pupils, his ear attentive, his snout sniffing, his claws poised, his fur bristling, and his slippery , scaly, brownish tail extended. “Ah, it’s you, Napoleon!” I exclaimed aloud, as if the terrible animal understood my words. “I recognize you now. You are the oldest and the strongest of all; you were the one who went before you when you went down the stairs. Infamous, your corpulence and your years give you the superiority you display over your kind; but you are a selfish man who, for your own benefit, gathers your brothers to help you in your butcheries. Wretch, they are thin and you are fat.” What they sniff out, you eat, and for lack of other food, you will devour the little ones who follow you, proud of having such a brave general. Wretch, why do you look at me? Do you think I fear you? Do you think I fear a vile vermin like you? Man, who rules over all animals, who avails himself of everything, who feeds on the noblest, will he tremble before an unworthy rodent like you? I ran towards him; but he disappeared, crouching down to hide among some timbers. I cleared that space; but he slipped away quickly, and I lost sight of him. This exploration led me far ahead in the long cellar, and in the next bay I saw my enemies of a moment before scattering to one side and the other, running over the jars and through the thousand twists and turns of the wall. They all watched me pass and ran to and fro. I have no doubt they were several thousand strong. Every moment their number seemed to increase. In a corner of the last bay, a small barrel stood upright, covered with a tile, very similar in appearance to a beehive. A vague noise emanating from it drew my attention, and then I saw that the mouth of the barrel was facing forward. But what surprised me was not this, but the fact that a finger appeared from the mouth, and then two. At the same moment, a voice at the same time childish and cavernous, like any child’s voice that comes through the hole in a barrel, reached my ears, saying: “Andrew, I see you now. Here I am. It’s me, Manalet. Have those rabble gone ? I shut myself in here so they wouldn’t eat me, and I covered my house with a tile. Do you have anything to eat? ” “No, you can come out now. Don’t be afraid,” I answered. “They’re still there. I can feel their kicking. There are hundreds of thousands of them. There weren’t so many yesterday; but Napoleon went this morning and came back with I don’t know how many thousands more. Take this steel and this kindling, Andrew. Light a fire in a bundle of grass, taking care that the whole thing doesn’t catch fire, and you’ll see how they’ll run away. ” He gave me the flint, steel, and straw through the hole, and I immediately lit a fire. When the glow of the flame illuminated the dark vaults and walls, all the knights ran away in terror, and soon not one of them was left. I don’t know where they had suddenly retreated. “They’re gone,” I said. “You may come out now.” Then I saw the tile covering the barrel rise, and the four black points of a clergyman’s cap appeared. Beneath this headdress, Manalet’s face smiled with a triumphant expression. “If you hadn’t come,” he said, “what would have become of me? ” “A fine hat!” I exclaimed, laughing. “I lost my barretina, and since my head was cold—you see. ” “And Badoret? ” “He’s on the roof. Listen to what happened to us. Yesterday we hunted some game; but we couldn’t catch Napoleon, which is what we called him because he was the biggest and meanest of them all. When night fell, we wandered around the house and found a bed; What a bed, Andresillo! It was the canon’s. Since it was worth more than ours, we lay down in it; but we couldn’t sleep, because after a while we heard a rustling of teeth and claws… It was those rascals who were feasting on the library. We got up, Andrés, and pelted them with stones and the many pots and clay figurines the canon has there. Do you believe we couldn’t catch one alive? Pursued by us, they flew in a flock to the roof, then went down to the courtyard, came back, and we were always after them without being able to catch them. But Badoret told me: “I’m going up to the roof and I’ll harass them to make them come down. You stand at the entrance to the cellar, behind the door, and as they go in, you’ll swing down on them, and someone will fall. ” So we did. I came down here, and from above Badoret was telling me: “Be alert, Manalet. There they go!” Would you believe that while I was at that door they all came in force with such force that I fell to the ground? When I got up I turned on the light and they all left; but then they came back and between them all they almost ate me. Oh, Andrés, how frightening! One was gnawing me here, another there, and I began to cry, because I thought I would never see Siseta, Gasparó, you, or Mr. Nomdedeu again. But, my friend, listen to what I did to escape: I prayed to Saint Narcissus and to the Virgin at least eight Our Fathers, and look here, I had hardly finished saying “but deliver us from evil, amen” when, boy, there was a sound of thunder, cannon shots , some explosions so terrible that it seemed like the end of the world. What do you think it was? Well, nothing more than a giant began to kicking at the house, right above here, and from this very cellar I heard the walls falling. There you must have seen how these beasts ran, filled with fear from the blows dealt by the giant sent by the Virgin and Saint Narcissus to save me. I think I can still hear him. “So what, did he speak too? ” “Yes, man. Well, he wasn’t supposed to speak!” After kicking a lot, he said with a very loud voice: “You scoundrels, leave Manalet alone!” Well , you see. After this I tried to get out, but I couldn’t find the door. I went crazy pacing up and down, and again I prayed to Saint Narcissus and the Virgin to get me out. Nothing, they wouldn’t get me out. Then Napoleon returned, and with him many, many more, because you must know that through the hole under that pipe they pass from this house to the warehouse on Calle de la Argentería, and they also go to the river, and to the houses in Plaza de las Coles. Since they can’t find anything to eat anywhere now, they wander around, coming and going. Well, my boy, they started at me again, and the second time it didn’t help me to say eighteen or nineteen Our Fathers. What I did was light a light, and then they left me alone; but I was so scared that I got into the barrel where you found me and covered it with the tile to be safer. I said, “But will I have to stay here for a couple of years, my dear Saint Narcissus?” And I remembered Siseta and Gasparo. “Oh, Andrés, if you don’t come, I’ll stay there!” “Well, let’s go outside,” I said, taking him by the hand, “and find Badoret so we can get out of this house. I see you’re both cowards, having let those little animals intimidate you. Did you take anything to market? ” “What were we supposed to take! Wait and see.” We have to catch a couple of dozen alive, and if you help us… Andresillo, Napoleon is worth at least nine reales. If we caught him… We went outside, and Manalet was surprised to see the damage caused to the house by the shell’s explosion. “Look at the damage done by the giant who came to save you, Manalet. Now let’s try to go up and find your brother. ” “In the other courtyard there’s a small staircase you can use to go up ,” he said. “How bad the house is! I was right when I said that the giant, wanting to make a lot of noise, destroyed the whole thing. We went up, and we didn’t see good Badoret in any of the rooms on the main floor . We called out to him, but no voice answered us. Finally, we found him asleep on a bed placed in one of the last rooms of the attic. We woke him up, and he took us to the library, where, he said, he had a supply of provisions he had found in the house. “Yes, Señor Don Andrés,” he said, gravely taking a key from the pocket of his ragged breeches. “I have something good here.” And he opened the drawer of a large antique chest of drawers veneered with ivory and mother-of-pearl. The first thing I saw was a large number of ancient copper and silver coins, all Roman, judging from what I had heard of Canon Ferragut’s collections. Badoret moved several objects aside and uncovered a baby Jesus made of that sugar paste that the nuns have always made so well. “This is a little present the nuns gave the canon,” I said, taking it. “We’ll take it to Siseta. In cases of famine, it is lawful to eat other people’s property. Boys, be careful not to take even one of those coins.” The baby Jesus was missing one leg, devoured by Badoret, and I couldn’t prevent Manalet from eating the other. “Do you have anything else?” I asked. “Yes,” replied Badoret. “If Monsieur André would like some small slices of eight-hundred-year-old manuscript and a cup of superior ink, I can provide them.” On the floor, scattered in disorder and half-gnawed by mice, lay the precious manuscripts and incunabula, gathered over so many years by the zeal and patience of the illustrious cleric; and with a pen-and -ink map of the Roman road in Empordà, Badoret had made himself a three-cornered hat. “Here is a skewer which I am going to take this afternoon to the wall to “See what the French have to say about it,” he said, pointing to a Renaissance partisan whose rich damascening would have amazed even the most knowledgeable. “Several generals came out of the other house through that hole in the corner, and to cut off their escape, I covered it with the head of that marble statue that is under the armchair. Indeed: an angel’s head covered a hole that opened due to the chipping of the masonry in the base of the room. It was fastened and covered with papers and pieces of vellum, between whose folds could be seen the beautiful coloring and gold of the letters painted by the Benedictines of the Middle Ages. “You have destroyed all the marvels that M. Ferragut had here, ” I said angrily. “In exchange for so much loss, you have been able to bring nothing to market today. ” “We will bring it, my friend Andrés,” Badoret answered me. “How is my sister? How is my brother, Don Gasparó?” I’m not leaving here without bringing them a good piece. The head of the baby Jesus will be for the little one, the body for Siseta, one arm for Mademoiselle Josephine, and another for Mr. Nomdedeu. We’ll see if they catch Napoleon. He came here last night and tried to take a piece of wax candle. If I’m not ready to seize the violin the canon was playing and smash it all over him, he’ll take it. On the floor lay good Ferragut’s Stradivarius, in splinters; but Manalet picked it up, intending, as he said, to make a boat out of it. “Andrés,” said Badoret. “Napoleon is wicked and treacherous. He won’t let himself be caught, and he knows more than all of us. When he comes with his people, he stands in front of them and harangues them… If they find anything, he eats it and snouts the others.” Even if you throw sticks, pots, statues, paintings, coins, books, violins, bonnets, maps , and everything else here at him, you won’t be able to kill or wound him. I’ll tell you why. You think Napoleon is a rat. You’re screwed. He’s nothing but the Devil, the Devil himself. Or else, listen. Last night, after Manalet came down, I lay down on the canon’s bed, which is softer than mine, and as soon as I closed my eyes I felt someone gnawing at my finger. I shook my hand and it passed. But then they started gnawing at another finger. Oh, boy, how frightening! Turning over, I rolled onto my back. Then the damned animal jumped up on my chest. Boy, each leg weighed as much as the Tower of Saint-Félix: it was already crushing me, crushing me, and I couldn’t breathe. My chest was already as big as a sheet of paper… Although he scared me to bits, I really wanted to see him, and I said, “Should I open my eyes or not?” Sometimes I said, “I’ll open them,” and sometimes I said, “Well, I won’t.” Finally, my friend, I said, “Well, I want to see him,” and I saw him. Jesus help me! He was on top of me, lying on his haunches, with his front legs stiff. He was looking at me, and his eyes were nothing but two very large moons. At the tip of each black hair, there was a spark of fire, and his whiskers were so big, so huge, like from here… like from here, how far shall I say? all the way to the bell tower of the Discalced Nuns. The rascal was very pleased looking at me, and he was licking his lips with a tongue of red fire as big as the whole of Cort Real Street, from the Plaza del Aceite to Ballesterias. I wanted to jump, but I couldn’t. Poor me! I wanted to burst into tears, calling for Siseta, but I couldn’t either. I stayed like that until it occurred to me to say: “Run away, cursed dog, to hell.” Friend, the animal jumped up, snorting. I ran after it from one room to another, and shouted: “By the sign of the Holy Cross.” From the bedroom it ran to the library, from the library to the bedroom, until finally… what do you think it did? Bless my mouth! Well, it burst, I mean, it jumped against the walls and the ceiling, and the walls and ceiling all collapsed. The ladder that’s attached to the bedroom fell down, making a noise, what a noise! ​​The walls were rumbling like this: boom, boom… the bed, the furniture, everything fell to pieces, everything fell to the bottom, and then, boy, the patio rose up: I saw the rim of the well flying through the air, and the roof He went out into the courtyard, and half the house turned to dust. I huddled behind that wardrobe, and there, with my hands crossed, I prayed until my tongue was dry. One sweat came and went. Anyway, Andresillo, until daylight arrived, I didn’t leave that corner, nor did my fear leave me. Then I went up to the attic; I wandered around the attics that hadn’t been blown to pieces, and there I met Monsieur Napoleon again , followed by his imperial guard. I harassed them: they retreated downstairs. I called Manalet, but he didn’t answer me. I went into the canon’s room, searching everything, and in the chest I found the baby Jesus, and then, without knowing how or when, I fell asleep in the bed where you found me. “Well, now go home. Your sister is worried sick because of such a long absence . ” “Take it easy, my friend Andrés,” the eldest replied. “Look what I have prepared here.” Do you see this great coffer? Well, turn it upside down, raised on one side by a small reed; tie a thread to the top of the reed; place some pieces of dead mice from the stairs underneath, which we will burn first so they smell good. We set up this whole scheme in the courtyard and hide in the stairway with the thread in our hand so we can pull without being seen. We make smoke in the cellar by burning the grass. They all come out, with the great Napoleon at their head, and he leads them to the coffer, which is Spain; they begin to gnaw, saying, “What a fine conquest we have made!” Then we pull the thread, and Spain falls on them, catching them alive. Chapter 19. Saying this, they loaded the coffer and lowered it into the courtyard, and in an instant the treacherous device was perfectly set up, with the bait inside and the thread in place. Spain was ready; all that was missing was the French invasion. Badoret entered the hold, unperturbed, and returned a little later, saying: “They’re at war with each other. Come here, this deserves to be seen.” We entered, and, indeed, I saw the colossal battle. I knew that that energetic and enterprising animal turns in desperation against its own race when it finds no means of subsistence anywhere ; but I had never seen the clashes of those ferocious armies, which attacked with the savage fury of primitive wars between men. They threw themselves upon one another, entangling themselves in a horrifying vortex, and mercilessly sank into one another with the terrible weapons of their sharp teeth. This struggle was in no way a revolting explosion of individual hatreds and hungers, but rather one of powerful ensembles, and the brownish masses indicated collective thrusts directed by the military instinct that some zoological species possess to a high degree. “Those under the barrel,” said Badoret, “are those from the other side of the Onyar, who have swum here.” With them are all those from the parish of Saint-Félix, and those on this side are those from the Place des Coles, the fattest, the bravest, and they have Napoleon as their leader. “Well, those who have come swimming,” I said, “are none other than the English, and those from the parish of Saint-Félix are the people from the North. It seems to me that France is winning, that is, the Place des Coles. ” Their grunts formed a hair-raising murmur. The uneven terrain allowed the armies to develop a powerful strategy on a large scale. Some would move up to seize an empty box, and skillfully attacked from behind, they were overwhelmed and driven from their position. The small masses would gather together to form an enormous wedge that immediately disrupted the extensive line of their opponents; the latter, disoriented and in disorder, would assemble again, forming their phalanxes, and over the bloodless corpses, the thousand little legs would march at a dizzying pace. The smallest fell, rolling, propelled by the largest, and their whitish, upturned bellies altered the shapeless appearance of the brave squadrons. Individual struggles followed collective thrusts, and heroic blood stained the fertile fields. To whom does victory belong? We shall see now. Those from the Plaza de las Coles They dominated the barrel, and standing there with provocative presumption, they watched, still panting with exhaustion, as the shattered hosts of the parish of Saint-Félix and the other side of the Oñar fled to the back of the hold. “Badoret, Manalet,” I exclaimed, “France is the victor. Do you see? She already dominates beautiful Italy; observe how that cloud of Germans and Saxons rushes northward. But this is not over. See him there. See how he licks his lips, how he coils his long, shining tail like a silken rope. With his little black eyes, in which the genius of war shines, he observes from that height the various regions at his feet and the movements of his disorganized enemies. He is measuring the terrain, and his admirable foresight predicts the places the others will choose to await him. Listen carefully, Badoret and Manalet: notice that after he has rested for a while, rejoicing up above in his swift triumphs, he is preparing to descend from his throne. Immense phalanxes full of enthusiasm surround him, and up there in the North, space resounds with the grating of a thousand clashing teeth, and their tails impatiently whip the ground. New battles are being prepared, Manalet and Badoret. This will not remain so, and if I am not mistaken, the perfidious one aspires to dominate all the underground passages, from the Galligans to the stone bridge, and both banks of the beautiful Onyar. Do you hear? The warlike claws are sharpening on the ground, and in the little glass beads that they have for eyes, the ardor of battle shines. The terrible hour is approaching, and the ogre, hungry for flesh and never satiated, will devour the children of the North. Alas! The poor mothers have conceived and given birth for nothing else ! They are coming; they are approaching. See how all those on the other side are gathering, coming from different directions. The ogre descends slowly from his throne, and an aura of majesty surrounds him. At his sight, the weak become strong, and the timid throw themselves into the first places. They are now meeting, and the fierce fight is once again on. We advanced to get a better look, and we saw how they devoured each other, with those below, that is, France, getting the better of it. If the others were stronger, these seemed lighter. Those on the other side of the Onyar, those from Saint-Félix and the Slaughterhouse, held their ground vigorously; but in the end, they were unable to resist the onslaught of their adversaries, who seemed possessed by a sublime madness, and their little black, whiskered snouts devastated everything before them. If what drove them to battle was purely and simply the desire to satisfy their appetite, once the fight was engaged, and their military genius was awakened and exalted, the squalid soldiers forgot to fill their bellies with the spoils of the vanquished, and an ideal of glory impelled them to throw themselves upon the broken squadrons, upon the blood-stained jars, upon the never-conquered barrel, dominating everything with their daring stance. Those who hear will believe that I am lying, that I am distorting the facts, that I am painting what suits me; they will judge that my mind, upset by hardship and weakened by starvation, itself forged for its own entertainment these rodent battles, these ambitions of the lowest animal scale, to represent in miniature those of the first. But I swear perjure that I have said nothing that is not true, just as it is true that Badoret, seeing how they were destroyed, lit a good portion of grass, separating it from the rest so that a fire would not break out, and immediately the thick and dense smoke forced us to rush outside . “Now there will not be a single one left inside,” said Badoret. “Andrés, and you, brother, take a stick, and when you go out, with each blow of the club a regiment will fall. I will pull the thread of the trap. If anyone other than the great emperor approaches to eat the bait, scare him away with a blow. No one but His Majesty will fall into the trap.” Soon the door of the dark cave began to vomit people, that is, warriors from that formidable fight we had seen. They ran through the courtyard in different directions, climbed the stairs, and went back down, and quite a few of them approached the coffered ceiling, in which they saw The boys were nothing less than the genuine representation of our beloved and unfortunate mother, Spain. Badoret suddenly imposed silence on us, saying: “Here he comes; move aside, everyone, and make way for his greatness.” Indeed, the tallest, the most handsome, the fattest of those gentlemen appeared at the entrance to the dungeon. From there, he proudly rolled his black eyes in all directions, and moving slowly, he dragged his long tail with elegant undulations. He contracted his snout, showing his ivory teeth, and scraped the ground with a majestic gesture. He walked a long way through the crowd of his own, who looked on with disdain, and when he reached the middle of the courtyard, he saw that unusual apparatus we had set up. He approached and looked at it from various directions, surprised, no doubt, by its strange shape, and attracted by the fragrant lure of the bait skillfully placed inside. Very quietly, I said to Manalet: “This emperor has too much talent to come in here.” “Who knows, Andresillo,” the boy answered me. “Since he’s so carried away by the battles he’s just won, and has gotten it into his head that there are no mousetraps, no traps, no snares for him, he might blind himself and go right inside.” Napoleon approached with a determined stride. Although endowed with immense foresight and penetrating vision, the smoke of glory that filled his brain had clouded his powerful faculties, and finding everything easy, seeing only himself and his lucky star, he resolutely rushed into Spain. The thread worked, and the trough fell with a crash, leaving His Majesty caught in the trap. “Ah, rogue, scoundrel, thief!” cried Badoret, leaping for joy. ” Now you’ll pay for it all together. ” “He’ll go to the market alive,” added the other, “and they’ll give us nine reales for his little body . Not a farthing less, Brother Badoret.” Chapter 20. The victor of Europe being tied by the tail, the boys wanted to take him to market; but I took him for myself, saying to them: “If you work a little harder, you will not lack other respectable fellows to take to market. Leave this one for me, for I need him, and take Saint Cyr, Duhesme, Verdier, and Augereau.” Having thus made new and valuable prey, they left. I was passing through the little door, or rather, the hole, that connected the courtyard of Ferragut’s house with my own, when my head collided with another head. Monsieur Nomdedeu and I bumped into each other, he wanting to get in and I wanting to get out. “Hold on a little longer, Andrew,” he said to me agitatedly, “and help me. What a beautiful animal you have there! How much are you asking for it?” “I won’t sell it,” I replied proudly. “It’s that I love him,” he said firmly, stopping me by the arm. “Do you know that Gasparó has died? My daughter is dying too, that is to say, she wants to die; but I won’t allow it, I won’t allow it, no sir; I’m determined not to allow it. ” “None of that matters to me, Mr. Nomdedeu,” I replied. “How is Siseta? ” “Siseta? She will die too. This is a death that matters little. Siseta doesn’t have a father who would be left without a daughter. Will you give me what you’re carrying there? ” “You’re joking. Goodbye, Mr. Nomdedeu. Through that door you go down to where there’s a lot of this. ” “Oh! What a disgusting place!” exclaimed the doctor. “But what are you carrying there? A baby Jesus made of sugar. Give it to me, Andrés, give it to me. Sugar, my God! Sugar! What a ray of divine light!” “I can’t give it either.” It’s for Siseta. The doctor turned livid, livider than he had been, and looked at me with a spiteful expression that filled me with terror. His lips trembled, and every moment he raised his convulsive hands to his bare yellow skull . He inspired pity for me; the sight of him also inspired powerful selfishness in me, and I hated him, yes, I hated him, especially since he had the audacity to look with his greedy eyes at the legless baby Jesus I was carrying. “Andrés,” he said to me, “I want that piece of sugar. Will you give it to me?” I quickly examined Nomdedeu. Neither he nor I had any weapons. “If you won’t give it to me, Andrés,” he continued, “I am ready for it to be destroyed.” I’ll lose my soul trying to take it from you. Saying this, the doctor, without giving me time to take a defensive stance, threw himself at me and knocked me to the ground. He dug his hands into my shoulders, and I say he dug me, because it seemed as if his iron hands, piercing my flesh, were sinking into the earth. I struggled, however, in that difficult position, and managed to get up. Nomdedeu’s strength was vigorous, but weak, and was completely spent in the first movement. My own, muscular and internal, lacked rapid impulses, but lasted longer. Oh, what a situation, what a moment! I would like to forget it, I would like it to be erased forever from my memory; I would like that day had never existed in the realm of reality. But it was all true, and just as I’m telling it. I weighed on Don Pablo, just as he had weighed on me, and I struggled to pin him to the ground. I was not a man, no: I was a rabid beast, lacking the discernment to recognize its stupid animality. All that is noble and beautiful that exalts man had disappeared, and brutal instinct replaced the eclipsed generous powers. Yes, gentlemen: I was as despicable, as low as those filthy animals I had seen a short while before tearing their own brothers to pieces to devour them. I had under my hands—what hands? Under my claws I held an unfortunate old man, and mercilessly I pressed him down to the hard ground. A fierce secret impulse, drawn from the depths of my entrails, made me revel in my own brutality, and that was the first, the only time that, feeling myself a pure animal, I reveled in it with savage exaltation. But it was not myself, no, no; I will repeat it a thousand times: it was another who, in such a manner and with such cruelty, clamped his hands on the good doctor’s withered neck, suffocating him until his arms stretched out in the form of a cross, he gave a deep groan, and, closing his eyes, remained motionless, strengthless, and breathless. I rose up panting and trembling, my mind sore that I could not combine two thoughts, and without pity I looked at the wretch lying inert on the ground. The weakling fell from my hands, and Napoleon, who had been free during the struggle, charged with him, fleeing at full speed, with the thread still tied to his tail. I waited a moment. Nomdedeu was not breathing. The brutality began to dissipate within me, and just as a crack opens in the black clouds, allowing a ray of sunlight to pass through, so a fissure opened in the darkness of my spirit, through which my hidden conscience slid a glimmer of its divine light. I felt my heart oppressed; a thousand strange voices sounded in my ear, and a weight—what a weight!—an enormous burden, an overwhelming weight, weighed upon me. I remained paralyzed; I doubted whether I was a man; I quickly reflected on the feeling that had driven me to such a horrible extremity, and finally, terrified by my shadow, I fled in terror from that place. I crossed to the other courtyard, and entering Siseta’s house, I saw her lying lifeless on the ground. To one side was the corpse of the poor child, and further back I noticed the presence of a third person. It was Josefina, who, having been alone in her house for a long time, had crept downstairs. She examined Siseta, who was weeping silently, and at the sight of her I experienced immense fear, an anguish beyond my control . The conscience that had so recently sent me a single ray suddenly flooded me with terrifying clarity. A great impulse to weep was taking shape within me; but I could not cry. Wringing my arms, beating my head, bellowing in despair, I exclaimed, unable to contain the cry of my irritated soul: “Siseta, I am a criminal! I have killed Mr. Nomdedeu, I have killed him! I am a ferocious beast. He wanted to take a piece of sugar that I was saving for you. ” Siseta did not answer me. She was stupefied and speechless, and exhaustion, coupled with profound grief, had her in a state close to stupidity. Josefina, approaching me and tugging at my clothes, asked me: “Andrés, have you seen my father? ” “Mr. Nomdedeu?” –I answered trembling, as if the angel of the Justice questioned me. No, I haven’t seen him… Yes… there he is… there… passing into the other courtyard. And then, yearning to cast far from me the terrible images that haunted me, I turned to Siseta and said to her: “Siseta of my heart, is Gasparó dead? Poor child! And you, how are you? Do you need anything? Oh! Let’s flee, let’s leave this house, let’s leave Gerona, let’s go to Almunia to rest in the shade of our olive trees. I don’t want to be here anymore.” An extraordinary and very lively noise outside left me no room for further reflection or more words. Drums were clanging, people were running; the trumpet and the drum called all men to battle. Siseta slowly stretched out her arm and with her index finger pointed down the street. “Yes, I understand,” I said. “Don Mariano wants all these specters to make a sortie or resist the French assault. We’re going to die.” I long for death, Siseta. Goodbye. Here are the boys. Do you see them? It was Badoret and Manalet who came in saying: “Sister Siseta, thirteen reales, we brought thirteen reales. Have you fixed Napoleon? Where is Napoleon?” Going out with my rifle on my shoulder to where the drum was calling me, I ran through the streets. I was blind and couldn’t see anything or anyone. My fainting body could barely hold itself up; but the truth is that I was walking, walking incessantly. Talking feverishly to myself, I said: “But am I crazy?… but am I alive?” Terrible state of body and spirit! I went to the Alemanes wall, fired, fought desperately against the French who were coming to the assault, shouting like the others and moving like the others. I was a cog in a machine, and I allowed myself to be pulled along by my comrades. It wasn’t me who was doing all that: it was a superior, collective force; a formidable whole that never stopped. For me, dying was the same as living. This is heroism. Sometimes it is a deliberate and active impulse; sometimes a blind push, an abandonment to the general current, a passive force, the giddiness of the mind, the mechanical start of the muscles, the frantic and unbridled pace of the heart that doesn’t know where it’s going, the boiling of the blood that, dilating itself, yearns to find wounds from which to escape. I possessed this heroism, without trying to praise myself for it now. Many others, also half-dead from hunger, did the same as me, and their exaltation was not admired because there was no time to admire it. I believe that no one fights better than the dying. There was Don Mariano Álvarez, who repeated his refrain to us: “Let those in the front positions know that those behind have orders to fire on anyone who retreats.” But we didn’t need this sting that the inflexible Governor stuck in our backs to drive us always forward; and, as we were so accustomed to seeing death in all its forms, we couldn’t fear the inseparable friend of all times and places. Fatigue itself sustained our bodies; we spoke little and fought without shouts or bravado, as is customary on ordinary occasions. Never has more decorous heroism existed, and by dint of seeing the example, we imitated the statuesque appearance of Don Mariano Álvarez, on whose powerful and superhuman nature the impressions of the battle crashed unmovingly, like raging waves on an immovable rock. For my part, I can assure you that, my spirit filled with anguish, my conscience alarmed to the utmost, and loathed at myself, I threw myself with senseless joy into the arms of that tempest, which in a certain way outwardly reproduced the state of my own being. The
assimilation of the two was natural, and if for short intervals I managed to direct my observation within myself, I recognized myself as a flaming and thundering existence, an essential part of that atmosphere filled with thunder and lightning, as terrifying as it was sublime. Within it, great increases in life were experienced, or its sudden extinction. I can say it; I can account for it. of both sensations, and describe how the movement increased, or on the contrary, how the sounds of the cannon died away, like echoes that fade away, repeated from concavity to concavity. I can describe how everything, absolutely everything, city, enemy camp, sky and earth, revolved around our sight, and how my own body suddenly found itself separated from the bustling and vertiginous group formed there by the angry souls, the smoke, the fire, and the attentive eyes of Don Mariano Álvarez, which, flashing amidst so many horrors, magnified everything with their light. I say this because I was one of those who remained separated from the active group. I felt myself thrown backward by a powerful force, and as I fell, covered in blood, I exclaimed aloud : “Thank God I’m dead!” A patriot, who, having no weapon, was content to throw stones, snatched the rifle from my inert hands and, taking my place, shouted joyfully: “That’s it. Thank God I have a rifle!” Chapter 21. At first I was trampled and trodden, and some patriots were leaning over my body to see better outside; but they soon moved me away , and I felt the touch of very soft hands. It seemed to me that birds from the sky had come down to perch on my aching body, bringing it miraculous relief. Those hands were those of nuns. They gave me something to drink and cured me, saying to each other: “The poor thing will not live.” I do not know where I was, and I cannot estimate the time that passed. Only once do I remember opening my eyes , acquiring the certainty that I was surrounded by the darkest night. In the sky there were some sad stars that shone with a white light. Then I felt very sharp pains; But everything quickly died away, and falling into a deep sleep, I lived with long interruptions of sensation. Once again I opened my eyes and saw that they were fighting. The nuns came to me again, and their assistance gave me a very strong consolation. I did not speak, I could not speak; but a very original accident soon forced me to exert myself in speech. Among the many people who were moving along in different directions, I saw a boy in whom I had to recognize Badoret. Badoret was carrying on his back the body of a child of a few years old, whose legs and arms were hanging down before him. This was the way he usually carried his brother when he was alive, and this was the way he carried him dead. I made an effort and called the boy. He, who was bending down to examine those who lay there in various places, approached me and said: “Andrés, are you dead too? ” “Why are you carrying your brother’s little body on your back? ” “Oh!” Andrés, they told me to throw him into the hole in the Plaza del Vino; but I don’t want to bury him, and I’m taking him with me. The poor thing isn’t crying or screaming anymore. “And your sister?” “Sister Siseta isn’t moving, or speaking, or crying either. We called her, but she didn’t answer. I was going to ask her about Josefina; but I lacked the courage, my ability to speak faded , and my eyes clouded, and I saw Badoret disappear, skipping with his gloomy burden on his shoulders. The traumatic fever took hold of me with great intensity, reproducing for me the events that had preceded the situation I found myself in. Siseta would appear at my side with her brother in her arms, and I would say to her: “My love, we can no longer go and sit in the shade of the olive trees I have in Almunia, because my conscience is constantly accusing me, and I must flee and run until I find a distant place where it cannot follow me. I will never enter your house again, because right there, lying crosswise on the ground, is Don Pablo Nomdedeu, whom I killed because he wanted to take my sugar. I am going where no one born there will see me. Give me your hand. Goodbye.” As she said this, she would kiss the hand of a nun. At other times, she thought she felt the touch of an arm next to mine, and she would exclaim: “Ah! It’s you, Don Pablo Nomdedeu. We are both dead and we are We met in what we called there _the afterlife_; only you walk toward heaven, and I go straight to hell. Here where we are, among these dark clouds, there is no longer hatred or resentment. I regret having killed you, and may I have regrets. How could I consent to giving you the sugar? No, Señor D. Pablo, I will never consent. Do you still insist on taking it from me, when, stripped of bodily clothing, we both fly through this region where there is no noise, no light, nothing? Even here, mistaking our paths, do we meet to quarrel? But no, go ahead and don’t stop to take what is mine. God will forgive me for my crime: I was attacked by you, I was defending myself, and a ferocious beast that entered me, killed you. It was undoubtedly that infamous Napoleon. Oh! Why did I want to appropriate the apparent body of such a fierce demon? Yes, I can already see you before me… Here I go, don’t call me again. Wandering through these spaces where there is no noise, no light, nothing, I thought you would never appear before me; but here you are. Close those little eyes as black as jet beads; don’t fix on me your teeth whiter than ivory, nor coil that snake you have for a tail. I know I belong to you since the cofferdam fell on you, and your infernal plots put me in the position of killing that holy man, good friend, excellent father, and honorable patriot. I will go with you to hell, which will be my atonement. Don’t turn your hideous snout back, for I am already following you. The celestial archangels urged me on like a dog when I approached the gates of Paradise, and now I am walking down. Goodbye, Nomdedeu: I see you up there now. You shine like a star, but your splendor does not illuminate this darkness in which I find myself. The heat of the flames you emanate from your mouth, infamous Napoleon, is scorching me; I am suffocating in an atmosphere of fire, and a dreadful thirst dries my mouth. Is there no one to give me a glass of water? A glass touched my lips. The nuns gave me water. Then I returned to the same delirium, which varied from moment to moment, now terrible, now pleasant, until one day I recognized myself in full use of my senses, and with clear and cloudless understanding. I saw the sky above, with many people around me, and a friar at my side. No cannon shots could be heard , and the silence, silence though it was, seemed an indefinable noise. “My son,” the friar said to me, “are you better? Are you feeling well? That chest wound is not mortal.” If there were resources in Gerona and you were well fed, you would recover like many others. “What’s going on, Father? What day is it today? How many are we?” “Today is December 9th, and a huge disaster has occurred. ” “What? ” “Don Mariano Álvarez is sick, and the city is going to surrender. ” “Sick!” I exclaimed in surprise. “I thought Don Mariano couldn’t be sick or die. We will die; but he… ” “He will die too. Today he has become delirious and has transferred command to the royal lieutenant, Don Juan Bolívar. Since Álvarez has been in bed, no one considers a defense possible. There are only a thousand men available, and even these are also sick. At this time, a meeting of the chiefs is being held to see whether or not the city will surrender today . I fear that the rogues who want the surrender will get their way . It’s a shame that this should happen. There are many people here who think of nothing but food.” “Father,” I said, “if there’s anything around here, give it to me, even a piece of wood. I can’t resist any longer.” The friar gave me something, I don’t know, but I devoured it without knowing what it was. Then I spoke thus: “Is Your Paternity here helping the dying? Even if God in His infinite mercy preserves my life for now, I want to confess a great sin I have. If I don’t get rid of this great weight, I won’t be able to live. They’ll think that Don Pablo Nomdedeu died of hunger or fear. No: I must declare that I killed him because he tried to take a piece of sugar from me. ” “My son,” replied the friar, “either you’re still delirious, or you mistook Mr. Nomdedeu for someone else, for I’m sure I saw this one.” today, if not well and healthy, at least alive. He doesn’t rest in his work of curing everyone. “What! Is that possible?” I exclaimed in amazement. “Is Mr. Pablo Nomdedeu, that mirror of doctors, still alive? Father, such good news brings me back to life completely. I left him for dead in the middle of the courtyard. I can only believe that he has risen again so that his daughter would not be left an orphan. Father, do you know Siseta, the daughter of Mr. Cristoful Mongat? Do you happen to know if she is alive? ” “Son, I can’t tell you anything about that girl. I only know that the house where Mr. Mongat and Mr. Nomdedeu lived was destroyed by a bomb just yesterday. I have an idea that all its inhabitants were saved, except for one who has gone missing and cannot be found. ” “Oh! If only I could get up and run there!” I said. But it seems they’ve nailed me to this cursed bed. Where am I? This is the bed in which Periquillo del Roch, assistant to Mr. Francisco Satué, died. He is, as you know, the Governor’s aide-de-camp. When Periquillo died, we put you here, and yesterday Satué said he would take you as his assistant. So His Paternity hasn’t given me any news of poor Siseta? My heart tells me she isn’t dead, and that I am not, therefore, a widower. Are you married? My heart tells me. Siseta will be my wife if she lives. And does His Paternity say that Mr. Nomdedeu isn’t dead? It seems so, since he can be seen around the city. It’s true that he looks more like a walking dead person than a living person. Could what I hear be true? And is Mr. Pablo moving? He’s walking, although he’s limping. And does he open his eyes? Yes: his brownish eyes search for his broken legs in the darkness of the rubble. “And he speaks? ” With his wormy voice, which knows how to say such good things. “But is he the same man, or a copy of Don Pablo, a shadow that comes from the other world to appear and apply bandages? ” “The same man, although he is barely recognizable from his sheer disfigurement. ” “Oh, what immense joy I feel! So he has risen again? ” “Do not doubt that he lives; but I also assure you that I wouldn’t give two cents for what remains of his reason.” All that day I could not move, although from hour to hour I noticed a considerable improvement. Curiosity and anxiety consumed me, yearning to know the fate of my people, and although the certainty of not being the murderer of Nomdedeu had given great peace of mind, not knowing Siseta’s whereabouts saddened me greatly. Without moving from there I learned that the city was about to surrender, and that the Spaniard Don Blas de Fournás had gone to treat with the French General. This greatly irritated the ghosts who, bearing the names of men, still roamed the destroyed walls armed, and Fournás, when he left the plaza, had to conceal the true reason for his journey. Álvarez, as I heard, was worsening by the minute, and received the Sacraments on the same day, the 9th; but even in this situation, he insisted on not surrendering, repeating this with forceful words, both asleep and awake. Many patriots refused to believe that the surrender was true, and the possibility of surrendering to a foreigner caused more horror than death and hunger; it is true that many harbored the mad hope that help would arrive. In the afternoon, whispers began to circulate that the “pigs” would enter the city the next day , and the patriots went to the Governor’s house, which, almost completely ruined, barely retained the rooms where the heroic patient resided, and there, among the ruins, sneaking in through the gaps in the destroyed walls, they made a long racket, demanding that His Excellency come out again to govern the plaza. They say that Álvarez, in his delirium, heard the popular cries and, getting up, ordered us to resist at all costs. Sick or wounded, those of us who were still alive, with ten thousand corpses scattered through the streets, feeding on filthy animals and substances that are repugnant to name, our most proper leader must have been and was a delirious man, a madman, whose great, disturbed spirit still remained manly and sublime in the realm of fever. The next day I was able to take a few steps without straying too far. I would have gladly made a foray into the city, visiting Siseta’s house; but the nuns who so affectionately cared for me prevented me. Captain Don Francisco Satué came up to me and let me know that he had decided to take me as his assistant in place of Periquillo del Roch, and, grateful for his kindness, I took the liberty of saying to him: “My Captain, do you know where Siseta is? I suppose that you know Siseta, the daughter of Mr. Cristoful Mongat. ” Satué did not deign to answer me and turned his back, leaving me alone with my horrible doubts. I questioned everyone; but no one spoke to me about anything but the capitulation. Capitulate! Such a thing seemed impossible when Don Mariano’s notice was still stuck to the corners: ” Anyone heard using the word capitulation or any equivalent will be immediately shot.” According to what I heard, the French had given them an hour’s time to arrange the capitulation; but our Junta demanded a four-day armistice, promising to honor it if, at the end of that period, the relief we had been waiting for since November did not arrive. Marshal Augereau refused to agree to this, and finally, after much traveling from one camp to another, the terms of our surrender were signed at seven o’clock in the evening of the 10th. In this agreement, as in all those made by the French in that war, they agreed to what was later not to be fulfilled: to respect the inhabitants, to respect the Catholic religion and the lives and property, etc. All this was written and signed on a drum inside a tent; But then the orders issued from Paris by the great rat force us to forget what had been agreed upon. “A fine ending!” said Father Rull, who had assisted me during the painful ordeal. “And that we have come to this after having resisted for seven months! And why all this, my friend Andrés? Because two bucks a head a day are not distributed, and because someone has been forced to live by sucking the juice from a piece of matting. Dioscorides says that esparto grass contains nutritious substances. Oh! If only Álvarez had not fallen ill; if only that man of bronze could still get out of his bed, come here, and raise his staff in his right hand… You know, Andrés, that tomorrow the garrison must leave the square with the honors of war, marching to France as a prisoner.” I think they’ll put you to work pulling Napoleon’s chariot when he goes for a walk… The _swine_ will break in here tomorrow at eight-thirty, and it seems they’ve agreed not to lodge in the houses, but in the barracks. Do you believe it? You’ll see how they don’t keep their word. I think I see them throwing the neighbors out into the street so their lordships can settle in the few houses they’ve left standing. And now I ask you: what will they do with us, the poor friars? Friend, with Gerona, Spain is finished, and with the health of Álvarez, the end of brave and worthy Spaniards. Boys, long live Don Mariano Álvarez de Castro, terror of France! During the night, the townspeople and soldiers, now aware of the main clauses of the capitulation, rendered their weapons useless or threw them into the river. At dawn, those who could walk, which were the fewest, went out through the Areny gate to deposit a few weapons on the glacis, if such a name was deserved by a few hundred old tools and broken rifles. We sick people remained inside the square and had the displeasure of seeing the “swine” gentlemen enter. Since they hadn’t conquered us, but simply subdued us by force of hunger, we looked them up and down, for we were the true victors, and they were like impious jailers. If the greedy body didn’t exist, and only the soul lived, would these things happen? In all honesty, I must say that the French entered without pride, looking at us with a certain respect; and when they passed by the groups where there were more sick people, they offered us bread and wine. Many They resisted eating it; but in the end, our instinct was such that we accepted what they offered us a few hours after their arrival. All day long, carts loaded with provisions were arriving , parked in the Plazas of San Pedro and del Vino, serving as depots where everyone went to collect their share. Eating! What a great novelty! We felt the return of the body, which, after a long absence, was once again supporting the soul. One was amazed to have clear eyes to see, legs to walk, and hands with which to hold onto walls to go from one place to another. Little by little, faces once again took on the usual expression of human physiognomy, and the terror we had instilled in the French even after the surrender was fading . Give me good news, because at last, my lords, I found myself strong enough to walk twenty steps at a time, albeit with my right hand on a pole, and with my left on the walls of the houses. Don’t think that walking through the streets of Girona in those days was easy, for no public thoroughfare was free of very deep holes, piles of earth and stones, in addition to the thousands of unburied corpses that littered the ground. In many places, the rubble of destroyed houses obstructed the narrow streets, and it was necessary to climb on all fours through the ruins, risking falling into the pools formed by the fetid backwaters. The journey through those mountains, lakes, and rivers was so tiring for me that every so often I sat down on a stone to catch my breath. But when it was no longer possible to think of fighting, and when the terrible heat of war had subsided, the sight of so many dead produced in me unspeakable terror; and as I examined the horrific scenes that unfolded before my eyes, I sometimes closed my eyes, afraid to recognize in an icy hand the hand of Siseta; in the hem of a dress, the hem of Siseta’s dress; in a little red stone, the coral beads that adorned Siseta’s pretty ears. Chapter 22. When I arrived at Cort Real Street, I saw the house where my family lived almost in ruins. Some neighbors told me that Mr. Nomdedeu and his daughter were staying on Neu Street; but that it was unknown where Siseta and her siblings had ended up. Saddened by this news, I went in search of the doctor, and the first person who came to meet me was Mrs. Sumta, who charged me to be quiet because the master was asleep. “Here you will find all the papers exchanged, Andresillo,” he told me, ” because Miss Josefina has recovered, and the master is so ill that he will soon die if God does not remedy the situation.” At this point we heard the doctor’s voice, which sounded in a nearby room, saying: “Let him come in, Señora Sumta, for I am awake. Andrés, my dear friend, come here. ” I entered, and Don Pablo, throwing himself from his bed, embraced me affectionately, speaking to me thus: “What pleasure you give me, Andrés! I thought you were dead! Come here, brave young man, and embrace me again! How is your health? And that stomach? It is not good to burden it after so much deprivation. Is there any appetite? I highly recommend sobriety. Do you have any wounds? We will treat them… Send whatever you like, son.” I, very confused, expressed my gratitude for such kindness, adding that I considered him the most generous and Christian of mortals for repaying the blows he had received from me with hugs and affection. “Sir,” I added, “I believed I had killed the best of men, and I could not live with the great weight of my conscience. I see that you forgive the offenses and open your arms to those who tried to kill you. ” “All is forgiven, and if there was any fault in you treating me as you did, greater was mine, for, in my fury, I did not hesitate to take your life for a piece of sugar. Those, my friend Andrés, should not be considered as free actions that constitute true responsibility, and the horrible situation in which we both found ourselves excuses us in the eyes of God.” At such a sad moment, the supreme law of self-preservation reigned over all laws; our character, the result of inborn faculties, or those cultivated by experience, and of acquired habits, did not really exist, and the clumsy brute we are immersed in savagely broke through all the restraints that stood in the way of satisfying its needs. For my part, I can tell you that I didn’t realize what I was doing. The sight of my poor daughter upset what little sense I still had in recognizing myself as a man, and before me there were no friends or peers. These relationships end, they are extinguished when brutal instinct regains its dominion, and if I saw a piece of bread in another man’s mouth, this seemed to me an irritating privilege, which my selfishness could not tolerate. Ah, what a horrible suffering! What a shameful moral state, and what a degradation of the noblest being who walks the earth! Let me only take advantage of the fact that I wanted nothing for myself, but everything for her. I am certain that if it weren’t for my idolized daughter, I would have lain down in a corner of the house, letting myself die without making any effort to stay alive. “And Miss Josephine has perhaps endured the privations better than we have. ” “Much better,” added Nomdedeu. “You see, I look like a corpse. For she, completely transfigured, seems to have appropriated all the health I lack. This made me very happy, Andrés. But you will see what has happened now. When you left me in the courtyard of the canon’s house, it took me a long time to regain the use of my senses , as a result of the great blow and the great exhaustion. Finally, I don’t know what charitable hands carried me out into the street, where I regained complete consciousness. My main sensation was great surprise at finding myself alive. I dragged myself into the house, and in Siseta’s rooms I found my daughter. The poor woman hardly recognized me. She was going to perish of starvation. My God!” I would like to die, if death could erase from my memory the recollection of those hours. I said to myself: “Lord, rather than see such a spectacle, it would be better for me to lie lifeless on the flagstones of the canon’s house.” Oh, my friend Marijuán, don’t ask me anything about this! I’ll only tell you that, having gone out in search of food, when I returned, my daughter was no longer there. “And Siseta?” I asked with the greatest concern. “Nor Siseta,” replied Nomdedeu, becoming extremely perturbed. “But why are you asking me about Siseta? I know nothing about her. Let me go on. None of the neighbors could tell me where my daughter was, and I ran like crazy through the city looking for her. Fortunately, neither she nor I were there when the house was destroyed. But I ask you: where do you think my idolized Josephine had gone?” Well, nothing less than to the Gironella Tower, where she contemplated the horrible fire with which that fort was defended in its final moments. You’ll be amazed that my daughter would go to such a place. Well, listen. Finding herself alone in the house, terrible need forced her to go out into the street, and she wandered for a long time around Girona imploring public charity, but without any help from anyone. The greater her helplessness, the greater her efforts to cling to life, and that miserable nature found within itself enough energy to overcome the situation. This seems impossible, but it is true. Now I realize that nothing is better for creatures of faintheartedness than to find themselves suddenly thrown into great danger without support or help from a stranger. Well then: Josephine, alone in the midst of so many horrors, fled down the slope that leads to the forts, believing those places to be safer. The sight of the corpses blocking the road caused her great terror, and even greater terror when she saw up close the terrible action that had taken place there. When the poor thing tried to retreat, it was impossible, and she found herself engulfed in fire at the moment of retreat. Oh, incomprehensible arcana of Nature! If I had known where my sick girl was, and the entire Protomedicato had asked me for my opinion on her fate, she would have said: “Josephine will die immediately upon seeing herself in combat.” But that was not so, Andrés. According to what she herself told me, she felt herself possessed of unusual energy, and her limbs, loosened as if by miracle, acquired an agility they had never possessed before. Without being free from fear, a generous and expansive restlessness flooded her soul, and abundant tears flowed from her eyes… To this she adds that she later returned twice to the city, where some ladies, taking pity on her, gave her food; that afterward, without knowing how, she found herself dragged along in the crowd of those who were going to carry gunpowder to the walls; she adds that she slept two nights in the open field; that Lady Sumta, taking her into her own hands, kept her for more than three hours in Alemanes, until the garrison withdrew from there, and you will understand how strong the cauteries applied by chance to the spirit of that poor girl have been . Now, Andrés, it remains for me to tell you that if she has suddenly acquired vigor and agility, I have radically lost my health, as a result of the intense physical and mental suffering of this season, and here where you see me, I wouldn’t give two cents for what I can live between now and next Sunday. The joy I feel at seeing how the organism of her who is all my love and consolation has regenerated drowns out the feeling that death itself could cause me. What causes me profound sadness today is the conviction I recently acquired that I am a detestable doctor. Yes, Andrés: I thought I knew quite a bit, and now it turns out I don’t know anything, everything, everything. Imagine that after adopting in Josefina’s treatment the system of precautions, of care that hundreds of books recommended to me in various styles, we come out with this nonsense that the best system is the opposite of the one I followed. And for this, my God, one has studied for thirty years! Oh! Medicine, medicine, how disdainful and evasive you are! How you hide from those who seek you most, and how well you guard your charms! When it seems easiest to touch you, you disappear most quickly, like a shadow that escapes from eager hands. Who would have thought it! I tried to cure her with gentleness, care, and fever, protecting her even from the air for fear that the air itself would harm her, and God has strengthened her with harshness, discomfort, blows, frights, with fire and cold, with danger and death. I avoided the strong impressions that seemed to me to break her nature, as hammer blows shatter glass, and the most powerful shocks to her sensitivity have restored her to her original being and state. She has become as ill as she had become, and this mystery and this astonishing novelty confound my intelligence. Until now, I didn’t know that illness could cure illness, and I am dying with a thousand ideas on this obscure point… because I am dying, Andrés: on that point, my limited knowledge will certainly not be mistaken. Saying this, he stretched out on the bed, every now and then heaving the deepest sighs. I spoke to him thus: “Sir Pablo, although you have suffered greatly, you have the consolation of seeing your daughter not only alive, but in the health she lacked before ; but I cannot even assure you that my beloved Siseta and her two brothers are still alive.” The doctor, upon hearing me, stirred restlessly in his bed with symptoms of a nervous disorder, and, sitting up suddenly, showed me his face, noticeably disfigured. “Don’t ask me about Siseta and her brothers,” he said with a clumsy tongue, and making a gesture of removing an object that inspires displeasure. “I know nothing about them. Andrés, it is better for you to go away and leave me in peace. ” Mrs. Sumta, who entered at that moment, placed her finger on her temple, looking at her master with a pitying expression. With his gestures and his eyes, he wanted to tell me: “Don’t pay attention, the master has lost his mind.” Whether he had lost his mind or not, the truth is that his words filled me with inexplicable confusion. I questioned him again; but he, closing his eyes and stretching out his arms and legs like a lifeless body, pretended not to hear me, or, truly lethargic, he didn’t hear me. Josefina entered immediately and expressed great joy at seeing me. For my part, I was surprised to notice the animation of her eyes, their color less pale than usual, and to observe the agility, grace, and ease that had acquired in her movements since we had not seen each other. After answering with friendly smiles my compliments, which I guessed from the movement of her lips, she asked me for Siseta. “Alas!” I replied, expressing with signs my utmost distress. “Siseta… she’s gone, miss; I don’t know where she is. ” “Let’s look for her,” said Josefina resolutely. “Alas! Thank you, Miss Josefina… I can’t keep myself; but if you will accompany me, I’ll find strength from weakness to explore the city.” In the house they already had plenty of food, which was distributed among the various close neighbors who were staying there, and they gave me a good portion. When I came out, linking my arm with Josefina’s, I felt so restored that I didn’t need to seek support against the walls or throw myself to the ground every ten minutes to catch my breath. Chapter 23. Where shall we look for Siseta? Where?… “Siseta!” we shouted everywhere , in the ruins, at the doorways of entire houses, in the squares, on the walls, in the ravines, in the heaps of rubble; but no familiar voice answered us. In various parts of the city, the French were busy covering the holes where the corpses had been thrown with earth, and thousands of bodies disappeared from the sight of the living forever… “Oh!” I exclaimed with the greatest anguish, “if Siseta is there!” I would have liked to dig up all the graves with my hands, to be sure that the lost person did not lie there. We then visited the hospitals, and in none of them did Siseta or her brothers appear; We went door to door to ask everyone we knew, everyone we knew, and no one gave us any information or any news. Crossing to Mercadal, we traveled all over the place, and upon returning, I looked down into the river to see if Siseta’s body could be seen in its murky waters. I asked the Spanish and the French about her, but they didn’t understand me; but neither nation had any news about my friend. I climbed onto rooftops, descended into cellars, and searched for her in full daylight and in profound darkness; but the ray of her eyes, for me superior to all brightness, shone nowhere. Finally, when we arrived near the San Francisco de Asís Bridge, I thought I saw the pitiful figure of a young man, in whom, although with great difficulty, I was able to recognize the person of the good Manalet. It was impossible to determine the shape of his dress, which was a rag, through whose rents his completely naked arms and legs were visible. His cadaverous face, his black hands, his blood-stained neck, his wounded feet, his fearful gaze caused me profound sorrow. I called to him, my soul torn between a spirited hope and immense pain, and he ran to embrace me with eyes full of tears. After the first moment of his joy had passed, the presence of Josephine at my side produced a very strong anxiety in the poor boy’s mind; he looked at her with alarmed eyes and made a movement to flee from us. Stopping him, I summoned the courage to ask him about his sister. “Sister Siseta,” he said to me, “is not here; don’t look for her. She has gone with Gasparó. The two of them…” As he said “the two of them,” he pointed to the ground. I, seized by profound sorrow, did not feel satisfied with his vague information, and I wanted to know more. I followed him, but my short stride did not allow me to catch up with him, and I had to resign myself to the terrible suffering of doubt. because, in effect, Manalet’s statements did not resolve my perplexity, and the words, the reasoning, the anxiety of the unfortunate boy indicated that some mystery, unknown to me, existed in Siseta’s disappearance. “Miss Josefina,” I said to my companion, expressing as much discouragement and despair as I could, “we will achieve nothing. Let’s return to the Rue de la Neu.” Both of us, very sad and discouraged, stopped on the bridge, looking to the passersby, who wandered ceaselessly from one side to the other, and like me, were searching for loved ones whom the disorder of the last few days had caused to disappear. The graves over which so much earth had been poured were gradually destroying the traces that could have guided parents, wives, and children in their explorations, and the need to bury them quickly left many families in complete ignorance regarding the fate of their loved ones. We sat down by the bridge. Josefina looked at me in silence, pitying my painful perplexity, while I questioned the sky, tired now of questioning the earth and men. Suddenly, the doctor’s daughter tapped me lightly on the head and, waving her arms in the direction of the river, pointed to a house of those that stand with their foundations within the Oñar, behind the Plaza de las Coles and the Calle de la Argentería. At first I couldn’t make out anything; But she, with a changed face, a sparkling gaze, and her index finger extended toward a fixed point, directed my attention to the roof of one of those houses, from whose eaves a boy was laboriously lowering himself down a rope. It was Badoret. At once I shouted aloud: “Badoret! Badoret!” and the boy, hearing my voice, waved to me as he stood firmly on a balcony, from which he seemed to want to advance to the bridge by jumping from one house to another. The irregular eaves, balconies, lookouts, and projecting bodies of that riverbank permitted this journey without great danger. Finally, Badoret reached us , and I could see that his appearance was more pitiful than his brother’s. “Andrés,” he said to me, “have the French come in? ” “Yes,” I replied. “Where are you that you don’t know? Have you perhaps been resurrected? ” “So there’s something to eat now?” “Yes: anything you want… And Siseta? ” “Siseta has been sleeping since yesterday. Do you want to see her? We called her and she doesn’t want to wake up. ” “But where have you all gone? Where is Siseta? ” “Is there anything to eat now? We haven’t seen Napoleon again, Andrés. How much will they give for him now? ” “Go to hell with Napoleon. Take me to where your sister is. ” “On the roof. ” “On the roof! ” “Yes: we all took her, because Mr. Nomdedeu wanted to kill her. ” “Kill her! You’re crazy! ” “Yes: to eat her.” I couldn’t help laughing, even though I wasn’t in the mood for mockery. “Mr. Nomdedeu,” Badoret continued, “went crazy and wanted to eat us all. ” “You’re certainly crazy,” I replied. “Take me to where Siseta is.” “If you don’t go the way I came!… From the canon’s house where we are, you go across the roof to the druggist’s house on Argentería Street; but from this one you can’t get out to the street because it’s locked… Through the cellar, you go to a house at the other end that’s burned down, and by using the tiles you go down to the balconies overlooking the river. If you can get them to open the door to the druggist’s house, which is on Argentería Street next to the Place des Coles, you’ll get in better than I came out. ” “Let’s go there,” I said resolutely. “If that druggist doesn’t want to open the door for us, we’ll break it down with our fists.” Fortunately, they didn’t hinder me from entering through the indicated house, which I verified by leaving Josephine in the next one on Neu Street. I climbed onto the roof, and jumping with great effort and danger from roof to roof, Badoret and I reached the garrets of the canon’s house. There, in a gloomy attic room where Mr. Ferragut’s housekeeper had once lived , lay poor Siseta, motionless and senseless, on a miserable mattress. I called to her loudly, and helped her sit up in bed, and the poor woman opened her eyes, but without seeming to recognize me. My joy at seeing her alive was immense; but I still doubted that she would ever return to life, and thought of nothing but giving her every kind of help. I wandered around the house in a daze, unaware of what I was looking for, and I saw in different rooms up to a dozen boys between eight and twelve years old, in whom I recognized the friends who accompanied Badoret and Manalet on all their adventures; but the condition of those unfortunate children was atrociously pitiful and disconsolate. Some of them lay dead on the floor, others were crawling around the library, unable to hold on; one was eating a book, another was savoring the esparto grass off a mat. “What’s happened here?” I asked Badoret. “Oh, Andrés! We can’t get out anywhere. We’ve been locked in for two days. We couldn’t get into our house because seven walls filled the patio to the top. We had nothing to eat, and nowhere to find it… This morning Manalet and I looked for a way out. He climbed down Argentería Street, and I climbed down where you saw me… but my tongue is already sticking to the roof of my mouth, I can’t move, and I’m falling over dead too.” Saying this, Badoret closed his eyes and stretched out on the ground. Some of his comrades were weeping, calling for their mothers, and on every side the sight of that infantile desolation saddened my soul. Determined to act quickly, I crossed the roof to the neighboring houses, called out, cried for help, succeeded in being heard and brought to my aid by some neighbors, and soon I gathered in the deserted places where my unfortunate friend was located a large quantity of provisions and not a few charitable people. The first on whom we tried our resources was Siseta, who took a long time to recover her composure, inspiring me with serious anxiety. But at last he recognized me, and having overcome his reluctance to eat the food we offered him, finally convincing himself that we were not giving him filthy animals or horrible delicacies, he entered a period of strengthening that indicated nature’s energetic willingness to recover its primitive equilibrium and balance. Badoret regained his strength more quickly, and within half an hour he was already talking like a madman, haranguing his friends. For some of them, the remedy came too late, and they gave us no more trouble than to deliver their bodies to the poor mothers who came to collect them after searching in vain throughout the city. “Sister Siseta has finally awakened,” Badoret told me, swallowing half a loaf of bread. “I thought we were going to stay here so that Napoleon, Sancir, Agujerón, and the others who were around here could feast on our skins.” We’re not all alive, Andrés, because Pauet isn’t breathing, and Sisó, who was so furious with the _pigs_, has remained stiff in the library with half a book on his body and the other half in his hand. That’s how I’d like to see that damned Don Pablo Nomdedeu, who tried to make a mess of us. We’re now free from falling to the bottom of the pot with salt and water, and that whole thing about Miss Josefina eating you for lunch isn’t funny… The _pigs_ are already inside Gerona… Oh… and they said Don Mariano wouldn’t let them in! If it’s what I say… a lot of posturing, a lot of gasping, and then nothing. “Don’t go crazy, and tell me why you brought your sister here. ” “Ask Don Pablo and Mrs. Sumta. We took Sister Siseta seven reales that we had earned.” Sister Siseta was crying, with Gasparó in her arms. A gentleman entered the house and rudely ordered us to bury the child. Then Sister Siseta gave him many kisses, and I carried him to the grave; but I felt sorry for him and I carried him all day, until finally… Manalet threw the earth and I pressed it down with my hands so that it would be even. But then we wanted to see him again, we took out the earth… Oh! Andresillo: then we threw it back in and we never saw him again… When we returned home, Don Pablo came in sighing and groaning, and said that all his bones were broken. Afterwards he asked Mrs. Sumta for something to eat, and Mrs. Sumta also began to sigh and belch. Miss Josefina, lying on the floor, was sucking her fingers; Don Pablo began to shout, calling the saint here and the saint there, and then he hit us all with his toe, saying: “Get up!” and go out and get something for my daughter.” After the burial, we had bought a hard, black loaf of bread with the seven reales and gave it to my sister. If you could see the eyes Don Pablo had on her! Siseta is even more foolish… do you believe she didn’t want the bread and ordered it to be given to Miss Josefina? But I said, “Yes, it’s for her,” and giving half to Manalet, we began to eat it. Mrs. Sumta, jumping on me, took my share; but Manalet ate hers all in one go, attacking it with her fingers so that it would go down her throat. Then, my friend Andrés, Mr. Nomdedeu went upstairs, and coming down a little while later with a large knife, he said to us: “Shameless little devils, since you’re only good for a hindrance, we’ll eat you.” I laughed, and Manalet began to tremble and cry; but I said to her: “Don’t be an ass; we’d eat him first if he had anything but bones. Señora Sumta is really fat.” When the old woman heard this, she shook her fist at me, and Don Pablo said again… “Yes: we’ll eat them, why not?” Then Miss Josefina hugged her father, and he began to cry, letting out tears like bullets, and then he cradled her in his arms like a child. Poor Don Pablo! I really felt sorry for him… Cradling his daughter, he sang to her like a child, and then he would say: “Señora Sumta, bring me a cup of broth.” When I heard this, I couldn’t help laughing, and I said: “Well, since Señora Sumta is going to the kitchen, bring me a couple of partridges, because I’m feeling listless and don’t want any more.” They both became furious; But the doctor seemed crazy, and all he could say was, “Madame Sumta, bring some broth for my daughter; bring it quickly, or I’ll kill you…” If you had seen him, Andrés! His eyes were flashing, and with his yellow hair standing stiff over his helmet, he looked like nothing less than a demon… Just then my friends passed by on the street, called me, I went out with them, and a little while later, as I was walking along Ciudadanos Street, I saw Manalet coming running and crying, saying: “Brother Badoret, come quickly, Don Pablo wants to kill us all.” Boy, I started running with all my friends toward home. Have you ever seen a rabid cat, how it throws its paw, bares its teeth, snorts, and jumps? Well, that’s how Don Pablo was. Leaving his daughter on the ground, he came toward us, threatened us with the knife, kicked my sister, then seemed to want to kill himself , all the while shouting: “I want to wipe out the human race!” He said this many, many times. My friends were scared to death, and I grabbed a pair of tongs to throw them at his head. But I didn’t have time, because without letting go of his knife, he ran out into the street, shouting all the time that he was going to wipe out the entire human race. Then Manalet said: “Let’s get out of here and take Siseta with us.” No sooner said than done: there were twelve of us; among the older ones, we carried my sister, who was like a dead body, unable to move an arm or a leg, and took her to the canon’s house. Manalet, filled with fear, went ahead yelling: “Hurry, hurry, he’s coming back again with the knife…” Oh! Friend Andrés, when we found ourselves in this house, we breathed a sigh of relief. Then, so that the poor thing wouldn’t be on the patio tile, we brought her up to this room with great difficulty, putting her on the bed where you see her. We called her, and she didn’t respond. Then it occurred to us that we should find her something to eat; but we could find no way out except through the rooftops, and they would rather scare us than go back to our house. Here’s the trouble, kid: night fell and we were dying of hunger. Pauet and Sisó walked on the roofs eating the grass and moss that grow between the tiles. I went down to the cellar… no sign of Napoleon. They’ve all gone to the other side of the Onyar, running toward the enemy camp… Well, as I was telling you, after night came day, and after day another night, and then today dawned, and we still hadn’t eaten. I forgot to tell you that we heard the bomb fall on our house, and I said: “Give me all of them.” If you have caught Nomdedeu, it will be well spent. “He’s so stupid… ” Friend, from the roof we looked out into the yards of all the houses around here; we called out to people to help us; but they paid no attention. It’s true that many of those we saw down below were dead. My friends were as cowardly, poor things! Like chickens, and Sisó said he was going to eat one of their hands. I took them to the library, giving them permission to take out their bad year’s belly with the books, and so they began to throw some of them away. What a day, what a night, Andrés! My sister didn’t answer when we called her, and Manalet said to me: “Brother, I’m going to jump from the roof to the street and bring some food to Siseta…” We watched the railings and balconies to see if I could jump, and finally, Manalet slipped away, I don’t know how, placing his feet on the nails and his hands on the railings, and went down to the street next to the square. I also went down the way you saw me, and with this I tell you everything, because there is nothing more to tell. “Well, Badoret; I see that you were right in bringing your sister here, because although I don’t think it true, as you said, that Don Pablo wanted to devour your family, that is a man whom the misfortune of his daughter excites and enrages, and is capable of committing any atrocity. Now, thank God, we are free from such horrors, because the siege is over, and there are abundant provisions in Gerona.” By nightfall, Siseta, her two brothers, and their comrades who had escaped death were of no concern. The next day I moved my little friends to a house on Calle de la Barca, where we were given asylum. Chapter 24. I soon recovered, and after a few days I presented myself to my master, Don Francisco Satué, who gave me some very bad news. “Get ready for the journey,” he said, giving me a uniform, a baldric, and a sword, so that in all of this I could begin to exercise my high office. “So where are we going, Captain? ” “To France, you brute,” he replied with his usual rudeness. “Don’t you know we’re prisoners of war? Do you think they’re leaving us here for show? ” “Sir, I thought no one would interfere with us anymore.” “We’re in Gerona like sick people; but they want us to go to Perpignan to convalesce.” They’re detaining us only because the Governor isn’t in a condition to be transported in an ammunition wagon. “I wish he weren’t in a hundred months!” “Barbaric, what are you saying?” he shouted, threatening me. “No, Captain; it’s not that I wish for anything other than the health of our beloved Governor, Don Mariano Álvarez de Castro; but taking someone to Perpignan is almost as bad as what we’ve been through. But since those who are more powerful than us order it, so be it, and it won’t be up to me. Not to Perpignan, but to the ends of the earth, I will go with my commanders, especially if we take the great governor with us.” I spoke thus, boasting; but in reality, I felt profound pain when I realized that I was a prisoner of war, whose freedom and residence the French had at their disposal at will. Unhappy is he who in war places his affections in places and people who will not be able to follow him on the frequent and unexpected journeys to which victory or misfortune impels! When I returned to Siseta’s side, almost shedding tears, I spoke thus: “My darling, do you see how unhappy I am?… Now they are taking me to France as a prisoner of war, with all the other soldiers who are here, from Don Mariano to the last rancher. If only I could take you with me, Siseta!… But my captain, Mr. Don Francisco Satué, is the first pursuer of girls in all of Catalonia, and I am afraid of him. Now it happens to me, Siseta, that while I take the road to that damned France, which I would gladly see as food for wolves, you and your two brothers must go to Almunia de Doña Godina, where my mother is, and wait for me there, looking after my estate, until they release me, or God disposes of the life of this sinner.” Siseta answered me giving me hope, and assuring me that it was convenient to calmly await the fulfillment of our destiny, without distrusting beneficent Providence. We finally agreed that it was no great misfortune for me to go to France, and for her part, she found it very prudent to take refuge in Almunia while I returned. The real difficulty was the absolute lack of means to live within Gerona, as well as to leave it. We were poor to the last degree, and after enduring so much arduous hardship, Siseta and her siblings were destined to sustain themselves on public charity. But God does not abandon helpless creatures, and this is how He came to our aid in unexpected ways. How? When? The very events I am recounting will tell you this. But let me go to the house of Mr. Pablo Nomdedeu, about whose health I received very bad news upon returning from the saddler’s, where I took my master’s belt so that he could give it a piece. Let me go there, for despite the unpleasant encounters we had, Mr. Pablo remains a dear friend of mine, whom I truly love. The trouble is that I can’t go as soon as I would like, because on Cort Real Street, the crowds there gathered in lively groups are blocking my way. What’s going on? Do we have a fourth place? It’s nothing: it seems that the French, tired of having reluctantly complied with the main clauses of the capitulation until yesterday, have solemnly agreed to break them. This is what Father Rull told me, whom I saw very out of breath among the crowd, recounting with declamatory emphasis the details of the event. “This is shameless,” he said, “and an Emperor who does such things is a scoundrel… nothing, a scoundrel. What do I care if the French hear? I won’t lower my voice, no, gentlemen. What’s said is said.” In the capitulation, it was agreed that the regulars would be respected, and now we’re told they’re taking us to France. So what? Orders are just a game? Are we schoolboys, so that today we’re told one thing and tomorrow another? “I’m going to France too, Father Rull,” I said, “and let us console one another, for friars and soldiers get along well, and a burden is better borne on two shoulders than one. ” “Nothing, my children: we’ll go wherever they take us, and we’ll bear their cruelties with patience, as Our Lord Jesus Christ commands us. If that’s what you wanted, what’s to be done? See the consequences of capitulating when you could have held out a little longer, eating what you had. Go to France, then, and trust the words of swine.” We naively trusted in the fulfillment of the agreement, when you saw that this morning a little officer appeared at the holy house, and in a clumsy and discordant voice, he said that we should prepare to take the little road to France tomorrow, because His Majesty the Emperor had ordered it so from Paris. Apparently, they fear us as much as they fear the soldiers. And tell me now: what will become of Gerona without friars? Each one answered Father Rull according to his own ideas, some angrily, others playfully; but in the end, all of us who heard him agreed that the trip was a great piece of mischief on the part of His Majesty the Emperor of the French. When I left there, the good friar remained lecturing his friends about the preeminence that religious orders have always achieved in treaties between nations. I arrived at Mr. Nomdedeu’s house, and from the moment I entered I knew that the good doctor’s health must not be good, from the signs of consternation I noticed on Josefina’s face, as well as on Mrs. Sumta’s. She said to me: “Andresillo, don’t speak to the master about Siseta or the children; because whenever they are mentioned, he faints.” Josefina asked me about my family, and at once I told her with the joy of my eyes about the unfortunate reunion of my fiancée and her brothers. “They are all safe, except my good father,” the young woman said sadly. At once I went in to see the sick man, who received me with his usual kindness. At his bedside was a man whom I recognized as one of The clerks of Gerona. Don Pablo was undoubtedly about to make a will. His appearance and figure could not have been sadder; it was immediately evident that the lamp had very little oil left. The last light shone, indeed, as if close to being extinguished, with vivid clarity, and the irregular flame, now large and now small, was frightening with its dazzling oscillations. At times, the good doctor’s spirit became extraordinarily small; at other times, it grew larger, taking on proportions greater than those of ordinary life; and with this anguished fluctuation, a symptom of every fire that goes out, struggling between combustion and death, the doctor’s speech passed from an invincible silence to a dizzying loquacity. When I entered, he answered my questions with monosyllables that came with difficulty from his suffocated chest; but after a while, he began to wake up, and none of those present would let us get in the way: he told everything without showing any weariness. “So you assure me that I won’t die? Illusion, my friend; illusion of your good will. God has already read me the sentence, and in this there is not, and cannot be, any doubt. I fulfilled my mission; now I’m useless. ” “Sir, cheer up like hell!” I exclaimed, feigning enthusiasm. “So, now that Gerona is free of hunger and death, is the best man in the entire city going to leave? Get out of that bed, let’s go see the broken walls, the ruined forts, the ruined houses, witnesses of so much heroism. Away with laziness. That is nothing but laziness, Don Pablo. ” “Laziness it is, yes; but the ultimate and definitive laziness, that of the traveler who, having walked all day, throws himself breathless onto the road, convinced that he can go no further. Laziness it is, yes, the best of all, because it leads to the sweetest, most pleasant of dreams: death.” Oh, how prostrate I feel! For what? Was it possible that after such colossal physical and moral efforts, I could still be living? Not one life like mine, but a hundred robust and vigorous ones would have been consumed in this struggle with nature that I sustained for so long; because to tell you, Andrés, the countless difficulties I overcame would be a story that would never end. Suffice it to tell you that, in a few days, I sought out, fostered, and developed within myself qualities I didn’t have; in a few days, transformed to the utmost, I found myself with feelings and passions I hadn’t had before, and it was as if a series of different men were developing within me. I am amazed at what I did, and now I understand what an immense treasure of resources man has within himself, if he knows how to exploit them. In the end, Andrés, my poor daughter prolonged her days until the end of the siege, and when the healthy and robust ones succumbed, she, sick and weak, was saved. Here are my loving concern and my colossal efforts worthily rewarded. This tender child, who is my total love, stands before me today, gladdening my sight and my soul with the color of her cheeks. This sight is enough to console me for all my sorrows, and if her death saddens me, it is because my daughter and I are now parting. God permits it so because she no longer needs my constant care, and the lifeblood she has miraculously acquired will give her the strength to subsist on her own, without the support of these weary hands, which the earth, eager for flesh, demands. “Sir Pablo,” I said, mastering my melancholy, “discard these sad thoughts, which are the first and only cause of your illness; Send Mrs. Sumta to bring and prepare a couple of chops, for there are already good ones in Gerona, neither cat nor mouse, and eat them in peace and in the grace of God, so that, unless I am very much mistaken, death will not come to you for many years. ” “This has no place with chops, my friend Andrés. My body rejects all nourishment, and wants nothing more than to die. It is crying out its soul, rebuking it to leave at once. ” “Others were more wasted and exhausted, and yet they have lived, and out there they are quite strong. And if not, there we have the example of Siseta, whom we all thought dead, is alive and well, thank God. “Is Siseta alive?” Nomdedeu asked with profound interest and a certain excitement that he could not conceal. “Yes, sir: she is as alive as her two brothers. ” “Are you sure of it? ” “Absolutely sure. ” “And she has no wounds on her gentle body, no blows to her head, no scratches on her skin, nor is she missing an arm, leg, finger, or any other part of her estimable person? ” “No, sir: she is missing nothing,” I replied cheerfully, “or at least I have no news of it. ” “And the boys, those playful and mischievous birds of prey, are they alive and well? ” “So are they, Doctor, and all very eager to come and pay their respects to you with the courtesy that is proper to them, jumping and shrieking. ” “Oh, praise God!” exclaimed the unfortunate doctor with a certain contemplative rapture . Having said this, she remained for a while meditating or praying, both functions of which could be deduced from her collected and silent attitude, and then, calmly, she spoke to me thus: “You have given me indescribable consolation by giving me such flattering news of Mr. Mongat’s family, for I was tormented by suspicion and misgiving, the terrible certainty that I had caused great harm to those children and their kind little sister, when, after the lamentable accident with the piece of sugar, I entered Siseta’s house. My daughter was going to die of starvation. I asked Madame Sumta to give us something to eat, and Madame Sumta gave us nothing. I asked God to send something from heaven, and God refused to send me anything either. Siseta was there; her brothers entered with a noise, and the insolent vitality revealed by their agile bodies awakened in my soul a feeling that I cannot paint for you, even if I speak to you for a hundred years and exhaust all the resources of all known languages .” No: that feeling is a horrifying anomaly in human beings, and it can only exist for very short intervals in days that time will very rarely count in its infinite march. I looked at the children, I looked at their sister, and I felt an insatiable and suffocating desire to make them disappear from among living beings. Why, my friend? This I certainly won’t be able to tell you, because I myself don’t understand it. Don’t think that the repugnant instinct of cannibalism was disturbing my brain : no, it’s nothing of the sort. It was a feeling of the kind of envy, Andrés; but much, much stronger: it was selfishness taken to the extreme of preferring one’s own preservation to the existence of the rest of the human family; it was a brutal aspiration to isolate myself in the center of the devastated planet, throwing all other beings into the abyss, so that I could be left alone with my daughter; It was a burning desire to cut off all the hands that tried to grasp the board on which the two of us floated on the raging waves. Painting everything I hated at that moment about the two brothers and the poor girl would be more difficult than painting you the horrors of hell, embracing the great and the small, the whole and the details of the mansion where the unrepentant man expiates his sins. Each inhalation of her breath seemed like a theft to me; each atom of air that entered her lungs, a treasure snatched from the sum of vital elements that I wanted to gather around myself and my daughter. The damned ones shared a piece of bread, a small piece of bread, Andrés, kneaded with all the wheat and all the water of creation, for my gift. In that crisis of selfishness, I didn’t understand that the universe, with its thousand worlds, with its inexhaustible resources and wonders, existed for anyone but Josefina and me. The doctor stopped, tired, and I, wanting to remove from his mind thoughts that were doing more harm than his physical ailment, said to him: “Stop thinking about it, Mr. Pablo , these vain imaginings that are drying up your brain. Siseta and her brothers are fine, my friend, and I assure you that you haven’t eaten them. Why think about it anymore?” “Be quiet, Andrew, and let me continue,” he said calmly. “ What I am relating is not a vain imagining, for what I felt to have real existence existed within me. I must tell you that I recognized the horrible metamorphosis of my spirit, for I can give it no other name, and I said to myself: ‘No, I am not I. My God, why have you allowed me to be someone else?’ Indeed, I was not I. What horrible darkness surrounded the eyes of my spirit, as well as those of my body! Those damned children were eating, Andrew; they were putting some pieces of bread to their mouths, and before me they had the audacity to offer a part to their sister. How can you expect me to see this impassively, who had within them, diffused through their blood and capering on the subtle cords of their nerves, the thousands of demons that I carried within me! Seeing how they bit with their insolent little teeth— Seeing them swallow so shamelessly, my fury against them redoubled, and I rebuked them, telling them I was not prepared to allow anyone to live before me. Andrés, my friend; Andrés of my heart, I grabbed a knife and brandished it, like someone trying to kill flies with a sword; I ran toward them, I ran toward Siseta and Mrs. Sumta; but in my savage folly, I was not lacking a human thought to stop me from the brutal impulses of that overflowing appetite for killing. The boys, who suddenly left, returned with others of their age, and their shrieks and provocative laughter inflamed me even more. From then on, my clouded eyes saw nothing but bloody objects; a savage delirium set in, during which I felt a detestable pleasure in perhaps striking at nothing, unleashing blows on all sides against bodies that surrounded me and urged me on incessantly. I believe that after wandering around the house, I went out into the street, and my vengeful arm was destroying the entire human family in imaginary bodies. I spoke a thousand disjointed nonsense; I contemplated with joy those I believed to be my victims; I sought solitude, insulting all who passed me by; but solitude never came, for from each victim new living bodies emerged, vying with me for breathable air , light, and all the treasures of life that beautify and enrich the vast world… I don’t know what would have become of me if some friars hadn’t seized me on Ciudadanos Street, carrying me a long way on their backs. Oh, my friend! In my brain, which was a mass of seething bubbles, as if boiling on the fire, these words resounded: “It’s a pity Mr. Nomdedeu has gone mad.” And as I reflected on this thought, my soul seemed ready to regain its lost seat. Then the friars said: “Let’s give her some of these slices of saddle leather we’ve cooked, to see if she recovers…” I asked them about my daughter, and they replied that they hadn’t heard from anyone else. I felt a little more regular strength, not the exalted and anomalous strength that had driven me to so many foolish acts, and I wanted to go home… I fell to the ground… I lost the knife… A nun offered me her arm, and I arrived home. Neither Siseta, nor her brothers, nor Josefina, nor Madame Sumta were there anymore. The nuns gave me some fried cork, which I couldn’t eat, and I asked them about my daughter. Everything that had happened presented itself to me like the memories of a dream; but although I acquired the conviction that I had not extinguished the entire lineage of those born, I wasn’t sure of the invulnerability of my blind blows. “I have killed something,” I said to myself; and this thought caused me the deepest sorrow. I recognized myself as myself exclaiming: “Pablo Nomdedeu, was it you who did that?” “Enough, my friend,” I said, interrupting him, noticing that the memories of his madness were making the good doctor worse. “Later on, you will tell us such curious news. Now try to get some sleep while Mrs. Sumta prepares the usual cutlets. ” “Shut up, Andrés, and don’t try to rule over me,” he replied. “I will sleep when I see fit. Let me finish, it won’t be long now. The hospital orderlies were the ones who provided me with Some edible food, with which I felt relatively well, and I was able to go out in search of my daughter. You already know how I finally found her, and what happened to her. For my part, son, I myself, after the horrible crisis I had endured, was horrified to find myself caring for sick people who were undoubtedly less sick than I, and wounded people who did not have such terrible wounds on their bodies as the one I had on my soul. Oh, Andrés! Nomdedeu was mortally wounded. The sufferings suffered with such patience since May have wrought within me this profound malaise that I now feel and that will soon take me to the bosom of God. I marvel at having resisted so much, and I say that I had the strength of a hundred men. No, one alone is incapable of so much. Don Mariano Álvarez had only the stimulus of glory and patriotic gratitude to resist ; I have had before me nothing but pitiful sights and a dark future. The effort has been great; The tension was immense: that’s why the rope broke, and I’m leaving, I’m leaving, my daughter, Andrés, Mrs. Sumta, and the others present. I’ve done enough. Whoever thinks they’ve done more, raise your finger. Josefina and Mrs. Sumta were weeping, and when the sick man fell silent, I tried to console him with tender words. A little later, Siseta and her siblings came to see him, and the sick man seemed very pleased with their visit . He lavished affection and congratulations on everyone, treating them to an excellent meal. Then he fell asleep, and at nightfall, the time when the notary returned at his request, accompanied by three people close to Don Pablo, he called us all to say that he was going to dictate his will, which he made according to the rules, naming his daughter Josefina as heir to almost all his assets, with a clause to which I must draw your attention, so that you may know the generosity of that exemplary individual. In addition to the doctor leaving Siseta and her siblings the twenty-four cork oaks he owned in the Olot area, he stipulated that in the event of Miss Josefina’s death without succession, the entire estate would pass to Siseta and her siblings, recommending that she and her family live together to perpetuate the friendship and good service that the unfortunate patient had received from my family during the siege. The doctor’s fortune was quite meager, since the Castellá estate, devastated by the French, was worth very little, and the rest consisted of various groups of cork oaks scattered throughout the Empordà region and in places where the heirs would not venture to travel to find out about the cork they owned. He also left several bequests to Mrs. Sumta and me , although mine was more honorary than profitable, as it consisted of a diary of the events of the siege, written in the doctor’s own hand . The housekeeper fished out all the furniture and clothing that could be saved from the house. After the will was made, the Holy Viaticum was administered to the sick man. This ceremony completed, Nomdedeu remained very prostrate, speaking little and with difficulty, looking at us at times with stupid astonishment and then closing his eyes to give himself over to a restless sleep. Except for Manalet, who fell asleep on the floor, we all kept watch, ready to assist him with the greatest care and diligence; but the unfortunate Don Pablo did not need our assistance for long. Near dawn, he opened his eyes, called his daughter, and, embracing her tenderly, spoke thus: “Are you staying, my child? Are you staying here when I leave? So I will never see you again? Then all eternity will be hell for me… Josephine, come, follow me, put on your cloak, for we are leaving.” My daughter will not leave me for a single moment… After enduring such great sorrows together, should we part when it’s all over? No, Josefina. Let’s go together, or we’ll stay here in Castellá. Let’s stroll through our garden watching the cucumbers come out, and let’s not worry about what’s happening in Gerona. Look at those tomatoes, my child, and observe how those peppers are turning color… Do you see? There comes the lady. Painted Woman strutting about with her eighteen chicks: among them are six ducklings, who are the prettiest, the saltiest, and the cutest of all. They reach the pond, and without their mother being able to stop them with cackling admonitions… boom! They all jump into the water. Look how frightened Mrs. Painted Woman is and calls them. But they… yes, if you want… My child, the pear trees can’t handle any more pears: some are ripe. And what about the peaches? I think the goat has bitten into these beetroot bushes… oh, it’s Dioscorides, our Mansió’s donkey! Look at him, he’s up to his tricks there. Hey, out with you! I call him Dioscorides because he’s so serious and thoughtful. May the great sage of antiquity forgive me… Have you seen the pigeons, Josephine? Let’s see if the rats ate any of the eggs they ‘re digging for last night… Hey, our lady Mansió, Dioscorides is eating up the garden! Tie him up… The poor gardener can’t hear me… What’s he to hear if he’s wiping his granddaughter’s drool? Come here, Pauleta: take Josefina’s hand, and let’s milk the cow. How beautiful the calf is! Don’t get too close, because it gored our lady the other day… Let’s see, Josefina: get the jug. Mansió says I don’t know how to do this maneuver, and I challenge him and all the other ladies in the area to do this milking better than I do. Don’t be afraid, Esmeralda, I’m not hurting you: pisch, pisch… This atmosphere of the stable suits you very well, my child, and I like it extremely… Now comes, calm, sweet, serious, loving, and quiet, the incomparable night, in whose bosom my soul rests so well. Do you hear the frogs, who begin to greet one another, saying: _How are you? Well, and you?_ Do you hear the crickets arguing tonight about the same subject as last night? Do you hear the mysterious disyllable of the cuckoo, which seems the most perfect musical image of the serenity of the spirit? The laborers are coming home from work. How gladly the oxen stretch out their snouts, guessing the proximity of the stable! Hear the songs of those farmhands and those children, returning hungry to the cabin. There they are. Look how they surround Grandma, who has already put the pot on the fire. The smoke from the rooftops, forming slender columns against the blue sky, then drifts, vaporously fanned out by the gentle wind that comes from the mountains to play on the tops of these green elms, these dark oaks, these languid willows, these slender poplars, whose glossy leaves shine in the last light of the evening… Darkness advances little by little, and the deep sky offers above our heads a tranquil upside-down sea, through whose clear crystal we try in vain to cast our eyes to discern the bottom. Oh! Let us stay here, my child, and not separate ourselves or leave this delightful place again. All is quiet: the sheep’s bells ring with a deep music in the distance; the cuckoo, the cricket, and the frog have not yet finished clarifying the matter that has them so declaiming. The wind also ceases, closes its eyes, stretches out its arms, and falls asleep. The roofs no longer smoke; Esmeralda lies down on the cool grass, and her son, snuggled up beside her, snouts, searching in his maternal breast for what we have left behind. Nostramo Mansió is also asleep, and Dioscorides, hiding his shining eye beneath his black brow, plunges his brain into a deep slumber. The doves have stopped cooing, the rabbits are hiding in their burrows, the birds are tucking their intelligent heads under their wings, and Lady Pintada is slowly retreating to the farmyard with her eighteen children, including the ducks, who are leaving the imprint of their wet palms on the ground. The world is at rest, daughter; let us rest too. The sky is dark. Everything is dark, and nothing can be seen. My spirit and yours have long yearned for this profound tranquility, disturbed by no one or anything. Let us rest; there is no sun or moon in the sky, and only the morning star sends us a light that comes straight to us like a silver thread. Look at him, Josefina, and rest your forehead on my shoulder. I will rest my head on yours, and so we We will sleep leaning against each other. Everything has fallen silent and nothing can be seen but the morning star… Do you see? After this, Mr. Nomdedeu said nothing more in this world. Some time after he expired, it was with great difficulty that we freed his disconsolate daughter from the doctor’s icy arms, whose condition was so pitiable as to give rise to the prediction of a second catastrophe. Chapter 25. Goodbye, gentlemen; I am going to France, they are taking me. The events I have related had made me forget that I was a prisoner of war, like the other defenders of the fortress, and that it was necessary to leave. Only because of my illness was I allowed, like many others, to remain there from the 10th to the 21st, so that with illness sweet liberty ended. Goodbye, gentlemen; I’m leaving, goodbye, for that rabble was in such a hurry that I don’t say enough to say goodbye to my dear listeners, but the brief time I had wasn’t enough even to embrace Siseta and her brothers . Once our departure was announced, they set a time for us, gathered us up, and made us form a line, walk as you will, to France. The punishments imposed for violating the program of circumspection they had recommended to us were: the death penalty for attempting to escape; fifty lashes for speaking ill of José Botellas, singing the “tell me, Girona,” or naming Don Mariano Álvarez. “Goodbye, Siseta; goodbye, Badoret and Manalet, my dear wife and little brothers. Be careful with what I have warned you about. The prisoner will write to you from France if he does not first manage to elude the vigilance of his cruel jailers. Goodbye.” Don’t move from here until I tell you to, and don’t even think about taking possession of your cork oaks for now, as that and much more will be done later. Accompany the unfortunate daughter of the great Don Pablo, and brighten her sad hours. Goodbye: give another hug to Andrés Marijuán, who is being taken prisoner to France for having defended the homeland. I have faith in God, and my heart tells me I won’t leave my bones in the land of the pigs. Courage: don’t cry, for he who has escaped the bullets will also escape the prisons, and, above all, it is not for brave people to shed so many tears over a journey of a few days. Health is what matters, for freedom… it comes alone in its few steps, without anyone being able to stop it. Goodbye, goodbye. Thus I spoke to them as I took leave, and I certainly lacked the spirit and fortitude I recommended to others, and I was close to ruining my seriousness; but on that occasion it was fitting to boast of being a man of iron. My seriousness was fictitious, and there is no heroism more difficult than that which I attempted when I bid farewell to Siseta and her brothers. The truth is that my heart was oppressed, as if a gigantic hand were squeezing it to extract all its juice. Siseta remained on the Rue de la Neu, overwhelmed by profound affliction. Badoret and Manalet accompanied me as far as Pedret, and went no further because I forbade them, fearing that in the darkness of the night they would lose their way on their way back. So we left on the night of the 21st. In front of us, surrounded by mounted gendarmes, was the carriage in which Don Mariano Álvarez was carried; the officers, among whom was my master, followed; Two or three attendants made up the first group of the procession. Further back marched all the troops, mostly soldiers recovering from wounds or the epidemic. The procession could not have been more gloomy, and the Governor’s carriage rolled slowly. Nothing could be heard but French, spoken in loud and cheerful voices by our jailers. We Spaniards were silent and sad. We stopped in Sarriá, where we were joined by the friars who had left before us for the same destination, and with Their Paternities at the head, everything was missing to make the procession resemble a jubilee. It was pitiful to see them, because if among them there were robust and strong young men who withstood the rigors of the arduous journey, there was no lack of bent and weak old men who could barely take a step. The gendarmerie drove them mercilessly, and the most they were granted was that some of us offered them support by taking them by the arm. Father Rull stifled his impetuous anger and, marching ahead of everyone with a resolute stride, was undoubtedly mulling over plans of revenge in his mind. The lay brothers, carrying heavy saddlebags, graciously distributed rations of bread, cheese, dried fruit, and some wine at each stop, some of which always trickled down to the secular part of the caravan, though not much. Some French gendarmes, more humane than their leaders, also offered us a fair share of their provisions. In this way, we arrived in Figueras at three in the afternoon of the 22nd, and without allowing him any rest, the Governor was sent to the castle of San Fernando. The friars and soldiers remained in the town, and only those in the service of the General himself or his aides went up with him . We all followed the carriage, and upon entering the fortress, Don Mariano’s weakness was such that we had to carry him in our arms and transport him in the same manner to the pavilion they had assigned him, which was a bare and dilapidated little room without furniture. The hero entered the room with resignation and lay down without a single complaint on the boards they had designated for him as a bed . Those of us who saw this were indignant, unable to understand such base and ignoble cruelty in soldiers long accustomed to treating defeated enemies and powerful rivals. But we remained silent so as not to further irritate the executioners, who seemed to be arguing about who treated the victim worse. As soon as he was settled in, they brought the sick man a repugnant meal, just like the garrison soldiers’ rations; but Álvarez, feverish, exhausted, and dying, refused even to taste it. It was of no use to us to ask for sick food for him, for they brusquely replied that there was nothing better there, and that if we had been so sober during the siege, we should eat what was available. With the resignation and fortitude characteristic of his great soul, Álvarez endured these miseries and base revenges from his jailers; and we only saw him flinch when the Governor of the castle, who was a gruff, fatuous, and highly inflated middle-ranking soldier, began to ask him impertinent questions. The insolence of that rabble blinded us with rage, for not only the Governor of the citadel, but also officers from the lowest rank, dared to ask foolish and importunate questions of our hero, who didn’t even do them the honor of looking at them. The questions were not only contrary to courtesy, but also to the military spirit, for they all required our leader to account for the great crime of having defended to the point of despair the city that the government of his country had entrusted to him. They did not seem like soldiers who, with insults and crude mockery, mortified the most courageous man who ever stood before his weapons. Álvarez, always a gentleman, even in the presence of people of such ilk, responded simply: “If you are men of honor, you would have done the same in my place.” Such a sublime concept was not understood by the majority, and only a few distinguished officers, penetrating the unworthy role they were playing, hastened, after the General’s reply, to put an end to the degrading interrogation. My master immediately sent me to the town in search of meat to prepare the sick man’s meal, and thanks to my promptness and diligence, we were soon able to serve him a moderate meal. In front of the French, who refused us all help, Satué put the stewpan on, another Spanish officer blew the fire , and, having all become cooks, we, young and old, vied for the honor of caring for the sick man. He passed the night well; But it was about two in the morning when there was a loud knock at the door of the pavilion, telling us to get ready to continue our journey to France. Alvarez, who was sleeping soundly, woke up at the noise, and when he heard how the day was going, he said simply: “Let’s go.” He tried to sit up on the boards where we had made a bad bed for him with our cloaks , but he couldn’t… They were so exhausted. their forces!… But we carried him in our arms to the carriage, and in the frightful cold, lashed by the icy rain and treading on the snow that covered the road, we set off for La Junquera. The French had added a ridiculous precaution to those they had previously taken to protect us. This is laughable, gentlemen. In addition to the strong cavalry escort, they also brought out two pieces of artillery from Figueras, which followed us, constantly threatening us. Their fear that we would escape was extremely strong, and with none of the ordinary precautions did they believe the person of Don Mariano Álvarez, invalid and almost dying, was safe. There were very few of us on that second day, because the friars and the troops remained in Figueras until dawn. I don’t know if to keep Father Rull’s ardor at bay, they also equipped themselves with a couple of field batteries and some line regiments. We stopped in La Junquera for a very short time; Continuing onward through France, we arrived at Perpignan at seven o’clock in the evening of the same day, the 23rd, and after stopping at the Governor’s house, we were taken to Castillet, a graceful brick fortress, the work of King Sancho, which all who have been to that city will have seen. Without further ceremony, they designated for Alvarez’s residence a gloomy, dungeon-like chamber, with more damp than furniture, and so gloomy and filthy that Don Mariano himself , despite his strong and resigned disposition, could not contain himself, and exclaimed indignantly: “Is this place fit for the dwelling of a General? And are you the ones who pride yourselves on being warriors?” The warden, who was a barbarian, shrugged his shoulders, uttering some French curses, which seemed to me to mean something like: “We must have patience.” Then, addressing the party, that charitable individual told us that he was willing to give us whatever we wanted to eat, paying for it in good Spanish currency. Spanish currency has always been very welcome in every country where there have been any hands. Thanking him, we asked for what seemed most necessary, and we all awaited supper, settled in the filthy pigsty. Our first concern was to improvise a bed with our cloaks for our Governor, whose fatigue and weakness were always increasing. The guard returned shortly afterward with food so badly cooked that it was inedible, which did nothing to prevent him from charging us a fortune; but we gladly paid him, begging him, some in broken French and others in Spanish, to do us the favor of not honoring us with his interesting presence any longer. But he, either not understanding, or wishing to show us the full weight of his impertinence, came every fifteen minutes to visit us, shining the light of a dazzling lantern before our eyes, which were vainly trying to sleep . This mortified everyone, but especially the sick man, who, in his condition, needed rest and sleep. We told the warden so, adding that since we had no intention of escaping, he could exempt us from his repeated examinations. He answered us with vulgar threats; then we were left in darkness, and sweet sleep overcame us. But we had hardly crossed the threshold of this rich and peaceful abode of the spirit when the light of the lantern once again dazzled our eyes, and the warden touched our bodies with his paw to satisfy himself by sight and touch that we were there. Satué, furious and beside himself, said to me in one of the brief intervals when we were alone: ​​”If that beast comes back with the lantern, I’ll smash it on his head.” But Don Mariano calmed his rage, condemning an imprudence that could have been extremely disastrous for all. The night was, therefore, thanks to the visits of the warden, painful and horrible. In the morning, the commander of the plaza did us the honor of a visit. He spoke at length with Álvarez, treating him with a certain courteous benevolence that pleased us; but then he turned the conversation to an incident of which we had no news, and there he gave free rein to rudeness and insults. insults. It seems that some of the officers transferred to France immediately after the surrender of Gerona had escaped, in which they acted wisely, if they suffered the martyrdom of the warden’s lantern. Speaking of this, the commandant lavished highly derogatory words on them in front of us, adding: “But fortunately we have caught eleven of the fugitives, and they were shot two days ago. We are looking for the rest. ” Álvarez smiled and said: “So they flew, eh?” And for a moment a slightly festive expression appeared on his face. Although the commandant of Perpignan was not a man of honey, he promised Álvarez to let him rest all that day, putting a stop to the importunities of the man with the footlight, and we prepared to sleep; but alas! We were destined for new torments, the greatest of which was witnessing the strongest and most worthy of the Spaniards of that time suffer in silence, finding no relief from his ailments or pity in men. We were among people who made it a point of honor to change the crowns of heroism into crowns of martyrdom on the brow of one who never gave up, nor bent, nor broke as long as he had a breath of life to sustain his great spirit. It was, therefore, about ten in the morning when the warden showed us his round, flushed, and brutal face, adorned with blond hair. And although, given the brightness of the day, he came without a lantern, he showed us from his first words that he had come for no good. This sympathetic fragment of humanity told us all to prepare to leave; and when we pointed out that the patient, due to his horrible fever, could not move, he replied that someone would come who could make him move. Don Mariano gave us the example of resignation, sitting up in his bed and asking for his hat. We picked him up in our arms; he tried to walk on his own , but being unable to do so, we led him out of the room, and we all descended in a sad procession, mute and overwhelmed with grief. Outside the castle, we saw two lines of gendarmerie showing us the way to the wall, and the curious crowd looked at us with pity. That spectacle could not have been sadder, and with my soul oppressed and filled with anguish, I said to myself: “They’re going to shoot us.” Chapter 26. Oh, what a bitter ordeal, and what a horrendous hour! To have one’s precious existence taken away in cold blood, far from one’s homeland, absent from loved ones, without eyes to weep, in frightful solitude and among people who see in it nothing but a victim sacrificed to military interests, is one of the most overwhelming things that can be offered to the contemplation of the human spirit. I looked at that sky, and it wasn’t like the sky in Spain; I looked at the people, I heard their strange language modulating incomprehensible voices, and those people weren’t like the people here either. Above all, Siseta wasn’t there, and the void of her absence wouldn’t have been filled by a hundred lives given in exchange for the one they were about to take from me. It occurred to me to protest against that barbarity, shouting and defending myself against thousands of men; but the reality of my helplessness crushed me with formidable sorrow. I stopped seeing what was before my eyes, and my intense anguish made me weep like a woman. My companions showed fortitude; but they hadn’t left a single Siseta in Gerona. When we reached the wall, we saw the friars and soldiers who had followed us lined up . Some lay brothers and elders were weeping; but Father Rull’s black, manly eyes glowed with flames. In such a supreme predicament, the patriotic friar, raging with anger against his executioners, had forgotten the main page of the Gospel. They lined us up as well, and Álvarez’s person was confused among the others without regard for his rank. We remained still for a long time, not knowing what would happen to us, in terrible agony, until a pot-bellied little officer appeared, holding a slip of paper, naming us one by one. So much pomp, the cruel display before the populace, the display of such colossal forces against some poor sick people, dying of hunger, exhaustion, and sleep, had no other purpose than to take the roll. Alas! When I became certain that they wouldn’t shoot us, the French seemed to me to be the kindest, most charitable, and most humane people in the world. We returned to the castle, where we found great news. The room where we spent the night had been considered a great luxury of comfort for these rogues—insurgents and bandits—who had so heroically defended the city of Gerona, and we were assigned to a gloomy, airless dungeon, paved with the sharpest pebbles, between whose gaps fetid waters lingered. A double door with very strong bolts closed it, and a mean hole in the wide wall let in only a ray of light at midday, insufficient for us to recognize each other’s faces. We protested; Álvarez himself harshly reprimanded the warden; But he didn’t even have the decency to reply with anything other than an offer to serve us a good meal if we paid him well. The illustrious patient grew worse by the hour , and from that day on, we understood that he was going to die in our arms if he didn’t find a more sanitary place. Making an effort , Álvarez himself wrote a letter to General Augereau, notifying him of the poor treatment he was receiving; but he received no reply. And then there was the matter of providing the lantern at night, a charitable work that the damned, plump, blond Frenchman was at his best, in addition to robbing us with the perverse dinner he set for us. If the Governor needed any medicine, there was no human strength to bring it, for fear of poisoning himself. After a thorough search, we were stripped of all sharp instruments to prevent us from trying to put an end to the delicious life they had treated us to. We remained in that filthy pigsty until the end of December of the fateful year 1990, all of us sick, and more than sick, the great Álvarez was dying. Despite enduring such severe suffering, he showed that his body was as energetic and vigorous as his soul. During the long, sad hours, he chatted with us about the war, recounting his glorious military history, and instilling in us hope and vigor, predicting with profound insight the glorious end of the struggle with the French and the triumph of the national cause. His extraordinary spirit, superior to all those around him, knew how to grasp events with sure perspicacity, and listening to him, we heard the powerful voice of the homeland reaching the dungeon dug out of foreign soil. Finally, our painful confinement in that dungeon where we languished, watching the noble life of the defender of Gerona fade away, ended one night when the warden came in to tell us to dress quickly because we were going to be interned in France. This news, despite leaving us far from Spain, brought us immense joy, because it put an end to our confinement, and we didn’t wait for the pot-bellied man with the lantern to repeat it, showing him in various ways how much we were pleased to lose sight of him, as well as his device. They took us out of Perpignan with a large escort, and the friars went with us. The chief of the gendarmerie gave orders to shoot any friar who tried to escape, and we set off. But on this journey, Providence provided us with a generous and charitable man who, secretly from the French, his compatriots, lavished loving care on the illustrious sick man. It was the same coachman who drove him, who, sympathizing with his ailments and unaware that he was a hero, showed his Christian feelings in various ways. Grateful for his kindness, we wanted to reward him; but he would not accept anything, and when the gendarmes ordered him to quicken the pace of the cavalry in order to travel more quickly, he, knowing how much the rapidity of the race was hurting the patient, feigned illness in the meager cattle and damage to the old carriage to justify his slow pace. All those on foot, of whom there were most, We were truly grateful for the laziness of his vehicle. After resting a bit in Salces, we spent the night in Sitjans, and we never arrived at such a point, because after making the General get out of his carriage, they housed him with the rest of his retinue in a stable filled with manure, where there was no bed or chairs, or anything resembling furniture, even the most paltry and meager. Our patience exhausted in the face of such infamy, and seeing how unsuitable that filthy place was for someone who, by virtue of his rank and, furthermore, his pitiful condition, was entitled to every consideration, we could not contain the explosion of our anger, and with the harshest words we rebuked the chief of the gendarmerie. He, after threatening us, seemed to relent, no doubt understanding the justice of our demand, and finally, after hesitating, finally stated that the lodging was not his responsibility. Finally, the coachman, by order or simply with the tolerance of the commander of the force, brought a bed into the stable, on which the unfortunate patient rested for a few hours, his prodigious endurance now seemingly reaching its ultimate limit. The following morning, as we set out again, some mounted guards appeared with an order for the commander who was conducting us, and opening the document in our presence, he explained its contents, which were none other than that Monsieur Álvarez was to return to Spain. This delighted us greatly, for the hope of soon seeing our beloved homeland, and we even suspected that, taking pity on our misfortune, those gentlemen would be prepared to release us as soon as we crossed the frontier. The friars and the troops who were not part of the sick man’s retinue also believed themselves destined to soon set foot on Spanish soil, and they seemed very joyful. But the gendarmes immediately rescued them from their joyful error, ordering them to continue onward, deep into France. We bid them farewell tenderly, gathering our errands, messages, letters , and loving family memoirs, and turned our faces toward the Pyrenees. Don Mariano, upon learning that we were changing course, said: “If you don’t bring me back to Castillet de Perpignan, take me wherever you wish.” I need not enumerate the miserable accommodations and cruel treatment that followed from Sitjans to the Spanish border. I don’t know how the nature of the man against whom such a great luxury of wickedness was being displayed could resist for so long and under so many repeated blows . Finally, gentlemen, I will conclude by telling you the last scene of that terrible Via Crucis, which occurred on the border itself, a little beyond Pertús. It so happened that when, with the greatest joy, we had set foot on Spanish soil, some mounted guards appeared with new orders for the gendarmes. The chief seemed very upset, and a slight argument broke out between him and one of the bearers of the office, when we heard this phrase, which, although spoken in French, could easily be understood: “Monsieur Álvarez must return, but the aides-de-camp and assistants cannot. ” We immediately understood that they wanted to separate us from our idolized General, leaving us all in France, while he was taken again alone, completely alone, to the castle of Figueras. This caused dismay in the small procession. Satué, clenching his fists and shouting like a madman, said that he would rather let himself be torn to pieces than abandon his General; others, believing that threats and anger were a bad way to convince our guides, begged the chief of the gendarmes to let us continue. The sick man himself indicated that if he were separated from his faithful companions in misfortune, his residence in Spain would be at least as unbearable as imprisonment at Castillet. We all begged in various ways to be allowed to assist and console our beloved Governor; but this was in vain. As a complement to the thousand torments they had inflicted on the hero with refined ingenuity, they wished to subject his great soul to the ultimate test. Neither his painful illness, nor his age, nor the presumption of his Death, believed to be near and certain, moved them to pity; such was their rage against the man who had detained for seven months in front of an undefended city more than 40,000 men, commanded by the first generals of the era; that they had not felt even a hint of dejection in the face of a horrific assault involving 11,900 bombs, 7,800 grenades, 80,000 bullets, and assaults whose strength can be judged by considering that the French lost 20,000 men in all. Tired of useless pleas, we finally asked that one of us be allowed to accompany and serve the General, so that he at least would not lack the assistance his condition required; but even this was not granted to us. The bitter dispute inspired Álvarez himself to say the following: “All these are stratagems the French employ to mortify him whom they have not been able to make bend his back.” They brusquely tried to pull us away from the carriage in which he was riding; but, trampling over those who prevented us, we rushed toward him, some from one side, others from the other, and kissed his hands, drenching them with our tears. Satué burst into the carriage, and the gendarmes dragged him out by force, threatening to shoot him on the spot if he did not show his grief. The General, bidding us farewell with a calm spirit, told us to renounce useless resistance and resign ourselves to our fate; he added that he trusted in the imminent triumph of the national cause , and that, although he felt himself close to death, his soul rejoiced at that thought. He recommended prudence, conformity, and resignation, and he himself gave his drivers the order to leave, to quickly put an end to a scene that tore his heart as much as ours. The coupe sped off, and we remained in France, held back by the gendarmes, who placed their rifles against our chests to prevent any demonstration of our anger. Desperately, with eyes full of tears, we followed the carriage as it slowly disappeared into the mist, and when we could no longer see it, Satué, bellowing with rage, exclaimed: “Those dogs have taken him; they’re taking him to kill him without anyone seeing him.
” Chapter 27. It is impossible to describe to you our profound dismay at seeing ourselves slaves of France, and considering the situation of the unfortunate Álvarez, alone, in the hands of his executioners. Our own fate as prisoners caused us less grief than that of that heroic veteran, condemned for his sublime valor to become the plaything of a cruel soldiery, whom they handed over for the amusement of tormenting him. They locked us up in Pertús in a filthy stable, where, with sentries in sight, they kept us until the following day, at dawn when they were taking us out of the town, we performed an honorable act, with which I wish to conclude my account. There, on some rocks from which the hills and slopes of Spain could be seen in the distance, we clasped hands and all swore to die rather than resign ourselves to the odious slavery that the rabble sought to impose on us. From that moment on, we began to devise a skillful plan for escape, like so many others who, once taken to France, had managed to return by dangerous roads and means to their invaded homeland. My friends: so as not to tire you with prolixities that already relate only to my particular troubles, I omit the details of our stay in France, and the means we used to return to Spain. There were six of us, and only three of us returned. The rest, caught red-handed, were shot, two at Maurellas and one at Boulou. Has any of you listening to me not been in a similar situation? How many of us here untied their hands from the ropes that the French brought to France after the capture of Zaragoza or Madrid! With the account of my sufferings on the frontier, of the devilry and stratagems I used to escape, and of the thousand things that happened to me since I crossed the frontier at Puigcerdá To join this Lacy division in central Spain, where I am now, would take another two long nights, since the entire siege of Gerona and the extravagances of Don Pablo Nomdedeu require no more time and space than the dangers, tricks, toils, and terrible situations I have encountered. I conclude, therefore, not without taking a look back , as my rare listeners seem to demand, eager to know what became of Siseta, as well as of her brothers Badoret and Manalet. My spirit would not be at peace if I had lived for such a long time without hearing from people so dear to me. Before leaving Catalonia with the intention of joining the Army of the Center, I found ways to send news of myself to Gerona, and God granted me the consolation that true and fresh news would also reach me. The three brothers remain there safe and sound, in the company of Miss Josefina, who sees them as her whole family and the only consolation of her sad days. The doctor’s daughter has not completely recovered her health, nor, unfortunately , will she, so I am told. She has been inclined to enter a convent; but Siseta tries to erase her melancholy and induces her to aspire to marriage in the certainty of finding a good husband. However, Josefina shows no disposition to follow this advice, and prefers to immerse her life in contemplations of Nature and Religion, which are undoubtedly the most appropriate nourishment for her poor, orphaned and solitary spirit. Siseta and her brothers await my retirement from the army to go to Almunia, where I have my lands, consisting of two dozen vines and no small number of leafy olive trees. For my part, I pray to God that we will finally be freed from the French, so that I may throw off the heavy burden of arms and return to my village, where I do not intend to do anything useful upon my arrival except marry. With what Siseta has inherited and what I own, we have enough to live a life of humble well-being and unalterable happiness, for I am not troubled by the sting of ambition, nor do I aspire to high positions, vain honors, or wealth, the mother of worries and anxieties. Today I fight for my country, not for love of the greatness of the military, and of all those present, I am perhaps the only one who does not dream of being a general.
Others yearn to rule the world, subjugate nations, and live amid the din of armies; but I, content with silent solitude, want no army other than the children I hope Siseta will bear me. Thus ended Andresillo Marijuán’s account. I have faithfully reproduced it in its essential part, using as a powerful aid the manuscript by Don Pablo Nomdedeu, which my good friend later gave me when I attended his wedding. I repeat what I said at the beginning of the book, and that is that the modifications introduced into this account affect only the surface, and the manner of expression is entirely my own. Perhaps the legend of Andrés has lost much of the simplicity of its rough style; but I was determined to unify all parts of this story of my life, so that throughout its vast length the stroke of a single pen would be found. When Marijuán fell silent, some of those present gave different interpretations of Don Mariano Álvarez’s confinement in the castle of Figueras; and since we had learned of the mysterious death of the distinguished captain, undoubtedly the greatest figure who illustrated that war, even before entering Andalusia , each person explained the event differently. “It is said that he was poisoned,” affirmed one, “as soon as he arrived at the castle.” “I believe that Álvarez was hanged,” said another, “for his swollen, purple face , according to those who saw His Excellency’s body, indicates that he died by strangulation. ” “Well, I’ve been told,” added a third, “that he was thrown into the castle cistern. ” “Some say he was beaten to death. ” “Well, he died only of hunger, and it seems that from the moment he arrived he was locked in a dungeon, where he was kept for three days without food.” someone. –And when they saw that he was dead, and were assured that he would not commit another act like the one in Gerona, they displayed him on a stretcher in full view of the people of Figueras, who went up en masse to contemplate the body of the great man. We discussed for a long time, without being able to clarify the kind of death that had snatched from the world that immortal example of military men and patriots; but since his end was evident, we finally agreed that clarifying the means employed to exterminate such a terrible enemy of imperial power affected French honor more than the Spanish army, orphaned of such a distinguished leader. And if he was truly assassinated, as has been believed here ever since, the responsibility of those who tolerated such atrocious barbarity without punishing it would suffice to exempt France from the application of the laws of war insofar as they are humane. That he died violently seems beyond doubt, and a thousand clues corroborate an opinion that French historians have been unable to dispel with ingenious efforts. It is not credible that orders from Paris instigated this horrible murder; but a power that, if not disposed of, tolerated such savage attacks, indisputably deserved the bitterness and horrendous downfalls it later experienced. Infatuated and unbridled pride blindly perpetrates great crimes, believing it is carrying out acts marked by an illusory destiny. Those who are wicked on a grand scale, who have had the good fortune or misfortune to have an entire continent debased by throwing itself at their feet, come to believe that they are above moral laws, which, in their judgment, regulate only the petty details of life. For this reason, they dare, calmly and without their hardened hearts beating with anxiety, to violate moral laws, adhering to a thousand futile and shifting rules that they themselves dictated, calling them reasons of state, interests of this or that nation; and sometimes, if left to their own devices, on the vain axis of their whim or their passions, they can move and turn innocent peoples, thousands of individuals who only want the good. It is true that part of the responsibility falls on the world for allowing half a dozen men or just one to play ball with it. Vices and crimes, developed to colossal proportions, are disfigured to such an extent that they are unrecognizable; the historian is dazzled, deceived by the optical grandeur of what is in reality small, and applauds and admires a crime simply because it is perpetrated across the entire hemisphere. Excessive magnitude hinders observation, just as narrowness does, causing the object to be lost in the mists of the invisible. I say this because, in my opinion, Napoleon I and his ephemeral empire, apart from his immense military genius, differ from the bandits and murderers who have swarmed the world in the absence of police, only in magnitude. To invade nations, plunder them, appropriate them, break treaties, deceive the entire world, kings and peoples, to have no law but whim, and to maintain a constant rebellion against all humanity, is to elevate the very system of our famous horsemen to the maximum level of development. Certain expressions do not have the extension they should have in any language, and if robbing a traveler of his handkerchief is called _theft_, to express the clearing of a region, the forced expropriation of an entire people, languages ​​have perfidious expressions and phrases with which diplomats and conquerors fill their mouths , since no one is ashamed to mention the _grandiose continental plans, the absorption of some peoples by others…_, etc. To avoid this, there should exist a police force of nations, a corporation that is truly something difficult to set up. But in the meantime, we have Providence, which, after all, knows how to shade marauders on a large scale, returning lost objects to their owners and reestablishing the moral empire, which is never destroyed for long. Forgive me, my dear friends, for this digression. I did not intend to make it; but When speaking of the death of the incomparable Don Mariano Álvarez de Castro, the man, among all the Spaniards of this century, who knew how to take the application of patriotic sentiment to the highest extreme, I could not help but look to observe everything that was around, above and below that bruised corpse that the people of Figueras contemplated in the courtyard of the castle one morning in January 1810. That murder, if it really was, as is believed, must have brought great catastrophes to whoever perpetrated or consented to it, and it does not matter that the criminals, increasingly proud, presented themselves to us with apparent impunity, because we already see that rising high brings the consequence of falling from even higher heights, which usually results in crashing. Chapter 28. We heard the account of Andrés Marijuán, lodged in a house in Puerto de Santa María, where, in addition to us, who belonged to Aréizaga’s army, there lived many Canarians from Alburquerque, who had arrived the day before, completing their glorious retreat. It was thanks to this General that supreme power had not fallen into the hands of the French, for with his skillful movement on Jerez, while he held off the advances of Víctor and Mortier in Écija, he gave time to prepare the defense of the island of León, and stalled the enemy in the vicinity of Seville. This happened at the beginning of February, and in the same days we were ordered to cross to the island, because on the mainland, that is, from the Suazo Bridge onward, sad to say, there was not a single inch of defensible terrain . All of Spain flowed to that piece of country, and the army, nobility, clergy, people, force, and intelligence—all of national life in short— were gathered there . Likewise, in moments of sudden danger for a man of courageous spirit, all the blood rushes to the heart, from where it then flows forth with renewed vigor. For my part, I ardently desired to enter the Island. That marsh of salt and sand, invaded by shifting pools and crisscrossed by streams of salt water, had for me the charm of a native home, and even more so the rocks where Cadiz sits at the tip of the isthmus, that is, in the hand of that arm that reaches out to deposit it in the midst of the waves. I saw Cadiz from afar, and a vivid emotion stirred in my heart. Who wouldn’t be proud of having the cradle of modern Spanish civilization as their cradle? We were both born on the same day, for at the close of the century, the bosom of the city of Hercules stirred with the gestation of a culture that would not be incarnated in the depths of Mother Spain until much later. My first years, hectic and turbulent, were as turbulent as those of the century, which on that same date saw the condensed Spanish nationality, yearning to regenerate itself amidst the double siege of stormy waves and enemy fire. But in February 1810, none of this existed yet, and Cádiz was for me only the finest refuge the earth can offer man; the city of my childhood, full of tender memories, and so superbly beautiful that no other could compare. Cádiz has always been the Andalusia of the waves, graceful and festive within a circle of storms. Then it assumed all the poetry of the sea, all the grandeur of commerce. In those months, its poetry, grandeur, and glory multiplied , because it was to contain within its white walls the entire nationality with all its elements of life in full effervescence, which, expelled from the great territory, took refuge there, leaving the homeland empty. At the gates of Cadiz begin the events of my life that I most fervently long to recount. Pay attention to me, and let me put order into so many and such varied events, both particular and historical. History, when it reaches this island and this rock, is so fertile that it itself does not realize the multitude of children it deposits in such a narrow nest. I will try not to forget anything, neither my own nor that of others. To keep with the habit, I begin with an adventure of my own, in which the far-fetched history has nothing to do, since to this day I have not I have been determined to tell it to no one, nor even if I did tell it, it would be immortalized in bronze plates, and it was as follows: A Portuguese friend of mine, one of those who had come from Extremadura with Alburquerque, was hanging around a house at the end of Larga Street, where a few days before he had seen an unknown beauty enter, whom he praised to the skies whenever we touched on this point. His strolls day and night, in which he displayed a zeal and a self-denial beyond all praise, yielded no more result than seeing through the tight green lattices two figures, two figures of indeterminate shape, but who immediately revealed themselves to be cheerful women from the muffled whispering and laughter with which they seemed to celebrate the calmness of my strolling friend. The less he saw them, the more absolutely beautiful they seemed to him, and with the difficulty of speaking to them, his desire grew to put a glorious end to an adventure that until then had had few events. One afternoon, he wanted me to accompany him on his sentry at the foot of the gate, and I was fortunate enough to have my presence alter the monotonous evasiveness of the beautiful ladies, who until then had responded to neither notes, nor signs, nor languid glances except with the usual laughter and mocking lisps. Figueroa had slipped a note, and had the indescribable satisfaction of receiving a reply in the form of a note that fell, like a blessing from heaven, before us. In it, the beautiful stranger stated that she was willing to open the lattice to express her gratitude verbally for his kind regards, and added that , finding herself in serious jeopardy due to a domestic incident she could not reveal, she requested the help of the gallant, along with that of his friend , to get out of it . This caught our attention greatly, and on our way back to the lodgings to await the seven o’clock hour for which we had been summoned, we made a thousand comments about the event. The greater the mystery, the greater the desire to unravel it, and both of us, curious to know whether we were going to have a tasty adventure or fall victim to a joke, went to the foot of the gate at night. As soon as we arrived, it opened, and a woman’s voice, whose accent, although sweet, did not seem to me to reveal a person of high class, spoke to Figueroa with considerable agitation: “Sir soldier, if you are a gentleman, as I believe, I hope you will not refuse to grant an unfortunate lady the generous aid she requests. My husband, the Duke of the Shadowy Mountains, is asleep at this hour; but I cannot allow you to set foot in the confines of this arkásar, which my jealous master has converted into the tomb of my beauty, the prison of my freedom, and the death of my life. The slightest murmur would awaken the faithful and bloodthirsty Rodulfo, my lord’s page and my jailer.” Well, you will see: my honor depends on a trustworthy person immediately crossing the salty waves and leaving for Cadiz on a most urgent errand, without which my situation is such that I will not wait for the rosy dawn to snatch my life away with a poison composed of a hundred deadly plants, a compound I have here in this little bottle. Figueroa was perplexed and dazed, although somewhat disposed to take it seriously, and I stifled my laughter at the way the two strangers were laughing at us; but my friend assured me that he was determined to render them both any services, easy or difficult, they might wish to ask of him, and then the same woman who had spoken before added: “Oh! Thank you, I invite you, soldier; that is what I expected from your gallantry and chivalry, never belied in a thousand and one adventures, as is proved by the rumors of fame that your exploits have brought to my ears. Well, then, you will see.” My maid, who is this beautiful and gallant maiden you see by my side, is called Soraida; she will go to Cadiz in a fragile skiff that Perico the boatman has ready at the dock; but since she is very shy, I wish that she be accompanied by that loyal friend of yours, who is there listening to us like a marble man. I immediately said that I was willing to accompany the maiden, and my friend, somewhat embarrassed by the speeches of his beloved beauty, did not know what to reply. The stranger spoke thus with increasing affectation: “Oh! Thank you, _insine friend of the brave Othello_. I had expected as much from your _malanimity_. Well, _listen_, sir soldier. While this faithful friend goes to Cadiz to accompany my maiden on the difficult commission that my threatened honor entrusts to her, we will remain here fooling around on this balcony; whereby, do you understand?, I will have an opportunity to show you the amorous fire that inflames my breast.” I had scarcely finished speaking when the door of the house opened and a woman appeared covered from head to foot in a thick black mantle, who, coming up to me and taking my arm, forced me to quickly follow her, saying: “Sir officer, come, it’s late.” I didn’t have time to hear what the stranger was saying from the window to the besotted Figueroa, because the lady, a maid or whatever she was, wouldn’t let me stop and urged me forward, always repeating: “Sir Officer, go ahead. You’re such a pain!… Don’t look back or stop, I’m in a hurry. ” I wanted to see her face, but she carefully hid it. It was obvious she was trying to contain her laughter and disguise her voice. She was an arrogant woman, and she revealed to me with just the touch of her hand on my arm the high status to which she belonged. From the moment she appeared, I had suspected she wasn’t a maid, and after hearing her and feeling the touch of her dress, no man would have been mistaken about her class. I was somewhat stunned by the unusualness of the adventure, and a sweet confusion filled my soul. Clues and memories came to mind, and that woman carried in the folds of her dress an atmosphere that was not new to me. But at first, I couldn’t even clearly formulate my suspicion. The stranger led me quickly, and we hurried through the streets of the port, talking in this manner: “Madam, do you insist on going to Cadiz by sea at this hour? ” “Why not? Do you get seasick? Are you afraid of embarking? ” “No matter how good the sea is, the journey will not be comfortable for a lady. ” “You are a fool. Do you think I am a coward? If you don’t have the courage, I will go alone. ” “I will not allow that, and even if it means going to America in the fragile skiff that the Duchess of the Shadowy Mountains spoke of… ” The stranger could not contain her laughter, and the sweet accent of her voice resonated in my brain, awakening a thousand ideas that quickly transformed the darkness of my thoughts into light, and the nebulous doubts into certainty. “Go ahead,” she said when she saw me stop. “We are already at the dock. The boatman is there. The tide is rising and will favor us; the sea seems calm.” I fell silent, and we continued to the seawall. It was necessary to descend a series of stones arranged in the shape most like a staircase, and the descent was not without danger. I took my companion in my arms and carefully lowered her into the boat. Then she could neither, nor would she, no doubt, hide her face from me, and I recognized her. My strong emotion prevented me from speaking. “Oh, Countess!” I exclaimed, tenderly kissing her hands. “What great happiness to find Your Grace!” “Gabriel,” she replied, “it has truly been a blessing that you have found me, for you are going to be of great service to me. ” “I am destined to be Your Grace’s servant wherever you choose .” “No, not a servant: those days are over. Where have you been? ” “In Zaragoza.” “Do you see how easily one earns epaulettes, and with them, position and renown in the world? We are entering a time when the unfortunate and the poor will climb to the positions that greatness should occupy. Gabriel, I am astonished to see you, a gentleman. Well, very well.” That’s how I loved you . You hadn’t told me anything. Why haven’t you sought me out? You don’t love us anymore. “My lady, how can I forget the favors I received from Your Grace? I am confused to see that once again, and when I least expected it, Your Grace deigns to use me. ” “Don’t be so downcast, Gabriel; things have changed. You’re not the same; I don’t know you. You see me, you speak to me, and you don’t ask me about Agnes?” “My lady,” I said, astonished, “I didn’t dare to go that far. I see that Your Grace has changed more than I have. ” “Perhaps. ” “Is Inés alive? ” “Yes, she’s in Cádiz. Do you wish to see her? Well, don’t worry: I promise you that you will see her, you will see her.” Saying this, Amaranta spoke in a tone that made me understand her desire to mortify someone by allowing me to see her daughter. Her benevolence had me so confused that I couldn’t even manage to thank her . “At what a critical moment for me you have appeared, Gabriel! An event that you will learn about later obliges me to go to Cádiz tonight, alone, without any of my family knowing. God could not offer me a more suitable companion or guardian. ” “But, my lady, don’t you consider that the gates of Cádiz are closed at this hour? ” “All of them are closed to me except one.” That’s why I’m venturing on this potentially dangerous voyage. The chief guard at the sea gate is a friend of mine, and he’s waiting for me. I had the boat ready. I was ready to go alone , and when you appeared on the street accompanying the officer who was patrolling us, I saw heaven open. Gabriel, I swear I’m overjoyed to see you in the honorable condition you’re in now . That’s how I wished you were. But, kid, are you really yourself?… Well, he doesn’t wear his epaulettes like a man!… The little rascal, with that uniform that suits him well, has the air of a decent person… Go make people believe you played in the Cove!… Boy, good, good, I like it that way… how well that farce of your ancestry would suit you now!… I can’t stop looking at you, you rascal… what times these are! Here’s a cat who wanted shoes, and who got away with it… I swear you’re someone else. Inés won’t recognize you… How timely you’ve come! You’re doing very well, my boy… Ever since you were my page, I knew your heart of gold… Oh! All you needed was the lining, and I see you’re getting it… Gabriel, I think you’re glad to see me, aren’t you? Me too. How many times have I said: If that boy were to appear now… Tomorrow I’ll tell you everything. My boy, I am the most unfortunate woman on earth. The boat was moving forward with its bow toward Cadiz. The boatman, fixed at the stern, steered the wheel, and two boys had hoisted the lateen sail, with which , thanks to the fresh night wind, the vessel glided gallantly through the gentle waves of the bay. The moonlight lit our way: we were swiftly passing beside the black mass of English and Spanish warships, which seemed to be sailing alongside in the opposite direction to the one we were following. Although the sea was calm, the boat was quite choppy, and I held the Countess with my arm to prevent her from getting hurt by the frequent pitching of the vessel. The three sailors didn’t utter a single word the entire journey. Chapter 29. “We’re taking so long!” Amaranta said impatiently. “The boat is going like lightning. We’ll be there in ten minutes,” I said , seeing the lights of the city reflected in the water. “Are you afraid? ” “No, I’m not afraid,” she replied sadly, “and I swear that even if the waves were so strong that they threw the boat up against the mastheads of that ship, I wouldn’t hesitate to make this journey. I would have done it alone if you hadn’t appeared, as if sent from heaven, to accompany me. When I saw you, my first idea was to call you; but then my maid and I came up with the invention you heard, to disorient the Portuguese gentleman. I don’t want anyone to know me.” “The Duchess of the Shady Mountains will be unnerving my good friend’s brains by now. ” “Yes, and she will do so well. If my spirit were calm, I would laugh to recall the seriousness with which she delivered the stories I showed her this afternoon. Not long ago, when an English traveler was trying to flirt with me, Dolores tried to pass herself off as a mistress and I as a maid; but he immediately saw through the deception. She never left us alone, and you cannot imagine the happy ideas my maid had about the British gentleman.” of his sad appearance, his fiery outbursts, and his limp. He was at times amiable and refined, at times somber and sarcastic; his name was Lord Byron. “It’s no wonder Your Grace drove that English gentleman mad. But we’re here now, Countess, and the boat is about to dock at the pier. The guard comes out to tell us who’s there. ” “No matter: I have a pass. Tell them to call Don Antonio Maella, chief of the guard.” The officer introduced himself and admitted us without difficulty, then opened the door for us, through which we passed to the Plaza de San Juan de Dios. While he escorted us to that point, he spoke briefly with Amaranta. “I was expecting you,” he said. “The two Marquesas have their trip planned for tomorrow, on the English frigate Eleusis. They plan to settle in Lisbon. ” “Their goal is to get away from me,” Amaranta replied. “Fortunately, I’ve had advance notice, and it seems to me I’m just in time.” “They kept the voyage so quiet that I myself didn’t find out about it until this afternoon, from the captain of the frigate. Do you intend to leave with them as well? ” “I will leave if I can’t stop them.” Saying this, the Countess, without wasting time responding to the officer’s compliments and politeness, took my arm and, forcing me to take a brisk pace, said: “Gabriel, let’s not stop. How worried I am! I’ll tell you everything later. Imagine, after they’ve made me live as if in exile, separated from what I love most in the world… what do you think? My God, what have I done to deserve such a punishment? Yes… After they’ve forced me to live there… I’ll tell you… they’ve even insisted on making me look like a Frenchwoman… And all this, why?” You might say… Well, nothing more, but because… let’s hurry… because I’m against them making her unhappy forever… My aunt has no feeling, and our relative from Rumblar has a roll of parchment where the rest of us carry our hearts. Besides, with the green lenses of her spectacles she sees nothing but money… Gabriel, etiquette and pride on one side; pride and avarice on the other… You can’t imagine how distressed and sad the three poor girls are… And now they want to take them to Lisbon… what do you say to that?… All to get Inés away… With what secrecy they prepared the trip!… With what skill they confined me in the Port, giving false news about me to the members of the Junta! Fortunately, I am a friend of the English ambassador Wellesley… otherwise… Well, if my aunt and I are hotly contesting over whether to direct poor Agnes toward her best destiny… she’s going one way, I’m going another… what I want is more reasonable; and if not, tell me your opinion… But we’ll talk tomorrow. Will you stay on the island or come to Cadiz? I hope we’ll see each other, Gabrielillo. Do you remember when you were my page at the Escorial, and I told you those stories? “Those and other memories from that time, madam,” I replied, “are the sweetest of my life. ” “Do you remember when you presented yourself to me in Cordoba?” she continued, laughing. “You were somewhat foolish then.” Do you remember when you went home with Father Salmon in Madrid?… Do you remember when I found you at El Pardo dressed as the Duke of Arion?… Afterwards, I thought a lot about you, and I said: “Where could that wretch be?…” I think God has taken you by the hand to place you before me. We’re finally here. We stopped beside a house on Verónica Street. “Knock,” the Countess told me. “This is the house of a very trustworthy friend of mine. ” “Does the Marchioness live here?” I asked, pulling the bell on the gate. “This house is not unknown to me. ” “Doña Flora de Cisniega lives here: do you know her? Let’s go in.” Lights can be seen in the living room. They’re still having a social gathering; it’s early. Quintana, Gallego, Argüelles, Gallardo, and many other patriots will be there . We went upstairs, and in an inner room we were greeted by the lady of the house, in whom I immediately recognized an old friend. “Is she here?” the Countess asked anxiously. “Yes: although they are embarking tomorrow in secret, they have undoubtedly come tonight so that I might not suspect their intention. But I am not fooled… Are you going to the parlor? The gathering is very lively. Oh! My friend, tonight I have won a good sum. ” “No, I am not going to the parlor. Send Inés out under some pretext. ” “She is having a long conversation with the amiable little Englishman. But she will come out. I will send Juana to call her. ” After giving the order to her maid, Doña Flora looked at me attentively, wanting to recognize me. “Yes, I am Gabriel, Señora Doña Flora; I am Gabriel, the page of Señor D. Alonso Gutiérrez de Cisniega. ” Doña Flora, needing no more, rushed at me with all the force of her tender heart. “Gabrielillo, is it possible that it is you?” “—she exclaimed shrieking, clasping me in her arms. “You’re quite a man, a gentleman… How tall you are! I’m so glad to see you!… I’ve already missed you … but how handsome you are!… How do I feel?… Another hug… Oh!… Why did you leave me?… Poor little boy!” While I was the object of such ardent displays of joy, I heard a whisper of skirts toward the corridor that led to the room where we were. “Gerona” is an epic ode to the courage of a city that preferred sacrifice to surrender. Galdós masterfully manages to show not only the harshness of the conflict, but also the human greatness that emerges in the midst of adversity. Through his characters, the reader relives the drama of a resistance that marked an era. We hope you enjoyed this moving episode in Spanish history, and we invite you to continue exploring more exciting stories here, in Ahora de Cuentos.

Sumérgete en la apasionante narración de *Gerona*, una de las obras más conmovedoras de Benito Pérez Galdós, que retrata con intensidad el sitio de la ciudad durante la Guerra de la Independencia Española. 🇪🇸💥

En esta entrega de *los Episodios Nacionales*, Galdós nos transporta al corazón de una ciudad asediada por las tropas napoleónicas, donde el valor, la resistencia y el sufrimiento del pueblo gerundense se entrelazan con la historia y la emoción. 🏰❤️

📖 ¿Qué encontrarás en esta obra?
– Una reconstrucción literaria del famoso Sitio de Gerona (1809) 🗓️
– Personajes inolvidables que encarnan el coraje y la dignidad 🙋‍♀️🙋‍♂️
– Un retrato magistral del dolor y la esperanza en tiempos de guerra ⚔️🕊️

👉 Ideal para amantes de la historia, la literatura española y quienes disfrutan de relatos épicos llenos de humanidad y dramatismo.

🎧 Escucha esta narración completa en nuestro canal *Ahora de Cuentos* y revive uno de los capítulos más heroicos del pasado español.

📌 ¡No olvides suscribirte para más novelas clásicas narradas! → https://bit.ly/AhoradeCuentos

🔔 Activa la campanita para no perderte nuestras próximas publicaciones.

#LiteraturaEspañola #BenitoPérezGaldós #Gerona #EpisodiosNacionales #GuerraDeLaIndependencia #SitioDeGerona #NovelaHistórica #ClásicosDeLaLiteratura #HistoriaDeEspaña #Audiolibro #NovelaBélica #Heroísmo #Napoleón #YouTubeLiterario #AhoraDeCuentos #CulturaEnEspañol #LecturaRecomendada #EspañaSigloXIX #Gerona1809 #NarraciónHistórica

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