🔥 La batalla de los Arapiles ⚔️🇪🇸 Una epopeya histórica inolvidable
In the context of the Spanish Peninsular War, Benito Pérez Galdós transports us to one of the most decisive episodes of this conflict: the Battle of Arapiles. This vibrant and deeply human narrative is part of his acclaimed National Episodes and offers us a vivid look at the courage, strategy, and passions that marked that confrontation between French troops and the Anglo-Spanish allied forces. We will accompany the characters across the battlefield, amid cannons, smoke, and courage, in a story where the epic and the everyday are masterfully intertwined. Chapter 1. The following letters, advantageously supplementing my narration, will allow me to rest a little: “_Madrid, March 14._ ” Dear Gabriel: If you have not been more fortunate than I, we are in for a treat. My investigations have revealed nothing so far other than the sad certainty that the police commissioner is no longer at this Court, nor is he serving the French, nor anyone else, except the devil. After his excursion to Guadalajara, he requested leave, then abandoned his post, and at present no one knows where he is. Some suppose him to be in Salamanca, his native land; others in Burgos or Vitoria; and some claim he has gone to France, the former theater of his criminal adventures. Oh, my son, why did God make the world so vast, so immensely vast, that in it it is impossible to find the good that is lost! This immensity of creation only favors scoundrels , who always find a place to hide the fruit of their plunder. My situation here has improved somewhat. I have capitulated, my friend; I have written to my aunt telling her what happened at Cifuentes, and the head of my illustrious family shows me in his last letter that he pities me. The administrator has received orders not to let me die of hunger. Thanks to this and the good stock of my old wardrobe, the poor countess won’t beg for alms. I’ve tried to sell the jewels, the lace, the tapestries, and other unrelated items; but no one wants to buy them. In Madrid there isn’t a peseta, and when bread is at fourteen and sixteen reales, imagine who will have the mood to buy jewels. If this continues, the day will come when I’ll have to exchange all my diamonds for a hen. “So that you can understand what a glorious future awaits my historic house, one of the brightest stars in the sky of this great monarchy, it will suffice to tell you that the lawsuit between our family and that of Rumblar has already been filed, and the Chancellery of Granada has given birth to a mountain of stamped paper, which, if God does not remedy it, will grow to the hilt, and our grandchildren will see it with peaks higher than those of the Sierra Nevada itself.” Rumblar’s is engulfed with delight in this sea of jurisprudence. I think I can see it. It would transform the human race into judges, scribes, bailiffs, and pandects so that everything that breathes could understand its plight. “Lic. Lobo, who frequently visits me with the dual purpose of enlightening me on my matter and of asking me for a handout—which, in Madrid, is what high-ranking state officials ask for—has told me that in this lawsuit there is enough material for a short time, that is to say, that a couple of centuries, badly counted, won’t pass without the Court issuing its judgment or issuing a decree for better provision, which is the height of delight. The aforementioned Lobo also assures me that if we persist in transferring the majorazguil rights to Inés, we could easily lose the litigation within a few months, since it’s not necessary to wait centuries to lose. The informalities that occurred in the recognition, and the indiscretion of my poor uncle, who has already gone down to the grave, put our heiress in a very bad position to claim her estate. Our role is reduced today, according to Lobo, to claiming the non-transmission of the estate to the house of Rumblar, basing ourselves on various reasons of _most civil possession_, _rigorous agnation_, _naked masculinity_, _eminence_, _saltuary_, with other pretty words, which I am learning for the recreation of my sad solitude and the entertainment of my last days. “My aunt says that I am to blame for this disaster and cataclysm in which The most glorious house, which has defied centuries and endured the ravages of time without so far producing a single rotten root, is about to collapse, and it bases its anathema on my opposition to the planned marriage of our rights with the rights of the Rumblars. Truly, my aunt is not without reason, and bitter torments are undoubtedly being prepared for me in Purgatory for having caused this conflict with my tenacity. “I am sending this letter to you in Sepúlveda. I believe your inquiries will be fruitless all the way from Francia to Aranda. Try to go to Zamora. I am pursuing my inquiries here with tireless ardor; and, demonstrating great zeal for the French cause, I have acquired acquaintances with high and low-ranking employees, mainly in the public and secret police. “If you join Carlos España’s division, let me know. I believe it would be beneficial to your military career to abandon those ferocious guerrillas; But, for God’s sake, don’t join the army of Extremadura. I believe the light we desire will not come from that side; stay in Castile as long as you can, my son, and do not abandon my holy enterprise. Write to me often. Your letters and the pleasure I get from answering them are my only consolation. I would die if I didn’t weep and write to you. March 22. You cannot imagine the appalling misery that reigns in Madrid. I have been told that a bushel of wheat is currently selling for 540 reales. The rich can live, albeit poorly; but the poor are dying in those streets by the hundreds, without any relief from their hunger. All the means of charity are useless, and money searches for food without finding it. The helpless people fiercely dispute over a stalk of cabbage and the leftovers of those few who still have a table with tablecloths in their homes. It is impossible to go out into the street, because the spectacles that are presented to the eye at every moment provoke horror and distrust of infinite Providence. At every step, one sees the starving beggars, thrown into the gutter, and in such a state of emaciation that they look like corpses in which a remnant of a useless and miserable life has been forgotten. The mud and filth of the streets and squares serve as their bed, and they have no voice except to ask for bread that no one can give them. If the police would allow it, they would curse the French, who have a plentiful supply of biscuits in their warehouses, while the nation is dying of hunger. They say that 20,000 bodies have been buried here since August , and I believe it. Death is in the air here; The silence of the graves reigns in Platerías, San Felipe, and the Puerta del Sol. Since so many buildings have been demolished, including Santiago, San Juan, San Miguel, San Martín, Los Mostenses, Santa Ana, Santa Catalina, Santa Clara, and many houses near the Palace, the many ruins give Madrid the appearance of a bombed city. What desolation, what sadness! The French stroll happily, contentedly, and plump through this cemetery, and its police cruelly harass the peaceful residents. Groups are not allowed in the streets, nor are they allowed to stop and talk, nor to look into the shops. Shopkeepers are fined 200 ducats if they allow curious onlookers to linger at their doors or windows, so that every now and then the poor, tacky people have to go out and beat their customers with a measuring stick. Yesterday the King decreed a bullfight to entertain the people: what sarcasm! I’ve been told the plaza was deserted. I imagine I see in the ring half a dozen skeletons dressed in costumes embroidered with silver and gold, and more eager to devour the bull than to tease it. José attended, who in this way hopes to win the favor of the people of Madrid. “It is said that the idea is to convene the Cortes in Madrid, I don’t know if also to entertain the people. Azanza, minister of His Bonaparcian Majesty, told me that this way they would erect ‘one altar in front of another altar’. I believe the altarpiece here will not have as many devotees as the one we left in Cádiz. “Now they say that Napoleon is going to undertake a war against the Emperor of all the Russias. This will be favorable to Spain, because they will withdraw troops from the Peninsula, or at least they will not be able to repair the losses they have suffered. They are continually suffering. I see the French cause in a rather bad state, and I have observed that the most discreet among them no longer entertain any illusions regarding the final outcome of this war. “About our affair, what can I say that is not sad and disconsolate? Nothing, my son, absolutely nothing. My inquiries yield no results ; I have not been able to acquire even the slightest light, not the slightest clue. However, I trust in God and I hope. I address this letter to Santa María de Nieva, which is the most certain thing.” “_April 1._ “I have little or nothing to add to my letter of March 22. I remain in darkness, but with faith. How much faith is needed to remain in Madrid! This is a Purgatory, due to the misery, the loneliness, the sadness, and a hell due to the corruption, violence, and immorality of every kind that the French have introduced here. I do not believe, like most people, that our customs were perfect before the invasion; But between that modest and contrite way of life and this shameless license of today, the former is clearly preferable . The French police is an institution whose perversity one cannot understand except by living here and seeing the execrable action of this machine placed in the vilest hands. A multitude of commissioners and agents, chosen from the dregs of society, are charged with capturing any individuals they please and locking them up in the Villa Prison, without any form of trial or any other guide than arbitrariness and denunciation. The apparent motive for these outrages is complicity with the insurgents; but the villains on both sides are quite skilled at utilizing the new Inquisition, which, with its charms, will make us forget the niceties of the past. Anyone who wants to get rid of someone who is in their way finds an easy way to do so, and there have even been those who, not content with seeing their enemy walled up, have had them mounted on the scaffold. There are horrible stories that I refuse to believe, among them the wickedness of a lady of this Court, who, at odds with her husband, denounced him as an insurgent, and the case was settled in about three days, the time it took to get from Verdugo Street to Cebada Square. There is also talk of a certain Vázquez, who denounced his older brother, and of a certain Escalera, who climbed the gallows through the intrigues of his mistress. “There is a criminal Junta that inspires more horror than the judges of hell. The low men who form it condemn to death those who read the papers of the insurgents, the stubborn ones they call here madrapáparos, and anyone suspected of having relations with the spies, thieves, murderers, bandits, rustlers, and… gamblers, whom you call guerrillas or soldiers of the homeland. “One of the things most criticized about the French, besides their infamous police, is the introduction of masked balls. There is exaggeration in this, because before such scandalous gatherings were instituted in our moderate country, there was intrigue and great mockery of the vigilance of fathers and husbands. I believe that masks have not brought here all the great and minor sins attributed to them. But honest and timid people howl against such a novelty, and all one hears is that behind the concealed faces there is no longer a safe bridal bed, no honorable home, no father who can vouch for the honor of his daughters, no maiden who keeps her spirit free and clean of dishonest thoughts. I don’t think this hostility toward masks is fair , as they are more comfortable, though no more concealing, than the old cloaks. I believe that many people speak ill of masked gatherings because they don’t find them as entertaining or as obscure as the festivals of San Juan and San Pedro. “But the novelty that most outrages and drives these good people crazy is a game of chance called _roleta_, where money seems to dance, which is a pleasure. The French are Barabbas when it comes to inventing evil and sinful things. They respect nothing, not even the venerable practices of antiquity, not even that which is part of from very remote ages, of the exemplary national existence. The fair thing would have been to let the fathers and sons of families ruin themselves with cards, following in this their patriarchal and never-altered customs, and not to introduce roleta or other infernal devices. But the French say that the roleta is an improvement over playing cards, just as the guillotine is better than the gallows, and the police much better than the Inquisition. The worst of this is that, they say, the so-called demonic roleta is not only approved by the French government, but is its property, and the vast profits it yields are its own. In this way, the French plan to pocket the little money they have left in our coffers. I will not conclude without informing you of a project I have, and which, once implemented, seems to me to be more effective for our purpose than all the inquiries and searches carried out until now. The plan, my son, is to interest José himself in my favor. I plan to go to the Palace, where I will be received by Mr. Botellas, who desires nothing else, and sees the heavens open when he is told that a Grandee of Spain wishes to visit him. Until now, I have resisted all the suggestions of various friends of mine who have insisted on introducing me to the King; but on second thought, I am determined to go to Court. In December of ‘ 8, I met the two Bonapartes, and the kindness I found in José makes me hope that this step I am taking will not be in vain, even at the risk of compromising myself with a cause I consider lost. Goodbye: I will inform you of everything. ” _April 22._ “I have been to the Palace, my son, and I have prostrated myself before that Catholic majesty of tinsel, who is served by a few Spaniards, moving noisily to appear many. If I were to tell any inhabitant of Madrid that Joseph I, known here as *the one-eyed* or *Pepe Botellas*, is a kind, discreet, tolerant person of good morals, who desires nothing but good, they would consider me mad, or perhaps a sellout to the French. *Copas* received me with joy. The good gentleman cannot hide it when a person of standing, upon visiting him, gives a kind of tacit assent to his usurpation. He undoubtedly believes it possible to become master of Spain by winning hearts one by one. You would have to see his diligence and extreme sweetness in his compliments. It is true that his etiquette is less severe and contrived than that of our Kings, without losing any dignity, but rather increasing it. He speaks with familiarity, he laughs, he also allows himself some gallant courtesies with the ladies, and sometimes he jokes with a certain very fine causticity, typical of Italians. The foreign accent is the only thing that mars his speech. He often confuses his native language with ours, and there are times when great efforts are necessary not to laugh. His figure could not be better. José is worth much more than his brother’s barrel . His grave and expressive face is almost perfect. He usually dresses in black, and his overall appearance is very pleasant. I need hardly tell you that everything people say about his Turks is a weapon invented by patriotism to aid national defense. José is not a drunkard. A thousand abominations are also told about him concerning vices other than drunkenness; but without flatly denying them, I refuse to give them credence. In short, Botellas, we have become so accustomed to giving him this name that it is difficult to call him anything else. He is a fairly good King, and seeing and dealing with him, one cannot help but deplore that they have brought him, instead of birth and right, usurpation and war. His supporters here are few; so few that they can be counted. This dynasty has no loyal subjects other than the Ministers, and two or three people placed by them in high positions. These Spaniards who serve him seem like humiliated victims, and lack the triumphant and vainglorious air that is usually assumed here by those who, through their own merits or the favor of others, rise two fingers above the rest. They live either ashamed or fearful, no doubt because they foresee that the Lord will bring down the with all this. Some, however, delude themselves and say that we will have Bottles, Axes, and Cups for ever and ever. Moratín does not belong to these, and I find him sadder and more pusillanimous than ever. He is no longer secretary of the interpretation of languages, but chief librarian, a position he must perform marvelously. But he is not happy; he is afraid of everything, and more than anything of the dangers of a second evacuation of the Court by the French. He has told me that the day the intruding power fell, he would not give two centavos for his skin; but I believe that his hypochondria and foul humor, darkening his soul, make him see enemies everywhere . He is sick and ruined; but he works somewhat, and now he has given us _The School for Husbands_, translated from the French. I have neither seen it performed nor been able to read it, because my mind cannot focus on any of this. Moratín often comes to see me with his friend Estala, who is as rabidly and ardent a French supporter as the former is timid and melancholic. They cannot see Estala here, who publishes furious articles in El Imparcial, and recently wrote, alluding to Spain, that those born in a country of slavery have no homeland except in the sense that the herds destined for our consumption have one. For this and other atrocious concoctions of his wit published in the Gaceta, he is hated even more than the French. Máiquez remains at the Príncipe; and since José has allocated 20,000 reales a month to his theater for living expenses, they also accuse him of being a French supporter. ” Now, as I see in the newspaper, they are alternately showing the _Orestes_, _The Greatest Pity of Leopold the Great_, and a bad comedy arranged by the German, and whose title is _Hide, out of moved honor, the wounded aggressor_. The theater is, so they tell me, empty. Poor Pepilla González, whom you will not have forgotten, is dying of misery, because, unable to perform due to an illness she has contracted, she is without pay, abandoned by her companions. She would be abandoned by everyone if I did not take care to send her every day the very necessary things to prevent her from dying. Pepilla, the venerable Father Salmon, and my confessor Castillo are the only people I can help, because the state of my finances and the scarcity of food do not allow me more. You will be astonished to know that the opulent priests of La Merced need alms to live; But public poverty at the Court of Spain has reached such a point that the fattest among us have become as thin as wire. I deliberately left our dear subject until the end of my letter, because I want to surprise you. Have you not guessed from the tone of my epistle that I am less sad than usual? But I will say nothing to you until I am sure I am not deceiving you. Curb your impatience, my son… Thanks to José, I have been provided with some precious information, and very soon, as Azanza has just told me, this radiance of truth will be clear and complete light. Goodbye. May 21. Good news, my dear friend, son, and servant. The whereabouts of our executioner have now been discovered. Blessed be José a thousand times over, and that unknown Queen Julia, whose name I invoked to incline her in my favor! Santorcaz has not yet crossed into France. From here, my dear, considering you on your way west, I can say to you as children do when they play blind man’s bluff: “You’re burning.” Yes, boy: reach out your hand and you will catch the traitor. How often you look for your hat and find it still on! That which we consider most lost is usually closest. The idea that this letter will not find you in Piedrahita frightens me. But God cannot be so unfavorable to us, and you will receive this note; you will immediately march toward Plasencia, and using your cunning, your courage, your wit, or all of these qualities together, you will enter the rogue’s dwelling to wrest from him the stolen jewel that he always carries with him. “How much work it took to find out! Santorcaz left the service some time ago . His temper, his pride, his extravagance, made him intolerable to the very people who installed him. For a time he was tolerated for the good services he rendered; but it was discovered that he belonged to the society of the _Philadelphos_, born in Soult’s army, and whose objective was to dethrone the Emperor by proclaiming a republic. His post was taken away from him shortly after having stolen Agnes from us, and since then he has wandered around the Peninsula founding lodges. He was in Valladolid, Burgos, Salamanca, Oviedo; but then his trail was lost, and for a time it was believed he had entered France. Finally, the French police—the worst thing in the world produces something good—have discovered that he is now in Plasencia, quite ill and somewhat unable to upset the people with his lodges and revolutionary conclaves. What indignity! The lost, the scoundrels, the liars and forgers want to reform the world!… I am angry, my friend; I am furious. The one who has completed my news about Santorcaz is a Frenchified man no less mad and deceitful than he: José Marchena. Do you know him? A man who passes here as a relaxed cleric, a sort of abbot who speaks more French than Spanish, and more Latin than French, a poet, orator, a man of eloquence and wit, who claims to be a friend of Madame Staël, and it seems he really was a friend of Marat, Robespierre, Legendre, Tallien, and other rabble. Santorcaz and he lived together in Paris. They are very good friends today ; they write to each other often. But this Marchena is a man of little reserve, and answers everything he is asked. From him I know that our enemy is not in good health, that he lives only in towns occupied by the French, and that when he moves from one place to another, he disguises himself skillfully so as not to be recognized. And we believed him in France! And I told you not to go to the army of Extremadura! Go, run, don’t delay a single day! The Lord’s army must be around there. I will write to you at the headquarters of Don Carlos España. Answer me soon. Will you go where I sent you? Will you find what we are looking for? Will you be able to return it to me? I am soulless. Chapter 2. When I received this letter, I was on my way to join the army called Estremadura; but it was not in Estremadura, but in Fuente Aguinaldo, in the territory of Salamanca. In April, I had definitively left the guerrilla company to return to the army. I had to serve under a field marshal named Carlos Espagne, who later became Count of Spain, of famous memory in Catalonia. Until then, this young Frenchman, enlisted in our armies since 1792, had no fame, despite having distinguished himself in the actions of Barca del Puerto, Tamames, Fresno, and Medina del Campo. He was an excellent soldier, very brave and strong, but of a changeable and unruly character. Worthy of admiration in battle, his antics moved one to laughter or anger when there were no enemies present. He had an unsympathetic figure, and his physiognomy, composed almost exclusively of a parrot’s nose and large brown eyes under angular, unruly, mobile eyebrows, each hair of which took its own direction, revealed a distrustful spirit and burning passions, against which friend and subordinate alike should be on their guard. Many of his actions revealed a lamentable emptiness in his cerebral chambers , and if we didn’t sometimes fight against windmills, it was because God had us by his side. But it was common to sound the call in the silence and solitude of the dead of night, to rush out of our quarters, to search for the enemy who was disturbing our sweet sleep at such an untimely hour, and to find nothing but the lunatic Spain shouting in the middle of the field against his invisible compatriots. This man commanded a division belonging to the army commanded by General Don Carlos O’Donnell. At that time, he had been joined by the party of Don Julián Sánchez, a very successful guerrilla in Old Castile, and was preparing to join the ranks of Wellington, established in Fuente Aguinaldo, after having captured Badajoz at the end of March. The French of Old Castile, commanded by Marmont They were very disconcerted. Soult was operating in Andalusia without daring to attack the _Lord_, and the latter decided to advance resolutely towards Castile. In short, the war was not looking bad for us; on the contrary, the imperial star appeared to be in clear decline, after the blows suffered at Ciudad Rodrigo, Arroyomolinos, and Badajoz. I had received the rank of commander in February of that same year. Fortunately, I commanded for some time—as I was also a guerrilla leader—a party that toured the Aranda region, and then the Covarrubias and Demanda mountains. By the beginning of March, I was certain that Santorcaz was not in that country. I boldly extended my excursions to Burgos, occupied by the French; I entered the square in disguise and learned that the former police commissioner had resided there months before. Then, going down to Segovia, I continued my inquiries. but a superior order compelled me to join the division of Don Carlos España. I obeyed, and as in the same days I received the last letter of those I have duly copied, I judged the military disposition that sent me to Extremadura to be a special favor from heaven. But, as I have said, Wellington, whom Don Carlos España was to join, had already left the banks of the Tiétar. We were to leave Piedrahita to join him at Fuente Aguinaldo or Ciudad Rodrigo. From here it was easy to go to Plasencia. While with anxiety and despair I was turning over different projects in my mind, events occurred which I must not pass over in silence. Chapter 3. After a very long day during the afternoon and a large part of a very beautiful June night, Spain ordered us to rest at Santibáñez de Valvaneda, a town on the road from Béjar to Salamanca. We had relatively abundant provisions, given the severe shortages of the time, and since the army was very willing to have fun, the commotion and joy of the people at midnight was a sight to behold, when we took possession of the houses, and with them, the mattresses and kitchen utensils. I was to live in the best room of a house with the trappings of a palace and the honors of an inn. My attendant arranged a beautiful bed for me, and I have no problem saying that I went to bed, yes, gentlemen, without anything extraordinary or even a trace of poetry happening to me in that ordinary act of life. And it is also true, though equally prosaic, that I fell asleep, the twilight of my senses impressing me with nothing other than the historic song sung in a low voice by my attendant in the adjoining room: Bernardo is in El Carpio , and the Moro is in El Arapil. Since the Tormes runs through the middle, they cannot fight. I fell asleep, and don’t think that ghosts are going to emerge now, nor that the broken woodwork or ancient walls of the historic house, once a palace and now an inn, will move to admit a deformed vestige, much less a tall maiden of perfect beauty who comes to beg me to take the trouble to disenchant her or render her any other service, whether from the realm of fable or from that of base realities. Don’t expect that a bearded lady, a puny dwarf, or a fierce giant will suddenly come to bow to me and command me to follow them through long, dark corridors that lead to marvelous underground chambers filled with tombs or treasures. Those who hear it will find none of this in my story . Know only that I fell asleep. For a long time, despite the depth of my sleep, the sensation of the noise that sounded in the lower part of the house did not leave me. The horses’ footsteps echoed in my head, producing a vibration like a deep earthquake. But these sounds gradually ceased, and at last all was silent. My spirit sank into that nameless sphere, where everything external, absolutely everything, disappears, and it remains alone, recreating itself or playing with itself. But suddenly, I don’t know at what time, nor after how many hours of sleep, I was awakened by a most singular sensation, which I cannot decipher. because without any of my senses being affected, I quickly sat up, saying: “Who is here?” Already awake, I shouted to my attendant: “Tribaldos, get up and light the light.” Almost at the same instant that I said this, I understood my deception. I was entirely alone. Nothing else had happened but that my spirit, in one of its capricious pranks (for these undoubtedly are the phantasmagorias of sleep), had committed the most common of all, which consists in pretending to be two, with an illusory and false division, altering for an instant its eternal unity. This mysterious “I and you” usually presents itself also when we are awake. But if nothing strange was happening in my bedroom outside of me, as demonstrated when Tribaldos entered it by lighting and searching, something was happening in the basement of the building, where the grave silence of the night was interrupted by the loud hubbub of people, carriages, and horses. “My commander,” said Tribaldos, drawing his saber and slashing in the air from side to side, “those scoundrels won’t let us sleep tonight . Get out, you rascals! Do you think I’m afraid of you? ” “Who are you talking to? ” “The goblins, sir,” he replied. “They’ve come to amuse themselves with your grace, after playing with me. One held me by the right foot, another by the left, and another, uglier than Barrabas, put a rope around his neck, and with this snatching and pulling, they flew me back to my village so I could see Dorotea talking with Sergeant Moscardón. ” “But do you believe in goblins? ” “Well, I shouldn’t believe them, if I’ve seen them! I’ve taken more walks with them than I have hairs on my head,” he replied with an air of deep conviction. “This house is full of their lordships.” “Tribaldos, do me a favor and don’t kill any more mosquitoes with your saber.” Leave the goblins and go down to see what’s causing that infernal noise in the courtyard. It seems travelers have arrived; but judging by the racket they’re making, not even Sir Arthur Wellesley and his entire retinue would have brought more. The servant left me alone, and a little while later I saw him reappear, muttering threatening phrases under his breath, and with a displeasing pout on his face. “Does my commander think it’s Englishmen or traveling princes making such a racket in the house? Well, they’re comedians, sir; a bunch of comedians going to Salamanca to perform at the San Juan festivities. I counted at least eight, including ladies and gentlemen, and they’re bringing two carts with painted canvases, costumes, gilded crowns, cardboard armor, and farces. Good people…” The innkeeper wanted to throw them out; but they’ve taken money, and His Majesty Mr. Chiporro, seeing the yellowness, will treat them like dukes. “Damn the comedians! They’re the worst breed of scoundrels teeming in the world. ” “If I were Don Carlos España,” my assistant said, showing me the benevolent feelings of his heart, “I would take everyone in the company, and taking them to the corral, one after another, I’d shoot them all with arquebuses. ” “Not so much. ” “That way they’d stop their mischief. Pedrezuela and his devilish wife, María Pepa del Valle, were comedians. You should have seen how talented he played the role of royal commissioner and she that of the royal commissioner . They deceived the people so much that they believed them in every town they ran through, and in Tomelloso, which is mine and not a land of fools, too. ” “That Pedrezuela,” I said, feeling sleep taking hold of me again, ” was the one who condemned more than sixty people to death in several towns along the banks of the Tagus .” “The same one you wear and wear shoes,” he replied, “but he already paid for it all together, because when General Castaños and I went to help the Lord in the blockade of Ciudad Rodrigo, we grabbed Pedrezuela and his wife and shot them against a wall. Since then, whenever I see a comedian, I move my finger looking for the trigger. ” Tribaldos left to return a moment later. “I think they’re leaving now,” I said, noticing a noise that announced their departure. “No, my commander,” he replied laughing, “it’s that Sergeant Panduro and At Corporal Rocacha, they’ve set fire to the cart carrying the stage props. Hear my commander shriek as the kings, princes , and seneschals see their thrones, crowns, and ermine mantles burn. Gosh, how the princesses and archpampanas squawk! I’m going downstairs to see if that rabble cries here as well as in the theater… The commander shouts… Does my commander hear?… I go back downstairs to watch them leave. I clearly heard that one among the other angry voices, and the strangest thing is that its timbre, though distant and distorted by anger, made me shudder. I knew that voice. I got up hastily and dressed quickly; but the sounds gradually died away, indicating that the poor victims of a cruel prank by soldiers were hurrying out of the inn. As I was leaving, Tribaldos came in and said to me: “My commander, that cream of the roguery has already left.” The entire courtyard is filled with burning pieces of Warsaw’s palaces, cardboard helmets, and the red cassock of the Doge of Venice. “And which way have those unfortunates gone? ” “Toward Grijuelo. ” “They’re going to Salamanca. Take your rifle and follow me immediately. ” “My commander, General España, wants to see Your Grace right now. Your Excellency’s aide has brought the message. ” “The devil be upon you, with the message, with the aide, and with the general… But I’ve put my bow tie on backward… give me that coat here, you brute… I wouldn’t leave without it! ” “The general is waiting for Your Grace.” From below, I can hear his stamping and shouting in his lodgings. When I went down to the plaza, the uncomfortable travelers had already disappeared. Don Carlos España came out to meet me, saying: “I have just received a dispatch from the Lord ordering me to march toward Sancti Spíritus… Everyone up; sound the summons.” And so concluded an incident that should not be recounted if it were not connected with other very curious ones that will be seen below. Chapter 4. Leaving the high road to the right, we headed along a rough and winding path to cross the mountain range. Dawn came, day came, without any event worthy of being marked with a white, black, or yellow stone; but the following day I had an encounter that I immediately mark as one of the happiest of my life. We marched lazily at midday without care or precaution, certain that we would not encounter any French in such wild places. The soldiers were singing, and the officers were conversing in pleasant conversation about the campaign undertaken; we let the horses continue in their natural and peaceful gait, without spurring or restraining them. The day was beautiful, even more than beautiful, somewhat hot, so that the blazing sun fell on our backs, warming them more than necessary. I was in the vanguard. Upon coming within sight of San Esteban de la Sierra, a small town surrounded by lush greenery and the pleasant shade of trees, under whose shelter we had decided to take a nap, I heard the uproar among the first groups of soldiers marching ahead, broken ranks and making mischief with the villagers who met along the way. “It’s nothing, my commander,” Tribaldos replied, when I asked him the cause of such outrageous shouting. “It’s Panduro and Rocacha who have come across an Augustinian friar, and more than an Augustinian, a beggar, and more than a beggar, a scoundrel, who didn’t leave the road when the troops passed by. ” “And what have they done to him? ” “Nothing but play ball,” he replied laughing. “Your fatherhood is crying and silent. ” “I see Rocacha mounting a donkey and riding it toward the place. ” “It’s your fatherhood’s donkey, for your fatherhood brings a donkey with him loaded with rotten turnips.” “Leave that poor man alone, for the life of him!” I cried angrily, “and let him go on his way.” I went on ahead and saw, among the soldiers who were tormenting him in a thousand ways , a blessed cowl, dressed in the Augustinian habit, distraught and weeping. “Lord,” he said, looking piously toward heaven with his hands crossed, “may this be an atonement for my sins!” His faded, holey habit suited the wretched appearance of a very thin, yellow face, where the dust, kneaded with tears or sweat, had formed brownish crusts. Far from revealing the ease and satiety of urban convents, the best breeding grounds for people ever known, that wretched person resembled a desert anchorite or a country beggar. When he felt less harassed, he turned his eyes from side to side searching for his unfortunate companion in misfortune, and when he saw him running back , panting, his flanks pressed by the mighty Rocacha, he hurried to meet him. Meanwhile, I watched the good friar, and when I saw him return, already pulling the lead of his reconquered donkey, I could not repress an exclamation of surprise. That face, which at first awakened vague memories in my mind, finally revealed its enigma, and despite my advanced age and the damage it had received from years and sorrows, I recognized it as belonging to someone with whom I had once been friends. “Sir Juan de Dios,” I exclaimed, stopping my horse just as the friar was passing by, “are you or are you not the one I see inside those habits and behind that layer of dust?” The Augustinian looked at me startled, and after contemplating me for a long time, he said to me in a honeyed tone: “Where does the General know me from? I am Juan de Dios, indeed. I thank Your Eminence for having ordered that my donkey be returned to me. ” “Your Eminence, are you calling me?” I replied. “I have not yet been made a cardinal. ” “In my confusion, I do not know what I am saying. If Your Highness gives me permission, I will withdraw. ” “First, try and see if you recognize me.” “Has my face changed so much since the time we were together at Don Mauro Requejo’s house?” This name made the good Augustinian shudder, and he fixed his feverish eyes on me. More frightened than surprised, he said: “Could it be that the one before me is Gabriel? My Jesus! General, are you Gabriel, the one who in April 1808…? I remember him well… Let me kiss your feet… So it is Gabriel himself? ” “I am the same one. How glad I am that we have met! You became a little friar… ” “To serve God and save my soul. Some time ago I embraced this life, as laborious for the body as it is healthy for the soul. And you, Gabriel? And you, Don Gabriel, did you dedicate yourself to the military? The life of arms is also honorable, and God rewards good soldiers, some of whom have been saints.” “That’s what I’m getting at, Father, and you seem to have already achieved it, because your poverty doesn’t lie, and your mortified expression tells me that you fast seven Fridays. ” “I am a very humble servant of God,” he said, lowering his eyes, “and I do the little within my miserable power. Now, General, I experience great joy in seeing you… and in recognizing the generous young man who was my friend; and with this and your permission, I am leaving, for this army is heading into the mountains, and I am seeking the high road. ” “I won’t allow us to separate so soon, my friend. You are tired, and besides, you don’t look as if you have fulfilled that precept that commands one to begin charity with oneself. The regiment will rest in that town. We’ll eat whatever there is, and you will accompany me so that we can talk a bit, refreshing old memories. ” “If the General commands me, I will obey, because my destiny is to obey,” he said, marching beside me toward the town. “I see the donkey has a better coat than its owner, and doesn’t suffer so much from fasting and vigils. It will carry you like a feather, for it seems to be a well-gaited horse. ” “I never ride it,” he replied without raising his eyes from the ground. “I always go on foot. ” “That’s too much.” “I take this kind animal with me to help me carry the alms and the sick I collect in the villages to take them to the hospital. ” “To the hospital? ” “Yes, sir. I belong to the Hospitaller Order founded in Granada by our holy father and my patron, the great Saint John of God, Two hundred and seventy years ago, more or less. We follow the rule of the great Saint Augustine in our statutes, and we have hospitals in various towns in Spain. We take in beggars from the roads, we visit the homes of the poor to care for the sick who don’t want to come to ours, and we live on alms. “Admirable life, brother!” I said, dismounting and heading with other officers and the blessed Juan to a small wood at the edge of town, where, in the pleasant shade of some large, cool trees, our attendants prepared a frugal meal for us. “Tie your donkey to the trunk of a tree, and sit down on this grass next to me, so that we can give something to the body, for not everything will be for the soul. ” “I will keep Señor Don Gabriel company,” said Juan de Dios humbly after he tied the mount. “I don’t eat. ” “You don’t eat? Does God perhaps command that we don’t eat?” And how can an empty body be willing to serve its neighbor? Come, Mr. Juan de Dios, put that prudishness aside. “I don’t eat food prepared in the kitchen, nor anything hot and complex that smells of gastronomy. ” “Do you call this cold, dry mutton, this bread harder than rock, gastronomy? ” “I can’t prove it,” he replied, smiling. “I live only on field herbs and wild roots. ” “Well, I admire you; but frankly… At least you’ll have a drink. You’re from Rueda. ” “I drink nothing but water. ” “Well… water and field herbs! That’s a fine meal. Anyway , if one is saved in this way… ” “I made a firm vow some time ago to live this way, and to this day, my Don Gabriel, although not cleansed of sins, I have the satisfaction of not having broken my vow even once. ” “Well, I won’t insist, my friend. ” Don’t blame me for your actions. The truth is, I’m so hungry… Poor Mr. Juan de Dios… Who would have thought we’d meet after so many years! Isn’t that true? “Yes, sir. ” “I thought you had passed away. Since you disappeared…” “I entered the Order in January of 199. I finished my first exercises in March, and I received my first orders last year. I’m not yet a professed friar. ” “How many things have happened since we last saw each other! ” “Yes, sir, how many! ” “You, retired from the world, live a beatific life without sorrow or joy, content with your state… ” Juan de Dios breathed a very deep sigh, and then lowered his eyes. Observing him closely, I noticed the signs on his exhausted face that showed that his boasting about the little grasses in the countryside and the water from the crystal-clear streams was not the boast of a saint . A very intense violet ring surrounded his eyes , which made his pupils shine even more vividly, and the bones of his face were visible beneath the stretched, yellowish skin. His expression was that of a soul exalted by a piety that equally affects the spirit and the nervous system. Mysticism and illness at the same time, it is a singular devotion that has brought beautiful figures to the heaven of human greatness. If at first I thought I saw in John of God a touch of artifice and hypocrisy, I was soon convinced otherwise, and that holy man, tossed by worldly storms to a contemplative and austere life, lived inflamed by a fervor as ardent as it was sincere. One could see him burning; one could observe the combustion of that body, which little by little was turning to ash, calcined by the flame of spiritual fever; It was clear that the man barely touched the earth, barely touched the world of the living, and that the miserable clay that still held the noble spirit in a tenuous hold was decomposing and crumbling grain by grain. “It is admirable, my friend,” I said, “that a man who was certainly not free from worldly passions has reached such a flattering state of sanctity . ” Friar Juan de Dios’s face contracted with a slight tremor. But his face immediately calmed down and he said to me: “Do you know what has become of those blessed gentlemen of Requejo?” I would be sorry if some misfortune had befallen them. “I haven’t heard from them since. They must be getting richer all the time, because rogues make their fortunes. ” The friar made no gesture of assent. “But God must have punished them in the end,” I continued, “for the torments they made that unfortunate young woman suffer.” As I said this, I noticed that in the veins of that miserable human body, which the grave demanded for itself, there still remained a trace of blood. Beneath the skin of the face, the swollen blue veins shone through for a moment , and a slight purple tinge lit the austere forehead. I would not have been more surprised to see a wooden image blushing at the touch of the devotees’ kiss. “God knows what to do with the lords of Requejo for such conduct,” he replied. “I believe you will not be indifferent to know the fate of that unfortunate young woman. ” “Indifferent? No,” he replied, becoming like a corpse. “Oh!” “People destined to suffer…” I said, carefully observing the impression my words made on the saint. “That poor young woman, so good, so pretty, so modest… ” “What? ” “She’s dead . ” I thought John of God would be moved to hear this; but with great surprise I saw his face radiant with serenity and beatitude. My astonishment reached its peak when, in a tone of profound conviction, he said: “I already knew. She died in the convent of Córdoba, where her family had locked her up in June 1808. ” “And how do you know that?” I asked, respecting the poor Augustinian’s deception. “We have singular visions. God allows that, due to a special state of our spirit, we know of certain events that occurred in a distant country, without anyone telling us about them. Inés died.” I have seen it repeatedly in my ecstasies, and there is no doubt that only the image of those fortunate enough to leave this vile and miserable world forever appears to us. “So it must be. ” “So it is, even if the clumsy eyes of the body believe otherwise. Alas! Those of the soul are never deceived, because there is always a ray of eternal light in them. Corporal sight is an organ that the devil uses at will to torment us. What we see in it is often illusory and fantastic. I, Mr. Gabriel, suffer very horrific torments because of the continuous trials to which the Lord of heaven and earth subjects my spirit, and because of the perfidious schemes of the evil spirit, who, yearning to lose me, plays with my weak senses and mocks this unfortunate creature. “Dear friend, tell me what is happening.” I too sometimes serve as a plaything and a joke to that lord demon, and I can give you some good advice on how to overcome him and mock him instead of being mocked. Chapter 5. Since you have named a person who had so much to do with my abandoning the wicked age, and since you then knew my secrets, I must hide nothing from you. When God created me, He ordained that I should suffer, and I have suffered as no other mortal on earth. Before I felt in my soul the divine ray of eternal grace, which illuminated the path of this new life, a worldly passion made me unhappy. After I embraced the holy cross for my salvation, the disturbances, weaknesses, and agonies of my spirit have been such that I think this is God’s disposition to make me know hell and purgatory in life before ascending to the abode of the just… I loved a woman, but with such exaltation that my nature was in that trance disturbed. When I realized that everything was over, I no longer had any understanding, memory, or will. I was a machine, sir officer, a stupid machine: my senses were dead. I lived in darkness, for I saw nothing, and in a kind of lethargic wonder. Several times since then I have wondered whether, like my stupor, the limbo where those who have barely been born go. “Exactly. So it must be. ” “When I came to, dear sir, I formed the plan to become Friar. I had finished my life in the world. I confessed with great fervor. Father Busto enthusiastically approved my purpose of devoting the rest of my sad days to religion, and since I expressed a desire to enter the poorest Order, where the body worked the hardest and the soul was the most removed from worldly attractions, he established for me this rule of Hospitaller brothers. Alas! My soul received an inexplicable consolation. I sought out solitary places to meditate, and while meditating, I felt my head surrounded by a celestial atmosphere. What pure light! What sweetness and gentle silence in the air! “And then? ” “Alas! Then my misfortunes began again in another form. God decreed that I should suffer, and I am suffering now… Listen to me for a moment longer. I began my studies and religious practices to enter the Order. One morning they received me at the convent, where I donned the lay garment. That day I gave my lessons more happily than ever; I assisted the poor in the infirmary as a servant, and in the afternoon, taking the second volume of *The Names of Christ*, by the teacher Fr. Luis de León, a book I liked immensely, I went to the garden, and in the most secret and quiet spot there, I gave myself over to the delights of reading. I had not finished the most beautiful chapter entitled *Description of Human Misery and the Origin of Its Fragility*, when I felt a very intense chill throughout my body, a great disturbance, a very sharp anxiety, for all the blood rushed to my chest, and I experienced a sensation that I cannot say whether it was profound joy or acute pain. A strange figure, a shape or shadow, impressed my sight; I looked, and I saw her: it was herself, sitting on the stone bench next to me. “Who? ” “Need I say her name? ” “Yes. ” The book fell from my hands; I observed the astonishing vision, for it was a vision, and worldly love was violently reborn in my breast like the explosion of a mine. I remained absorbed, sir, mute, and between suspended and terrified. It was she herself, and she looked at me with her sweet eyes, unnerving me. A distance of about half a yard separated her from me; but I made no move to approach her, because the same stupor, the admiration that such a prodigy of beauty produced in me, the same amorous fire that burned my being, held me enraptured and motionless. She was dressed in a rich tunic of a white and subtle fabric, which, just as clouds hide the sun without concealing it, hid her beautiful body, rather tarnishing it than covering it. Beneath the skirt, one of her delicate feet peeked out bare; Her hair, curled with incomparable art, fell in beautiful locks on either side of her face, amidst strings of oriental pearls, and in her right hand she held a small bouquet of fragrant flowers, the scent of which reached me, intoxicating my senses. “Truly, Señor Juan de Dios, I have never seen Miss Inés in such an attire, not very suitable, indeed, for strolling in gardens. ” “What were you to see, if that image was not a tangible, corporeal form, but a deceptive fabrication of the devil, who from that day on chose me as the victim of his abominable experiments? ” “And the young woman with the bare foot and the bouquet of flowers, didn’t she say a word? ” “Not a word, brother. ” “And you didn’t say anything to her, nor did you cross the half-yard space between us? ” “I couldn’t speak. Yes, I did approach her, and at that same moment she disappeared. ” “How mischievous!” But the devil is like that, my friend: he offers but does not give. It took me a long time to recover from the horrible sensation that this left in my soul. Finally, I picked up the book and directed my thoughts to God. Ah, what a strange sensation! So strange it is that I cannot explain it. Imagine, dear sir, that my thoughts, while rising to heaven taking material form, were stopped and repulsed by a powerful hand. This was nothing more and nothing less than what I felt. I wanted to think and I had no spirit for anything but feeling. Through my body, like lightning flashes of movement, ran burning convulsions… Ah! No, no! I can in no way explain this… Something was flickering inside me, like a wick going out, whose embers, half fire, half ash, fall to the ground… I got up; I wanted to enter the church; but… do you believe I couldn’t? No, I couldn’t. Someone was pulling me outside by the train of my habit. I ran to the cell assigned to me, and throwing myself on the ground, I placed my forehead on my hands and my hands on the bricks. I spent the whole night praying and asking God to free me from those horrible temptations, telling Him that I didn’t want to sin, but to serve Him; that I wanted to be good, pure, and holy. “Why didn’t you tell the story to other friars experienced in matters of visions and temptations? ” “I did so immediately.” That same afternoon I consulted with Father Rafael de los Ángeles, a very pious man who showed me great affection, who told me not to worry, since, as he himself said, to rid the intellect of such imaginary and natural apprehensions, constant piety, tireless mortification, and boundless humility were sufficient. He added that he, in his first years of monastic life, had experienced similar difficulties and commitments; but that in the end, with harsh penances and mystical readings, he had convinced the devil of the futility of his efforts to pervert him, and so he left him alone. He advised me to enter the active life of the Order; to go in pursuit of the miseries and sorrows of the world, collecting sick people in the villages to bring them to the hospitals. that I should wander through the fields, taking physical exercise and nourishing myself with herbs and roots, so that my miserable, clumsy body, deprived of all indulgence, might acquire the dryness and rigidity that drive away concupiscence. He also charged me that I should sleep little, and never on soft ground, but rather on hard rocks or sharp brambles, whenever possible; that I should also withdraw from all friendly society, avoiding conversations about worldly affairs, showing no affection for anyone, but fleeing from everyone so as to think only of the perfection of my soul. –And by doing so, you have achieved… –So I have done, brother; but I have achieved little or nothing. Nearly three years of mortifications, exercises, penances, vigils, rigors, sleeping in the open field and eating raw brambles and weeds, if they have strengthened my spirit, freeing me from those voluptuous vaguenesses that at first brought my sanctity to the brink, have not freed me from the continual assaults of the infernal angel, who day after day, sir, in the open field and under cover, in the sweet darkness of the high and sad night, as well as in the dazzling light of the sun, places before my eyes the image of the person I adored in the ages. Alas! “At that time, when we were in the tent, I blasphemed, yes… I remember that one day I entered the church and, kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament, I said: ‘Lord, I will hate you, I will deny you, if you do not give her to me, so that our souls and our bodies may always be united in life, in the grave, and in eternity.’ God is punishing me for having threatened him. ‘So that always… ‘ ‘Yes, always, always I see her, sometimes in this, sometimes in that form, although for periods the devil allows me to rest and I see nothing. This fatal misfortune of mine has prevented me until now from receiving the last and most sublime degrees of the sacrament of Holy Orders, for I believe myself unworthy of God descending into my hands. It is terrible to feel one with one’s heart and spirit fully disposed to holiness, and yet not be able to achieve the perfect state!’ I despair and weep in silence when I see how happy other friars of my Order are, who enjoy, with the purest peace, the delights of holy visions, which are the most precious food for the spirit. Some, in their meditations, see before them the image of Christ crucified, looking at them with loving eyes; others delight in contemplating the celestial figure of the Child God; others are enraptured by the presence of Saint Catherine of Siena or Saint Rose of Viterbo, whose most chaste image and composed gestures incite one to prayer and austerity; but I, wretched me! I, an abominable sinner who felt my entrails burned by worldly love, and nourished myself with that divine dew of passion, and drenched my soul in a thousand levities inspired by fantasy, have become forever sickened by impurity, I have melted and molded in an unknown crucible that left me forever in that vile first form. I cannot be a saint, I cannot cast out of myself this second person who accompanies me ceaselessly. Oh, my cursed tongue! I had said: “I want to unite myself to her in life, in the grave, and in eternity,” and so it is happening. Brother John of God lowered his head and remained meditating for a long time. Chapter 6. “In what new forms has she presented herself?” I asked him. “One morning I was walking through the fields, and, burning with thirst, I looked for a stream where I could quench my thirst. Finally, beneath some leafy poplars that reared their ancient trunks amidst the black rocks, I saw a crystal-clear stream inviting me to drink. After drinking, I sat down on a rock, and at that very moment I was seized by the strange anxiety that always tells me of the influence of the evil angel. A short distance from me was a shepherdess; she herself, sir, as beautiful as a cherub. ” “And did she tend a flock of cattle or sheep? ” “No, sir: she was alone, sitting like me on a rock, with her snowy feet in the water, which she stirred noisily, causing cold drops to fall, which splashed and wet my face. She had untied her black hair and was combing it. I cannot remember all the parts of her dress well; but I do remember that it was not a dress that clothed her much. She looked at me, smiling. I wanted to speak, but I could not.” I took a step toward her, and she disappeared. “And after that? ” “I saw her again at different places. I was inside Ciudad Rodrigo when the Lord attacked it in January of this same year. I was serving in the hospital when the siege began, and then other good priests and I went out to assist the many French wounded who were falling on the wall. I was terrified, for I had never seen such slaughter, and I invoked the divine Mother of Our Lord incessantly so that through her intercession the fury of the Anglo-Portuguese might be calmed. On the 18th, the suburb where I was gave me an idea of what Hell is like. The convent of San Francisco, where we were placing the wounded, was falling into a thousand pieces… The French mocked me, and since they held a great grudge against us friars, believing us to be the perpetrators of the resistance against them, they mistreated me with words and deeds… Alas!” When the allies entered the square, I was wounded, not by the besiegers’ bullets, but by the blows of the besieged. The English, the Spanish, and the Portuguese entered through the breach. Hearing that labyrinth of victorious imprecations, uttered in three different languages, I felt great terror. They tore each other apart like wild beasts… I, lifeless and dying, lay on the ground in a pool of blood and mud, surrounded by human bodies. A raging thirst burned me; a thirst, my dear lord, as burning as if my veins were filled with fire, and my mouth, tongue, and palate were, instead of living, moist flesh, inert, dry tow. What torment! I said to myself: “Thank you, Lord, that you have deigned to take me to your bosom. The hour of my death has arrived. ” I had scarcely finished saying it, or rather thinking it, when I felt the heavenly touch of cool water on my lips. I sighed, and my spirit shook off its funereal slumber. I opened my eyes and saw pressed to my burning lips a white hand, in whose cupped palm shone the crystalline liquor as fresh and pure as the flow of the rustic fountain. “And in what guise did Miss Inés come then?” “She came as a nun. ” “And did the nuns give drink from the cup of their hand? ” “That one, yes. To picture to you how beautiful her face was among the white veils and how well the austerity of the poor serge of her dress suited her would be impossible. I barely looked at her when she suddenly flew, leaving me thirstier than before. “One thing occurs to me, Brother John of God,” I said, deeply saddened by the strange illness of the unfortunate hospitaller, “and that is that since this person is a device of the most evil, the most roguish, and shameless spirit created by God, and having caused you so much trouble, anguish, mortal longings, and heated paroxysms, it seemed natural that you should take her to despise, and see in her rather a frightful and horrendous ugliness than that marvel of beauty which you praise with such delight.” Brother John of God sighed sadly and said to me: “The Evil One never presents to our eyes things that are abhorrent or repugnant, but rather things that are beautiful, fragrant, pleasing to the palate, the smell, the touch, and the hearing. He knows very well what he is doing.” If you have read the life of Saint Mother Teresa of Jesus, you will have seen that the devil once painted the image of Our Lord Jesus Christ in front of her to deceive her. She herself says that the Evil One is a great painter, and adds that when we see a very good image, even if we knew it was painted by a bad man, we would still esteem it. “That is very well said… Something else occurs to me. If I had been tormented in that vile way by the evil spirit, who, as I see, is a downright scoundrel, I would have tried to pursue the image, to touch it, to speak to it, to see if it was truly a vain illusion or corporeal matter. ” “I have done so, my dear sir and friend,” replied the hospitaller, his accent now weakened by much talking, “and I have never been able to lay my hands on it, having only managed to touch the hem of her dress once.” I can assure you that her figure has always seemed to me like a human creature, with its natural thickness, corpulence, the brightness and sweetness of her eyes, the sweet breath of her mouth, and the addition of the dress flowing in the wind; in short, everything so fabricated that it is impossible not to believe her a living person, like the others of our species. “And she always appears alone? ” “No, sir, I have sometimes seen her in the company of other girls, as, for example, in Seville last year. They were all the vain work of infernal art, for they disappeared with her like a multitude of lights that go out with a single breath. ” “And they always disappear like that, like a light that goes out? ” “No, sir, sometimes she runs ahead of me, and I follow her, and she is lost in the crowd, or she advances so far on her way that I cannot catch her. One day I saw her on a superb mount that ran faster than the wind, and yesterday I saw her in a chariot. ” “That she also ran like the wind?” “No, sir, for I was barely running like a bad cart. Yesterday’s vision presents to me a terrifying peculiarity, and it proves to me a certain recrudescence and gravity of the illness from which I suffer. ” “Why? ” “Because yesterday he spoke to me. ” “How?” I said, smiling, but not surprised by the extreme to which my friend’s madness had reached. “Did the young lady with the bare foot, the shepherdess, the nun from Ciudad Rodrigo finally speak ? ” “Yes, sir. She was riding in a cart in the company of some actors who had apparently come from Extremadura. ” “In a cart!… With actors!… From Extremadura! ” “Yes, sir: I see you are surprised, and I understand, because the case is not unreasonable. In front of them were some men on horseback; then followed a cart with two women, and then another cart with decorations and theater props, all burned and smashed to pieces.” “Brother, you are mocking me,” I said, suddenly rising and sitting down again, driven by burning unease. “When I saw her, my lord, I experienced that chill, that sensation between pleasurable and painful that accompanies my terrible crises. ” “And how was she? ” “Sad, wrapped in a black cloak. ” “And the other woman? ” “A deceptive imagination too, no doubt, she accompanied her in silence. ” “And the men on horseback?” “There were five of them, and one of them was dressed as a minstrel with three-quarter-length breeches.” colors and a peaked cap. They were arguing, and another of them, who seemed to be in charge of everyone, was a person of good looks and presence, with a beard as pointy as the devil’s. “Did you not smell sulfur? ” “Nothing of the sort, sir.” Those men spoke animatedly, and named some soldiers who had burned their infernal contraptions. “I suspect, dear Brother Juan,” I said with dismay, “that you are no longer the only one possessed, but that I am as well, since those actors, and those women, and those carts, and those stage props are real and effective, and although I did not see them, I know that they were in Santibáñez de Valvaneda. Could it be that one of the actors fancied you to be the same person in question, without there being the slightest mischief on the part of the infernal majesty?” “I have said well,” the friar continued candidly, “that this apparition today is the most extraordinary and astonishing I have ever had in my life, for in it the demonic creature has presented such symptoms, signs, and glimpses of reality that it would deceive even the most lycurgic and careless person. This is also the first time that the beloved image, besides taking the solid body of a woman, has imitated a human voice. ” “Has she spoken? ” “Yes, sir: she has spoken,” the hospitaller affirmed with terror. “Her voice is not the same one that still resonates in my ears since I heard it at Requejo’s house, just as her figure today has seemed to me more beautiful, more robust, more complete, and more formed. Just as I saw her in the convent, in the forest, in the church, and in Ciudad Rodrigo, she was practically a child, and today… ” “But if she spoke, what did she say?” “I approached the cart, looked at her, she looked at me too… Her eyes were rays that burned my body and soul. Then she seemed astonished, very astonished… Oh! Her lips moved and pronounced my own name. “Sir Juan de Dios,” she said, “have you become a friar?” I was dying at that very moment. I wanted to speak but I couldn’t. She made a gesture of giving me alms, and suddenly the man who seemed to command everyone, as if he had noticed my presence next to the comedians’ cart, stopped his horse and, turning around, said to me in a fierce voice: “Get out of here, you lazy belly-eater.” She then said: “He’s a poor beggar asking for alms.” The man raised his stick to hit me, and she said: “Father, don’t hurt him. ”
“Are you sure you said that? ” “Yes, I’m sure; But the infamous man, being the infernal creature that he was, a natural enemy of God, called me an idler again, and at the same time I received such a blow on the head that I fell senseless. “Sir Juan de Dios,” I said to him after reflecting a little on the strangeness of that adventure, “swear to me that everything you have said is true, and that it is not your intention to mock me. ” “I mock, sir, officer of my soul!” exclaimed the hospitaller, who was on the point of tears seeing that his veracity was being doubted . “What I have said is true. It is as evident that there is a devil in hell as that there is God in heaven, for the number of cases of obsession in the world is infinite, and every day we hear stories of new atrocities and stupendous misdeeds of the mortifier of the human race . ” “And can’t you specify the place where that thing about the comedians’ cart happened?” –Past Santibáñez de Valvaneda, about three leagues away. They were making good progress on the road to Salamanca. The unfortunate hospitaller could not lie, and as for the devilish appearance of the things and people mentioned, I had reason to believe that there was some difference between the first and last encounters with the friar . Again I urged him to take something, and the second time he refused to give his body any food. We were already preparing to leave when I saw him turn pale, if a greater degree of yellowness could be seen in his parched flesh; I saw him terrified, with his eyes half-protruding from his helmet, his lower lip trembling, and his whole person uneasy. He looked at a fixed point behind me, and as I quickly turned around, nothing I found something that could have caused such terror, I asked him the cause of his terror, and if Satan dared to play his tricks there among so many soldiers. “He’s already fainted,” he said in a weak voice, letting his arms fall faintly. “So, what, has he been here again?” “Yes, in that group where the soldiers are dancing… Do you see some girls from St. Stephen’s Day? ” “That’s true; but either I’ve forgotten the face of Señora Inés, or she’s not among them,” I replied, unable to contain my laughter. “If she were, she might well be given a hard time for dancing with the soldiers. ” “Well, doubt that it’s daytime now, my lord,” he affirmed, still not recovered from his emotion; “but don’t doubt that he was there. I see that the devil is intensifying his temptations and increasing the rigor of his attacks against the redoubts of my fortress, and he does this because I am sinning… ” “Sinning now; sinning by talking to an old friend? “Yes, sir, for to sin is to surrender one’s spirit without restraint to the delights of conversation with secular people. Besides, I have been resting here for more than an hour and a half, something I have not done in three years, and I have enjoyed the cool shade of these trees. My soul,” he added with exalted fervor, “arise!… do not sleep, keep a constant watch for the enemy who lies in wait for you, do not give yourself over to the corrupting delight of friendship, nor faint for a single moment, nor taste the sweetness of repose. Alert, always alert. ” “Are you leaving now?” I said, seeing him untie the good donkey. ” Come, you will not refuse this piece of bread for the journey.” I took it, and putting it in the mouth of the peaceful donkey, who was undoubtedly not in the mood for cenobitic abstinence, he took for himself a handful of grass and kept it in his bosom. “Either he’s a fraud,” I said to myself, “or the purest and most candid saint who wears the monastic girdle.” “Good afternoon, Señor Don Gabriel,” he said with a humble accent. “I’m going to Béjar to continue tomorrow to Candelario, where we have a hospital. And
you, where are you going? ” “Me? Wherever they take me: perhaps to conquer Salamanca, which is in Marmont’s power. ” “Goodbye, my brother and dear lord,” he replied. “Thank you, a thousand thanks for so many kindnesses. ” And pulling on the halter, he set off, with the donkey behind him. When his gaunt, blackish figure moved away down a hill, I thought I saw within him a body that was melancholically searching for its lost grave without being able to find it. Chapter 7. Two days later, God save him, a great event disturbed the monotony of our march. And it was around dawn that our advanced troops burst into exclamations of joy. They were ordered to form up, giving the companies the martial array and good appearance they needed to present themselves before an intelligent soldier. Some went, by order of the general, to cut branches from the nearby oak groves to weave, I don’t know, wreaths, borders, or triumphal arches. Upon reaching the Ciudad Rodrigo road, we saw a large phalanx of men dressed in scarlet and knights on swift horses appear, and to see them and all exclaim in joyful concert: “Long live the Lord!” was all in unison. “It’s Cotton’s cavalry, from General Graham’s division,” said Don Carlos España. “Gentlemen, be careful not to make a fool of yourself. The English are very ceremonious and pay a lot of attention to their forms.” If we get enough oak, we’ll make a little triumphal arch for the victor of Ciudad Rodrigo to ride through, and I’ll give him a speech I’ve prepared, praising his skill in the art of war and the Constitution of Cadiz, both of which are very good, and to which we shall owe the triumph in the end. ” “The Lord is not a great fan of the Constitution of Cadiz,” said Don Julian Sanchez, who was at Don Carlos ‘s right hand , “but what’s in it for us? Let’s defeat Marmont and long live all the nobles.” The red horsemen came up to us, and their leader, who was speaking Spanish as God intended, greeted our brigadier, telling him that His Excellency the Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo would soon arrive in Sancti Spíritus. We immediately began to raise the arch with branches and palitroques at the entrance to said town, and you should have seen there a local teacher appearing bringing some kind of canvas placards with inscriptions and verses that he himself had made up his own head, and in which poetic pieces the virtues of the modern Fabio, that is to say, Mr. Arthur Wellesley, Lord Viscount Wellington of Talavera, Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo, Grandee of Spain and Peer of England, were praised far and wide. Numerous army corps were arriving one after another, spreading out across the surrounding countryside, occupying the surrounding villages. Finally, among the most brilliant Scottish, English, and Spanish soldiers, a post chaise appeared, greeted with acclamations and cheers by the troops stationed on either side of the road. Inside it, I saw a long, red nose, beneath which glittered sparkling white teeth. With the rapidity of the march, I could barely make out anything other than what was indicated, and a smile of benevolence and courtesy greeted the troops from the back of the carriage. I must not pass over in silence, although this is ill-considered a historical fact, that as the carriage passed under the triumphal arch, since it had not been built by Roman engineers or craftsmen, with the jolt and blow it received from one of the wheels, it acted as if it wanted to collapse , and finally it did, causing quite a few branches and cloths to fall on the head of the schoolmaster who had played such an important part in its ill-fated construction. Since no misfortune was caused, the strange ruin was celebrated with laughter. The boys immediately seized the cards, which were about three-quarters of the diameter, and, cutting a hole in the center and sticking their heads through it, paraded before Wellington with that Flemish ruff. Meanwhile, Don Carlos España was delivering his speech before the Lord, and as soon as he concluded, the schoolmaster appeared with the threatening intention of speaking as well. The general consented, and like a very refined person, he concealed his fatigue and, listening to the orator’s pedantry, nodded his head, accompanying his gestures with that peculiar English smile, which suggests the existence of some kind of intermandibular cord, which they pull to fold the mouth like a curtain. “My commander,” my assistant said to me with a jubilant expression when I left the generals to attend to the quarters, “haven’t you seen the other army coming up behind you?” “It must be the Portuguese. ” “What Portuguese, what nonsense! They’re women, an army of women. This is called living the good life. The English, instead of baggage, wear skirts. That’s how it’s a pleasure to wage war. I looked and saw twenty—what am I saying, twenty? Forty, even fifty carts, carriages, and vehicles of various shapes, all filled with women, some apparently of high standing, others of low standing, and of varying beauty and age, although generally, this being said impartially, the ugly gender predominated. As soon as the vehicles stopped amid clouds of dust, you could see the traveling ladies quickly disembark, and one of the most discordant clamorings ever heard resound. On one side, the women shrieked, calling for their consorts, and on the other, the men entered the feminine crowd, shouting: “Anna,” “Fanny,” “Mathilda,” “Elisabeth.” In an instant, cheerful couples formed, and a tumultuous concert of guttural voices, high-pitched inflections, and fluid articulations filled the air. But since the allied division that had just arrived could not spend the night in that town, part of it continued onward toward Aldehuela de Yeltes. Many of the females remounted in their wagons , forming part of the convoy of provisions and ammunition, and others remained in Sancti Spíritus. The day passed, with all of us busy looking for the best possible lodging; but since there were so many of us, By nightfall, we had not settled the matter. As for me, I felt obliged to sleep in the open field. Tribaldos informed me that the local master was most pleased to let me have his room. After visiting my honored employer, I went out on several military duties, and was already retiring home when, beside the road, I heard shouts and cries of alarm. I ran to where they sounded, and it was only that, along the road ahead, a small carriage was coming, its horse dragging it with such terrible lurches and jumps that every moment it seemed it would break into a thousand pieces. As it passed with immense rapidity in front of us, a woman’s cry stung my ears. “There is a woman in that carriage, Tribaldos,” I called to my attendant, who had joined me. ” She is an Englishwoman, sir, who has fallen behind and left behind the other Englishwomen.” “Poor woman! And among so many men, isn’t there a single one who dares to stop the horse and save that unfortunate woman? It does n’t seem to be running wild… It’s stopping… Let’s run over there. ” “The carriage has left the road,” said Tribaldos in terror, “and has stopped in a very dangerous place. At once I saw that the cart was about to fall. The horse, having become entangled in some rockroses, had fallen to the ground, and was as if shattered by the violent impact it had received. But since the slope was steep, gravity was pulling it down into the depths of the ravine. It was impossible for me to see the terrible situation of the unfortunate traveler without rushing to her aid. The carriage had fallen without breaking; but the danger lay in the place. I ran over there alone; I went down, stumbling with every step, knocking up pebbles with my feet that rolled with a sinister noise, and finally arrived at where the vehicle had stopped. A woman inside was calling plaintively. “Madam,” I cried, “here I come. Don’t worry. You won’t fall into the ravine. ” The horse was kicking on the ground, struggling to get up, and with its movements of pain and despair, it was dragging the carriage toward the abyss. A moment longer and all would be lost. I supported myself against a huge fixed stone, and with both hands I stopped the tilting carriage. “Madam,” I cried eagerly, “try to get out. Hold on to my neck… without fear. If you jump to the ground, there’s no need to be afraid. ” “I can’t, I can’t, sir,” she exclaimed in pain. “Have you broken one of your legs? ” “No, sir… I’ll see if I can get out. ” “One effort… If we delay even an instant, we’ll both fall down. I can’t describe the mechanical prodigies we both performed.” The fact is that in such desperate circumstances, the human body, by marvelous instinct, imparts to its limbs a strength it lacks in ordinary moments, and performs a series of admirable movements that later cannot be remembered or repeated. What I know is that, as God had instructed me, and not without some risk to myself, I pulled the stranger out of that grave peril in which she found herself, and finally managed to see her on the ground. I held onto the rocks, and there was no choice but to carry her in my arms to the road. “Hey, Tribaldos, you coward, you lazy bum,” I shouted to my attendant who had come to my aid, “help me out of here.” Tribaldos and other soldiers, who had not offered me any assistance until then, helped me out; for it is the condition of certain people not to approach danger that threatens, but danger that has been overcome, which is convenient and of great benefit in life. Once up there, the stranger took a few steps. “Sir, I owe you my life,” she said, recovering the lost color and brightness of her eyes. She was about twenty-three years old, tall and slender. Her graceful figure, her sweet accent, her beautiful face, that formal address she gave me, no doubt because she only half spoke Spanish, made a deep and lasting impression on me. Chapter 8. She leaned on me and tried to take a few steps; but immediately her faint legs refused to support her. Without saying anything, I took her in my arms, and I said to Tribaldos: “Help me; let’s take her to our lodgings.” Fortunately, this was not far away, and we soon arrived there. At the door, the Englishwoman shook her head, opened her eyes, and said to me: “I don’t want to bother you any longer, sir. I can go up alone. Give me your arm.” At the same moment, an English officer named Sir Thomas Parr, whom I had known in Cadiz, appeared, breathless and hurried, and having learned only briefly of the unfortunate occurrence, spoke to his compatriot in English. “But is there a comfortable room here for the lady?” he said to me afterward. “She can rest in my own room,” said the domino, who had officiously come down upon hearing the noise. “Good,” said the Englishman. “This young lady lingered in Ciudad Rodrigo longer than necessary, and she tried to catch up with us. Her temerity has already given us many troubles. Let’s take her up. I’ll send for the chief doctor of the army. ” “I don’t want any doctors,” said the unknown woman. I have no serious injury: a slight bruise on my forehead and another on my left arm. She said this while climbing up, leaning on my arm. Upon reaching the top, she sank into an armchair in the first room and breathed with expansive relief. “I owe my life to this gentleman,” she said, pointing at me. “It seems a miracle. ” “It’s very nice to see you, my dear Mr. Araceli,” the Englishman told me. “We haven’t seen each other since last year. Do you remember me… in Cadiz? ” “I remember perfectly. ” “You embarked with Blake’s expedition. We couldn’t see each other because you went into hiding after the duel in which you killed Lord Gray. ” The Englishwoman looked at me with deep interest and curiosity. “This gentleman…” she murmured. “He’s the same one I told you about days ago…” Parr replied. “If only the libertine who has brought misfortune to so many families in England and Spain had always encountered men like you!” According to what I have been told, Lord Gray dared to look at a person who loved you… The energy, the severity, the nobility of your conduct are beyond these times. ” “To fully understand that event,” I said, certainly not proud of my action, “it would be necessary for me to explain some background… ” “I can assure you that before I met you, before you rendered me the service I have just received, I felt great admiration for you. ” I then said everything that modesty and good appearance required. “So this lady will be staying here?” Parr told me. “Where I am, it is impossible. Seven of us sleep in one room. ” “I said I will give her mine, which is worthy of Sir Arthur himself, ” said Forfolleda, for that was the name of the domine. “Then she will be well here.” Sir Thomas Parr spoke for a long time in English with the beautiful stranger, and then took his leave. It never ceased to amaze me that her compatriots should have abandoned this beautiful woman, who undoubtedly had a husband or brothers in the army; but I said to myself, “Perhaps English custom dictates it this way.” Meanwhile, the lady of Forfolleda—for Forfolleda had a lady—crossed her arm and staunched the bleeding from the graze on her head. With this operation, we considered the surgical treatment complete, and we decided to arrange a room and bed for her to spend the night. A moment later, the precious body of the English lady was resting on a bed somewhat softer than a rock, to which I had to carry her in my arms, because she was once again seized by that initial faintness that made all bodily action impossible. She thanked me in silence, turning her beautiful blue eyes upon me, which sweetly, and with the charming vagueness and wandering that follows fainting, fixed first on my person and then on the walls of the room. The more I looked at her, the more beautiful she seemed to me every moment. I cannot give an idea of the extreme beauty of her blue eyes. Every feature of her face was distinguished by the purest Correctness and refinement. Her blond hair made the image of golden braids so often used by poets seem plausible, and her mouth was accompanied by the most beautiful and white teeth ever seen. Her body, tormented beneath the whalebone of a tight doublet, from which hung the skirts of an amazon, was extremely thin; but it was not lacking in the roundness, elegant contours, and unevenness that distinguish a woman from a turned stick. “Thank you, sir,” she said to me with a melancholy tone, always using the “vos.” “If I weren’t afraid of bothering you, I would beg you to give me something to eat. ” “Does the lady want a piece of leg of mutton,” said Forfolleda, who was tidying the room’s furnishings, “some garlic soup, chocolate, or perhaps some salmorejo with chili pepper? I also have pollock. They say that Señor D. Arturo likes pollock very much.” “Thank you,” replied the Englishwoman sulkily. “I can’t eat that. Let them make me some tea.” I went to the kitchen, where Mrs. Forfolleda told me that there was no tea or anything resembling it there, adding that if she were to taste even a mouthful of such a gut-rinsing dish, she would spit up the first milk she had ever sucked, along with the liver. Then she began to scold her husband for admitting Lutheran and Calvinist heretics , like the English, into the house; but the schoolmaster victoriously refuted the attack, affirming that, thanks to the aid of the Calvinist and Lutheran heretics, Catholic Spain would triumph over Napoleon, which meant nothing more than that God uses evil to produce good. “Go to any house where there are English people,” I said to Tribaldos, “and bring tea. Do you know what it is?” “Some wrinkled, black leaves. I know… the captain’s wife drank it every night .” I returned to the English woman, who told me she couldn’t eat anything from our kitchen; and having asked me for bread, I gave it to her while she waited for the longed-for tea. A short time later, Tribaldos entered, carrying a large cup that gave off a strange smell. “What is this?” the lady said in horror as the vapors of the cursed liquor reached her nose. “What concoction have you put in here, you damned thing?” I exclaimed, threatening the stunned waiter. “Sir, I didn’t put anything in here, nothing but the crumpled leaves, with a little cinnamon and cloves. The lady of Forfolleda said that was how it was done, and that she had composed it many times for some Englishmen who came to Salamanca to see the old cathedral. ” The English woman burst into laughter. “Madam, please forgive this beast, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’ll go to the kitchen myself, and you can have some tea.” A little later, I returned with my work, which must have satisfied the interested woman, for she accepted it with joy. “Now, madam, I will retire so that you can rest,” I said. ” Give me your orders for tomorrow or for tonight. If you wish, I should send word to your husband—or is he in Picton’s division, which is not in this town? ” “Sir Officer,” she said solemnly, sipping her tea, “I have no husband; I am single.” This put the limit to my astonishment, and, wavering at first in my ideas, I was unable to reply with half-words. “What a fine piece this is, who has hung on my arm!” I said to myself. “The French bring with them women of ill repute; but I didn’t know that the English…” “Single, yes,” she added with aplomb, taking the cup from her lips. ” You are astonished to see a young lady like me on a battlefield, in a foreign land, far, far from her family and her homeland.” Know that I came to Spain with my brother, an engineer officer in Hill’s division, who perished in the bloody battle of Albuera. Pain and despair kept me ill and in danger of death for several days; but I was revived by the awareness of the duties I had to fulfill at that time, and I dedicated myself to searching for the body of the poor soldier to send him to England for our family vault. In a short time I fulfilled this sad mission, and finding myself I tried to return to my country alone . But at the same time, I was so captivated by the history, the traditions, the customs, the literature, the arts, the ruins, the popular music, the dances, the costumes of this nation once so great and now so great again , that I formed the plan to stay here to study everything, and with my parents’ permission, I have done so. “God knows what kind of bird you are,” I said to my cloak; and then, aloud, I added, holding her sweet, heavenly eyes fixedly: “And your parents consented, without considering the continual and grave dangers to which a tender maiden is exposed, alone and unprotected in a foreign land, in the midst of an army! Madam, for God’s sake… ” “Ah, surely you do not know that we, the daughters of England, are protected by the laws in such a way and with such rigor that no man dares disrespect us!” “Yes, that’s what they say happens in England. And it seems that there, young ladies go out on their own, traveling alone or accompanied by some suitor. ” “Even if he were her boyfriend, it wouldn’t matter,” said the Englishwoman. “But we’re in Spain, madam, in Spain! You don’t really know what country you’ve gotten yourself into. ” “But I’m following the Allied army and I’m under the protection of English law, ” she said, smiling. ” Sir, be immodest if you please; try to flirt with me in a less decorous manner than you used to love that Dulcinea who caused Gray’s death, and Lord Wellington will have you shot if you don’t marry me. ” “I would marry, madam.” “Sir, I see that perhaps without malice you are beginning to be immodest . ” “Well, I wouldn’t marry, madam, I wouldn’t marry… Allow me to withdraw. ” “You may,” she said, rising with difficulty to close the door from the inside. I would be grateful if you would have my suitcase brought tomorrow. Fortunately, I didn’t have it with me. It’s in the convoy. “The suitcase will be brought. Good night, madam.” Chapter 9. Outside the room, I heard the sound of the bolts being drawn from within by the beautiful Englishwoman, and I retired to my own room, which was the corner of a dark corridor where Tribaldos had made a bed for me with blankets and cloaks. I lay down on those hard beds, and for a good part of the night I could not sleep; so deeply had the strange English lady become lodged in my mind, with her falls, her fainting spells, her tea, and her diminished beauty. But at last, overcome by great fatigue, I fell asleep peacefully. In the morning, Madame de Forfolleda told me that the blonde young lady was feeling better; that she had asked for water , tea, and bread, offering plenty of money for any service that might be rendered her. When I expressed a desire to go in and greet her, Forfolleda added that it was not advisable, as the young lady was still preparing and putting herself together, despite the minor wounds on her arm. Upon leaving for my duties, which were many and occupied me almost the entire day, I ran into Sir Thomas Parr, whom I entrusted with the suitcase. In the afternoon, after the hard work of that day, which made me somewhat forget the interesting lady, I returned to Forfolleda’s house and saw a large number of Englishmen coming and going, like diligent friends who had come to inquire about the health of their compatriot. I went in to greet her; the small room was filled with red coats belonging to just as many blond men who were talking animatedly. The young Englishwoman was laughing and joking, and had made herself so pretty, without changing her dress, that she did not seem the same gaunt, melancholy, and nervous person she had been the night before. The bruise on her arm somewhat hampered her graceful movements. After we had greeted each other and exchanged a few cold pleasantries with these gentlemen, one of them invited the young lady to go for a walk; another praised the beauty of the peaceful afternoon, and there was no one who did not say a word to persuade her to leave her sad chamber. She, however, declared that she would not leave until the following morning; and with these conversations and Other times, when the gracious young woman paid no attention to her liberator, night fell, and with the night, lights appeared in the room, and behind the lights, a pair of teapots brought by the English servants. Then all faces brightened, and the bustle began with such zeal that the least of them downed a river of China’s liquor, without ceasing the chatter for a moment. Then bottles of sherry were brought , which in a jiffy were left like soulless bodies, for all of it went to fortify those splendid men; but not one of them lost their gravity. We toasted the health of England, of Spain, and around nine o’clock we all retired, the beautiful nymph bidding us farewell affably, but without distinguishing me from the others by word, gesture, or look. I was retreating to my hiding place when I felt the unknown woman throw the bolt. That night, as on the previous one, I was tormented by a persistent sleeplessness; But I was almost overcome when the creaking of the bolt with which the aforementioned lady secured her room made me jump in bed. I looked towards the door, for from my corner of the bedroom I could clearly see it, and I saw the Englishwoman leaving, heading for a gallery or sunroom located at the other end of the passage and the house. As she had left the door open, the light from her room illuminated the house enough to see everything that was going on inside. The Englishwoman arrived at the dilapidated gallery and, opening a window that overlooked the countryside, looked out. As I was dressed, it was easy for me to get up in a moment and go towards her with a quiet step so as not to frighten her. When I was close, she turned her face, and to my great surprise, she didn’t flinch at seeing me. Instead, with imperturbable calm, she said to me: “Are you wandering around here? It’s unbearably hot in that room . ” “It’s the same in mine, madam,” I said . When I saw you, I was thinking of going out into the countryside to breathe the fresh night air. “That’s what I was thinking too… The night is beautiful… and you were thinking of going out…? ” “Yes, madam; but if you allow it, I will have the honor of accompanying you, and together we will enjoy this gentle atmosphere, the pleasant aroma of those pine groves… ” “No… go out, come down, I will go too,” she said with lively resolution and great naturalness. Entering quickly into her room, she took out a strangely shaped cloak, and throwing it over her shoulders, she begged me to wrap it carefully, as she still had no agility in her wounded arm. And once I had wrapped it well, we both went out, without taking my arm, like two friends going for a walk. Everywhere the sound of soldiers could be heard, and the moonlight made it possible to see objects and recognize people. Suddenly, and without replying to some vulgar phrase I had uttered, the Englishwoman said to me: “I know you are noble, sir. To what family do you belong?” To the Pachecos, the Vargas, the Enríquez, the Acuñas, the Toledos, or the Dávilas? “None of those, madam,” I replied, concealing the smile I couldn’t contain with my veil, “but to the Aracelis of Andalusia, who descend, as you’re aware, from Hercules himself. ” “From Hercules? I certainly didn’t know,” he replied naturally. “Have you been on campaign for a long time? ” “Since it began, madam. ” “You are brave and generous, no doubt,” he said, looking me straight in the face. “It’s clear from your countenance that you carry in your veins the blood of those distinguished knights, who have been the wonder and envy of Europe for many centuries. ” “Madam, you do me too much good.” “Tell me: do you know how to throw down your weapons, break a colt, bring down a bull, play the guitar, and compose verses?” “I can’t deny that I’m somewhat knowledgeable in some, if not all, of those skills. ” After a brief pause and slowing down, he asked me abruptly: “And are you in love?” For a moment I didn’t know what to reply; those words seemed so strange to me . “How could I not, being Spanish, being young and a soldier?” I answered resolutely. to steer the conversation wherever my mysterious friend’s fancy might wish to take it. “I see that my way of speaking to you surprises you,” she added. ” Accustomed to hearing from your prudish compatriots only half-words, vulgarities, and hypocritical phrases, you are surprised by this freedom with which I express myself, these strange questions I address to you… Perhaps you misjudge me… ” “Oh, no, madam! ” “But my honor does not depend on your thoughts. You would be foolish to believe that this is anything other than the curiosity of an Englishwoman, I might almost say of an artist and a traveler. The customs and characters of this country are worthy of profound study. ” “So what you want is to study me,” I said through my teeth. “Let us resign ourselves to being a textbook.” “The man who killed Lord Gray, who accomplished this great work of justice, who was the arm of God and the avenger of outraged morality, excites my curiosity in an astonishing way… They have spoken to me of you with admiration, and have told me of some of your deeds worthy of great esteem… Excuse my curiosity, which would scandalize a Spanish woman and which undoubtedly scandalizes you… Having killed Gray out of jealousy, of course you were in love. And your lady, this thing about _your lady_ made me laugh again. Does she live in some castle in these vicinity, or in some Andalusian palace? Is she noble like you?” Upon hearing this, I realized that I must be dealing with an exalted and romantic imagination, and at once a certain spirit of mockery took hold of me. I was not inclined to make fun of the Englishwoman, who, despite her inappropriate sentimentality, was not ridiculous; But my character induced me to play along with the joke, so to speak, lending myself to the whims of that idealism as false as it was enchanting. We are all somewhat poets, and it is very sweet to beautify one’s own life, and very natural to rejoice in this beautification, even knowing that the transformation is our own work. So, with a certain novelistic exaltation, but not with complete seriousness, I replied to the young lady: “She is noble, madam, and most beautiful and distinguished; but what good is it to me to have in her a paragon of perfection, if a disastrous destiny constantly separates her from me? What will you think, madam, if I tell you that some time ago a certain malignant enchanter has transformed her into the person of a vulgar comic strip, who tours the villages as part of a troupe of leading actors? ” This was undoubtedly too strong. “Sir,” said the Englishwoman in astonishment, “so what, are there still enchantments in Spain?” “Not exactly enchantments,” I said, trying to calm my mood, “but there are arts of the devil, and if not arts of the devil, then the malice and wiles of wicked men. ” “I see you read books of chivalry. ” “Well, who doubts that they are the most beautiful of all those ever written ? They suspend the spirit, awaken the sensibilities, enliven courage, inspire enthusiasm for great deeds, magnify glory and diminish danger in all aspects of life. ” “They magnify glory and diminish danger!” he exclaimed, stopping. “If what you have said is true, you are worthy of having been born in other times… but I did not quite understand this thing about your lady being transformed into a little fairy… ” “That is so, madam. If I could tell you everything that preceded this transformation, I have no doubt you would pity me. ” “And where are the enchanted woman and the enchanter? I give them these names because I see that you believe in enchantments.” “They’re in Salamanca.” “As if they were in another world. Salamanca is in French hands. ” “But we’ll take it. ” “You say that as if it were the most natural thing in the world. ” “And it is. Don’t laugh at my petulance; but if the entire allied army disappeared and I were left alone… ” “You would go alone to conquer the city, you mean. ” “Ah, madam!” I exclaimed emphatically. “A man in love doesn’t know what he’s saying. I see that’s nonsense.” “A relative blunder,” he replied. “But now I understand that you are making fun of me. You have fallen in love with a comedienne and want to pass her off as a great lady. ” “When we enter Salamanca, I will be able to convince you that I am not making fun of you. ” “I do not doubt that there are comediennes in the country, and even less so beautiful comediennes,” he said, laughing. “Two days ago, a troupe passed in front of me that reminded me of the chariot of the Cortes of Death. There were seven or eight actors there, and, in fact, they said they were going to Salamanca. ” “They had two or three chariots. In one of them were two women, one of them very beautiful. They came from Plasencia. ” “I think so. ” “And in another chariot, they carried painted canvases. ” “You have seen them; but you do not know what I know.” As they passed in front of me, surprising me with their strange appearance, which reminded me of one of the most amusing adventures in the _Book_, a resident of Puerto de Baños said to me: “Those are not comedians, but rogue Masons who disguise themselves thus to pass among the Spaniards, who would tear them to pieces if they knew them.” “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” I replied. “Madam, have you heard Lord Wellington say when he will launch our regiments against Salamanca? ” “You are impatient… I want to know something else. Do you love your Dulcinea in an ideal and sublime way, beautifying her with your thoughts even more than she is in herself, attributing to her all the perfections imaginable and consecrating to her all the sweet transports of an ever-inflamed heart?” “Yes, yes, madam,” I said with an enthusiasm that was not entirely fictitious, and eager to see where this mysterious woman, whose character I was beginning to penetrate, was going. “You seem to read my soul as if it were a book.” After hearing this, she remained silent for a long time, and then resumed the dialogue with a sudden change of ideas, which was the third in that strange conversation. “Sir, have you a mother?” she said to me. “No, madam. ” “Nor sisters? ” “Nor. No mother, no father, no brothers, no relatives. ” “I see the lineage of Hercules is in a very bad state. So you are alone in the world,” she added with a compassionate tone. “Unhappy knight! And does this great lady, comedian, or Masonic woman, love you? ” “I think so. ” “Have you made sacrifices for her, braved dangers, and overcome obstacles? ” “Very many.” but they are nothing in comparison with what still remains for me to do. “What? ” “A dangerous action, madness; the ultimate degree of daring. I hope to die or to achieve my object. ” “Are you afraid of the dangers that await you? ” “I have never known such,” I replied with a fatuity the memory of which has often made me laugh. “Rest assured, for the allies will enter Salamanca, and then easily…” “When the allies enter, my enemy and his victim will have fled to France. He is no fool… We must go to Salamanca first. ” “Before taking it!” he exclaimed in astonishment. “Why not? ” “Sir,” he said suddenly, stopping his pace, “I see that you are mocking me. ” “I am, madam!” I answered, somewhat embarrassed. “Yes, you are setting before my eyes a chivalrous adventure, which is pure invention and fable. You paint yourself as a superior character, as one of those souls who are magnified by danger, and you have adorned the fiction with beautiful figures of Dulcinea, and enchanters, who exist only in your imagination. ” “My lady, you…” “Be so good as to escort me to my lodgings. The smell of those pine groves makes me dizzy. ” “As you please.” I confess—why not confess?—that I was somewhat embarrassed. The elegant Englishwoman didn’t say another word to me the whole way; and when we went up to Forfolleda’s house and I led her to her room, which was already beginning to seem to me like a royal dressing room draped in satin and organdy, she retreated into her hovel like a fairy into her cave, and giving me In a sour tone, he bid goodnight, drew back the gold—or iron—bolts, and I was left alone. Chapter 10. Having settled myself in bed, I spoke to myself thus: “Is this Englishwoman one of those women of dubious honesty who are wont to follow armies? There are different kinds; but in reality I never saw following the soldiers of my country one so beautiful, or of such noble and aristocratic bearing. I have heard that birds of a different feather follow the French army. Bah!… well, do n’t they say that Massena has had such bad luck in Portugal because of the corruption of his officers and soldiers, and even because of his own carelessness with certain very bedraggled Amazons who walked about the camps as freely as in Paris?…” Then, giving another direction to my thoughts, I said, just as that sweet torpor that precedes sleep was beginning to overwhelm me: “Perhaps I am mistaken. Having met Lord Gray, I must not doubt that the extravagances and oddities of English people have no known limits. Perhaps my roommate is so upright that virginity itself seems like a party girl next to her, and I am insulting her. Tomorrow I will question the English officers I know… Unless she is one of those impressionable and hot-headed natures that are born by chance in the North, and that seek, like swallows, temperate climates; they descend, full of anxiety, at midday, asking for light, sun, passions, poetry, food for the heart and the imagination, which they do not always find, or find only halfway. And they go with feverish desire after originality, after strange customs, and they adore passionate characters, even if they are almost savage; the adventurous life , chivalrous gallantry, ruins, legends, popular music, and even the vulgarity of the common people, as long as it is amusing. Saying or thinking this, and connecting it with these other thoughts that worried me more deeply, I fell into a very deep, restorative sleep. I got up very early the next morning, and without remembering the beautiful Englishwoman at all, as if the night had swept away all the cobwebs fabricated and spread the day before inside my brain, I left my lodgings. “We’re marching toward San Muñoz,” Figueroa, a Portuguese officer friend of mine who was serving with General Picton, told me. “And the Lord? ” ” He’s going off to I don’t know where. Graham’s division is near Tamames. We’re going to form the left wing of Don Carlos España’s division and Don Julián Sánchez’s party.” When we were heading together to the general’s lodgings, I asked him for information about the English lady whose figure and strange manner I have described , and he replied: “She’s Miss Fly; or what is the same, Miss Mosquito, Butterfly, Little Bowtie, or something like that. Her name is Athenais.” Her father is Lord Fly, one of the most important lords of Great Britain. He has followed us from Albuera, painting churches, castles, and ruins in a certain large book he carries with him, and writing down everything that happens. The Lord and the other English generals hold her in high regard, and if you want to know what’s good, dare to disrespect Miss Fly, who in English is called Flai, for you know that in that language words are written one way and pronounced another, which is a delight for anyone who wants to learn it. I then told my friend about the scenes of the previous evening and the walk that Fly and I took in the solitude of the night in those parts; which, when Figueroa heard it, caused him great surprise. “It’s the first time,” he said, “that the blonde has had such familiarity with a Spanish or Portuguese officer, for until now she had regarded them all with haughtiness. ” “I had taken her for a person of somewhat free manners.” –It seems so, because she walks alone, rides a horse, goes in and out through the army, talks to everyone, visits the forward positions before a battle, and the field hospitals afterward… Sometimes she moves away from the army to walk alone through the nearby towns, mostly if there are abbeys, cathedrals, or castles in these, and in his leisure time he does nothing but read ballads. We spent the morning talking about this and other matters, and around noon we went to the lodgings of Charles Spain, who was not there. “Spain,” guerrilla Sánchez told us, “is at the headquarters lodgings. ” “Is Lord Wellington not leaving?” “It seems he is staying here, and we are leaving for San Muñoz in an hour. ” “Let’s go to the Duke’s lodgings,” Figueroa said: “there we will have certain news. ” Lord Wellington was in the town hall, the only suitable and decent one suitable for such a distinguished person. The small square, the porch, the vestibule, and the staircase were filled with a multitude of officers of all ranks, Spanish, English, and Portuguese, who came in, went out, formed small groups, arguing and joking with one another in friendly intimacy, as if they all belonged to the same family. Figueroa and I went up , and after waiting more than an hour and a half in the antechamber, Spain came out and said to us: “The general-in-chief asks if there is a Spanish officer who dares to enter Salamanca in disguise to examine the forts and the provisional works the enemy has made on the wall, and to find out if the garrison is large or small, and the provisions abundant or scarce. ” “I am,” I said resolutely without waiting for the general to finish. “You,” said Spain with the disdainful familiarity he used when speaking to his officers, “do you dare undertake such a risky journey? Bear in mind that it is necessary to go and return. ” “I suppose so. ” “It is necessary to cross the enemy lines, since the French occupy all the villages on this side of the Tormes. ” “You enter wherever you can, my general. ” “Then you must cross the wall, the forts; You must enter the city, visit the cantonments, draw up maps… “All that is a game to me, my general. Entering, exiting, seeing… a diversion. Please, Your Grace, present myself to the Duke, telling him that I am at your orders for whatever you wish. ” “You are a fool, and you are of no use for the task,” replied Don Carlos. “We will look for another. You do not know a word of geometry or fortification. ” “We will see about that,” I answered breathlessly. “And it is necessary, it is necessary to go,” added my chief. ” The Lord has not yet formed his plan of battle. He does not know whether he will assault Salamanca or blockade it; he does not know whether he will cross the Tormes to pursue Marmont, leaving Salamanca behind, or whether … “Do you say you dare? ” “Well, I should not dare? I will dress as a charro, I will enter Salamanca selling vegetables or coal.” “I will see the forts, the garrison, the provisions; I will make a sketch, and I will return to the camp… My General, ” I added with warmth, “either Your Grace introduces me to the Duke, or I will present myself . ” “Come, let us go at once,” said Spain, entering the room with me. Chapter 11. Beside a large table placed in the center, stood the Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo with three other generals examining a map of the country, and they were so deeply attentive to the lines, dots, and letters with which the geographer designated the features of the terrain that they did not raise their heads to look at us. Don Carlos España signaled to me that we should wait, and in the meantime I directed my gaze to different points of the room to examine, as was my custom, the place where I was. Other officers were talking in low voices away from the center, and among them—oh surprise!—I saw Miss Fly, who was holding an animated conversation with a colonel of artillery named Simpson. Finally, Lord Wellington raised his eyes from his map and looked at us. I bowed most politely: then the Englishman looked at me more closely, examining me from head to toe. I also looked at him at my leisure, delighted to have before my eyes a person so beloved at that time by all Spaniards, and who inspired so much admiration in me. Wellesley was quite tall, with blond hair and a flushed face, although not for the reasons I had mentioned. The vulgar attribute the epidermal inflammations to the British people. It is well known that it is a proverbial saying in England that the only great man who has never lost his dignity after dessert is the victor over Tipoo Sayb and Bonaparte. Wellington looked to be forty-five years old, and this was exactly the same age as Napoleon, for both were born in 1769, one in May and the other in August. The sun of India and that of Spain had altered the whiteness of his Saxon complexion. His nose, as I have said before, was long and slightly vermillion; his forehead, protected from the sun’s rays by his hat, retained its whiteness and was as beautiful and serene as that of a Greek statue, revealing thought without agitation or fever, a chained imagination, and a great faculty of consideration and calculation. His head was adorned by a lock of hair or a forelock, which Greek statues certainly did not wear; but which was not disliked, serving as the apex of an English brain. The general’s large blue eyes gazed coldly, resting vaguely on the object observed, and observed without apparent interest. His voice was sonorous, measured, measured, without changing tone, without exacerbations or harsh accents, and the whole of his way of expressing himself, the combination of gesture, voice, and eyes, produced a pleasant impression of respect and affection. His Excellency looked at me as I have said, and then Don Carlos España said: “My General, this young man wishes to carry out the commission that Your Excellency spoke to me about a little while ago. I will vouch for his courage and loyalty; but I have tried to dissuade him from his endeavor because he has no professional knowledge. That embarrassed me, mainly because I was standing in front of Miss Fly, and because, in fact, I had never been to any academy. ” “For this commission,” said Wellington in quite correct Spanish, “certain knowledge is required…” And he fixed his eyes on the map. I looked at Spain, and Spain looked at me. But shame did not prevent me from making a decision, and without commending myself to God or the devil, I said: “My General, it is true that I did not study at any academy; but long practice of war in battles, and especially in sieges, has perhaps given me the knowledge that Your Grace demands for this commission. I know how to draw a map. ” The Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo, raising his eyes again, spoke thus: “In my headquarters there are a multitude of qualified officers; but no Englishman could enter Salamanca, because he would be instantly discovered by his face and his language. A Spaniard must go . ” “My General,” said Spain fatuously, “there is no lack of qualified officers in my division. I brought this one because he insisted on showing off his courage before Your Grace.” I looked at Don Carlos with indignation, and then exclaimed with the greatest vehemence: “My General, although in this enterprise there may exist every danger, every imaginable difficulty, I will enter Salamanca, and I will return with the news that your grace desires. ” Calmly and quietly, Lord Wellington asked me: “Sir Officer, where did you begin your military life?” “At Trafalgar,” I replied. When this historic and magnificent word resounded in the hall amidst the general silence, all the heads of those present moved as if they belonged to a single body, and all eyes were fixed on me with the most lively interest. “So you were a sailor?” the Duke asked. “I saw action when I was fourteen years old. I was a friend of an officer who was on the Trinidad. The loss of the crew forced me to take part in the battle. ” “And when did you begin to serve in the campaign against the French?” –On May 2, 1808, my general. The French shot me in Moncloa. You miraculously saved me; but the horrors of that terrible day remain written on my body . –And since then, you enlisted? –You enlisted in the volunteer regiments of Andalusia, and I was in The Battle of Bailén. “Also in the Battle of Bailén!” Wellington said in astonishment. “Yes, General: July 19, 1808. Would you like to see my record of service, which begins on that date? ” “No, that’s enough for me,” replied Wellington. “And then?” ” I returned to Madrid and took part in the action of December 3. I was taken prisoner, and they wanted to take me to France. ” “Did they take you to France? ” “No, General, because I escaped in Lerma, and ended up in Zaragoza on such a fortunate occasion that I achieved the second siege of that immortal city. ” “The entire siege?” Wellington said, his interest growing in me . “Everything, from December 19 to February 12, 1809. I can give you a detailed account of the various events of that great feat of arms, a source of glory and pride for all of us who were involved in it. ” “And which army did you then join?” “The one in the center, and I served for quite a while under the Duke of Parque. I was in the Battle of Tamames and in Extremadura. ” “Didn’t you find yourself in a new siege? ” “In the one at Cádiz, my general. I defended the castle of San Lorenzo de Puntales for three days. ” “And then you were part of General Blake’s expedition to Valencia? ” “Yes, my general; but I was assigned to the second corps, commanded by O’Donnell, and for four months I served under El Empecinado in that singular war of parties where one learns so much. ” “Have you also been a guerrilla?” Wellington said, smiling. ” I see you have earned your ranks well. You will go to Salamanca, if you so wish. ” “Sir, I ardently desire it.” Everyone present continued to watch me, and Miss Fly more attentively than anyone. “Good,” added the hero of Talavera, his gaze fixed alternately on me and on the map. You must do the following: you will head to Salamanca today in disguise, making a detour to enter through Cabrerizos. You will necessarily have to pass through Marmont’s troops, who are guarding the roads to Ledesma and Toro. There is a good chance that you will be shot as a spy; but God protects the brave, and perhaps… perhaps you will manage to penetrate the plaza. Once inside, you will draw a sketch of the fortifications, examining with the greatest attention the convents that have been converted into forts, the buildings that have been demolished, the artillery defending the approaches to the city, the state of the wall, the earthworks and faience, absolutely everything, without forgetting the provisions the enemy has in their warehouses. “My General,” I replied, “I fully understand what is desired, and I hope to satisfy Your Grace. When should I leave? ” “Right now. We are twelve leagues from Salamanca.” With the march we will undertake today, I hope to spend the night in Castroverde, near the Valmuza. But you ride ahead, and the day after tomorrow, Tuesday, you can enter the city. You must carry out this mission completely throughout Tuesday , leaving Wednesday morning to come to headquarters, which on that day will surely be in Bernuy. In Bernuy, then, I will expect you on Wednesday at twelve o’clock sharp . I am not in the habit of waiting. “Correct, General. On Wednesday at twelve o’clock, I will be in Bernuy, returning from my expedition. ” “Take precautions. Head for the Ledesma causeway, but be careful to always march outside the reef. Disguise yourself well, since the French allow villagers carrying provisions to enter the square; and when drawing up the sketch, avoid public gaze as much as possible . Carry weapons, concealing them well; do not provoke the enemy; pretend to be their friend.” In a word, put to use your ingenuity, your courage, and all the knowledge of men and war that you have acquired over so many years of active military life. The Major General of the army will give you the sum you need for the expedition. “My General,” I said, “do you have anything else to command me?” “Nothing more,” he replied, smiling benevolently, “but I adore punctuality, and I consider the exact appreciation and distribution of time to be the source of success in war. ” “That means that if I am not back on Wednesday at twelve, I shall displease Your Grace. ” “And very much so. What I order can be done within the allotted time. Two hours to draw up the sketch; two to visit the forts, offering the soldiers any items they need for sale; four to tour the entire town and take note of the demolished buildings; two to overcome unforeseen obstacles; half an hour to rest. That’s ten and a half hours on Tuesday. The first half of the night is for studying the spirit of the city, what the garrison and the neighborhood think of this campaign; one hour for sleeping, and the rest for setting out and placing yourself out of the reach and sight of the enemy. Without stopping anywhere, you can present yourself to me at Bernuy at the appointed time.” “At my general’s command,” I said, preparing to leave. Lord Wellington, the greatest man in Great Britain, the rival of Bonaparte, the hope of Europe, the victor of Talavera, Albuera , Arroyomolinos, and Ciudad Rodrigo, rose from his seat, and with a grave courtesy and cordiality that filled my soul with pride and joy, gave me his hand, which I gratefully clasped in mine. I went out to make arrangements for my journey. Chapter 12. An hour later, I was in a peasant’s house, deciding the price of the dress I was to wear, when I felt a tap on my shoulder, apparently produced by a whip moved by delicate hands. I turned around, and Miss Fly, for it was none other who was whipping me, said: “Sir, I have been looking for you for an hour. ” “Madam, preparations for my journey have prevented me from going to your service.” Miss Fly did not hear my last words, because her whole attention was fixed on a village woman in front of us, who, for her part, was nursing a tender child, and her eyes were fixed on the Englishwoman. “Madam,” she said, “can you provide me with a dress like the one you are wearing? ” The village woman did not understand the Englishwoman’s broken Spanish, and she looked at her absorbedly without answering. “Miss Fly,” I said, “are you going to dress as a village woman? ” “Yes,” she answered, smiling maliciously. “I want to go with you. ” “With me!” I exclaimed, in the greatest surprise. “With you, yes; I want to go disguised with you to Salamanca,” she added calmly, taking some coins from her pocket so that the village woman could understand her better. “Madam, I cannot believe but that you have gone mad,” I said. Go with me to Salamanca, go with me on this perilous expedition from which I don’t know if I’ll survive? “So what? I can’t go because there’s danger? Sir, on what basis do you believe that I know fear? ” “It’s impossible, madam; it’s impossible for you to accompany me,” I stated resolutely . “I certainly didn’t think you were rude. You’re among those who reject everything that goes beyond the ordinary bounds of life. Don’t you understand that a woman has enough courage to face danger, to render difficult services to a holy cause? ” “On the contrary, madam: I understand that a woman like you is capable of eminent actions, and at this moment Miss Fly inspires me with sincere enthusiasm. But the commission I have to Salamanca is very delicate; it demands that no one go by my side, and least of all a lady who cannot disguise herself by hiding her foreign language and noble bearing. ” “That I can’t disguise myself? ” “Well, madam,” I said, unable to contain my laughter. Begin by laying aside your riding footcloth and putting on your manteo, that is to say, a long piece of cloth that is wrapped around the body, like the sash they put on children. Miss Fly looked in amazement at the strange and picturesque dress of the village girl. ‘Then,’ I added, ‘untie those beautiful golden braids, making a chignon at the top from which ribbons will hang, and on the Two wagon-wheel curls with silver hairpins hang from your temples. Then, put on your velvet doublet, and immediately cover your beautiful shoulders with the most graceful and difficult garment to wear, the dengue or rebociño. Athenais became ill-humored and contemplated the singular garments that the charra was taking out of a chest. “And after putting on your little shoes over openwork silk stockings, and girding on the black picote embroidered with sequins, lay the last stone of such a beautiful building, with the rocador mantilla pinned on your shoulders. ” Miss Mariposa looked at me indignantly, understanding the impossibility of disguising herself as a villager. “Fine,” she affirmed, looking at me with disdain. “I will go without a disguise. In reality, I don’t need to, because I know Colonel Desmarets, who will let me in.” I saved his life at Albuera… And believe it or not, my acquaintance with Colonel Desmarets could be useful to you… “Madam,” I said, becoming serious, “the honor I receive and the pleasure I experience at being accompanied by you are so great that I don’t know how to express them. But I’m not going to a party, madam; I’m going into danger. Besides, if danger doesn’t frighten a person like you, what does the slightest harm that might come to me from the opinion of an illustrious lady traveling with a stranger through byways and twists and turns mean nothing? ” “You have a poor idea of honor, sir,” he declared with nobility and haughtiness. “Either your actions are lies, or your thoughts are far beneath them. For God’s sake, don’t grovel to the level of the crowd, because you’ll make them hate you. I’ll go with you to Salamanca.” And taking the liberty of not replying to my reasonable observations, he headed for headquarters, while I took the road to my lodgings to transform myself from an army officer into the most rustic charro I’ve ever seen in the fields of Salamanca. With my tight brown cloth breeches , my black stockings and cowhide shoes, with my square vest, my doublet with haldetas at the waist and a slash in the bleeding, and the wide-brimmed hat with hanging ribbons that I fitted on my head, I was fit to wear. My equipment completed for the moment with a wallet that I sewed inside the doublet with what was necessary to draw some lines, and the soul of the expedition, that is, the money that I put in the inner pocket of my belt. Chapter 13. “My Mr. Araceli is already on campaign,” I said to myself. On Wednesday at twelve o’clock I’ll be back in Bernuy… I’ve gotten myself into a fine mess!… If the Englishwoman decides to accompany me, I’m a lost man… But I will oppose her with all my might, and if she doesn’t see reason, I will report to the commander-in-chief the whim of his audacious countrywoman so that he will curtail the flights of this wandering and willful sylph. My immodesty was not so great as to suppose that Athenais was motivated exclusively by a whim and fondness for my person; but although I believed myself unworthy of the beautiful lady’s solicitous pursuit, I resolved to put into practice an effective means to free myself from that annoying, though adorable and tempting, obstacle. And that was that, beautifully and without saying anything to anyone, like Don Quixote on his first sally, I ran out of Sancti Spíritus and ahead of the vanguard of the army, which at that moment was beginning to leave for San Muñoz. But judge, oh my lords! What was my surprise when, just as I had set out, spurring my mount, which was going along with Rocinante, I heard behind me a creaking of rough wheels, the gallop of a nag, the crack of a whip, and some strange voices of the kind used in every language to urge on a lazy beast! Judge my surprise when I turned and saw the same Miss Fly in a nondescript little carriage, no less dilapidated and old than the one in the celebrated catastrophe, driving it herself, accompanied by a young boy from Sancti Spiritus. When she reached me, the Englishwoman uttered exclamations of triumph. Her face, excited and smiling, was like that of one who has won a prize in a race; her eyes glowed with the bright light of boundless joy; Some strands of his golden hair floated in the breeze, giving him the fantastic appearance of some flying deity, one of those that run along the friezes of classical architecture, and his hand waved the whip as gallantly as a centaur his deadly shaft. If I were permitted to use words which I do not understand well applied to the human figure, but which are commonly used in descriptions, I would say that he was _radiant_. “I have reached you,” he said with an accent of triumph. “If _Mrs._ Mitchell had not lent me her carriage, I would have come on a gun carriage, Mr. Araceli.” And when I again explained the inconveniences of his decision, he added: “What a great pleasure I experience! This is life to me: liberty, independence, initiative, daring. We will go to Salamanca… I suspect that you will have things to do there, in addition to Lord Wellington’s commission … But I do not care about your affairs. Sir, know that I despise you.” “And what did I do to deserve it?” I said, easing my mount into the pace of a draft horse and slowing down, which both beasts greatly appreciated. “What? Calling this plan of mine madness. They have no other word to express our inclination or unknown impressions, the great objects the soul glimpses without being able to pinpoint them, the capricious forms with which chance seduces us, the sweet emotions produced by foreseen danger and desired success. ” “I understand all the greatness of your manly spirit; but what can you find in Salamanca worthy of employing such distinguished faculties? I am going as a spy, and espionage has nothing sublime about it. ” “Do you want me to believe,” he said maliciously, “that you are going to Salamanca on Lord Wellington’s commission?” “Surely. ” “A service to the country is not sought with such eagerness.” Remember what you told me about the person you love, who is imprisoned, enchanted, or possessed by a demon—so you said in the city to which we are going. ” A hearty laugh came to my lips; but I restrained it, saying: “That’s true; but perhaps I don’t have time to attend to my own affairs. ” “On the contrary,” she said with the utmost grace. “You will occupy yourselves with nothing else. May I know, Sir Araceli, who is a certain countess who is writing to you from Madrid? ” “How do you know?” I asked in astonishment. “Because shortly before I left the house in Forfolleda, an officer arrived with a letter he had received for you. I looked at it and saw a coat of arms with a crown. Your attendant said: “We already have another little letter from my lady the countess.” “And I left without picking up that letter!” I exclaimed, annoyed. “I will return to Sancti Spíritus at once.” But Miss Fly stopped me with a charming gesture, saying with unparalleled grace: “Don’t be impetuous, young soldier; take the letter.” And she gave it to me, and I immediately opened and read it. In it she told me simply, besides some sweet and flattering things, that she had just learned from Marchena that our enemy was preparing to leave Plasencia for Salamanca. “It seems they have brought you some important news, judging by how much you are reflecting on it,” Athenais told me. “It tells me nothing I don’t already know. The unhappy mother, overwhelmed with grief and impatience, constantly presses me to return the property that has been taken from her. ” “That letter is from the enchanted woman’s mother,” said Miss Butterfly incredulously. “You make up very pretty stories, sir; but they will not deceive discreet people like myself.” I ran my eyes over the letter, and, certain that it contained nothing which ought to be concealed from strangers, as the Countess herself had made public the secret of her unfortunate maternity, I gave it to Miss Fly to read. She, with intense curiosity, read it in a moment; and repeatedly raised her eyes from the paper to fix them upon me, accompanying her glance with expressive exclamations and questions. “I know this signature,” she said first. “The Countess of . I saw it and I treated in Puerto de Santa María. “In January of the year 10, madam.” “Exactly… And he says that you are his guardian angel, that he expects his happiness from you… that he will owe you his life… that he would exchange all the stamps in his house for your courage, for the nobility of your heart and the rectitude of your lofty sentiments. ” “Is that what he says?” I glanced at him without noticing anything but the essentials. “And also that he has complete confidence in you, because he believes you capable of succeeding in the great enterprise you have in hand… That Inés —so, is her name Inés?—despite her great worth for her beauty and her qualities, it seems to him a small reward for your perseverance…” Miss Fly returned the letter to me. A sweet confusion, I might almost say, rapturous enthusiasm, inflamed her face . Her brilliant imagination, suddenly awakening with spirited force, doubtless magnified the adventure before her to fabulous limits. “Sir!” “—he exclaimed, without concealing the expansive and grandiose rapture of his poetic soul—this is beautiful, so beautiful it doesn’t seem real. What I suspected and is now completely revealed to me has as much beauty as the lies in novels and romances. So, by going to Salamanca, you are going to attempt… ” “The impossible. ” “Rather, say two impossibles,” Athenais affirmed with an exalted accent, ” because Wellington’s commission… what a sublime step, what incomparable audacity, Mr. Araceli! Colonel Simpson recently said that there are ninety-nine chances to one that you will be shot. ” “God will protect me, madam.” “Certainly. If men like you had not existed in the world, there would be no history, or it would be very tiresome. God will protect you. You are doing very well… I approve of your conduct. I will help you. ” “But you still insist? ” “Strange event!” “—he said, ignoring my question—”and how it seduces and captivates me! In Spain, only in Spain, could one find this thing that sets the heart aflame, awakens the imagination, and gives life the fuel for the lively passions it needs. A stolen young woman; a loyal knight who, scorning all kinds of dangers, goes in search of her and enters an enemy stronghold with strong courage, aspiring only with the courage of his heart and the wiles of his wit to wrest the beloved object from the barbaric hands that imprison her… Oh, what a beautiful adventure! What a lovely romance! ” “Do you like adventures and romances, madam? ” “Do I like them? I enchant them, they enthrall me, they captivate me more than any reading invented by the wits of this earth!” he replied enthusiastically. “Romances! Is there anything more beautiful, or that speaks with more sweet and majestic eloquence to our souls?” I have read them all, and I know them all: the Moorish ones, the historical ones, the chivalric ones, the amorous ones, the devotional ones, the vulgar ones, those about captives and forced laborers, and the satirical ones. I read them with passion; I have translated many into English in verse or prose. “Oh, my lady and distinguished teacher!” I said, affirming to myself that Miss Fly’s moral illness was a literary monomania. “How much Spanish literature owes to you! ” “I read them with passion,” she added, ignoring me, “but, alas! I search for them anxiously in real life and I cannot, I cannot find them! ” “Just so, because those times are over, and there are no more Lindarajas, nor Tarfes, nor Bravoneles, nor Melisendras,” I affirmed, recognizing that I had been mistaken in my previous judgment regarding Pajarita’s illness . “But have you really endeavored to find the romances in real life?” For example, those little Moorish girls dressed in green who appeared through the silver railings to see off their suitors when they went to war, those young men who came out to the ring with yellow or purple ribbons, those bearded kings of Jaén or Antequera who… “Sir,” he said gravely, interrupting me, “have you read the romances of Bernardo del Carpio? ” “Madam,” I replied, troubled, “I confess my ignorance. I don’t know them. I think I’ve heard them advertised by the blind; but I’ve never bought them.” I have neglected my education greatly, Miss Fly. “Well, I know them all by heart, from In the kingdoms of León The fifth Alfonso reigned; His beautiful sister was, her name is Doña Jimena, to the death of the hero, where there is that “ At the foot of a black tomb is Bernardo del Carpio. ” Incomparable poetry! After the Iliad, nothing better has been composed. Well then. Don’t you know, even by hearsay, the ballad in which Bernardo frees his beloved Estela from the Moors and the Carpio who were besieged? “That must be beautiful. ” “It seems that times are resurrected,” said Miss Fly with a certain inexplicable vagueness, like a prophetic expression on her face; It seems that men are rising from their graves, assuming ancient forms, or that time and the world are taking a step back to relieve their sadness, renewing for a moment the wonders of the past… Nature, bored with present vulgarity, dresses in the finery of her youth, like an old woman who does not wish to be one… History retreats, tired of foolishness, and with childish enthusiasm leafs through the pages of her own diary, and then looks for the sword in the drawer of forgotten and sublime toys… But don’t you see this, Araceli, don’t you see it? “Madam, what do you want me to see? ” “The romance of Bernardo and the beautiful Estela, who for the second time…” As she said this, the horse that was pulling, not without difficulty, the carriage of the poetic Athenais, began to limp, no doubt because it could not revive, like History, the lush robustness and agility of its youth. But the Englishwoman paid no attention to this, and with the utmost gravity continued: “The ballad of Don Galván also applies now, which is not written down, but which can be gathered from the mouths of the people, as I have done . In it, however, Don Galván could not have taken the princess from the tower without the aid of an unknown fairy or lady who appeared to him. ” The horse then, no longer able to bear its soul, stumbled, falling to its knees. “My esteemed fairy, here you have the truth of life,” I said. “This horse can’t go on. ” “What!” the Englishwoman exclaimed angrily. “It will walk. If not, harness yours to the carriage, and we will go here together. ” “Impossible, madam, impossible. ” “How desolate! Mistress Mitchell rightly said that this animal is good for nothing. To me, however, it seemed worthy of Phaethon’s chariot. We lifted the animal, which took a few steps, and fell again after a short distance. “Impossible, impossible,” I exclaimed. “Madam, I am forced, much to my regret, to abandon you. ” “Abandon myself!” said the Englishwoman. In her beautiful eyes flashed a ray of that august anger which poets attribute to the goddesses of antiquity. “Yes, madam: I am very sorry. It is almost nightfall. It is ten leagues from here to Salamanca; on Wednesday at twelve I must be back in Bernuy. I need say no more. ” “Well, sir,” she said, with a trembling lip and a bitter rebuke in her eyes. “Go. I have no use for you at all. ” “Duty does not permit me to delay another hour,” I affirmed, remounting my horse, after, assisted by the little villager, I had brought Miss Fly’s horse back to all fours. “The allied army will not be long… Ah! They are here.” Over that hill the advance guard appears… Simpson is in charge, your friend Colonel Simpson… So you may give me your permission now… You won’t say, madam, that I’m leaving you alone… There comes a rider. It’s Simpson himself. Miss Fly looked back with spite and sadness. “Goodbye, my beautiful madam,” I cried, spurring on. “I can’t stop. If I live, I’ll tell you what happens to me.” Pressed by my duty, I rode away at full speed. Chapter 14. I marched that afternoon and part of the night, and after sleeping a few hours at Castrejón, I left my horse there, and having acquired a large quantity of vegetables, along with a very thin and sad donkey, I made my change and set off along a path that led directly, as I was told, to the Vitigudino road. I found myself there at noon on Monday; but once I recognized it, I left it, taking shortcuts and winding roads until I reached the Tormes River, which I crossed to join the Ledesma road and the town of Villamayor. From several villagers I met at an inn playing hopscotch and tag, I learned that the French would not allow anyone to enter without a letter of assurance issued by them, and that even so, they would stop the vendors in the plaza, not letting them go further so they couldn’t see the forts. “I don’t feel like returning to Salamanca, boy,” said the burly, fat charro, who had given me such flattering information after inviting me to drink at the door of the inn. “By a miracle of God and the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mr. Baltasar Cipérez—that is, myself—is alive.” “And why? ” “Because… you see. You know they’ve ordered all the inhabitants of these villages to go and work on the fortifications. Any place that doesn’t send its people is punished with looting, and sometimes with beheading… They say the devil is subtle. The custom is that while the villagers work, the soldiers sit still, talking and smoking, and from time to time there are sergeants who, whip in hand, are there with their eyes wide open to see who is distracted or looking at the sky, or talking to their comrade… The other one said it right, that the devil never sleeps and messes things up… As soon as someone gets so careless like that… splat!… ” “They measure his back. ” “I have bad blood,” added Cipérez, “and I don’t think I was born to be a slave. I’m a rich villager, I’m used to commanding, not to being whipped.” You can’t beat an old dog… So when that Lucifer… “If I’m the one being whipped, I’ll lay him down right there. ” “I closed my eyes; I saw nothing but blood; I got in the middle of them all, because… Baltasar Cipérez whipped by a Frenchman!… I was giving a hard time… he who can’t hit a donkey hits a pack. Anyway, there we worked each other’s nits for a quarter of an hour… Look at the results. ” The rich villager, putting aside his anguarina, turned inside out according to the custom of the country, showed me his bandaged arm held in a handkerchief like a sling. “And nothing more? Well, I thought they’d hanged you! ” “No, fool, they didn’t hang me. Did you really think so? They would have done it if a French soldier named Molichard, who is a good man and a bit drunk, hadn’t taken my side .” Since we were friends and had drunk so many glasses together, he played his tricks and, taking me out of the dungeon, delivered me safely, though unhealthy, to the gate of Zamora. Poor Molichard, so drunk and so good! Cipérez the rich man will not forget his generous behavior. “Mr. Cipérez,” I said to the loyal Salamancan, “I am going to Salamanca and I have no letter of safety. If your grace would provide me with one… ” “And why are you going there? ” “To sell these vegetables,” I replied, showing my donkey. “A good trade. They’ll pay you a pound in gold. Are you carrying what they call Jericho? ” “Beans? Yes. They’re from Castrejón.” The villager looked at me with somewhat suspicious attention. “Do you know where the English army is?” he asked, his eyes fixed on me. You can take the lion out by the claw… “It’s close, Mr. Cipérez. So your grace will give me your letter of assurance?” “You are not what you seem,” said the villager maliciously. “Long live the good patriots and death to the French, all the French except Molichard, whom I will put above the apple of my eye! ” “Be what you want… will your grace give me your letter of assurance?” “Baltasarillo,” shouted Cipérez, “come here.” From the group of players came a young man of about twenty years old, lively and cheerful. “He’s my son,” said the charro. “He’s a steel… Baltasarillo, give me your letter of assurance. ” “Then… ” “No, don’t go to Salamanca tomorrow. Come back with me to Escuernavacas. Don’t you You say your mother is very sad? “Mother is afraid of flies, but I am not. ” “Aren’t you?” “For fear of sparrows, they keep sowing hemp seeds,” replied the young man. “I want to go to Salamanca. ” “Home, home. I’ll send you tomorrow with a little gift for Mr. Molichard… Give me your letter.” The young man took out his ID and handed it to me, saying: “With this paper you will be called Baltasarillo Cipérez, a native of Escuernavacas, in the district of Vitigudino. The address of the two young men is gone. The paper is in order, and I myself issued it two months ago, the last time my son was in Salamanca with his sister María, during the festival of King Copas.” “I will repay his grace for the service he has done me,” I said, reaching for my purse when Baltasarito left me. “Cipérez the rich doesn’t take money for a favor,” he said nobly. ” I believe you serve the country, eh? Because despite that coat… He who doesn’t wear a cloak is as good as the King and the Pope… We are all one. I too… ” “How will these towns receive the _Lord_ when he appears? ” “How should they receive him?… Have you seen him? Is he nearby?” he asked enthusiastically. “If your grace wants to see you, come to Bernuy on Wednesday. ” “Bernuy! To be in Bernuy is to be in Salamanca,” he exclaimed with exalted joy. “The saying goes: ‘Here Samson will fall’; but I say: ‘Here Marmont will fall and all those with him.’ Have you seen the students and the servants of Villamayor?” “I haven’t seen anything, sir.” “We have weapons,” he said mysteriously. Hold our foot while we shoe and you’ll see how limp we are… When the Lord sees us… And then, taking me aside with all reserve, he added: “You’re going to Salamanca ordered by the Lord… eh? As if I could see it… Don’t be afraid. He who has a father who is a mayor is sure to go to trial. Well, my friend… you must know that in all these towns we’re prepared, even if it doesn’t seem so. Even the women will come out to fight… The French want us to help them; but what you have to give to the wall, give to the cat, and getting you out will be a matter of care. I served for some time with Julián Sánchez, and many times I entered the city as a spy… Bad trade… but the tambourine is in the hands that know how to play it well. ” “Sir Cipérez,” I said, “long live good patriots!” “We’re only waiting to see the Englishman before we all take to the field with shotguns, sickles, picks, swords, and everything we have gathered and stored. ” –And I’m going to Salamanca. Will they let me work on the fortifications? –It’s a little dangerous. And the whip? The one who sheared me, the scissors ended up in his hand… But the villagers aren’t working on the forts now. –Well, who is? –The residents of the city. –And the villagers? –They’ll hang them if they suspect them of being spies. Let them hang them. You’ll see when the eggs are fried, and every pig gets his Saint Martin… For me, I fear nothing now, because the one who rings the bell is safe. –But I… –Take heart, young man… God is in heaven… and with that, I’m off to Valverdón, where two hundred students and more than four hundred villagers are waiting for me. Long live the country and Ferdinand VII! Ah! In case it helps, you can tell them in Salamanca that you’re going to look for scrap iron for your lord father Cipérez the Rich… Goodbye… –Goodbye, generous knight. –Me, knight? Little goes from Pedro to Pedro… Even if I put them on, I don’t dirty them… Goodbye, boy, good luck. Do you know the way well? Onward here, always onward. You’ll soon find the French; but always onward, always onward. Although the fox knows a lot, he who takes it knows even more. The brave Cipérez and I said goodbye with firm handshakes , and I continued on my way at a good pace. Chapter 15. I stopped to rest in Cabrerizos very late on the night of Monday to Tuesday, and at dawn the next day, when I was preparing to make my triumphal entry into the city, the distinguished teacher of Spain and of world civilization, the French, who until then had not bothered me, appeared on the road. It was a detachment of dragoons. who was guarding a certain convoy sent by Marmont from Fuentesaúco. Although there was no reason to believe that those gentlemen would interfere with me, I feared some misfortune; but I concealed my anxiety and suspicion, urging on the donkey and pretending to amuse the sadness of the journey with cheerful songs. My heart did not deceive me, for the invaders of the homeland—may they be eaten by the wolves before, now, and later!—without intending to do me any obvious harm, but rather an apparent benefit, they thwarted my plan in a pitiful way. “Beautiful vegetables,” said a corporal in French, leading his horse at the same pace as my donkey. I said nothing, and I didn’t even look at him. “Hey, idiot!” he shouted in a hybrid language, striking me with his saber in the back. “Are you taking those vegetables to Salamanca?” “Yes, sir,” I replied, affecting all the stupidity I could. An officer stopped us and ordered the corporal to buy all my merchandise. “Everything, we bought everything,” said the corporal, taking out a dirty rag pocket. “Combien?” I shook my head. “Aren’t you taking that to Salamanca to sell? ” “No, sir: it’s for a gift. ” “To hell with gifts! We bought everything, and then, you great fool, you can return to your village.” I realized that resisting the sale was arousing suspicion, and I asked them for a price for the vegetables, whose scarcity was very great at that time and in that country. But the enraged soldier threatened to cut me quite open; then he raised the price more than I had offered, I lowered it a little, and we settled. I received the money, my donkey was left without a load, and I had no apparent reason to justify my entry into the city, because those who didn’t bring provisions were slammed in the snouts with the door. I continued onward, however, and the corporal said to me: “Hey, good man! Aren’t you going back to your village? I haven’t seen a bigger fool. ” “Sir,” I replied, “I’m going to load my donkey with scrap iron. ” “Do you have a letter of assurance? ” “Well, shouldn’t I bring it? When I was in Salamanca two months ago, to see the King’s festivities, they gave it to me… But since I’m not carrying a load now, they might not let me in to pick up the scrap iron. If the corporal wants me to go with his grace to tell him how he bought the vegetables from me… well, and that I’m going for scrap iron. ” “Well, bag of paper: put your donkey at my horse’s pace and follow me; but I don’t know if they’ll let you in, because there are very strict orders to prevent spying. We arrived at the Zamora Gate, and there the sentry stopped me very rudely . “Let him pass,” said my corporal; I have bought him the vegetables, and he is going to load his donkey with iron.’ The corporal of the guard looked at me suspiciously, and seeing reflected on my face that beatific stupidity typical of villagers who have lived for a long time in the most intricacies of forests and pastures, he said thus: ‘These country bumpkins are very cunning. Hey! Monsieur le Badaud. This week we have hanged three spies. ‘ I pretended not to understand , and he added: ‘You may enter if you have a letter of security. ‘ I showed the document, and they let me pass. I crossed a long street, which was the Zamora street, and he led me straight to a large and beautiful arcaded square, occupied at that time by a great crowd of vendors. I looked for an inn in the vicinity where I could leave my donkey so I could freely dedicate myself to the purpose of my journey. When I had found an inn, which was the best in the city, and had settled my peaceful companion there with good fodder of straw and barley , I went out into the street. It was the Rua, according to what a girl I asked told me. My desire was to get to the walled enclosure and explore everything. Suddenly, I saw a crowd of people of various classes marching in a crowd, each carrying a hoe or pickaxe on their shoulders. They were escorted by French soldiers, and those gentlemen were certainly not very happy. “They are the inhabitants of the city going to work on the fortifications,” I said to myself. “The French are bringing them by force.” I stepped aside for fear that my curiosity might arouse suspicion, and wandering aimlessly and without any knowledge of the streets, I came to a convent through whose doors some artillery pieces were just entering . Suddenly I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder, and a voice in broken Spanish saying to me: “Will you take a hoe, lazy fellow? Come with me to the police commissioner’s house. ” “I am a stranger,” I replied; “I have come with my little donkey. ” “Come and it will be known who you are,” he continued, looking at me attentively. “If, par exemple, you were a spy…” My first intention was to refuse to follow him; but it would have given me away, and it seemed more prudent to give in. Affecting the utmost humility, I followed my strange captor, who was a small , lively soldier, black-eyed, dark-skinned, and officious, whose bearing and manners I found extremely disliked. At the bend in a dark, winding street , I tried to outwit him, staying back for a moment to flee with my usual agility. But as the weakling guessed my intentions, he took me by the arm and said sarcastically: “Do you think I’m less clever than you? Go ahead and don’t kick, or I’ll blow your brains out, you lout. I have no doubt now that you are a spy. You were observing the Bernardine nuns’ artillery. You were measuring the wall. You should know that there are some very astute officials here who spy on the spies, and I am one of them. Have you never danced at the end of a rope?” Again I felt an impulse to free myself from that man by force; but fortunately I had time to reflect, stifling my anger and trusting my salvation to cunning and dissimulation. The devilish little Frenchman led me to a vast building, in whose courtyard I saw a large troop, and stopping with me before a group of four robust and powerful soldiers in shining uniforms, with twisted mustaches and imposing bearing, he pointed at me with an expression of triumph. “What have you got, Tourlourou?” the oldest of them all asked with annoyance. “A crapaud caught right now. ” Take off my hat, and with a contrite and very humble air I bowed several times to those esteemed fellows. “A crapaud!” repeated the old officer, addressing me with fierce eyes. “Who are you? ” “Sir,” I said, crossing my hands, “that soldier has taken me for a spy. I have come from Escuernavacas to look for scrap metal; I have my donkey at the inn of a certain Aunt Fabiana, and my name is Baltasar Cipérez, for whatever Your Grace pleases to command.” If you want to hang me, hang me… ‘ And then, sobbing in the most piteous manner and uttering cries of pain that would have shaken bronze itself, I cried: ‘Farewell, dear mother! Farewell, father of my heart: you will see your little boy no more ; farewell, Escuernavacas of my soul, farewell, farewell! But I, what have I done; what have I done, gentlemen?’ The old officer said with imperturbable calm: ‘Take this scoundrel away from me. Sergeant Molichard, Sergeant Molichard, order him to be locked up in the dungeon. Then we will interrogate him. I am very busy now. I am going to see the maréchal des logis, for it is said that we shall leave Salamanca this afternoon.’ Another Frenchman appeared, tall as a post, straight as a spindle, thin, hard, and flexible like an Indian reed, with a weathered and mocking countenance, lively eyes, straight, black mustache, and hands and feet of colossal size. When I saw that fine soldier, from whose skeleton the uniform hung as if from a peg; when I heard his name, a saving idea suddenly illuminated my brain, and passing from thought to execution with the rapidity of human will in times of need, I uttered an exclamation in which I simultaneously affected surprise and joy; I ran to him, embraced his knees with vehement ardour, and weeping I said: “Oh, Monsieur Molichard of my soul, Monsieur Molichard, most beloved and most revered! I have found you at last. And how long I have searched for you without these rogues giving me any account of your grace! Let me embrace you, for kiss your knees, and reverence you, and obey you, and venerate you… Oh, Holy Virgin Mary, what great joy! “I think you are mad, good man,” said the Frenchman, shaking his legs. “But don’t you know me, Your Grace?” I added. “But how can you know me, if you have never seen me? Give me that hand so I can kiss it, and good Mr. Molichard, who saved my good father from death, will live a thousand years. I am Baltasar Cipérez: look at my letter of assurance; I am the son of Uncle Baltasar, whom they call Cipérez the Rich, a native of Escuernavacas. Blessed be Señor Molichard. I am in Salamanca because my father has sent me with a gift for your worship. ” “A gift!” exclaimed the sergeant with a jubilant countenance. “Yes, sir, a miserable gift, for what Your Grace has done my father will not repay with the poor fruits of his garden.” “Vegetables! And where are they?” said Molichard, rolling his eyes. “A corporal of dragoons, whose name I don’t know, stole them from me on the road; he must be around here and can testify to what I say. For, by my faith, he liked them little. The old woman gorged herself on the lamb’s lettuce; she left none of it raw or dry. ” “Oh, plague of dragoons!” exclaimed my father’s protector furiously . “I’ll take them out of your guts. ” “You made me sell them,” I continued; “but I can give your grace the money you gave me. Besides, on my first trip to Salamanca, I will bring back not one, but two loads for Mr. Molichard. But that is not the only gift I bring your worship.” My father did not know what to do, because whoever gives immediately gives twice; My mother, who hasn’t come in person to worship Your Grace because they’re putting new ribbons on her mantilla, wanted Father to go all out to present his protector, and when I set out, they both thought the vegetables were an unworthy gift from his grateful heart, generosity, and great wealth; for which reason they gave me three gold doubloons so that in Salamanca I could buy for Your Grace a third of Nava wine , for there’s good wine here, and the town’s wine is heart-rending. “Mr. Cipérez is a generous man,” said the Frenchman, strutting before his friends, who were no less absorbed and joyful than he. “The first thing I did in Salamanca this morning was to hire the third at Aunt Fabiana’s inn. So let’s go for it… ” “Aunt Fabiana’s wine can’t be better than what they have at La Zángana’s tavern. You can buy it there.” “I’ll give your grace the money right away so you can buy it to your liking. They say that if God loves you well, he’ll bring you food at home. What a job it was to find Mr. Molichard! I asked everyone, but no one could give me any information, until this good friend mistook me for a spy and brought me here… every cloud has a silver lining… I’ve finally had the pleasure of embracing my father’s friend! What a coincidence! Eyes that love each other can be seen from afar… Mr. Molichard, when your grace leaves me in the cell where the officer ordered me to be put, you can go and choose the wine that best suits you. Blessed be God, who made my good father rich so he could generously repay the benefits! My father loves Mr. Molichard very much. Whoever gives you the bone doesn’t want to see you dead. ” “When it comes to stringing together proverbs,” said Molichard, “the blood of Mr. Cipérez is known .” “While the priest is singing well, the altar boy is not far behind .” Molichard seemed undecided , and after consulting his companions with his eyes and some monosyllable that I did not understand, he said to me: “I would very much like not to lock you up in the dungeon, because, truly, when someone gives you a present from Mr. Cipérez… but… ” “No… don’t worry about me, Mr. Molichard,” I said as naturally as possible. “Nor do I want the official to scold you on my account. To the dungeon. As I am sure that the official and all the officials in the world will convince themselves that I am not bad… ” “You would have a bad time in the dungeon, young man…” said the Frenchman. ” We shall see. They will tell the official that…” “The official no longer remembers what he ordered,” affirmed Tourlourou, who, by enchantment, had forgotten his grudges against me. “Hey! Jean Jean,” cried Molichard, calling to a companion who was passing near the scene, and in whose pompous figure I recognized the corporal of dragoons who had bought my vegetables on the road. Jean Jean approached, and through him I was immediately recognized. “Good friend,” I said to him, “it seems to me that it was your grace who bought me the vegetables I brought for Monsieur. Did I not say they were for a present?” “If only I knew they were for this _chauve souris_,” said Jean Jean, “I would not have given you a penny for them. ” “Jean Jean,” cried Molichard in French, “do you like Nava wine ? ” “Not to see it. Where is it?” “Look, Jean Jean. This young man has given me a drink. But we must put him in the dungeon… ” “In the dungeon! ” “Yes, _mon vieux_: they have taken him for a spy without being one.” “Let’s go to the tavern, the four of us,” said Tourlourou, “and then the master will stay in his dungeon. ” “I don’t want your graces to get into trouble with the leaders because of me,” I said with humility and timidity. “Take me to prison, lock me up… Every wolf to its own path and every rooster to its dunghill. ” “What’s this about locking me up?” cried Molichard in a hearty tone , playing castanets with his fingers. “To the Drone’s, Messieurs. Cipérez, we’ll answer for you. ” Chapter 16. “And if the officer gets angry? I’m not moving from here. ” “A Frenchman, a soldier of Napoleon,” said Tourlourou with a gesture similar to Bonaparte’s, pointing to the pyramids, “doesn’t drink quietly while his Spanish friend is dying of thirst in a dungeon.” “Bravo, Cipérez,” he added, embracing me, “you are the first among my comrades. Let us embrace… Well, like that… friends until death. Gentlemen, see together here the Eagle of the Empire and the Lion of Spain.” Frankly, I, the Lion of Spain, was not very amused, like that one, by the embraces of the Eagle of the Empire. And with this and other verbal excesses from the three servants of the great Empire, they took me out of the barracks and in procession took me to a small inn near the fortifications of San Vicente. “Mr. Molichard, apart from the third of the Nava, which is a gift from my lord father, I will pay for the entire expense,” I said upon entering. In no time, Tourlourou, Molichard, and Jean Jean regaled their venerable bodies with the best there was in the cellar, and lo and behold, they gradually lost their composure, although the corporal of dragoons seemed to have more stamina than his illustrious comrades in arms and wine. “Does your father have a large estate?” Molichard asked me. “Enough to get by,” I replied modestly. “They call him Cipérez the Rich. ” “True, and he is… I see my gift seems small… That’s where it starts. We all know that the goose lays the egg. ” “I’m not saying that. To the health of Monsieur Cipérez! ” “What I brought today is because I came to buy scrap metal… But my father and mother and all my family will come in solemn procession with something better. Monsieur Molichard, my sister wants to meet Monsieur Molichard… ” “She’s a pretty girl, as Cipérez said.” To María Cipérez’s health ! “Very beautiful, she looks like the sun, and all who see her consider her a princess. ” “And a good dowry… If in the end one is going to leave one’s skin in Spain. Let’s say like Louis XIV: “There are no more _Pyrenees_…” Drink, Baltasarico. ” “My head is very weak. After three half-glasses I’ve drunk, I feel as if they’ve shoved the whole of Salamanca between my temples,” I said , pretending to faint from drunkenness. Jean Jean sang: _Le crocodile en partant pour la guerre_ _Disait adieux à ses petits enfants._ _Le malheureux_ _Trainait sa queue_ _Dans la poussière…_ Tourlourou, after imitating the cat and the dog, stood up and with a majestic gesture exclaimed: –Comrades, from the top of this bottle _quarrrrante siècles vous contemplant_. I said to Molichard: “Sergeant, since I’m not used to drinking, I’ve gotten so dizzy . I’m going outside for a moment to get some fresh air. Have you chosen your wine from La Nava?” And without waiting for a reply, I paid La Zángana. “Good: let’s go outside for a moment,” Molichard replied, taking me by the arm. When I went out, I found myself in a place that was neither a plaza, nor a courtyard, nor a street, but rather all three combined. On either side were high walls, some half-demolished, others still standing, supporting their shattered roofs. Through these, one could make out the open interior of what had once been temples, whose altars had been left in the open air; and the daylight, fully illuminating the paintings and gilding, gave them the appearance of old wares piled up by antique dealers at the fair in the street. Soldiers and civilians worked carrying rubble, digging trenches, dragging cannons, piling up earth, finishing the demolition of what had been half-demolished, or repairing what had been excessively demolished. I saw all this, and remembering Lord Wellington, I put my whole soul into my eyes. I would have liked to take in at a glance what was before me and commit it to memory, stone by stone, weapon by weapon, man by man. “What are you doing here, Mr. Molichard?” I asked candidly. “Fortifications, animal!” said the sergeant, who, after filling his body with my wine, had begun to lose respect for me. “Yes, I understand,” I replied with affected insight. “For the war. And what do you call this place? ” “This is Fort Saint Vincent, and here there used to be a Benedictine convent, which was demolished. A den of owls, my little friend. ” “And what are they going to do here with so many cannons?” “I asked, stupefied. ‘You’re no small beast. What’s to be done? Fire. ‘ “Fire!” I said fearfully. “And all at once? ” “You’re going pale, coward. ” “One, two, three, four… there they’re bringing another. That’s five. And that land, my sergeant, what’s it for? ” “I’ve never seen such a beast… Can’t you see they’re building a scarp and a counterscarp? ” “And that other big house in pieces that can be seen beyond? ” “It’s the Arab-Roman castle. ‘Foudre et tonnerre!’ You’re ignorant. Give me your hand, Saint Cajetan is dancing in front of me. ” “Saint Cajetan? ” “Can’t you see it, you fool? That large convent on the right. We’re fortifying it too. ” “This is very beautiful, Mr. Molichard. It will be interesting to see this when the fire starts. And those walls they’re tearing down?” “The Trilingual School… _triquis lingüis_ in Latin, that is, _of three languages_. They haven’t yet finished the covered walkway that goes down to the Alberca. ” “But here they’ve demolished entire streets, Mr. Molichard,” I said, moving forward and giving him my arm so he wouldn’t fall. “Well, it seems you’ve come from Limbo, _ventre de bœuf!_ Don’t you see that we’ve leveled the long street so we can scatter the fireworks of Saint Vincent?… “And there’s a square…” “A bastion. ” “Two, four, six, eight cannons, no less. This is frightening. ” “Toys… the good ones are those four, the ones in the ravelin. ” “And over here goes a ditch…” “From the gate to the Miracles, brute. ” “And behind it?… Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, how frightening! ” “Behind the parapet are the mortars. ” “Let’s go that way now.” “By Saint Cajetan? Oh! I see you’re curious, very curious… Saperlotte. I warn you that if you continue asking such questions and looking with those portholes… you’ll make me believe that you are indeed a spy… and, in truth, my little friend, I suspect…” The sergeant looked at me with impudence and haughtiness. Tourlourou arrived at that moment in a pitiful state, badly supported by Jean Jean, who was intoning a war song. “Espion, yes, espion!” said Tourlourou, pointing at me. “I maintain that you are an espion. To the dungeon! ” “Frankly, Chevalier Ciperez,” said Molichard, “I wouldn’t want to break discipline, nor would the chief put me in the niche for you.” “This young man,” Jean Jean stated, placing his hand on my shoulder with such force that it almost crushed me, “has the face of a scoundrel. ” “The moment I saw him, I suspected something was wrong,” said Molichard. “One is never safe from anyone in this accursed land of Spain. Spies come out from under every stone… ” I shrugged my shoulders, pretending not to understand anything. “But didn’t I tell you I was watching the Bernardas convent, whose wall is being loopholed?” said Tourlourou. I understood that I was lost; but I tried hard to remain calm. Suddenly, a ray of hope entered my soul when I heard Jean Jean pronounce the following words in broken Spanish: “You are beasts. Leave Mr. Cipérez to me, he is my friend.” He put his arm over my shoulder with affectionate, though rather heavy-hearted, familiarity. “Let’s go back to the barracks,” said Molichard. I’m going on guard duty at ten. ” And seizing me by the arm, he added: “Plague, a thousand plagues!… Were you trying to escape?” “He’ll be searched at the barracks,” exclaimed Tourlourou. “Get out of here, Goguenards,” said Jean Jean energetically. “Monsieur Cipérez is my friend, and I’m taking him under my protection. Go with a thousand devils and leave me here.” Tourlourou laughed; but Molichard looked at me with fierce eyes and insisted on taking me with him; but my improvised protector gave him such a severe blow on the shoulder that he finally decided to leave with his companion, both of them describing S’s and other orthographic signs with their faint bodies. I have recounted with some detail the deeds and sayings of those barbarians, whose abominable figure did not fade from my memory for a long time. In reproducing the former, I have not deviated from the truth in the least. As for the words, it would be impossible with the most prodigious memory to preserve them exactly as they came from those intoxicated mouths, in a horrible jargon that was neither Spanish nor French. I translate most of them into Spanish, not omitting those foreign words that have remained most deeply impressed in my memory, and I retain the formal “vos” (you), which was commonly given to us by the French, who were little familiar with our way of speaking. Was Jean Jean’s protection disinterested, or did it signify a new danger greater than the previous ones? It will now be seen whether my friends have the patience to continue listening to the punctual account of my adventures in Salamanca on June 16, 1812, which, were it not for me being the protagonist and principal actor in all of them, I would dismiss as deceptive figments of fantasy, or the inventions of a novelist to entertain the common people. Chapter 17. Mr. Jean Jean took my arm and, leading me forward through those sad ruins, said to me: “Friend Cipérez, I have sympathized with you; we will walk together… When do you think of leaving Salamanca? I swear I will feel it.” Such sweet expressions were a most ominous omen for me, and I commended my soul to God. In my confusion, I did not even notice the war machine at my side, and I forgot, Oh divine Jesus! Lord Wellington, England, and Spain. “I greatly enjoy your company,” I said with affected courage. “We will go wherever you wish.” I felt the Frenchman’s arm, like an iron machine, firmly squeeze mine. That grip meant: “You will not escape me, no.” As we advanced, I noticed that the crowd was getting fewer and farther between, and the places through which we were slowly moving were becoming increasingly deserted. I carried no weapon except a knife. Jean Jean, who was a very robust man of good stature, was accompanied by a powerful saber. With a quick glance, I observed man and weapon to measure them and compare them with the strength I could deploy in the event of a fight. “Where are you taking me?” I asked, finally stopping, determined to do anything. “Go on, my good friend,” he said with a mocking expression. “We’ll walk along the banks of the Tormes. ” “I’m a bit tired.” He stopped, and, fixing his small eyes on me, said: “Don’t you want to follow the one who saved you from the gallows?” With that flame of intuition that suddenly illuminates us in moments of danger, with the perspicacity we acquire on that critical occasion when will and thought try with agonizing effort to overcome terrible obstacles, I read in the man’s gaze the idea that occupied his soul. Undoubtedly, Jean Jean had known that I had with me a greater sum of money than I had shown in the tavern, and whether he believed me a spy, or the real Baltasar Cipérez, my wealth tempted his greed, and the fierce dragon devised easy means to appropriate it. That equivocal appearance of his, that solitary place through which he led me, indicated his criminal project, whether it was to kill me and then dump my body in the river, or to plunder me, later denouncing me as a spy. For a moment I felt my soul cowardly and defeated, my body trembling and cold. All the blood rushed to my heart, and I saw death, a horrible and dark end, the sight of which afflicted my soul more than a thousand deaths on the terrible and glorious battlefield… I looked around, and saw everything deserted and alone. My executioner and I were the only inhabitants of that sad, abandoned, and bare place. Beside us, misshapen ruins illuminated by the clarity of a sun that seemed terrifying to me; in front, the sad river, where the still, still water apparently produced neither current nor noise; beyond, the green opposite bank. Not a human voice could be heard, nor the footsteps of man or beast, nor any sound other than the song of the birds that joyfully crossed the Tormes to flee that place of desolation in search of the freshness and greenery of the other shore. I could ask for help from no one but God. But suddenly I felt the illumination of a divine idea, divine indeed, which penetrated my mind , launched like an invisible ray from the immortal and lofty fountain of thought; I felt I know not what sweet voices in my ear, I know not what flattering palpitations in my heart, an inexplicable vigor, a hope that filled me completely; and feeling this, and thinking it, and forming a plan, were all one. Here’s how. Abruptly, and concealing my misgivings as much as if I were the criminal and he the victim, I stopped Jean Jean; I assumed a stern, resolute, and grave attitude; I looked at him as one looks at any wretch who is about to render us a service, and in a very haughty tone I said to him: “Mr. Jean Jean, this place seems very suitable for a private talk.” The man remained stunned. “From the moment I saw you, from the moment I spoke to you, I took you for a man of understanding, of activity, and this precisely, this, is what I need now.” He hesitated for a moment, and finally, stupidly, said to me: “So… ” “No, I’m not what I seem. Those imbeciles Tourlourou and Molichard can be fooled; but not you. ” “I thought so,” he asserted. “You’re a spy. ” “No. It’s strange that an understanding like yours should have fallen into such vulgarity,” I said, addressing him casually. “You know that spies are always rustic peasants who risk their lives for money. Look at me carefully. Despite my dress, do I have the face and figure of a peasant? ” “No, by my faith. You are a gentleman. ” “Yes: a gentleman, a gentleman, and you are one too, for chivalry is not at odds with poverty. ” “Certainly not. ” “And have you heard of the Marquis of Ríoponce? ” “No… yes… yes, I think I’ve heard of him. ” “Well, that’s me.” Can I boast of having found on this fateful day, a man of good intentions who will serve me, and to whom I will show my gratitude by rewarding him with what he himself could never dream of?… Because you, as a soldier, are poor, aren’t you? “I am poor,” he said, not disguising the avarice that peeped through the clear windows of his eyes. “The sum I have on me is small; but for the task at hand today, I have brought a very respectable sum, skillfully enclosed within the bag that fills my mount’s harness. ” “Where did you leave your donkey?” He wanted to ogle me. “That ‘s for later. ” “If you’re a spy, don’t count on me for anything, Señor Marquis,” he said with some confusion. “I won’t betray my flag. ” “I’ve already said I’m not a spy. ” “C’est drole.” “So what the hell brings you to Salamanca in that outfit, selling vegetables and pretending to be a peasant from Escuernavacas? ” “What brings me here? A love affair.” I said this and the previous words with such confidence, such poise and self-control, that in the eyes of the man who had wanted to be my assassin, I saw, along with greed, conviction. “A love affair!” he said, assailed again by doubt, after a brief moment of meditation. “And why didn’t you come just as you are? Why hide yourselves like that from all of Salamanca? ” “What a question!… By my faith, at times you seem like an innocent child.” If the love affair were one of those that come to mind because it is easy and common, you would be right; but this one I am dealing with is dangerous, and so difficult, that it is essential to conceal my person completely . “Has some Frenchman stolen your fiancée from you?” asked the dragon, smiling for the first time in that dialogue. “Almost, almost… it seems you are getting it right. There is in Salamanca a person I love and whom I will take with me, if I can; another I hate and whom I will kill, if I can. ” “And is that second person perhaps one of our beloved generals?” he said dryly. “Sir Marquis, don’t count on me for anything. ” “No: that person is not a general, he is not even French. He is a Spaniard. ” “Well, if he is Spanish, _le diable m’emporte_… you can treat him as badly as you please. No Frenchman will say a word to you. ” “No, because that man is powerful, and although Spanish, he has long served the French cause.” He’s as mischievous as any, and if I had come here, making my name known, I would have been unable to avoid swift and terrible persecution, or perhaps death. “In a word, my lord,” he said impatiently, “what is it you want me to do to serve you?” “First, don’t denounce me, you idiot,” I replied, treating him despotically to further establish my superiority; “then, help me find the address of my enemy. ” “Don’t you know? ” “No. This is the first time I’ve come to Salamanca. Since your rude comrades wanted to arrest me, I haven’t had time to do anything. ” “Now that you name my comrades,” Jean Jean said with great suspicion, “it occurs to me… Be careful, you played the role of the villager well. I haven’t forgotten the proverbs. If now too… ” “Do you suspect me?” I shouted haughtily. “No arrogance, Señor Marquisito,” he replied insolently. You see, I can denounce you. “If you denounce me, I only experience the disappointment of not being able to carry out my project; but you will lose what I could give you. ” “There’s no need to quarrel,” he said in a benevolent tone. “Tell me what this love affair consists of, for up to now you have told me nothing but vagueness. ” “A miserable son of Salamanca, a lost soul, a sans culotte, has stolen from her paternal house a certain gentle maiden, a member of the highest nobility of Spain, an angel of beauty and virtue… ” “He has stolen her!… So, is this how maidens are stolen? ” “He has stolen her to satisfy a vengeance, for vengeance is the sole pleasure of his perverse soul; to retain in his possession a pledge that will allow him to threaten the most honorable and illustrious house of Andalusia, as thieves who kidnap a rich man hold the person of a rich man, demanding the ransom from the family.” For a long time all my diligence and that of the relatives of this unfortunate young woman has been in vain to find out where her alleged kidnapper is hiding her; but a chance, a seemingly insignificant event, but one that has been a warning from God, without a doubt, has made me aware that both of them are in Salamanca. He only lives in cities occupied by the French, because he fears the wrath of his countrymen, because he is a cursed man, a traitor to his homeland, irreligious, cruel, a bad Spaniard and a bad son, Jean Jean, who, consumed by impious resentment toward the land of his birth, does all the harm he can. His dark life, like that of a mole, is spent founding and propagating Masonic societies, sowing discord, raising from the depths of society the corrupt dregs that slumber within it, and sowing the seeds of unrest among the people. You favor him because you favor everything that divides, annihilates, and disarms the Spanish. He runs from town to town, concealing his name, status, and occupation on his travels so as not to provoke the wrath of the natives. And when he cannot travel accompanied by French troops, he hides in the most unworthy disguises. He recently came from Plasencia to Salamanca, pretending to be a comedian, and his gang imitated the other companies from the league so perfectly that few along the way suspected the deception… “I know who it is,” Jean Jean said suddenly, smiling. “It’s Santorcaz. ” “The same one: Don Luis de Santorcaz. ” “Whom some Spaniards consider a sorcerer, enchanter, and necromancer. And to get along with that evil fellow,” the Frenchman added, “you disguise yourselves in this way? Who told you that Santorcaz is powerful among us? He would be in Madrid, but not here. The authorities allow him , but they don’t protect him. He fell into disgrace a long time ago. ” “Do you know him well?” “Well, yes: in Madrid we were friends. I escorted him when he went to Toledo to confer with the Junta, and we recognized each other later in Salamanca.” “He was here three months ago, and after a short absence, he’s back… Gentleman Marquis, or whatever you are, to fight such a man you don’t need to wear that coarse dress or disguise your nobility: you can do with him whatever suits you best, even kill him, without the French government getting in your way. Obscure, forgotten, and not very well-liked, Santorcaz consoles himself with Freemasonry, and in the lodge on the Rue Tentenecios, a few stray Spaniards and Frenchmen, undoubtedly the worst of both nations, amuse themselves by exterminating the human race, turning the world upside down, suppressing the aristocracy, and giving kings a broom to sweep the streets. You see how ridiculous this is. I’ve gone there several times instead of going to the theater, and truly they shouldn’t disguise themselves as comedians, because they really are. ” “I see that you are a man of the greatest talent. ” “What I am,” said the soldier in a tone of alarming suspicion, “is a man who doesn’t give a damn. How is it possible that, when your only enemy is a man so little esteemed, and you are a Marquis of such high standing, you need to come here selling vegetables and deceiving the entire town, as if you were fighting not a low-level schemer , but all of us, with our power, our police, and the governor of the town himself, General Thiebaut Tibo?” Jean Jean reasoned logically, and for a short time I didn’t know how to answer. “Connu, connu…” Enough of this charade. You are a spy, he added in a brutal tone. “If, after coming here as an enemy of France, you mock me, I swear… ” “Calm down, calm down, my friend Jean Jean,” I said, trying to avoid the great danger that threatened me, after I believed it had been averted. I told you it was a love affair… Haven’t you noticed that Santorcaz has a young woman with him?… “Yes, so what? They say she’s his daughter… ” “His daughter!” I exclaimed, affecting a frenzied rage; “that wretch dares to say she’s his daughter?” “So they say, and she really does look quite like him,” my interlocutor calmly replied. “Oh! For God’s sake, my friend, for all the saints, for whatever you love most in the world, take me to that man’s house, and if he dares to say that Agnes is his daughter before my eyes, I’ll tear his tongue out. ” “What I can assure you is that I’ve seen her walking around the city and its surroundings arm in arm with Santorcaz, who is very ill, and the girl, very pretty by the way, couldn’t be dissatisfied.” at the side of the mason, for she affectionately leads him through the streets, and pet him and does him tricks… And now, mon petit, you come out saying that she is your fiancée, and an enchanted lady or Princesse d’Araucanie, as you have given to understand… Well, so what? I have come to Salamanca to seize her and return her to her family, an enterprise in which I hope you will help me. If she has been stolen, why has that family, which is so powerful, not complained to King Joseph? Because that family does not want to ask King Joseph for anything. You are more inquisitive than a public prosecutor, and I cannot bear you any longer, I cried, unable to contain my impatience and anger. Will you serve me, yes or no? Jean Jean, seeing my resolute attitude, hesitated for a moment, and then said to me: What should I do? Take you to the Rue du Cáliz, where Santorcaz’s house is; enter, choke him, and take the enchanted princess in my arms? That would be very dangerous. I can’t do that without first consulting her, so that she can plan her escape prudently and without scandal. Can you enter the house? Not very easily, because Mr. Santorcaz has the habits of an anchorite and doesn’t like visitors; but I know Ramoncilla, one of the two maids who serve him, and I could get in if there’s great interest. Well then: I’ll write a few words, you make sure they reach Miss Inés, and once she’s prepared… I understand you now, you rascal, he said with the malice of a fox, mocking me. You want me to leave your presence so you can escape. Do you still doubt my sincerity? Pay attention to what I’m writing in pencil on this paper. Leaning a piece of paper against the wall, I wrote the following, which Jean Jean read over my shoulder: “Trust the bearer of this document, who is a friend of mine and of your mother, the Countess of , and to whom you will indicate the place and time where I can see you, for having come to Salamanca determined to save you, I will not leave here without you.” –Gabriel. ” Nothing more than this?” he said, taking the paper and examining it with the profound attention of an antiquarian trying to decipher an obscure inscription. “Let’s conclude. You carry that paper; try to deliver it to Miss Inés, and if you bring me on the back of it a single letter of hers, even if it’s traced with your fingernail, I will give you the six doubloons I have here, leaving what I kept in the inn to reward services of greater importance . ” “Yes, a nice deal!” said the Frenchman with disdain. I’m going to the Rue du Chalice, and as soon as I’m gone, you, who only wish to lose sight of me, will run away, and… “We’ll go together, and I’ll wait for you at the door. ” “It’s the same thing, because if I go up and leave you outside… ” “You mistrust me, you wretch!” I exclaimed, inflamed with indignation, which showed itself terribly in my voice and my expression. “Yes, I mistrust… In short, I’m going to propose something to you that will guarantee me against you. While I go to the Rue du Chalice, I’ll lock you up in a very secure place, from which escape is impossible. When I return from my errand, I’ll take you out, and you’ll give me the money.” My anger was boiling over; but seeing that it was impossible to escape from the power of such a vile enemy, I accepted what was proposed to me, recognizing that between dying and being locked up for a period of time that couldn’t be long; between denunciation as a spy and a temporary detention, the choice was not in doubt. “Come on,” I said contemptuously, “take me wherever you want.” Without another word, Jean Jean walked beside me, and we re-entered that labyrinth of ruins, of half-demolished buildings and jumbled rubble where the fortifications began. First, we saw a few people along our path, and then the crowd that was coming and going, working on the parapets, piling up earth and stones—that is, manufacturing war with the remains of religion. Both of us, silent, reached a vast portico, which seemed to be that of a convent or a college, and we headed towards a cloister, where I saw up to two dozen soldiers, who, lying on the ground, played and laughed boisterously, happy people in the midst of that destroyed nationality, poor, simple young people, ignorant of the causes that had moved them to turn the work of the centuries to dust. “This is the convent of La Merced Calzada,” Jean Jean told me. “It couldn’t be finished demolishing it because there was too much work going on elsewhere. Two hundred men are quartered in what remains. Good accommodation! Blessed be the friars. ” “Charles the Temeraire!” he then shouted, calling one of the soldiers who were in the circle. “What’s up?” said a small, plump soldier, coming forward. ” Who have you got with you? ” “Where’s my cousin?” “He’s somewhere around here.” “Pied de mouton!” A little while later, a sergeant who looked quite like my cursed companion appeared , and the latter said to him: “Pied de mouton, give me the key to the tower.” Chapter 18. A moment later, Jean Jean entered with me into a room that was neither dark nor damp, as those intended for prisoners are usually. “Allow me, _Little Marquis_,” he said with mock courtesy, “to lock you up here while I go to the Rue du Chalice. If you give me the promised doubloons before leaving, I will set you free. ” “No,” I replied contemptuously. “To have the reward without the service, you must kill me, vile man. Try it, and I will defend myself as best I can. ” “Then stay here. I will soon be back.” He left, closing the door, which was very thick, from the outside. Seeing myself alone, I touched the walls, whose thickness of two yards indicated a solid construction that was earthquake-proof… Sad situation for me! Nearing noon, and before I could acquire all the information my general desired, I found myself a prisoner, unable to walk around the town alone and at my leisure. To put it bluntly, God hadn’t favored me much, and at such an hour, I knew little and had done nothing. I felt tired; I raised my head to explore what lay above, and saw a stairway that, starting from the ground, continued to bend at angles and coil until it disappeared into heights that my sight couldn’t clearly distinguish. The black wooden sections climbed up the interior prism, articulated at the corners like a snake with joints, and the last twists disappeared above into the high region of the bells. A very bright light, entering through the broken, glassless windows, illuminated the long vertical tube at the bottom of which I found myself. A powerful attraction called me upward, and I ran up. More than ascending, my swift run was as if I had thrown myself into an upside-down well. Jumping down the steps two at a time, I reached a floor where several destroyed instruments indicated that a clock had once stood there. Outside , a black arrow that had been circling for three centuries pointed with ironic immobility to an hour that would pass no more. Ropes hung everywhere; but there were no bells. It was the corpse of a Christian tower, mute and inert like all corpses. The clock had ceased to beat, marking the oscillation of life, and the bronze tongues had been torn from those throats of earth that for so long had cried out in the spaces, greeting the rising dawn, praising the Lord in his great days, and asking for a prayer for the dead. I continued upward, and at the very top, two windows, two enormous eyes gazed in astonishment at the vast sky and the city and the country, as the frightened eyes of the dead gaze, dull and lightless. As I peered into those cavities, I let out a shout of joy. Below my eyes, a map of a large part of the city and its surroundings, its river and its countryside, unfolded . A gentle wind bellowed in the vault of the solitary tower, articulating mysterious syllables in that empty skull. I imagined that the mass was tottering like a palm tree, threatening to fall before the French pickaxes destroyed it stone by stone. Sometimes it seemed to me that It rose higher, higher still, and the illustrious city, the illustrious _Lesser Rome_, was fading away far below, lost in the mists of the earth. I saw other towers, the roofs, the streets, the majestic mass of the two cathedrals, a multitude of churches of different shapes that had had the privilege of surviving; innumerable ruins where hundreds of men, like ants dragging grains of wheat, ran and mingled; I saw the Tormes, which disappeared in wide curves to the west, leaving the city on its right and skirting the green fields of the Zurguen on the other bank; I saw the platforms, the scarps and counterscarps, the ravelins, the curtain walls, the loopholes, the cannons, the loop-holed walls, the parapets made of colonnaded temples, the shoulders kneaded with dust and earth that had been the bones and flesh of venerable nuns and friars; I saw the cannons pointed outwards, the mortars, the moat, the ditches, the sacks of earth, the piles of bullets, the open-air parks… Oh, mighty God, you gave me more than I asked for! I wandered through the city, unable to fulfill my duty, threatened with death, exposed to a thousand dangers, sold, lost, condemned, unable to see, unable to look, unable to hear, unable to acquire a precise or even confused idea of what surrounded me, until a stone arm, picking me up from the ruins of the ground, lifted me into the air so that I could see everything. “Blessed be the almighty and merciful Lord!” I exclaimed. ” After this, I need nothing but eyes, and fortunately I have them. The tower of La Merced was high enough to observe everything from. Almost at its feet was the Colegio del Rey; then came San Cayetano; Then, heading towards the sunset, the Colegio Mayor de Cuenca, and finally, the Benitos; on the opposite rise, I saw a mass of ruined buildings, whose names I didn’t know, but whose walls could be perfectly identified, along with the artillery pieces that garrisoned them. Turning to the opposite side, I saw what they called Teso de San Nicolás, the Mostenses, Monte Olivete, and between these positions and those, the ditch and the covered paths that led down to the bridge. From the Puerta de San Vicente, where the ravelin with the four swivel cannons Molichard mentioned was located, a ditch ran out that connected with Los Milagros. In the front and upper part of the ditch, there was a line of loopholes supported by a strong palisade. The entire San Vicente building was loopholed, and its fire could be directed both into the city and into the countryside. San Cayetano was imposing. Almost completely demolished, they had formed a spacious embankment with batteries of all calibers, and their fire could sweep across the King’s Square, the bridge, and the esplanade of the Hospice. Although the fear that my jailer would return soon forced me to hastily draw the drawing I desired, it turned out well, and in it I represented imperfectly, but very clearly, the many good things I saw. I did this while hiding behind the parapet of the tower, and although the geometric projection left something to be desired as a work of science, I didn’t forget any detail, indicating the number of cannons with scrupulous precision. My work finished, I put it away very carefully and went down to the entrance of the tower. Lying on the first step, I waited for Mr. Jean Jean, trying to pretend to be asleep when he arrived. It took a long time, putting me in a state of anxiety and worry; but finally he appeared, and I received him, pretending to wake up from a long and sweet sleep. The expression on his face seemed to me to be a happy omen. God had begun to protect me, and it would have been divine cruelty to deflect my path at that hour when it lay so easy and passable before me, leading me straight to good fortune. “You may follow me,” said Jean Jean. “I have seen your beloved. ” “And what?” I asked with the greatest anxiety. “It seems to me that she loves you, Marquis,” he said in a flattering tone, smiling with the servility of one who does everything for money. When I gave her your note, she turned whiter than the paper you wrote it on… Mr. Santorcaz, who is very ill, was asleep. I called Ramoncilla, promising her a doubloon if she would bring the girl before me so I could give her the note; but that was impossible! The girl is locked up, and the master, when he sleeps, keeps the key under his pillow… I insisted, promising two doubloons… The girl came in, made signs, and a very beautiful figure appeared through a small window and stretched out her hand… Lift me into a barrel… it wasn’t enough, and I placed a chair on top of the barrel… Oh, Señor Marquis! After reading the paper, he told me to come immediately, and then, when I indicated that you needed to see two of his letters to believe me, he drew with a piece of charcoal what you see here… If I have earned my six doubloons well,” he added, flattering me with one of those courtesies that only the French know how to use, “Your Grace will tell you. ” The rogue had completely changed his gesture and manner toward me. I took the paper and it said “Come immediately,” written in characters that I recognized at once. The scribbles with which the angels must write the names of the chosen in the heavenly receipts book could not have pleased me more. Without making me repeat my indirect appeal, I paid Jean Jean. We hurried out of the tower, the watchtower of my espionage, and then out of the ruined cloister and convent; Directing our steps through the streets and alleys, we passed in front of the Cathedral, and then we went back through several narrow streets, until finally Jean Jean stopped and said: “This is it. Let’s go in slowly, but without fear, because no one is blocking our way to the courtyard. Ramoncilla will let us pass. Then God will decide.” We went through the dark gateway, and pushing open a door, we saw a narrow, damp courtyard, where Ramoncilla appeared to us. She gravely signaled us to be quiet, and then bowed her head on the palm of her hand, to indicate, no doubt, that the gentleman was still asleep. We advanced step by step, and Jean Jean, without abandoning his flattering smile, pointed out a narrow window that opened in one of the walls of the courtyard. I looked, but no one looked out. My emotion was so great that I was breathless, and I wandered around like someone seeing a ghost. I heard a strange noise, a rustle like that of an insect’s wings as they fly through the air near our heads, or the brush of one thin piece of cloth against another. I raised my eyes and saw her: I saw Inés at the window, holding the curtain with her left hand, her right index finger fixed to her mouth to command silence. Her face expressed a fear similar to that which overwhelms us when we find ourselves on the edge of a deep precipice, unable to stem the pull that pulls us toward it. She was pale as death, and the look in her frightened eyes drove me mad. I saw a stairway to my right, and I rushed down it; but the maid and the Frenchman told me, more by signs than words, that I couldn’t get in by climbing up that way. I waved my arms, ordering Inés to go down; but she made negative gestures that only made me despair. “Which way do I go up?” I asked. The unhappy woman put both hands to her head, wept, and repeated her refusal. Then he seemed to want to tell me to wait. “I’ll go up,” I said to the Frenchman, looking for some object that would shorten the distance. But Jean Jean, officious and solicitous, like someone who has received six doubloons, had already rolled the barrel that was in a corner of the courtyard and placed it under the window. That help was small, since there was still a long way to go without any support or handhold. I was devouring with my eyes the wall, or rather than a wall, an inaccessible mountain, when Jean Jean, quick, diligent, and smiling, climbed into the barrel, pointing out his robust shoulders to me. Understanding his idea and using it were the work of the same moment, and climbing that ladder of French flesh, with my trembling hands, I reached the window sill. I was up there. Chapter 19. I found myself standing before Agnes, who was looking at me, mistaking in her eyes the an expression of two very different feelings: joy and terror. She dared not speak to me; she violently placed her hand on my mouth when I tried to utter the first word; she flooded my breast with hot tears , and then, indicating to me with restless movements that I could not be there, she said to me: “And my mother? ” “Good… what do I say, good?… half dead from your absence… come at once… You are in my power… Are you weeping for joy?” I clasped her with vehement affection in my arms, and repeated: “Follow me at once… poor thing!… You are suffocating here… I have been searching for you for so long!… Let us flee, my life and my heart!” The news of my approaching death would not have caused me so much pain as the words of Agnes when, trembling in my arms, she said to me: “Go away yourself. Not I. I left her, and I looked at her as one looks at a frightening mystery. “And my mother?” she repeated. Her weak, plaintive voice was barely audible. It echoed only in my soul. “Your mother is waiting for you. Do you see this letter? It’s from hers.” Snatching the letter from my hands, she covered it with kisses and tears, and placed it in her bosom. Then, with the utmost speed, she left me, insistently pointing me toward the courtyard. The spirit who goes willingly to heaven and finds Saint Peter at the gate, who says to him: “Good friend, this is not your destiny: take that path on the left”; that spirit who takes the wrong path, because he has mistaken his fate, will not remain as absorbed as I was. In my soul, various feelings also mingled and struggled: first immense joy, then anxiety; but above all, rage and spite dominated when I saw that this beloved creature, to whom I wanted to set her free, was saying goodbye to me without any reason being revealed. It was enough to drive one mad! To find her after so much effort, to glimpse the possibility of getting her out of there and returning her to her anguished mother, to society, to life; to recover the lost treasure of her heart, to take it in my hand and feel that hand rejected!… “You’re going to leave here with me right now!” I said without lowering my voice and clasping her arm so inertly that, because of the pain, she couldn’t suppress a slight cry. She threw herself at my feet, and three times, three times, gentlemen, with an accent that froze the blood in my veins, she repeated: “I can’t. ” “Didn’t you send me here?” I said, remembering the paper written in charcoal. She took a long sheet of paper recently written from a table, and giving it to me, she said: “Take that letter, go and do what I tell you in it. I’ll see you another day through this window. ” “I don’t want to,” I cried, tearing the paper to pieces. “I’m not leaving without you.” I looked out the window and saw that Jean Jean and Ramoncilla had disappeared. Inés knelt before me again. “The key, bring it quickly!” I said brusquely. “Get up from the floor… do you hear? ” “I can’t get out,” she murmured. “Go away at once. ” Her large eyes, wide open in terror, expelled me from the house. “You’re crazy!” I exclaimed. “Tell me ‘Die,’ but don’t say ‘Go away…’ That man is preventing you from leaving with me; he has such power over you that he’s making you forget your mother and me, who am your brother, your husband; me, who have traveled halfway across Spain looking for you, and a hundred times have prayed to God to take my life in exchange for your freedom!… Do you refuse to follow me?… Tell me where that executioner is, because I want to kill him: that’s all I came for. ” Her confusion made the words expire in my throat. He lovingly clasped my hand and in a voice so anguished that it was barely audible, he said to me: “If you still love me, go away.” My fury was about to explode again with greater violence, when a distant accent, an echo that reached us weakened by the distance, cried out repeatedly: “Inés, Inés.” A small bell rang at the same time with a discordant vibration. She rose in terror; she tried to compose her face and hair, drying the tears from her eyes; she came towards me, looking at me with a She had used all her heart to tell me to be silent, to be still, to obey her by withdrawing, and she set off swiftly through a long passage that opened at the back of the room. Without hesitating for a moment, I followed her. In the darkness, her white form gliding between the two black walls, and the sound of her dress as it brushed against each other in her hasty departure, served as my guides . She entered a spacious, well-lit room, which I entered as well. It was her bedroom, and at first glance I noticed the pleasant decency and neatness of the apartment, furnished with art and care. The bed, the chairs, the chest of drawers, the prints, the fine colored matting, the flower vases, the dressing table—everything was pretty and elegant. When I set foot in the alcove, she, who was going much faster than I, had passed through a French door into another adjoining room, the light streaming in from white Indian curtains with blue bouquets. There I stopped and watched her advance toward the back of a vast, half- dark room, in whose confines Santorcaz’s voice echoed. Resentment made me recognize him in the gloom of the wide stable, and I made out the person of the wretch, painfully reclining in an armchair, his legs extended on a stool, surrounded by pillows and cushions. I could also see the pale form of Inés approaching the armchair: for a short time, both figures were mingled and intertwined, and I felt the burst of loving kisses that the man’s lips imprinted on the woman’s cheeks. “Open up, open those doors, it’s very dark in the room,” said Santorcaz, “and I can’t see you properly. ” Inés did so, and the abundant, rich light of midday illuminated the room. My eyes scrutinized it in a second, taking in everything, the people and the scene. Santorcaz, with his full, almost entirely white beard, his yellow face, his sunken, fiery eyes , his handsome, vast forehead furrowed with wrinkles, his bony hands, his labored breath, I would have recognized no one but myself, for his features were etched in my mind with the clarity of a hated face. He was old, very old. The room contained weapons placed in beautiful panoplies, some antique furniture with worn carving, many books, various wardrobes, chests, a bed with a canopy supported by turned columns, and a wide nightstand filled with jumbled papers . Inés joined the man whom, because of his premature old age, I can call an old man. “Why did you take so long to come?” said Santorcaz in a sweet and affectionate tone, which greatly surprised me. “I was reading that book… that book… you know,” the girl said with embarrassment. The old man, taking Inés’s hand, raised it to his lips with ineffable love.
“When my sorrows,” he continued, “allow me some repose and I sleep, my daughter, in my sleep I am tormented by an agonizing pain. It seems to me that you are going away and leaving me alone, that you are fleeing from me. I want to call you but I cannot utter a voice; I want to get up and follow you, but my body, turned into an iron statue, does not obey me. ” Pausing for a moment to repose his labored speech, he then continued thus: “A moment ago I was sleeping with indecisive sleep. It seemed to me that I was awake. I heard voices in the room that overlooks the courtyard; I saw you ready to flee; I wanted to scream; a horrible weight, a mountain, oppressed my chest… the cold sweat of that anguish still wets my forehead… When I awoke, I realized that everything was a new repetition of the same dream that torments me every night… Tell me, will you abandon me?” Will you abandon this poor sick man, this man who was young yesterday, old today, and almost dying, who has done you some harm, I confess, but who loves you, adores you as men do not usually love their fellow men, but as one adores God or the angels? Will you abandon me, will you leave me alone?… “No,” said Inés. That monosyllable barely reached me. “And will you forgive me for the wrong I have done you, for the freedom I have taken from you?” Have you forgotten the vain and fallacious grandeurs you have lost for me?… “Yes,” the girl replied. “But you will never love me as I love you. The caution, the horror I inspired in you in those early days, cannot be erased from your heart, and this drives me to despair. All my efforts to please you, my determination to make this life pleasant for you, the tranquil well-being I have provided you, it is all in vain… The odious image of the thief will not allow you to see in me the venerable face of the father. Are you still not convinced that I am a good, honorable, loyal, loving man, and not an abominable monster, as some foolish people believe? ” Inés did not reply. I watched her directing anxious glances at the glass behind which I was hiding. “If there is one thing I fear death for, it is for you,” the old man continued. “Oh! If only I could take you with me without taking your life… But who is to say that I will die…” No, my illness is not fatal… I will live for many years at your side, looking down on you and blessing you, because you have filled the void in my existence. Blessed be the Supreme Being! I will live, we will live, my daughter: I promise you that you will be happy… But aren’t you happy now ? What are you missing…? Are you not answering me…? You are terrified, I frighten you… The old man was silent for a moment, and for a short time the only sound in the room was the flapping of the faint wings of a fly that flapped against the glass, deceived by its transparency. “My God!” he exclaimed bitterly. “Am I as criminal as they say? Do you think so? Tell me frankly… Do you think I am a villain? There are strange events in my life, my daughter, you know that; But everything is explained and justified in this world… What reason is there for your mother, who abandoned you for so long when she could have taken you in, to possess you, and not for me, who love you at least as much as she does? No, I love you more, much more, because with the Countess, pride always prevailed over motherhood, and she never called you her daughter. At her side, she kept you like a precious toy or a futile pastime. My child, the laziness, corruption, and vanity of those noble people, so despicable in their character, know no bounds. Abhor such people; convince yourself of the superiority you have over them because of the nobility of your soul; do not do them the honor of occupying your understanding with an idea related to their vile pride. Make your joys out of their torments, and await with delight the day when they all fall into the mud. Feed your imagination with the spectacle of reparation and justice for that great fall that awaits them, and accustom yourself to not pitying the exploiters of the human race, who have done everything possible to make the people dance on their bodies, after they are dead… Are you crying, Inés…? You always say you don’t understand this. I can’t erase from your soul the memory of other days… Inés didn’t reply. “Yes…” said Santorcaz with bitter irony, after a brief pause. ” The young lady can’t live without a carriage, without a palace, without lackeys, without parties, and without strutting like corrupt courtesans in the palaces of kings… A man of the common people can’t give this to a young lady, and the young lady despises her father. ” Santorcaz’s voice took on a hard, reprimanding tone. “Perhaps you hope to return there…” he added. Perhaps you are plotting some plan against me… Ah, ungrateful one! If you abandon me, if your heart lets itself be bribed by other loves, if you scorn the immense, infinite affection of this unfortunate man… Inés, give me your hand: why are you crying…? Come, come, enough of this prudishness… Women are affectionate and capricious… Come, my child, you know I don’t want tears. Inés, I want a happy face, a calm conformity, a satisfied expression… The old man kissed his daughter on the forehead, and then said: “Bring a table closer, I want to write.” Unable to contain myself any longer, I pushed open the glass to enter the room. Chapter 20. “A man, a thief!” exclaimed Santorcaz. “The thief is you,” I affirmed, advancing resolutely. “Oh! I know you, I know you…” cried the old man, getting up, not without work from his seat, and throwing aside pillows and cushions. When Inés saw me, she gave a very loud cry and hugged her father, saying: “Do not harm him; he will go away. ” “Fool,” he cried. “What are you looking for here? How did you get in? ” “What am I looking for? Are you asking me, you wicked man?” I exclaimed, putting all my resentment into my words. “I have come to take from you what is not yours. Do not fear for your miserable life, because I will not rage against that unhappy body, to whom God has given the well-deserved hell in advance; but do not provoke me or detain for a moment longer what does not belong to you, reptile, because I will crush you. ” When he looked at me, Santorcaz’s eyes were poisonous and burning. So much venom and so much fire was in them! “I was waiting for you…” he cried. “You serve my enemies. Son of the people who eats the scraps from the table of the great, knows that I despise you.” I am sick and crippled, but I do not fear you. Your vile condition and the brutalization that servitude brings will drive you to bring down upon me the infamous hand with which you carry the noble litter. I despise your words. Your tongue, which flatters the powerful and insults the weak, serves only to sweep the dust from the palaces. Insult me or kill me; but my beloved daughter, my daughter, who carries in her veins the blood of a martyr to despotism, will not follow you out of here. “Come on,” I shouted to Inés, imperiously ordering her to follow me, scorning that garrulous revolutionary style that was so in vogue at that time among the French and the Freemasons. “Come on, get out of here.” Inés did not move. She looked like the statue of indecision. Santorcaz, rejoicing in his triumph, exclaimed: “Lackey, lackey! Tell your unworthy masters that you are of no use to the task.” Hearing this, a cloud of blood covered my eyes; I felt burning flames within my chest, and I rushed toward that man. The lightning bolt, as it struck, must feel what I felt. He stretched out his arm to seize a pistol that lay on the nearby table, and as he aimed it at my chest, Inés intervened so violently that if she had fired, she would have been killed without remedy. “Don’t kill him, Father!” she cried. That cry, and the look of the sick old man, who threw the weapon away from him, renouncing any defense, so overwhelmed me that I remained mute, frozen, and motionless. “Tell him to leave us alone,” murmured the sick man, embracing his daughter. ” I know you’ve known that wretch for a long time.” The girl hid her tear-filled face against her father’s chest. “You heartless young man,” Santorcaz told me in a trembling voice, “go away: you inspire neither hatred nor affection in me.” If my daughter wants to abandon me and follow you, take her. He fixed his burning eyes on his daughter, gripping the unhappy young woman’s arm with his bony hand, no less hard and strong than a claw. “Do you want to flee from me and go off with that young man?” he added, letting go of her and gently pushing her away. I took a few steps forward to take Agnes’s hand. “Come,” I said. “Your mother is waiting for you. You are free, my dear, and the confinement and torments of this house, which is a tomb inhabited by a madman, are over for you. ” “No, I cannot go out,” Agnes told me, running to the old man’s side, who threw his arms around her neck and kissed her tenderly. “Well, madam,” I said with such spite that I felt driven to I know not what execrable violence. “I will go out. You will never see me again; you will never see your mother again.” “I knew well that you were not capable of the infamy of abandoning me ,” exclaimed the old man, weeping with joy. Inés gave me a burning, profound look, in which her black pupils, through her tears, told me I know not what mysteries; they revealed to me I know not what enigmatic thoughts that in the turmoil of that moment I could not understand. She doubtless wanted to tell me a lot; but I understood nothing. Spite was suffocating me. “Gabriel,” said the old man, recovering his composure, “you are not needed here. You have heard that you should leave. I suppose you have brought a rope ladder; but to descend safely, take the key that is on that table, open the door in the corridor, and go down to the courtyard by the staircase you see. I beg you to leave the key in the door. Seeing my indecision and perplexity, he added with sharp and cruel irony: “If I can be of use to you in Salamanca, tell me frankly. Do you need anything? You seem not to have eaten today, poor fellow. Your face shows vigils, privations, labors, hunger… In the house of a man of the common estate, a piece of bread is always available for the poor who come to the door. Is the same true in the houses of nobles?” Agnes looked at me with such compassion that I felt for her, for it was not hidden from me that she was suffering horribly. “Thank you,” I replied dryly, “I need nothing. The piece of bread I came for has not fallen into my hand; but I will return for it… Goodbye.” And taking the key, I abruptly left the room, the staircase, the courtyard, the horrible house; But father, daughter, room, yard, and house, I carried them all within me. Chapter 21. When I found myself in the street, I tried to reflect, so that reason, cooling my suffocating anger, might somewhat illuminate my understanding of that unexpected event; but in me there was nothing but passion, a savage rage that made me stupid. Now off the stage, far from the characters, I tried to remember word for word everything that had been said there; I also tried to remember the expressions of their faces, to scrutinize antecedents, investigate causes and secrets. These cannot emerge from the depths of souls to the surface of passionate speeches in a lively dialogue between people who ardently love or hate one another. Sometimes I regretted not having strangled that man aged by passions; sometimes I felt inexplicable compassion for him. Inés’s behavior , so unfavorable to my self-esteem, at times inspired in me a violent anger, the anger of a scorned lover, and at times a secret stupor, with something of the instinctive admiration that the great spectacles of Nature produce when one is close to them, when one knows one is going to see them, but has not yet seen them. My mind was filled with the previous interview. Time passed, I passed mechanically from one place to another, and I still had them both before my eyes: she, afflicted and frightened, wanting to be good to me and her father; Santorcaz, furious, ironic, wayward, and insulting toward me, tender and loving toward her. Observing Inés closely, delving into her pain and her sweet sympathy for human misery , there was really nothing new. In him, yes: a lot. I brought the past and placed it before me; I recorded every part of my life that had a relationship with both characters. Finally, I made a reflection regarding my own thoughts and feelings on that occasion that somewhat illuminated my mind. “For a long time, and just today, when I found myself standing before him,” I said, “I have considered that man to be a villain, and I have not considered that he is a father.” Without a doubt, I had grown accustomed to viewing the matter from a point of view that was not the most convenient. Thinking and feeling like this, with my brain full, my heart swollen, projecting my agitated interior around me, which made me see my surroundings in a strange way; living only for myself, completely oblivious of what had brought me to Salamanca, I wandered through several unfamiliar streets. Suddenly, a face appeared before me. I saw it with the indifference inspired by a painted figure, and it took me a long time to become convinced that I knew that face. In the great abstractions of the soul, awakening is slow and is preceded by a series of arguments in which the senses dispute over whether or not they recognize what is before them. At last, I reasoned and said to myself: “I recognize these little mouse-like eyes before me. ”
Little by little, recovering my faculty of perception, I spoke to myself thus : “I have seen somewhere this insolent nose and this infernal mouth, which opens to the ears to laugh shamelessly and impudently.” Two heavy hands fell on my shoulders. “Let me continue, drunk,” I exclaimed, pushing the importunate man, who was none other than Tourlourou. “Satanist, farceur!” cried Molichard, who, unfortunately for me, was accompanying the other. “Come to the barracks. ” “Drôle de pistolet… come,” said Tourlourou, laughing diabolically. “Chevalier Cipérez, Colonel Desmarets is waiting for you… ” “Ventre de biche!” “You escaped when you were about to be locked up. ” “And you took out your knife to kill us. ” “Monseigneur Cipérez, you will be coffré et niché.” I tried to defend myself from those savages; but it was impossible, for although drunk, together they were stronger than I. At the same time, as the scene at Santorcaz’s house so pitifully overwhelmed my intellectual faculties, I could think of no trick or artifice to extricate myself from this new conflict, undoubtedly more serious than those previously defeated. They took me, or rather dragged me, to the barracks where I had the honor of meeting Molichard that morning, and at the door, Tourlourou paused, looking toward the end of the street. “Give me…” he shrieked, “here comes Colonel Desmarets.” When my executioners announced the approach of the colonel in charge of the city police, I commended my soul to God, certain that if by chance they searched me and found the plan of the fortifications on me, it wouldn’t take me a quarter of an hour to be dancing at the end of a rope, as they called it. I cast my eyes in all directions in anguish and asked: “Isn’t Monsieur Jean Jean around?” Although the dragon was no saint, I considered him the only person capable of saving me. Colonel Desmarets was approaching behind me. Turning around— oh, wonder of wonders!—I saw him arm in arm with a lady, my lords, a lady who was none other than Miss Fly herself, Athenais herself, Little Bowtie herself. I was completely absorbed, and she immediately greeted me with a vainglorious smile that indicated her great pleasure at the surprise she caused me. Molichard and his vile companion advanced to the colonel, a grave man of more than middle age, and with all the respect their stupefying intoxication would allow, told him that I was a spy for the English. “Insolent!” Miss Fly exclaimed indignantly in French. “Do you dare to say that my servant is a spy?” Colonel, pay no attention to those wretches whose eyes are brimming with wine. This boy is the one who brought my luggage, and the one for whom, with your help, I have searched in vain until now throughout the city… Tell me, fool, where have you put my suitcase? “At the Fabiana Inn, madam,” I replied humbly. “Let’s finish. I gave the colonel a good walk, he helped me look for you… Two hours of scouring the streets and squares… ” “He didn’t miss anything, madam,” Desmarets told her gallantly. ” So you have been able to see the most notable aspects of this most interesting city. ” “Yes; but I needed to get some things out of my suitcase, and this idiot… He is an idiot, Colonel… ” “Madam,” I said, pointing to my two cruel enemies, “when I was looking for His Excellency, these drunkards tricked me into a tavern, drank me to death, and as soon as I was left without a penny, they said I was a spy and wanted to hang me.” Miss Fly glared at the colonel with anger and arrogance, and Desmarets, who doubtless wished to please the beautiful amazon, gathered all that feminine anger and hurled it militarily upon the two brave Frenchmen, who, finding themselves transformed from accusers into accused, appeared more drunk than before, and more unable to stand on their tottering legs. “To the barracks, you scoundrel!” cried the chief angrily. “I’ll get you all sorted out in a little while.” Molichard and Tourlourou, arm in arm, confused and as pitifully shaken morally as physically, stumbled into the building , cursing one another. “I swear I’ll punish those scoundrels,” said the brave officer. Now, since you have found your suitcase, I will conduct you to your lodgings. ‘ ‘Yes, I shall be grateful,’ said Miss Fly, starting off and ordering me to follow her. ‘And then,’ added Desmarets, ‘I will give an order that you may be allowed to visit the hospital. I have an idea that not a single English officer remains there. Those who were there recently recovered and were exchanged for the French who were at Fuente Aguinaldo. ‘ ‘Oh, my God! Then he must be dead!’ cried Miss Fly with affected sorrow. ‘Unfortunate young man! He was a relative of my uncle, the Viscount de Marley… But will you not accompany me to the hospital? ‘ ‘Madam, it is impossible for me. You know that Marmont has given orders for us to leave Salamanca today. ‘ ‘Are you evacuating the city? ‘ ‘The general has so ordered. We are threatened with a severe siege.’ We lack provisions, and since the fortifications that have been built are excellent, we are leaving eight hundred picked men here, which will be enough to defend them. We are leaving for Toro to wait for reinforcements from the North or from Madrid. “And are you leaving soon? ” “In an hour. I only have an hour to serve you. ” “Thank you… I am sorry that you cannot help me or search for that brave young man, a fellow countryman of mine, whose whereabouts are unknown and is the cause of my untimely and troublesome trip to Salamanca. He was wounded and taken prisoner in Arroyomolinos. Since then I have not heard from him… They told me that he might be in the French hospitals in this city. ” “I will provide you with safe conduct so that you can visit the hospital, and with that you will not need me. ” “Thank you very much: I believe we have reached my lodging. ” “Indeed, this is it.” We were at the door of the Inn of Lettuce, no more than twenty paces from the one where I had left my donkey. Desmarets took leave of Miss Fly, repeating his compliments and chivalrous offers. “You see,” Athenais told me as we went up to her apartment, “that you were wrong not to allow me to accompany you. You have undoubtedly experienced a thousand setbacks and conflicts. I, who have long known the brave Desmarets, would have spared you from them. ” “Madame de Fly, I have still not recovered from my astonishment, and I believe that what I see before me is not the true and real image of the beautiful English lady, but a deceptive shadow that adds to the confusion of this day. How did you come to Salamanca? How did you manage to get into the city? How did that smarmy old man, that Desmarets—” ” All this, which seems strange to you, is the most natural thing in the world. To come to Salamanca! If the road exists, does it surprise you? When you abandoned me with such rudeness and vulgar feelings, I resolved to come alone.” That’s just the way I am. I wanted to see how you would conduct yourselves on this difficult errand, and I hoped to be able to render you some service, although your ingratitude did not deserve my concern. ” “Oh! A thousand thanks, madam. When I left you, I did so to spare you the dangers of this expedition. God knows how much it pained me to sacrifice the pleasure and honor of being accompanied by you. ” “Well then, sir villager: when I reached the gates of the city, I remembered Colonel Desmarets, whom I rescued from the battlefield after Albuera, treating his wounds and saving his life. I asked for him, he came to meet me, and from then on I had no difficulty either in entering here or in finding lodging. I told him that I was eager to know the whereabouts of an English officer, a relative of mine, lost in Arroyomolinos, and since I wished to find you, I pretended that one of the servants I had with me, carrying my bag, had disappeared at the gates of the city.” Wanting to please me, Desmarets took me to different places. Two hours of walking!… I was desperate… I looked from one side to the other saying: “Where is that beast?… He must have been left dumb looking at the forts… he’s so stupid…” “And the lad who accompanied you?” “He went in with me. Were you making fun of Mistress Mitchell’s little carriage? It’s a large vehicle, drawn by the horse Simpson gave me, it looked like Apollo’s chariot… Let us now see, sir officer, how you have spent your time, and whether anything has been done to justify the Duke’s confidence . “Madam, I have with me a map of the fortifications, very hidden… I also have innumerable pieces of news that will be very useful to the general- in-chief. I have had a thousand setbacks; but at last, as far as my military commission is concerned, everything is going well. ” “And you’ve done it without me!” said the Butterfly spitefully. “If only I had time to relate to you the tragedies and comedies in which I have been an actor in a few hours!… but I am so tired that even speech fails me. The frights, the joys, the emotions, the anger of this day would depress the most courageous mind and the most vigorous body, let alone my mind and body, which are both stunned and saddened; the other, as empty of all solid substance as someone who has not eaten for sixteen hours. “You do indeed look like a dead man,” he said, entering his room. “ I will give you something to eat. ” “A most happy idea,” I replied; “and since we have so miraculously come together here, which proves the concord of our destinies, it is fitting that we should settle under the same roof. I am going to bring my donkey, in whose saddlebags I left something worthy of eating. I will return immediately. In the meantime, ask the innkeeper for whatever she has… but quickly, very quickly.” I ran to the inn where I had left my donkey, and as I entered the stable, I heard the innkeeper’s voice deeply involved in a dispute with another, which I recognized as that of the venerable Monsieur Jean Jean. “Young man,” the innkeeper said to me as I entered, “this French gentleman wanted to take your donkey. ” “Your Excellency!” ” Jean Jean,” I said politely, though very upset, ” I didn’t want to take the beast… I was asking for you. I remembered the promise made to the dragon and the soul of the packsaddle, my invention to get me out of a tight spot. ” “Jean Jean,” I said to the Frenchman, “I still need you. The French are leaving today, aren’t they? ” “Yes, sir; but I’m staying. There are twenty dragoons left to escort the Governor. ” “I’m glad,” I said, preparing to take the donkey with me. “Now, friend Jean Jean, I need to know if the so-called chief of the Masons is preparing to leave Salamanca today as well. That’s most likely. ” “I’ll find out, sir. ” “I’m at the inn next door, you know.” “La Lettuce, yes. ” “I’ll wait for you there. We have a lot to do today, friend Jean Jean. ” “I want nothing more than to serve His Excellency. ” “And I pay those who serve me well.” Chapter 22. Miss Fly, under the pretext that the inn maid should not be informed of our discussion, served me the frugal repast herself, which, if not in conformity with the canons of English etiquette, was perfectly in keeping with the circumstances. “Your sadness,” said the Englishwoman, “proves to me that if you succeeded in the military commission, the same cannot be said for the rest of your undertakings. ” “That is indeed so, madam,” I replied, “and I swear to you that my grief and discouragement are such that I have never felt the like on any occasion in my life. ” “Is not your princess at Salamanca?” “She is, madam,” I replied, “but in such a state that it would be better if she were not here within a hundred leagues around. For what will it be worth to find her if I do find her?” “Enchanted,” said the Englishwoman, interrupting me with spicy joviality, “and transformed, like Dulcinea, into a rustic and ugly peasant girl, she who was a very fine lady. ” “One thing leads to another,” I said, “because if my princess has lost none of the grace of her presence or the unparalleled beauty of her face, on the other hand, her soul has undergone a very great transformation, because she did not want to accept the freedom I offered her, and, preferring the company of her barbaric jailer, she has nicely put me at the street door. ” “That has a very simple explanation,” the lady told me, laughing heartily. true joy—and it is that your captive Archduchess no longer loves you. Have you not considered the inconvenience of presenting yourself to her in that dress? Her long association with her captor must have inspired her with love for him. Do not laugh, sir. There are many cases of ladies stolen by bandits in Italy and Bohemia, who have ended by falling madly in love with their kidnappers. I myself have known an English lady who was stolen in the vicinity of Rome, and in a short time she was the wife of the leader of the band. In Spain, where there are robbers so poetic, so chivalrous, that they are almost the only gentlemen in the country, the same thing must happen. What you tell me, my lord, has nothing absurd about it, and it fits perfectly with the ideas I have formed of this country. “Your great imagination,” I said, “may be mistaken in wanting to find certain things outside of books; But in any case, madam, what happens to me is very sad… because… Because you love your child more, since she adores that three-tailed pasha, that Fra Diavolo, in whom I fancy I see a very great thief; but handsome as the most beautiful types of Calabria and Andalusia, braver than the Cid, a great horseman, a sublime swordsman, something of a sorcerer, generous to the poor, cruel to the rich and wicked, rich as the great Turk, and owner of immense jewels that always seem too few for his beloved. I also fancy him to be like Charles Moor, the most poetic and interesting of highwaymen. Oh, Miss Fly! I see you have read a lot. My enemy is not what you paint him as: he is a sick old man. “Well then, Mr. Araceli,” said Athenais with disgust, “do not try to deceive me by associating that young woman with someone of consequence, for if she has taken to the company of a beggar, it will have been out of avarice, a quality proper to seamstresses, work maids, actresses, or other minor people, to whose respectable classes I believe from now on that much-vaunted lady you adore belongs. ” “I have not deceived you about the elevation of your class. As for any affection you may have felt for her kidnapper, it is not at all reprehensible, because he is her father. ” “Her father!” she exclaimed in astonishment. “That certainly was not written in my books. And you call a father who keeps his daughter with him a thief? That is truly strange. There is no country like Spain for rare occurrences that differ in every way from what is natural and common in other countries. Explain that to me, sir.” “You believe that all the adventures of love and adventure must happen in the world according to what you have read in novels, in romances, in the works of great poets and writers, and you don’t notice that strange and dramatic things are usually seen sooner in real life than in books, full of conventional fictions that reproduce one another. Poets copy from their predecessors, who copied from older ones, and while they fabricate this vain world, they don’t notice that Nature and society are creating, hidden from the public, and hiding them from the press, a thousand novelties that frighten or enthrall. I was making efforts of my ingenuity to somehow sustain a conversation in which Miss Fly, with her ardent poetic feeling, had the advantage over me, and with each word of mine her daring imagination grew more inflamed, flying in pursuit of rare, unknown, novel events, a source of passion and idealism. I cannot deny that Athenais surprised me, for, in my ignorance, I was unaware of the sentimentality then in vogue among the people of the North, which was pervading literature and society in an extraordinary manner. “Tell me that,” she said impatiently. Without fear of committing an indiscretion, I recounted to my beautiful companion point by point everything the reader knows. She listened to me so attentively and with such an appearance of pleasure that I omitted not a single detail. Sometimes I thought I discerned in her signs of manly enthusiasm rather than feminine emotion; and when I had concluded my story, He rose, and with a resolute air and a spirited voice, addressed me thus: “And you live so calmly, sir, and recount the dramas of your life as if they were pages in a book you read the night before? You are not Spanish, you do not have in your veins that sublime fire which impels a man to struggle with impossibilities. You stand there, hand in hand, gazing at an Englishwoman, and nothing occurs to you: it does not occur to you to enter that house; to tear that unhappy woman from the power that imprisons her; to throw a rope around that man’s neck and take him to a madhouse; it does not occur to you to buy an old sword and fight with half the world if half the world opposes your desire; to break down the doors of the house; to set fire to it, if necessary; to seize the girl without trying to persuade her to follow you, and take her wherever you see fit.” kill all the constables who come your way, and cut a path through the French army, if the French army en masse opposes your leaving Salamanca. I confess I believed you capable of this. “Madam,” I replied ardently, “tell me in what book you read that beautiful thing you just told me. I want to read it too, and then I will test whether such feats are possible. ” “In what book, weakling?” he replied with admirable excitement. “In the book of my heart, in the book of my imagination, in the book of my soul. Do you want me to show you anything else? ” “Madam,” I affirmed, confused, “your soul is superior to mine. ” “Let’s go at once to that house,” he said, taking a whip and preparing to leave. I looked at Miss Fly with admiration; but with an admiration not entirely serious, I mean that something was laughing inside me. “Where to, madam? “Where do you want us to go? ” “And you ask!” exclaimed Athenais. “Sir, if I had believed you capable of asking me that question which indicates the indecisions of your soul, I would not have come to Salamanca. ” “No: I understand perfectly,” I replied, not wishing to appear inferior to my interlocutor. “I understand… we are going to… well… commit an atrocity, a resounding one… I dare do it, and even greater things. ” “Then…” “I was thinking precisely of that. I know no fear. ” “No obstacles, no danger, nothing. Thus, thus, sir; that is the answer,” she cried with a heated and sonorous accent. Her inflamed countenance, her brilliant eyes, the timbre of her pathetic voice, exercised a strange power over me, and awakened I know not what vague sensations of grandeur, dormant in the depths of my heart, so dormant that I did not believe they existed. Without knowing what I was doing, I jumped up from my seat, shouting with her: “Come on, let’s go! ” “Are you ready? ” “Now I remember I need a sword… old. ” “Or a new one… It won’t be bad to see Desmarets. ” “I don’t need anyone: I’m enough for myself,” I exclaimed with vigor and pride. “Sir,” she said enthusiastically, “that’s what I should say to resemble Medea.” “He said we can’t count on Desmarets,” I indicated, thinking a little on the positive side, “because he’s leaving Salamanca today.” At that moment, we heard noise outside. It was the French army leaving. Drums thundered in the street. Their resounding cries were then drowned out by the passing of cavalry squadrons, and finally , the clatter of the gun carriages made the walls shake as if shaken by an earthquake. For a long time, troops continued passing by . “I hope I shall be the first to carry to Lord Wellington the news that the French have left Salamanca,” I said in a low voice to Miss Fly, as we watched the parade from our window. “There goes Desmarets,” replied the Englishwoman, fixing her eyes on the troops. Desmarets was indeed riding past at the head of his regiment, and he saluted Miss Fly gallantly. “We have lost a guard in the city,” he said to me; “but never mind: we shall not need him.” At this moment there was a tapping at the door; I opened it, and Monsieur Jean Jean appeared before us , hat in hand, bowing his head several times and courtesies. “Your Excellency, the innkeeper told me you were here, and I’ve come to tell you… ” “What?” Jean Jean looked suspiciously at Miss Fly; but I immediately reassured him, saying: “You may speak, friend Jean Jean.” “Well, I came to tell you,” the soldier continued, “that this Mr. Santorcaz will leave the city. Since Salamanca is going to be besieged, many families will flee tonight , and the mason will not be among the last, according to what Ramoncilla told me . He left his house a moment ago, no doubt to look for wagons and horses. ” “Then he will escape from us,” Miss Fly said briskly. “They will not leave,” she replied, “until after midnight.” “Friend Jean Jean, I want you to provide me with a saber and two pistols. ” “Nothing could be easier, Your Excellency,” he replied obsequiously. “And a cloak as well… As soon as it gets dark, you will prepare the carriage… ” “There are none to be found in the city.” “We have one down below. Hitch up your horse, which is also down below, and take it to the gate nearest to the Rue du Câliz. ” “Which is the Rue du Sancti Spíritus… I warn you that Santorcaz has returned home: I saw him accompanied by his five cronies, five terrible men, who are capable of anything… ” “Five men!” “Who don’t allow themselves to be trifled with. They meet there every night and are well armed. ” “Do you have a friend who would like to earn a few doubloons, and who is also brave, calm, and discreet? ” “My cousin Pied de Mouton is good for the job; but he’s a little ill. I don’t know if Charles le Temeraire will want to get involved in such trouble: I’ll tell him. ” “We don’t need your friends,” said Miss Fly. “We don’t want any vulgar people at our side. We’ll go entirely alone. ” “You’ll have the weapons in a moment,” affirmed Jean Jean. And you tell me nothing about your ass? I’ll give it to you, packsaddle and all… but don’t look for anything more in it. Whatever you deserve, I’ll give you when we are safely outside the city gates. Jean Jean looked at me with a suspicious expression; but either confidence soon returned to his heart, or he knew how to conceal his misgivings, and he left. When he again appeared before me at nightfall and brought me my weapons, I ordered him to wait for me in the Rue du Chalice, whereupon the Englishwoman and I considered the preparations for that stupendous and unprecedented event complete, which the reader will see in the following chapters. Chapter 23. Having arrived at this part of my story, I am forced to pause by a certain painful doubt which I cannot dispel, although I try in a thousand ways. The fact is that, despite the fidelity and veracity of my memory, which so accurately preserves the most remote facts, I doubt whether it was I myself who committed the reckless act in question, urged to do so by the poetic and willful influence of a beautiful English woman; or whether, having dreamed it, I believed I had done so, as often happens in life, because it is not easy to separate dream from reality; or whether, instead of my own person launching into such endeavors, it was another self who knew how to interpret the fiery sentiments and chivalrous ideas of the sorceress Athenais. Considering myself sane today, as I was then, I find it hard to bring myself to affirm that I myself was the author of such madness, although all the data, all the news, and all the traditions agree that it could not have been anyone else. Faced with the evidence, I bow my head and continue telling. Night came, enveloping the whole of Little Rome in its shadows. Miss Fly and I set out, and crossing the Rua, we entered the dark and winding streets that were to lead us to the place of our mysterious adventure. Soon, both of us ignorant of the topography of the city, we lost our way and wandered at random, trying to navigate among the buildings we had seen during the day; but in the darkness we could not clearly distinguish the shapes of those masses that met our path. Perhaps we were detained by A gigantic wall, its eminence lost in the heavens; then one would have thought that the enormous mass moved aside to leave us free to pass through a narrow alley lit in the distance by the lamps of devotion, lit before an image. We continued forward, believing we had found the path we were looking for, and we stumbled upon a portico and a tower, each emerging from a different point in the shadows of the night, joining together to confront us. At last, we recognized the cathedral among those mountains of darkness that surrounded us. We clearly distinguished its vast, irregular shape, its towers, which begin in one age of art and end in another, its pointed arches, its cresting, its round dome; and behind the new building, the old cathedral, huddled against it as if seeking shelter. We tried to find our way there, and taking the direction we thought most convenient, we soon came across the twin porticoes of the University, on whose pediment the great heads of the Catholic Monarchs contemplated us with their rapt stone eyes. Slipping along one side of the vast building, we found ourselves surrounded by walls on all sides, with no way out. “This is a labyrinth, Miss Fly,” I said, not without ill humor. “Let’s look for that blessed street behind the cathedral. Otherwise, we’ll spend the night walking back and forth between streets. ” “Is that why you’re in a hurry? The later the better. ” “Madam, Lord Wellington is expecting me tomorrow at twelve o’clock in Bernuy. I think I’ve said enough… We’ll see if some passerby appears to show us the way.” But not a living soul was to be seen in those solitary places. “What a beautiful city!” said Miss Fly with contemplative rapture . “Everything here breathes the grandeur of an illustrious and glorious age .” How sublime, how powerful were the sentiments that required so much, so much stone to manifest themselves! Do those tall towers, those long pointed arches, those roofs, those giants raising their hands to heaven, those two cathedrals mean nothing to you: one ancient and on its knees, wrinkled, invalid, crouching on the ground and at the mercy of its daughter; the other brand new and standing, beautiful, immense, lush, breathing life in its robust mass? Do those hundred colleges and convents, the work of science and piety combined, mean nothing to you? And those palaces of great lords, those walls covered with shields and grilles, a sign of pride and caution? Happy age, that age in which the soul has always found something to feed its insatiable hunger! For religious souls, the monastery; for heroic ones, war; for passionate ones, love, all the more beautiful the more thwarted; For all, gallantry, great affections, sublime sacrifices, glorious deaths… Society is driven by a single force: passion… Calculation has not yet been invented. Passion rules the world and sets its fiery seal upon it. Man tramples everything for the possession of the beloved object, or dies fighting before the doors of his home are closed to him… Wars are ignited over a woman, and two nations are torn apart by a kiss… The force that apparently prevails is not the brutal thrust of the moderns, but a powerful breath, the puffing of the two lungs of society, which are honor and love. “A little speech wouldn’t be amiss,” I murmured, “if we could finally find…” When I said this, we had lost sight of the cathedral and were wandering through narrow, dark streets, searching in vain for the Cathedral of the Chalice. We saw an old woman leaning on a stick and walking slowly against the wall, and I asked her: “Madam, can you tell me where the Rue du Cálice is? ” “Are you looking for the Rue du Cálice and are there?” the old woman replied sullenly. “Are you going to the Masons’ house or to the lodge on the Rue de Tentenecios? Then go ahead and don’t bother a poor old woman who wants nothing to do with the devil. ” “And the Masons’ house, which is it, Ma’am?” “Hold it in your hand and ask…” the old woman replied. “That The large gate behind you is the entrance to the home of those scoundrels; it is there that they commit their ugly heresies against religion; it is there that they speak ill of our beloved kings… Wicked ones! Oh, how gladly I would go to the Plaza Mayor to see you burned! God will rid us of the French who tolerate such filthiness… Masons and Frenchmen are all one: the right and left paw of Satan. The old woman left, talking to herself, and when we were alone, I recognized Santorcaz’s house in the large gate that was close by. “How many times have we passed by here without recognizing the house!” said Miss Fly. “If only I had seen it once… but it seems you are stupid, Araceli. ” The door was a very ancient Byzantine arch, composed of six or eight concentric curves, through which ran mysterious vegetal forms, worn by time; Jingle bells and intertwined ribbons, and on the impost some imps, monkeys, or some other shameless animal, capering about, their spindly legs mingling with the stems of the stone litter. Unintelligible letters, undoubtedly expressing the period of construction, revealed their grotesque and crooked lines, as if a hesitant finger were tracing them in the manner of a spell. The door was reinforced with iron scribbles as moldy as the moth-eaten and broken, badly joined boards, and a thick knocker in the shape of a coiled snake hung in the center, awaiting an impatient hand to move it. I looked questioningly at Miss Fly and saw her move her hand to the knocker. “Already, ma’am?” I said, stopping her movement. “Then what are you waiting for?” “It’s best to scout out the enemy first… The house is solid… Jean Jean said there were… how many men inside? ” “Fifty, if I remember correctly… but even if it’s a thousand… ” “That’s true, even if it’s a million. We saw a man approaching, and I immediately recognized Jean Jean. ” “Reinforcements are coming, madam,” I said. “You’ll see how quickly he dispatched.” Miss Fly, seizing the knocker, struck a blow. I touched my weapons, and seeing that I hadn’t forgotten them, I couldn’t help feeling, I don’t know if it was mockery or admiration for myself , because in truth, gentlemen, what I was going to do, what I was attempting at that moment, was either a great folly, or an action similar to those perpetuated in romances and books of chivalry. I remembered reading somewhere that a helpless lover arrives beautifully , with no help other than the strength of his arm, or the protection of this or that necromantic power, at the gates of a castle where the most bearded and coarse Moor or giant of those wild confines has imprisoned the most delicate maiden, princess, or empress who has combed strands of gold and wept liquid diamonds; and that helpless lover cries from below: “Fierce arráez, or barbaric sultan, I come to tear from you this royal person that you keep imprisoned; and I conjure you to give it to me at once if you do not want your body to be cut in two by this sword of mine; and do not laugh or threaten me, because even if you had more armies than the Parthians brought to the conquest of Greece, not a single one of yours will remain alive.” That, gentlemen, that, no more or less, was what I was going to undertake. When I touched the pistols on my belt, and the belt from which hung the sharp sword, and I wrapped my cape around my neck, and pulled the brim of my wide hat over my eyebrow, I confess that among the feelings that struggled in my heart, mockery predominated, and I laughed in the darkness. I had the air of a man of bravery, bravado, and mischief, which would have struck fear into the most courageous mind, if not mockery and laughter; but Miss Fly had undoubtedly read the exploits of Don Rodulfo de Pedrajas, Pedro Cadenas, Lampuga, Gardoncha, and Perotudo, and my appearance seemed to her more suited to attracting love than laughter. Seeing that they didn’t respond, I took the knocker and repeated the knocks. I didn’t gauge the extent of the danger I was about to face, nor was it possible. to reflect on it, although a glimmer of light from my reason would have been enough to clarify the horrible mess I was about to get myself into… I did not think of this, because I felt the inexplicable delight that youth in love has for everything that is mysterious and unknown, the more beautiful and attractive the more dangerous; because I felt within me a desire to commit any nameless brutality that would put my strength and courage at the service of the person I loved most in the world. Do not forget that the spite and suffocation of the morning still lingered in me. The memory of the scenes I have described before completed my blindness; and to accomplish by violence what I could not achieve by any other means was undoubtedly a great attraction for my excited spirit. In the street my imagination spurred me on, and from within my heart called me, all my past life and all I could dream for the future… Who does not break down a wall, even with their head, when two women impel them to do so, one from within and one from without? I mustn’t deny that the beautiful Englishwoman had acquired a great influence over me. I can’t express this dominance of hers and my enslavement except by using a word much used in novels, and I don’t know if it clearly conveys my idea; but having no other word at hand, I will. Miss Fly fascinated me. That greatness of spirit; that convoluted sentiment, untainted by selfishness, in her words; that character that treasured, beneath unparalleled extravagance, all the material, let’s say, of great actions, found secret sympathy in a corner of my being. I laughed at her and admired her; her advice seemed like nonsense to me, and I obeyed it. That immensity of her thought, so far removed from reality, seduced me, and rather than confess myself a coward and follow the flight of her powerful will, I would have died of shame. I repeated the knocks with greater force, and nothing was heard inside the house. Darkness and silence like that of tombs reigned there. The little animal, a lizard or snake that the knocker represented, raised—or so it seemed—its rusty head, and, fixing its green eyes on me, opened its horrible mouth to laugh. “They won’t open it,” Jean Jean told me. “Nevertheless, they’re inside: I saw them come in… They’re the main French followers in the city, more Masons than the great Copt and more atheists than Judas. Bad people. My opinion, Senor Marquis, is that you leave. The carriage is waiting for you at the Sancti Spíritus gate. ” “Are you afraid, Jean Jean? ” “Besides, Senor Marquis,” he continued, “I must warn you that the patrol will soon be passing through here… You and the lady have every appearance of suspicious people… There are still those who believe you are spies, and the lady too. ” “I’m a spy?” Miss Fly said with contempt. I am an English lady. “Go away yourself, Jean Jean, if you are afraid. ” “You are mad, sir,” replied the dragoon. “Those men will come out, and then they will beat us all to a pulp.” I thought I heard the sound of the planks of a small window opening high above, and I shouted: “Oh, the house! Open it quickly. ” “It is madness, Senor Marquis,” said the dragoon brusquely. “Let’s get out of here.” Then I noticed in Jean Jean’s sullen and gloomy countenance a very visible change, which was certainly not one produced by fear. “I repeat, I am leaving you alone, Senor Marquis… The patrol will come… We are going towards Sancti Spíritus, or I will not answer for you.” His insistence and his determination to take us towards the outskirts of the city filled me with terrible suspicion. Miss Fly redoubled her hammering, saying: “We will have to break down the door if they do not open.” The iron bars reinforcing the door contracted, making horrible grimaces, mocking signs, forming, I don’t know, strange smiles or grimaces, or the expressions of mysterious faces. I was beginning to lose patience and serenity. Jean Jean was making me uneasy, and I feared treachery, not because of suspicion of espionage, as he had been. had said, but by the temptation to rob us. The case was not new, and the soldiers who garrisoned the towns of the poor conquered country committed all kinds of excesses with impunity. Moreover, the adventure was taking on a grotesque character, for no one responded to our blows, nor did a human face appear at the high gate. “Surely there is no trace of people here. The Masons have left, and this scoundrel has brought us here to plunder us at will.” Suddenly, I saw someone appear at the bend in the street. They were two people who were staring there as if in ambush. Direct me to the dragon; but he, without waiting for me to speak, suddenly abandoned us to join the others. “That wretch has sold us out,” I exclaimed, roaring with rage. “Madam, we are lost! We did not count on treason. ” “Treason!” said Miss Fly, confused. “It can’t be.” We didn’t have time to reason, because the two who were watching us and Jean Jean rushed at us. “What are you doing here?” asked one of them, who was an artillery soldier without any insignia. “I don’t have to tell you,” I replied. “Leave the street clear. ” “Is this the English tarasque?” said the other, addressing Miss Fly insolently. “You rascal!” I cried, drawing my sword. “I’ll show you how to talk to the ladies. ” “The Marquis has brought out the spit,” said the first. ” Young men, come with us to the guardroom, and you, Milady Sauterelle, give your arm to Charles le Temeraire so he can lead you to the palace of the stocks. ” “Araceli,” Miss Fly told me, “take my whip and throw them out of here. ” “Pied de mouton, run him through,” shouted the artilleryman. Pied de Mouton, as a sergeant of dragoons, was armed with a saber. Charles the Bold was an artilleryman and carried a cutlass, a weapon of little value on that occasion. In a flash, while Jean Jean hesitated between addressing the Englishwoman or me, I slashed at Pied de Mouton with such good fortune, such force, and such sureness, that I knocked him to the ground. With a hoarse howl, he fell bathed in blood… I leaned against the wall to guard my back and waited for Jean Jean, who, seeing his comrade fall, stepped back from Miss Fly while Charles the Bold bent down to examine the wounded man. Quick as a thought, Athenais jumped down to pick up his saber. Without waiting for Jean Jean to attack me, and seeing him somewhat disconcerted, I rushed at him; But, terrified, he took a few steps back, bellowing: “Devil’s horn! A thousand million bombs!”… Do you think I’m afraid of you? So saying, he ran off down the street, and Charles followed him faster than the wind. They both shouted: “To the guard, to the guard! ” “There’s a guardhouse nearby, madam. Let’s flee.” Here the romance ended. We ran in the opposite direction to the one they were taking; but we hadn’t gone seven steps when we heard footsteps in the distance, and made out a platoon of soldiers hurrying towards us. “They’re cutting off our retreat, madam,” I said, retreating. “Let’s go the other way. ” We looked for a side street that would allow us to take another direction, but we didn’t find one. The patrol was approaching. We ran to the other end , and I heard the voices of our two enemies still shouting: “On our guard! ” ” They’ll catch us,” said Miss Fly with incomparable serenity, which inspired me with courage. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s give ourselves up. ” At that moment, as we passed the portico on whose knocker we had been hammering in vain, I saw the door open and the head of a curious person poking out, who, no doubt, had not been able to control his desire to know the outcome of the quarrel… The sky opened before us. The patrol was close; but as the street described a very pronounced angle, the soldiers forming it could not see us. I pushed open that door and the man who, curiously and with an ironic smile on his face, was peering out; and although neither one nor the other They tried to give in at first. I applied so much force that soon Miss Fly and I were inside, and with incredible speed I slid the heavy bolts open. Chapter 24. “What are you doing?” asked a man in astonishment, whom I saw in front of me, who was shining his lantern into the narrow doorway. “Save myself and this lady,” I replied, listening to the footsteps that sounded outside the door a little after our entry. “The patrol is stopping… ” “Now examine the body… ” “They didn’t see us enter… ” “But… either I’m a fool, or it’s Araceli in front of me,” said the man, who was none other than Santorcaz. “The same one, Mr. Luis. If your intention is to denounce me, you can do so by handing me over to the patrol; but put this lady in a safe place until you can leave Salamanca freely… They’re still there,” I added with the greatest agitation. “How they grunt! It seems they are picking up the body… Is he dead, or merely wounded?” “They’re leaving,” said Athenais. “They didn’t see us come in… They’ll think it was a quarrel between soldiers, and as long as those rogues don’t explain… ” “Go ahead, gentlemen,” said Santorcaz petulantly. “The first duty of a son of the people is hospitality, and his home welcomes all who need the protection of their fellow men. Madam, fear nothing. ” “And who told you I fear anything?” said Miss Fly arrogantly. “Araceli, were you the one who broke down the door a moment ago?” I hesitated for a moment to answer, and had already spoken when Miss Fly anticipated me by saying: “It was me.” Santorcaz, after paying a courtesy to the English lady, remained silent and still, waiting to hear the reasons behind the lady’s knocking so loudly. “Why are you staring at me with your mouths open?” Miss Fly said abruptly. “Go on and light up. ” Santorcaz looked at me in astonishment. Who would cause him more surprise, me or her? I, in turn, could not help feeling it too, and even greater, when I saw that the head of the Masons received us with civility. We slowly ascended the stairs. From there, noisy men’s voices could be heard inside the house. When we reached a bare, dark room, dimly illuminated by Santorcaz’s lantern, he said to us: “Now may I know what you are looking for in my house?” “We came in here seeking refuge from some evil men who wanted to kill us. My wish is that you hide this lady if by chance they insist on pursuing her into the house. ” “And you?” he asked me sarcastically. “I value my life,” I replied, “and I would not like to fall into the hands of Jean Jean.” But I ask nothing of you, and I will go out right now if you promise to put this lady in safety. ” “I do not abandon friends,” said Santorcaz with his habitual nonsense and cunning. “The lady and her suitor can breathe easy. No one will bother them. ” Miss Fly had sat down in an uncomfortable leather armchair, the only piece of furniture in the shabby room, and, ignoring our conversation, was looking at the two or three moth-eaten pictures hanging on the walls, when the maid entered carrying a lamp. “Is this your daughter?” the Englishwoman asked hurriedly, fixing her eyes on the girl. “It is Ramoncilla, my maid,” replied Santorcaz. “I ardently desire to see your daughter, sir,” said the Englishwoman. “She is reputed to be very beautiful.” “After what I have just presented to you,” said the mason gallantly, “I don’t believe there is another more beautiful… But, returning to our subject, madam, if you and your husband wish… ” “This gentleman is not my husband,” affirmed Miss Fly without looking at Santorcaz. “Good: I meant his friend. ” “He is not my friend either, he is my servant,” said the lady angrily. “You are truly impertinent.” Santorcaz looked at me, and from his look I knew that he did not believe the lady’s statement. “Well… Do you and your servant intend to remain in Salamanca?” “No: precisely what we want is to leave without anyone bothering us. I cannot accomplish the purpose that brought me to Salamanca, and I’m leaving. ” “Well, I’ll get both of you out of the city before daylight,” said Santorcaz, “because I’m preparing everything to leave at dawn. ” “And are you taking your daughter?” Miss Fly asked with great interest. “My daughter loves me so much,” the mason responded proudly, “that she never leaves my side. ” “And where are you going now? ” “To France. I don’t intend to set foot in Spain again. ” “You are a bad patriot. ” “Madam… tell me your title so I can designate you by it. Although a son of the people and a defender of equality, I know how to respect the hierarchies established by the monarchy and history. ” “Simply call me ‘madam,’ and that’s enough. ” “Good: since the lady wants to meet my daughter, I’m going to show her to her,” said Santorcaz. “Would the lady deign to follow me.” We followed him, and he led us into a room, more decorously arranged than the one we had left, and lighted by a four-burner candle. The old man offered a seat to the Englishwoman, then disappeared, returning a little later with his daughter by the hand. When the unfortunate woman saw me, she turned as pale as death and could not repress a cry of astonishment, which, from its intensity, seemed to be one of fear. “My child, this is the lady who has just arrived at our house, asking my hospitality for herself and the young man who accompanies her. ” One might have thought Agnes was seeing ghosts. She looked at Miss Fly as much as at me, without being convinced that the persons before her were real and tangible. I smiled, trying to dispel her confusion by the language of eyes and features; but the poor girl became more and more absorbed. “She is beautiful,” said Miss Fly gravely. “But you cannot take your eyes off this young man who accompanies me.” You undoubtedly find him similar to someone else you know. My child, he’s the same one you think, the same one. “Only this rascal,” said Santorcaz, shaking my arm with impertinent familiarity, “has changed so much… When he was an officer, you could look at him; but now he was expelled from the army for his cowardice and bad behavior and went into the service… ” Such a crude mockery didn’t deserve an answer, and I remained silent, leaving Inés to become even more confused. “Sir,” said Miss Fly angrily, turning to Santorcaz, ” if I had known you were thinking of insulting the person accompanying me, I would have preferred to stay on the street. I said he was my servant; but that ‘s not true. This gentleman is my friend. ” “Your friend,” added Don Luis. “Exactly, that’s what I said.” “A loyal friend and impeccable gentleman, whom I will be grateful to all my life for the service he rendered me tonight, risking his life for me.” Another confusion from Inés. His altered countenance changed color with every second, and he turned his whole face to the Englishwoman and me, as if by looking at us, reading us, devouring us with his eyes, he could clarify the mysterious enigma before him. Revenge is a criminal pleasure, but so delightful that on certain occasions it takes a saint or an archangel to smother this particle, to extinguish this ember of hell that exists in our hearts. So, feeling within me the burning of that diabolical fire of the soul that induces us to sometimes mortify the people we love most, I said gravely: “My lady, common actions that are the duty of all people of honor do not deserve gratitude. Besides, if it is a question of gratitude, what could I say, remembering the courtesies I have received from you at the Allied headquarters, and before we both came to Salamanca?” Miss Fly seemed very pleased with these words of mine, and her eyes shone with a satisfaction that she did not care to conceal. Inés watched the Englishwoman, wanting to read in her face what she had not said. “Mr. Santorcaz,” said Miss Fly after a pause, “don’t you intend to marry your daughter off?” “Madam, my daughter seems to this day very content with her condition and with her father’s company. However, in time… She will not marry a “nobleman nor with a soldier, because she and I abhor those executioners and butchers of the people. ” “We can consider ourselves offended by what you say against two such respectable classes,” Miss Fly replied benevolently. “I am a nobleman, and the gentleman is a soldier. So… ” “I have spoken in general terms, madam. Besides, my daughter does not want to marry. ” “It is impossible that, being so pretty, she does not have thousands of suitors ,” said Miss Fly, looking at her. “Could it be that this beautiful girl does not love anyone?” Inés, at that moment, could not hide her anger. “She does not love, nor has she ever loved anyone,” her father replied officiously. “Not that, Mr. Santorcaz,” said the Englishwoman. “Do not try to deceive me, because I know from the cross to this day the story of your beloved child, until you seized her in Cifuentes.” Agnes turned as red as a cherry and looked at me, I don’t know whether with contempt or terror. I remained silent, and gauging hers by my own emotion, I said to myself with the greatest innocence: “The poor thing will be capable of getting angry.” “Nonsense and childish pampering,” said Santorcaz, who had been very uneasy about what he had just heard. “That’s it,” added the Englishwoman, pointing successively to Agnes and me. “Both are now serious people, and their ideas, as well as their feelings, have taken a more direct course. I don’t know the character and thoughts of your charming daughter; but I know the great spirit, the noble understanding of the young man who is listening to us, and I can assure you that I read his soul as if it were a book. ” Agnes was beside herself. Her soul was pouring out of her eyes in the form of affliction, spite, some kind of powerful feeling, hitherto unknown to her. “For some time,” added the Englishwoman, “we have been united by a noble, frank, and pure friendship. This gentleman possesses a lofty spirit.” Her heart, superior to the petty feelings of ordinary life, burns with the fiery desire for a life of grandeur, of struggle, of danger, and she does not wish to associate her existence with the diminished mediocrity of a peaceful home, but rather to launch it into the tumults of war, of society, where she will find a partner worthy of her immense soul. I could not repress a smile; but no one, fortunately, except Inés, who was observing me, noticed my indiscretion. “What do you say to this?” Athenais asked my fiancée. “That it seems very good to me,” she replied as God gave her to understand, between boldness and stammering. “When one has a soul of such immensity, it seems appropriate to face the dangers of a patrol, instead of knocking on the first door that presents itself. ” “You will understand, madam,” said Don Luis, “that my daughter is no fool. ” “Yes; but you are,” Miss Fly replied sourly. And as I said this, the knocks echoed in the house as loud as those we had made a little while before. “The patrol!” I exclaimed. “No doubt about it,” said Santorcaz. “But don’t be afraid. I promised to hide you. If Cerizy, who is a friend of mine, commands the patrol, there’s nothing to fear. Inés, hide the lady in the book room, and I ‘ll file this fellow elsewhere.” While Inés and Miss Fly disappeared through a back door, I let my old friend guide me, and he took me to the room where I had seen him that morning, and where that evening and on that occasion five men were sitting around the wide table. I saw books, bottles, and papers in disarray on it, and it could well be said that all three kinds of objects occupied everyone equally. They were reading, writing, and taking good swigs, while chatting and laughing. I also noticed that there were weapons of all kinds in the room. “They’re banging on your doorbell again, Papa Santorcaz,” said the youngest, liveliest, and most vivacious of those present upon seeing us enter. “It’s the patrol,” replied the mason. ” Let’s see where we hide this young man, Monsalud. Do you know who’s in charge of the patrol tonight? ” “Cerizy,” replied the person we addressed, who was a tall, thin, dark- skinned young man, quite resembling a spider. “Then there’s no problem,” he told me. “You can go into this room and hide there, just in case he wants to come up for a drink.” Hidden, but not locked in the room he had assigned me, I remained for some time, long enough for Santorcaz to come down to the door and confer briefly with those on guard, and for the leader of the guard to come up to honor the bottles gallantly offered to him. “Gentlemen,” said the French officer, entering with Santorcaz, “good evening… Are we working? This is a good life. ” “Cerizy,” replied the man called Monsalud, filling a glass, “to the health of France and Spain united. ” “To the health of the great Gallo-Hispanic empire,” said Cerizy, raising his glass. “To the health of the good Spaniards. ” “What news, friend Cerizy?” asked another of those present, old, gloomy, and ugly. “The Lord is near… but we will defend ourselves well.” Have you seen the fortifications? They don’t have siege artillery… The allied army is a pour-reign army… “Poor things!” exclaimed the old man, whose name was Bartolomé Canencia. “When you think that so many men are going to die… that so much blood is going to be shed…” “Mr. Philosopher,” indicated the Frenchman, “because they want it… Convince the Spaniards that they must submit… ” “Rest a moment, friend Cerizy. ” “I can’t stop… A sergeant of the dragoons has been wounded in this street… ” “Some dispute… ” “It is unknown… the assassins have fled… They say they are spies. ” “Spies for the English! Salamanca is full of spies. ” “They said a Spaniard and an Englishwoman… or I don’t know if an Englishman accompanied by a Spanish woman… But I can’t stop. I was ordered to search the houses… Tell me, is there no lodge tonight? ” “Lodge?” If we leave… “Are they leaving?” said the Frenchman. “And I was hastily finishing my _Memoir on the Different Forms of Tyranny_. ” “Read it to yourself,” suggested the philosopher Canencia. “The same will happen to me with my _Treatise on Individual Liberty_ and my translation of Diderot. ” “And why is this departure?” “Because the English will enter Salamanca,” said Santorcaz, “and we don’t want to be caught here. ” “I wouldn’t give two cents for what was left of my neck after the Allies enter,” warned the youngest and most lively of them all. “The English will not enter Salamanca, gentlemen,” the officer stated petulantly. Santorcaz shook his head with a sad, doubtful expression. “And since you’re off running, since we’re in this mess, Mr. Santorcaz,” added Cerizy with the same petulance and a certain reprimanding tone, “you should know that the Masons won’t be as safe at Marmont’s headquarters as they are here. ” “No? ” “No; because they’re not to the liking of the general-in-chief, who was never fond of secret societies. He tolerated them because it was necessary to encourage the Spaniards who didn’t follow the insurgent cause; but you know that Marmont is a bit of a bigot. ” “Yes… ” “But what you don’t know is that pressing orders have come from Madrid to separate the French cause from everything that transcends Freemasonry, atheism, irreligiosity, and philosophy. ” “I expected it, because José is also a bit of a bigot… So have a good trip, and don’t trust the general-in-chief too much. ” “Since I don’t plan to stop until France, my dear Mr. Cerizy…” said Santorcaz, “I don’t care.” “One cannot live in this abominable nation,” declared the old philosopher. “In Paris or Bordeaux, I will publish my _Treatise on Individual Liberty_ and my translation of Diderot. ” “Good evening, Mr. Santorcaz, gentlemen all. ” “Good evening and good luck against the Lord, Mr. Cerizy. ” “We shall see each other in France,” said the Frenchman as he withdrew. “What a pity of a lodge!… It was going so well… Mr. Canencia, I am sorry you do not know my _Memoir on Tyrannies_.” As the patrolman was coming down the stairs, he pulled me out of my hiding place. Santorcaz, introducing me to his friends, said sarcastically: “Gentlemen, I present to you an English spy.” I didn’t reply a word. “He’s well known, my friend… but we won’t quarrel,” added the mason, offering me a chair and placing a glass in front of me, which he filled. “Drink. ” “I don’t drink. ” “Friend Ciruelo,” said Don Luis to the youngest of those present, “you will remain in Salamanca until tomorrow, because this young man will be leaving in your place . ” “Yes, that’s right,” objected Ciruelo, looking at me angrily. “And if the allies come and hang me?… I am not an English spy. ” “English, French!” exclaimed the philosopher Canencia in a sibylline tone. “Men who fight over territory, not ideas… What do I care about changing tyrants?” To those like me who fight for philosophy, for the great principles of Voltaire and Rousseau, it matters little whether the red coats or the blue cloaks reign in Spain. “And what do you think?” Monsalud asked me, observing me with curiosity. “Will the Allies enter Salamanca? ” “Yes, sir, we will,” I answered with aplomb. “We will enter… then you belong to the Allied army. ” “I belong to the Allied army. ” “And how are you here?” another of those present asked me, with a gesture and tone of the utmost ferocity, a man stronger and more robust than a bull. “I am here because I have come.” I needed to make a great effort to stifle my indignation. “This young man is making fun of us,” Ciruelo said. “Well, I maintain that the Allies will not enter Salamanca,” Monsalud added. “They do not have siege artillery.” “They will bring it…” “They do not know what kind of fortifications they have to deal with.” “The Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo knows nothing.” “Well, let them come in,” said Santorcaz. “Since Marmont is abandoning us… ” “What I say,” the philosopher indicated, “red coats or blue coats… what does it matter?” “But it is unworthy of us to favor Lord Wellington’s spies ,” the barbarian Monsalud exclaimed angrily, rising from his seat. I was saying to myself: “Isn’t there a hole in this cursed house through which I could escape with just her?” “Sit down and shut up, Monsalud,” said Santorcaz. “It matters little to me whether _Narices_ enters Salamanca or not. I’m setting foot in my beloved France… One cannot live here. ” “If the French followed my opinion,” said young Ciruelo, with the expression of someone who is sure of expressing a great idea, ” before handing this historic city over to the Allies, they would blow it up.” It’s enough to put six quintals of gunpowder in the Cathedral, another six in the University, an equal dose in the Minor Studies, in the Company, in San Esteban, in Santo Tomás, and in all the great buildings… The allies are coming, do they want to enter? Fire! What a beautiful pile of ruins! This way two objectives are achieved: to finish them off, and to destroy one of the most terrible testimonies of the tyranny, barbarism, and fanaticism of those ominous times, gentlemen… “Orator Ciruelo, you will make revolutions,” said Canencia with majestic petulance. “What I affirm,” growled Monsalud, “is that, whether the allies win or not, I will not leave Spain. ” “Nor I,” bellowed the bull. “I prefer to return to the insurgents,” said the fifth personage, who until then had not opened his muzzled lips. “I am leaving Spain forever,” affirmed Santorcaz. “I see the French cause in a bad position here.” Within two years, Ferdinand VII will return to Madrid. “Madness, folly!” “If this campaign ends badly for the French, as I believe… ” “Badly? Why?” “Marmont has no forces. ” “They will send them. King Joseph is coming to his aid with troops from New Castile. ” “And Esteve’s division, which is in Segovia. ” “And Bonnet’s army is approaching. ” “And Cafarelli too, with the Army of the North. ” “They haven’t come yet,” Santorcaz said sadly. “Well, if those troops come, and the French put all their effort into it…” ” They will win. ” “What do you think, Araceli? ” “That Marmont, Bonnet, Esteve, Cafarelli, and King Joseph will find no land to run to if they run into the Allies,” I said with great aplomb. “We’ll see it, sir. ” “That’s right, you’ll see it,” I replied. “We’ll all see it. Do you know well what the Allied army that has taken Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz is? Do you know what those Portuguese and Spanish battalions are, that English cavalry? Imagine an immense force, admirable discipline, mad enthusiasm, and you’ll have an idea of that wave that is coming and that will sweep away and destroy everything in its path. ” The six men looked at me in rapture. “Let’s suppose the French are defeated: what will the Emperor do then? ” “Send more troops. ” “It can’t be. And the Russian campaign? ” “Which is going very badly, they say,” I suggested. “It’s going very well, sir,” Monsalud stated with a threatening gesture. “The latest news,” said the fifth personage, who had the appearance of a military man, and was a strong, muscular, imposing man, with a piercing gaze and an unpleasant appearance, “is this… I have just read it in the paper they sent us from Madrid. The Emperor is expected in Warsaw. The first corps is heading for Piegel; Marshal the Duke of Regio, who commands the second, is in Wehlan; Marshal the Duke of Elchingen is in Soldass; the King of Westphalia is in Warsaw… ” “That’s very far away and it doesn’t matter to us at all,” Santorcaz said with disgust. “No matter how well the Emperor comes out of this reckless campaign, he won’t be able to send troops to Spain for a long time… and it seems that Soult is very hard pressed in Andalusia, and Suchet in Valencia. ” “You see everything bleak,” Monsalud shouted angrily. “I see the war in the color it has now… So I ‘m going to France, and the sun will rise in Antequera.” “It’s a sad thing to live this way,” said the philosopher. “We are nomadic cattle. It’s true that we don’t pass any point without leaving the seed of the _Social Contract_, which will soon germinate, populating the soil with true citizens… And it’s, besides being sad, shameful to see ourselves forced to pass for country clowns. ” “I won’t dress as a clown anymore, even if they hang me,” declared Monsalud. “And I, before I let myself be quartered for being a Frenchman, will return to the insurgents,” indicated the one with the figure and build of a wild bull. “We lose nothing by adopting our disguise,” said Don Luis. “As long as one of us dresses and the wagon full of paraphernalia follows us, it will be enough to keep us from harm in those ferocious towns… So let’s go, gentlemen. Araceli, give me your weapons, because we don’t carry any… Otherwise , I won’t risk trying to get you out.” I gave them to them, concealing the rage that filled my soul, and immediately preparations for departure began. Some ran to close their small suitcases, more full of papers than clothes. Ramoncilla packed her master’s luggage, and soon the houses were filled with the sounds of horses and carts in the courtyard. When I went into the room where Inés and Miss Fly were, I was surprised to find them in a relaxed, though apparently not cordial, conversation, and on the former’s face I noticed a mysterious ironic pout, tinged with profound sadness. I hid and repressed in the depths of my chest a storm of indignation, of anxiety. Even there, surrounded by so many people, I looked anxiously at every corner, longing to discover some breach, some loophole through which I could escape alone with her. I believed myself capable of the feats that Miss Fly’s lofty spirit dreamed of. But there was no human way to realize my thought. I was in Santorcaz’s power, as it were, in the power of the devil. I tried to approach Inés to speak to her alone for a moment, hoping to find in her a loving accomplice to my desire; but Santorcaz, with clear intention, and Miss Fly perhaps unintentionally, prevented me. Inés herself seemed determined not to honor me with a single glance from her loving eyes. Athenais, still wearing her Amazon skirt, had been transfigured. gracefully hiding her bust and beautiful head beneath the folds of a Spanish mantle. “How am I doing?” she said to me, laughing, in a moment when we were alone. “Well,” I answered coldly, preoccupied with another image that attracted the eyes of my soul. “Nothing but well? ” “Admirably. You are very beautiful. ” “Your fiancée, Mr. Araceli,” he said with a festive and somewhat impertinent expression, “is quite plain. ” “A little, madam.” ” She is good-looking for a poor man… But is it true that you love… that? ” “Oh! God in heaven,” I said to myself, ignoring Miss Fly, ” is there not some way for me to escape with her alone?” The Englishwoman was about to repeat her question when Santorcaz called us, urging us to get down. He and his friends had lined their persons with miserable clothes. “The two ladies, in the carriage that Juan will drive,” said Don Luis. “Three on horseback, and the others in the cart. Araceli, get in the carriage with Monsalud and Canencia. ” “Father, don’t go on horseback,” said Inés. “You’re very sick. ” “Sick? Stronger than ever… Come on, let’s go… It’s very late.” The travelers arranged themselves according to the program, and soon we left, in a mock procession, from the house and the street and from Salamanca. Oh, mighty God! It seemed to me I had been inside the city for a century. When, encountering no obstacles in the streets or the wall, I found myself outside the dreaded gates, it seemed to me I was coming back to life. According to Santorcaz’s orders, the carriage in which the two ladies were riding went in front; the horsemen followed, and then the carts, into one of which the two interesting personages mentioned above were to be mounted. Upon seeing myself in the open field, if my anxiety about the dangers I faced within Little Rome had calmed , I felt a deep affliction for reasons that will be easily understood. I was forced to run toward headquarters, abandoning that strange convoy that carried the loves of my entire life, the soul of my existence, the treasure lost, found, and lost again, with no hope of ever being recovered. Carried, dragged myself by that gang of demons, it was not even possible for me to follow them, and duty forced me to separate in the middle of the road. Despair seized me when my eyes could no longer see the two women who had marched ahead in the darkness of the night. I jumped to the ground and, running with incredible speed, for the deepest sorrow seemed to give me wings, I shouted at the top of my lungs: “Inés, Miss Fly!… I’m here… stop, stop…” Santorcaz galloped behind me and stopped me. “Gabriel,” he shouted, “I’ve gotten you out of the city, and now you can leave us alone. On the right is the road to Tiled Village. ” “Bandit!” I exclaimed angrily. “Do you think that if you hadn’t taken my weapons, I would have left alone? ” “You’re very brave!… A good way to repay the favor I just did you… Go away at once. I swear that if you ever stand before me again and dare to threaten me, I will do to you what you deserve. ” “You wicked man!” I cried, throwing myself onto his mount’s saddle and digging my fingers into his skinny thighs. “I’m unarmed, and I can deal with you!” The horse reared up, throwing me some distance away. “Give me what’s mine, thief!” I exclaimed, turning toward my enemy. “Do you think I fear you?” Get off that horse… give me back my sword and we’ll see.” Santorcaz made a gesture of contempt, and in the silence of the night I heard the sound of his ironic laughter. The other rider, who was the one resembling a bull, joined him immediately. “Either you leave right now,” said Don Luis, “or we’ll throw you out on the road. ” “The English lady must leave with me. Have her arrested,” I said, mastering the intense anger that was suffocating me because of my obvious inferiority . “That lady will go wherever she wants. ” “Miss Fly, Miss Fly!” I shouted, cupping both hands to my mouth. No one answered me, not even the sound of the wheels reached my ears. from the carriage. I ran a long way beside the horses, tired, panting, covered in sweat, and with deep agony in my soul… Then I shouted again, saying: “Inés, Inés! Wait a moment… here I come!” My strength was failing me. The riders moved threateningly toward me; but a shred of physical energy I still had allowed me to free myself from them, jumping out of the way. The horses passed on ahead, and the laughter of Santorcaz and the bull-man resounded in my ears like the cawing of carnivores that fluttered beside me, describing terrifying circles around my head. If my body was faint and almost lifeless, I still had a powerful voice, and I shouted as long as I thought I could be heard: “Wretches!… You’ll fall into my power soon… Hey, Santorcaz, don’t let your guard down!… I’ll come there!… I’ll come there!” Soon the sound of horseshoes and wheels died away in the distance. I was left alone on the road. Considering that Inés had been in my hands and that I had not been able to seize her, I felt an impulse to run forward, believing that rage would be enough to make the powerful wings of a condor sprout from my body… In my desperate impotence , I threw myself to the ground, bit the earth, and cried out to heaven with shrieks that would have terrified passersby if a living soul had passed across that desolate plain at such an hour… Perhaps she was escaping me forever! I scanned the horizon around me, and everything seemed black; but the images of the two armies belonging to the two most powerful nations in the world presented themselves to my agitated imagination. Over there, the French… over there, the English! One more step, and the smoke and the cries of bloody battle would rise to the heavens; One more step, and this ground on which I stand will tremble with the weight of so many falling bodies . “Oh, God of battles, war and extermination is what I desire!” I exclaimed. “May not a single man remain between here and France… Araceli, to the royal quarters… Wellington awaits you. ” This thought calmed my excitement somewhat, and I rose from the ground where I lay. When I took the first steps, I experienced that suspension of spirit, that indefinable astonishment that we feel at the moment of observing the lack or loss of an object that we had been carrying a short while before. “And Miss Fly?” I said, stopping in stupefaction. “I don’t know… go ahead.” Chapter 25. Certain that the French had taken the direction of Toro, I headed towards south in search of the Valmuza, a stream that runs four or five leagues from the capital. I marched on foot as quickly as my physical fatigue and mental exhaustion allowed, and at eight in the morning I entered Aldea Tejada, after fording the Tormes and traversing rough and uneven terrain from Tejares. Some villagers told me before arriving there that there were no French in the surrounding area or in the town, and there I heard that many Englishmen had been seen around Siete Carreras and Tornadizos the previous night. “My people are close,” I said to myself; and taking something to sustain myself, I continued onward. Nothing worthy of note happened to me until Tornadizos, where I encountered the English vanguard and several parties of Don Julián Sánchez. It was ten in the morning. “A horse, gentlemen, lend me a horse,” I told them. “If not, prepare to hear the Duke… Where is the headquarters? I think it’s in Bernuy. A horse ready.” At last they gave it to me, and throwing it at full speed, first along the road, and then along paths and trails, at a quarter to twelve I was at headquarters. I hurriedly dressed in my uniform, at the same time inquiring about Lord Wellington’s residence in order to present myself to him immediately. “The Duke passed by here a moment ago,” Tribaldos told me. “He ‘s walking through the town.” A moment later I found the Duke in the square, returning from his walk. He recognized me immediately, and approaching him I said: “I have the honor to inform Your Excellency that I have been in Salamanca.” and that I bring all the data and news that Your Grace desires. ” “All of them?” said Wellington, without any demonstration of benevolence or displeasure. “All of them, my general. ” “Are you determined to defend yourselves? ” “The French army evacuated the city yesterday afternoon, leaving only eight hundred men. ” Wellington looked at the Portuguese General Troncoso, who was at his side. Without understanding the English words that passed between them, it seemed to me that the latter was saying: “You have guessed it, Your Grace.” “This is the plan of the fortifications defending the bridge crossing,” I said, holding out the sketch I had taken. Wellington took it and, after examining it with the utmost attention, asked: “Are you sure that there are revolving pieces in the ravelin and eight common pieces in the bastion? ” “I have counted them, my general. The drawing may be imperfect; but there is not a single line in it that is not a representation of an enemy work. ” “Oh, oh!” “A ditch from San Vicente to Milagro,” he exclaimed in astonishment. “And a parapet at San Vicente. ” “San Cayetano seems like an important fortification. ” “Terrible, my general. ” “And these others at the head of the bridge…” “Which are joined to the forts by means of zigzag palisades. ” “All right,” he said complacently, putting away the sketch. ” You have performed your commission satisfactorily, it seems. ” “I am under my general’s orders.” And then, casting his shrewd gaze around, he added: “I was told that Miss Fly had the temerity to go to Salamanca also to see the buildings. I don’t see her. ” “She hasn’t returned,” said an Englishman of the party. They all questioned me with alarmed glances, and I felt a certain embarrassment. I would have given anything for Miss Fly to appear at that moment. “She hasn’t returned?” said the Duke with an expression of alarm, his eyes fixed on me. “Where is she?” “General, I don’t know,” I replied, rather annoyed. “Miss Fly didn’t go with me to Salamanca. I met her there, and then…” We separated on leaving the city, because I had to be in Bernuy before twelve o’clock. “Very well,” said Lord Wellington, as if he believed he had attached undue importance to a matter that in itself had no importance. “Go up to my lodgings at once so I can complete the information I require.” I hadn’t taken two steps, marching humbly at the rear of the Duke’s procession, when I was stopped by an English officer, a little old, with a small face no less red than his uniform, and whose wrinkled, tiny face was distinguished by a certain impertinent vivacity, the principal signs of which were a pointed nose and gold spectacles. The Spaniards, accustomed to considering certain personalities as inherent to the military profession, were surprised and even amused by those artillery and staff officers, who looked like professors, clerks, customs officers, or solicitors. Colonel Simpson, for it was no other, looked at me haughtily; I looked at him in the same way, and once we had looked at each other with a clear look , he said: “Sir, where is Miss Fly? ” “Sir, do I know? Has the Duke appointed me guardian of that beautiful woman? ” “It was expected that Miss Fly would return with you from your visit to the architectural monuments of Salamanca. ” “Well, she hasn’t returned, Sir Simpson. I understood that Miss Fly could come and go, and leave and return whenever it suited her. ” “So it ought to be, and so she has always done,” said the Englishman; “but we are in a land where men do not respect ladies, and it may happen that Athenais, despite her birth, may not be entirely sure of being respected. ” “Miss Fly is mistress of her shares,” I replied. As for her delay or loss, she alone will be able to inform you when it seems appropriate. It was certainly funny to hold me responsible for the good or bad steps of the capricious and flighty Englishwoman, when she didn’t know “There was no restraint on her freedom, nor did she have any other safeguard for her honor than her honor itself. ” “These explanations do not satisfy me, Sir Araceli,” Simpson told me, deigning to direct an angry glance at me, which gained importance as it passed through the glass of his spectacles. “The illustrious Lord Fly, Earl of Chichester, has charged me with the care of his daughter… ” “To care for his daughter! And you have done it? When she was about to perish in Sancti Spiritus, I did not see you at her side… To care for her! How do young ladies receive care in England? By allowing the Spanish to offer them lodging, to accompany them to visit abbeys and castles? ” “That young lady has always been accompanied by worthy gentlemen who have not abused her confidence. Miss Fly has no fear of weakness, for she has the best of guardians in her own decorum; “One fears, Sir Araceli, the violence and crimes that are common to the passionate natures of this land. In short, I am not satisfied with the explanations you have given. ” “I need not add, regarding Miss Fly’s whereabouts, one word more to what I already had the honor of expressing to Lord Wellington. ” “Enough, Sir,” Simpson replied, becoming furious. ” We will speak of this at a more opportune occasion. I have expressed my misgivings to Don Carlos España, who told me that you were not to be trusted… See you soon. ” He left me briskly to join the procession, which was very far away, and the venerable and studious officer left me truly thoughtful . Shortly after, Don Carlos España said to me, laughing with that frank and somewhat brutal exposition that was characteristic of him: “You reputable rascal, where the devil have you put the Amazon? What have you done with her? I already considered you a good jewel.” When Colonel Simpson told me I was on tenterhooks, I replied: “Have no doubt about it, my friend: the Spanish regard all women as their own.” I tried to convince the general of my innocence in this delicate matter; but he laughed, driven more by praise than by blame, because that’s how we Spaniards are. Then I told him how, having needed the help of the Freemasons to leave Salamanca, we accompanied them until we reached a good part of the city; but when I indicated that Miss Fly had followed them, neither Spain nor anyone who was listening would believe me. When I went to the general-in-chief’s lodgings to inform him of a thousand particulars he wanted to know concerning the destroyed convents, munitions, provisions, the spirit of the garrison and the neighborhood, I found the Duke, with whom I conferred for more than an hour and a half, so cold, so severe with me that my soul was filled with sadness. He gathered my news, precious enough for the allied army, without giving me clear and vehement signs, as I had expected, that my service was valued, or as if, valuing the fact, he were belittling the person. He praised the sketch; but I seemed to detect a certain distrust in him, and even doubt that the meticulous drawing was accurate. Dismayed, yet filled with respect for that grave personage, whom all Spaniards then considered little less than a god, I dared not speak on any subject other than the answers I had to give. And when the hero of Talavera dismissed me with a courtesy as rigid and cold as the movement of a statue bending at the waist, I left filled with confusion and shock, but also with anger, because I understood that some suspicion as grave as it was unjust was tarnishing my good opinion. After so much work and fatigue in rendering such great service to the allied army, I was not treated with greater esteem than a common and mercenary spy! I didn’t want ranks or money in payment for my service! I wanted consideration, esteem, and for the Lord to call me his friend, or from the height of his fame and genius to drop upon my littleness some affectionate and touching phrase, like the caress one gives a dog. loyal; but none of this had been achieved. Bringing to my memory all at once and in a confused rush the suffocations of the previous day, my sketch, my services, my difficulties, the horrendous dangers, and then the severe and somewhat sullen countenance of Lord Wellington, spite inspired me with intimate phrases like the following: “I wish you had been in the power of Jean Jean and Tourlourou, to see if you would have put on that face… It is one thing to command from the tent , and another to obey on the wall… An order is one thing and danger another… Expose yourself a hundred times to die for a…” Chapter 26. These and other worse things that I keep silent, I said that afternoon when we left for Salamanca, whose vicinity we reached before nightfall, then moving away from the city to cross the Tormes by the fords of Canto and San Martín. Everywhere I heard people say: “Tomorrow we will attack the forts.” I, who had seen them, who had examined them, knew that this couldn’t be the case. “Do you think those forts are toys like the ones they made in Madrid on December 3rd!” I would say to my friends, giving myself a certain amount of importance. “Do you think the artillery defending them is some kind of kitchen battery!” And here I would add pompous descriptions, which always concluded like this: “When you’ve seen things, when you’ve measured them inch by inch, when you’ve drawn them with more or less skill, that’s when you can form a complete idea of them. ” “Tell me, Miss Fly, have you also seen her, measured her inch by inch, and drawn her with more or less skill?” they would ask me. This brought me back to my melancholy and saudades, speaking in Portuguese, caused by Lord Wellington’s disfavor, by the unfounded and unjustified nature of his coldness and indifference toward a loyal servant and obedient soldier. Wellington ordered an attack on the forts out of sheer moral expediency and to instill courage in the soldiers, who had not fought since Arroyomolinos. The Duke was well aware that those structures built on the extremely robust walls of the convents would only fall to a powerful barrage of artillery, and to that end, he brought large-caliber pieces from Almeida. While waiting for relief and simulating attacks, two or three days passed, during which nothing historic or particular happened worth mentioning. Neither Lord Wellington acquired new noble titles, nor Miss Fly appeared, nor did I receive any news of the course taken by the mischievous and thousand times cursed Freemasons. Of what happened then, the only things that deserve a place, and certainly a very special one, in these truthful accounts are the glances Colonel Simpson cast me from time to time and his aggressive words, to which I always responded with the worst dispositions in the world. And frankly, gentlemen, I was restless, almost as restless as the learned Colonel Simpson, because days passed and Miss Fly’s eclipse continued. I thought I understood that thorough inquiries were being made; I thought I understood, oh heavens! that I was threatened with a severe interrogation, which would be followed by rigorous penal measures against me; but God, to save me, no doubt, from punishments I did not deserve, allowed that early on the 20th there would appear in the northern hills… not the romantic and interesting Englishwoman, but Marshal Marmont with 40,000 men. The same day that the Frenchman appeared to us along the same road to Toro, the attack on the forts was suspended, and we made several movements to take up positions if the enemy provoked us to engage in battle. But it soon became known that Marmont had no desire to launch his army against us, his intention, upon approaching, being to distract the besieging forces and perhaps introduce some relief into the forts. But Wellington, even though Almeida’s artillery had not been received , persisted with Saxon tenacity in seizing San Vicente and San Cayetano, the two formidable convents converted into castles by a mockery of history. I seemed to be still seeing them from the tower of La Merced! Tenacity, which is sometimes a virtue in war, is also often a fault, and the assault on the convents was clearly one; a rare occurrence for Wellington, who was never in the habit of making mistakes… The Spanish division was at Castellanos de los Moriscos, watching the French, who were now moving to the right, now to the left, when we were told that 120 Englishmen and General Rowes, a very distinguished member of the allied army, had perished in the unsuccessful assault on San Cayetano. “Now you see how great men make mistakes ,” I said to my friends. “It would be obvious to anyone that San Vicente and San Cayetano were no chicken coops; but let us respect the mistakes of those at the top. ” “There! There she is… good news! Here she is!” exclaimed Don Carlos España, who had suddenly appeared. “Who, Miss Fly?” I asked with lively joy. “The artillery, gentlemen, the heavy artillery that was ordered brought from Almeida. It has already arrived at Pericalbo; this afternoon it will be in the parallels, it will be assembled tomorrow, and we shall see what those forts that were once convents are worth. ” “Ah, welcome!… I thought you were speaking of Miss Fly, for whose appearance I would give both my hands…” It did indeed arrive, not Miss Fly, about whom not a living soul knew a word, but the siege artillery, and Marmont, who guessed it, wanted to cross the river to divert forces to the left of the Tormes. We saw it move to our right, toward Huerta, and we immediately received orders to occupy Aldealuenga. As the French crossed the Tormes, General Graham crossed it as well, and in view of this movement, they took to their heels. Marmont, who did not have sufficient forces, lacking mainly cavalry, did not dare to engage in any formal action. Otherwise, faced with the siege artillery, San Vicente and San Cayetano did not offer much resistance. The English, and I say this for reference, since I saw nothing, opened a breach on the 27th and set fire to the San Vicente warehouses with red bullets. The besieged demanded capitulation; but Wellington, unwilling to accept conditions advantageous to them, ordered an assault on La Merced and San Cayetano, scaling the former and penetrating the latter through the breaches. The garrison was taken prisoner. This event filled the entire army with joy, especially when we saw that Marmont was moving away at a good pace toward the north; we did not know whether in the direction of Toro or Tordesillas, because our reconnaissance could not determine it due to the darkness of the night. But lo and behold, we were soon to find out, because the Spanish division and Don Julián Sánchez’s guerrillas received orders to hunt down the French rearguard, while the entire allied army, once Salamanca was secured, also marched toward the lines of the Duero. It was the morning of June 28th when we found ourselves near Sanmorales, on the road from Valladolid to Tordesillas. According to what we were told, the enemy rearguard and their baggage had left that place a few hours earlier, taking, according to their time-honored and infallible custom, everything they could get their hands on. The Count of España and Don Julián Sánchez placed themselves at the head of the division with his intrepid guerrillas, who knew the country like the back of their own necks, and an order was given to force the march in order to catch something from the Frenchmen’s heavy convoy. Without recovering our strength after the long night’s march, our vanguard advanced toward Babilafuente, while the rest of us searched in Sanmorales for whatever was left over from the enemy’s recent mopping-up and plundering. Finally provided with something comforting, we continued toward that point as well, and after two hours of arduous travel, when we calculated that we would have barely another two to reach Babilafuente, we made out this place in the distance; but it was not the perspective of the distant houses, nor any high tower or fortified castle, nor even a hill or copse, but a column of thick, black smoke that, starting from a point on the horizon, rose and curled until it merges with the white mass of the clouds. “The French have set fire to Babilafuente,” shouted a guerrilla. “Pick up the pace… let’s go… Poor Babilafuente! ” “They’re burning to stop us… they think the soot is in our way… Onward! ” “But Don Carlos and Sánchez must have caught up with them,” said another. ” It seems we can hear shots. ” “Onward, friends. How long can it take us to get there? ” “An hour and a few minutes.” Then another black column of smoke was seen rising from a more distant place, and which high in the sky seemed to embrace the first. “It’s Villoria, it’s also burning,” they said; “those robbers are burning the granaries after making off with the wheat.” And closer up we saw the red flames flickering over the roofs; and a multitude of terrified women, old people, and children ran through the fields, fleeing in terror from that curse of men, more terrible than those of heaven. From what those unfortunates could tell us between tears and cries of anguish, we learned that the Spanish and Sánchez men were entering just as the French were leaving after setting fire to the town; that some shots had been exchanged between them , but without consequence, because our men were only concerned with putting out the fire. We were about two hundred paces from the first houses of the unfortunate village when a strange, beautiful figure, a graceful work of the imagination, a gentle person, as distinct from common earthly images as the admirable creations of Northern poetry are from vulgar life ; an ideal woman, borne by an arrogant and swift horse, passed far away before our sight, similar to the gallant riders who cross the rosy spaces of an artistic dream, without touching the ground, giving the wind their hair and mane, and modifying their majestic course according to the changing light. It was the figure of an Amazon, dressed, I know not whether in black or white, but resembling those galloping women whose posture and swift start represent air, fire, flying, and burning, and who was indeed running, urging her steed on with manly exclamations. The gentle person was going off the road, in the opposite direction to ours, over a wide plain crisscrossed with ditches and puddles, which the steed leaped over with graceful vigor at the will of its rider, so that woman and horse seemed one and the same. No sooner was the fantastic figure moving away than she returned ; but in spite of her speed and distance, the moment I saw her my heart leaped, my blood rushed with a violent shock to my brain, and I trembled with surprise and joy. Need I say who she was? Throwing my horse out of the road, I cried: “Miss Fly, Miss Butterfly… Mistress Little Bird, Mistress Little Fly… Dearest Athenais… Athenais!” But the Little Bird did not hear me and kept running; or rather, fluttering, going, coming, leaving and returning, and tracing on the ground and in the clarity of space, capricious circles, angles, curves, and spirals. “Miss Fly, Miss Fly!” The wind prevented my voice from reaching her. I quickened my pace, without taking my eyes off the beautiful apparition, which seemed to vanish like a capricious creation of the light or the wind… But no: it was Miss Fly herself, and she was looking for a path in that deceptive plain, furrowed by ditches and pools of motionless greenish water. “Hey… Miss Fly!… it’s me!… This way… this way.” Chapter 27. Finally, I came close to her and she heard my voice, and saw my own person, which apparently pleased her greatly and rescued her from her confusion and bewilderment. She ran towards me laughing and greeting me with exclamations of triumph, and when I saw her up close, I could not help noticing the difference that exists between images transfigured and beautified by thought and sad reality, for the steed that the intrepid Athenais rode, indeed a womanizer, was far from resembling that flying Pegasus that had been pictured to me a little while before; nor did she throw her hair to the wind, like a flame of fire. symbolizing thought; neither did her black dress have that billowing diaphanousness I thought I first discerned; nor did the quarto, for quarto it was, have more hair than half a dozen withered and yellowish hairs; nor did Miss Fly herself look as attractive as usual, though beautiful, and certainly quite pale, with her braids badly woven by the art of the fingers, without that concerted disarray of the Muses’ coiffure, and finally, with her dress in inharmonious disorder because of dust, wrinkles, and tatters. “Thank God I can find you,” she exclaimed, extending her hand to me. “Don Carlos España told me you were in the rearguard.” My joy at seeing her safe and sound, which was a precious testimony to my integrity, prompted me to try to embrace her in the middle of the field, horse to horse, and I would have put my daring thought into effect, had she not, somewhat suspended and scandalized, prevented me. “You’ve put me in a good position,” I told him. “I thought so,” he replied, laughing. “But it’s your fault. Why did you leave me in the hands of those people? ” “I didn’t leave you in the hands of those people, curse them a thousand times over!” You disappeared from my sight, and the Mason stopped me from continuing. And our traveling companions? ” “Are you asking for Inesita? You’ll find her in Babilafuente,” she said, becoming serious. “In that town? Divine goodness! Let’s run there… But have you suffered any setbacks? Have you been in any danger? Have those barbarians tormented you? ” “No: I was bored, and that’s all. An hour and a half after leaving Salamanca, we ran into the French, who caught the Masons, saying that they had been spying in Salamanca on behalf of the Allies.” Marmont has orders from the King not to make common cause with those scoundrels so hated in the country. Santorcaz defended himself; but an officer called him a fraud and a liar, and ordered that all of us in the brilliant retinue remain prisoners. Thanks to Desmarets, they have treated me with great consideration. “Prisoners! ” “Yes: they have kept us ever since in that horrible Babilafuente, while the Lord took Salamanca. And I have seen nothing of this! Did the forts surrender? What a great service you rendered with your visit to Salamanca! What did my lord say to you? ” “Yes, yes: speak to my lord about me… His Excellency is pleased with this loyal servant… Miss Fly should know that, far from pleasing the Duke, he has taken me in his sights and is preparing to court-martial me for common crimes. ” “Why, my friend? What have you done? ” “What am I to do? Nothing, Madam Pajarita.” nothing more than to seduce an honest daughter of Great Britain, take her with me to Salamanca, outrage her with I know not what egregious outrage, and then, to top it all off , roguishly abandon her, or hide her, or kill her, for on this point, which is the dark side of my ferocious crime, Lord Wellington and Colonel Simpson have not yet come to an agreement. Miss Fly burst into such frank, spontaneous, and joyful laughter that I laughed too. We were both walking at a brisk pace toward Babilafuente. “What you’re telling me, Mr. Araceli,” she said, her face coloring with a bewitching blush, “is a lovely story. It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced such a dramatic event, or such a lovely plot. If life didn’t have these novels, how tiresome it would be!” “You will dispel the general’s doubts by restoring my honor, my honor, Miss Fly, for of the purity of your feelings, I do not believe my lord or Sir Abraham Simpson doubts. I am the accused, I am the thief, I am the ogre of children’s stories, I am the giant of legend, I am the brunette of romance. ” “And has Simpson not challenged you?” he asked, showing me how much complacency this strange affair produced in his soul. “He looked at me haughtily and said words I will not forgive him for.” “You will kill him, or at least wound him severely, as you did the shameless and insolent Lord Gray,” he said with extraordinary light in the look. “I want you to fight someone for my sake. You undertake the most daring undertakings because of the sympathy that great hearts have for great dangers; you have given proof of that deep and serene courage whose springs from the roots of the soul. A man of such character will not allow his dignity to be questioned, and those who doubt it, he will convince with the sword in the twinkling of an eye. ” “The most convincing proof, Athenais, must be you… Now let us think about helping those unfortunate people at Babilafuente. Is Inés in any danger? Crazy me! And I am so calm! Is she well? Is she in any danger?” “I don’t know,” the Englishwoman replied indifferently. “The house they were in began to burn. ” “And you say it with such calmness!” “As soon as the arrival of the Spaniards was announced and I saw myself free, I went out in search of the leader.” Don Carlos España received me with pleasure and had no problem giving me a horse to return to headquarters. “Have Santorcaz, Monsalud, Inés, and the rest of the Masonic company fled as well? ” “Not all of them. The great captain of this itinerant Freemasonry has been bedridden for three days and cannot move. How do you expect him to escape? ” “That is God’s work,” I said joyfully, quickening my pace. “Now he won’t escape me. Willy-nilly, we will tear Inés from him and send her well guarded to Madrid. ” “All that’s left is for her to want to separate from her father. Your enchanted lady is a young woman with low views, a small heart; she lacks imagination and… drive. She sees nothing but what is right in front of her. She is what I call a domestic bird. No, Mr. Araceli, don’t ask the hen to fly like the eagle. You will speak to her the language of passion, and she will answer you cackling in her yard.” “A hen, Miss Athenais,” I said, entering the village, “is a useful, affectionate, kind, sensitive animal, born and lives for sacrifice, for it gives man its young, its feathers, and ultimately its life; whereas an eagle… but this is horrifying, Miss Fly… the village is burning on all four sides… ” “From the plain, Babilafuente presents an incomparable view … I’m sorry I didn’t bring my album.” The fragile houses were crashing to the ground. The distressed residents rushed into the streets, laboriously dragging mattresses, furniture, clothes, whatever they could save from the fire, and at various points the crowd pointed in horror at the burning debris and timbers, indicating that some unfortunate souls had succumbed beneath them. Everywhere one could hear nothing but wails and curses; the voice of a mother asking for her child, or of tender children, helpless and alone, searching for their parents. Many neighbors and some soldiers and guerrillas were busy getting those threatened with being locked out of their rooms. It was necessary to break bars, knock down partitions, and dismantle doors and windows to enter, braving the flames, while others were busy putting out the fire; a difficult task, because water was scarce. In the middle of the square, Don Carlos España was giving orders for one purpose and another, completely neglecting the pursuit of the French, of whom only a few wagons were captured. The general shouted wildly, and his attitude and physiognomy were those of a furious madman. Miss Fly and I dismounted in the square, and the first thing that appeared before our eyes was an unfortunate man whom four guerrillas were leading handcuffed, sometimes cruelly pushing him, or dragging him when he resisted. Once they had placed him before the frightful presence of Don Carlos España, he, clenching his fists and arching his black and stormy eyebrows, shouted in this manner: “Why have you brought him here to me?… Shoot him at once! These Frenchified scoundrels who serve the enemy are crushed when they are caught, and nothing more. ” Observing the features of that man, I recognized Mr. Monsalud. Before relating what I did then, I will say in a few words why had come to such a sad state and disastrous misfortune. It so happened that the poor Masons, equally disliked by the French who were leaving and the Spaniards who were entering Babilafuente, nevertheless opted for the former, trying to follow them. Except for Santorcaz, who lay in a deplorable state, everyone ran; but the mischievous Monsalud had such bad luck that when he jumped over a wall looking for the road to Villoria, the guerrillas caught him; and as they unfortunately knew him for certain misdeeds, neither holy nor Masonic, that he had committed in Béjar, they immediately destined him to be sacrificed, in expiation for the sins of all the Masons and French supporters of the Peninsula. “My general,” I said to the count, making my way through the crowd of soldiers and guerrillas, “this unfortunate man is quite a scoundrel, and I have no doubt that he has served our enemies.” But I owe him a favor, which I value as much as life, because without his help I would not have been able to leave Salamanca. ” “What’s this sermon for?” said Spain with fierce impatience. “To ask Your Excellency to pardon him, commuting the death sentence for another. ” Poor Monsalud, who was already half dead, revived, and looking at me with a vehement expression of gratitude, put his whole soul into his eyes. “You’re coming up with nonsense, thunderbolt! Araceli, I’ll have you arrested…” exclaimed the count, making strange gesticulations. ” He can’t resist you, you meddling young man… Take that rascal away from me ; shoot him at once… Someone must be punished!… Someone! ” Despite this lively cruelty, which she sometimes displayed in an imposing manner, Spain had not yet reached that degree of exaltation that in later years made her name as famous as it was terrifying. He looked first at the victim, then at me and Miss Fly, and after he had given some vent to his anger with curses and recriminations directed at everyone, he said: “Well, don’t shoot him. Give him two hundred blows… but two hundred blows well given… Boys, I’m handing him over to you… There, behind the church. ” “Two hundred blows!” the victim murmured in pain. “I’d rather they shoot me four times. That way I’ll die at once.” Then the uproar increased, and a guerrilla appeared, saying: “All the fields and threshing floors on the Villoria side are burning, and Villoruela is burning too, and Riolobos, and Huerta. ” From the plaza, open to the countryside on one side, the horrible prospect could be seen . Vague flames rose here and there from the dry ground, running over the crops like moving hair, the last blackish strands of which were lost in the sky. In the distant places, the columns of smoke were more numerous, and each one indicated the granary or barn that was falling under the fiery sole of the fugitive army. I had never seen such desolation. The enemy, retreating, burned, cut down, uprooting the tender trees of the orchards, making lights from the straw of the threshing floors. Every step they took crushed a hut, cut down a crop, and their spiteful breath of death destroyed like the wrath of God. Lightning, hail, simoom, rain, and earthquake, working together, could not have wreaked so much havoc in a short time. But lightning and simoom, all the wrath of heaven together, what do they mean compared to the spite of a retreating army? A fierce wounded animal tolerates nothing living behind it. Don Carlos España made a quick decision. “To Villoria, to Villoria without rest,” he shouted as he mounted his horse. ” Sir Julián Sánchez, let’s see if we can catch them. We must also help those other towns. ” Orders were immediately dispatched, and a part of the guerrillas with two regular regiments prepared to follow Don Carlos. “Araceli,” he told me, “stay here awaiting my orders. In case the English arrive today, you continue toward Villoria; but in the meantime, here… Put out the fire as much as possible; save as many people as possible , and if you can find supplies… ” “Good, General.” –And be careful if you spare him a single blow with that scoundrel we caught . Two hundred horses, and well applied. Goodbye. Great order, and… not one less than two hundred. Chapter 28. When I found myself master of the town and at the head of the troops and guerrillas working there, I began to issue orders with the greatest activity. Needless to say, the first was to free Monsalud from the horrible torment and enormous punishment of the blows; but when I arrived at the scene of the lamentable scene, they had already applied twenty-three ash poultices, the stinging of which had the wretch about to ravagely surrender his soul to the Lord. I suspended the torture, and although he looked more dead than alive, they assured me that he would not go through with it, as the Masons are people of seven lives like cats. Miss Fly immediately showed me the house that served as Santorcaz’s asylum, one of the few that had barely been touched by the flames. Some women and villagers, accompanied by two or three soldiers, were shouting at the door, the former striving to demonstrate, with all the eloquence of their sex, that within was lurking the greatest scoundrel seen in Babilafuente for many years. “The one they brought to the plaza,” said an old woman, “is a saint in heaven compared to this one hiding here, the captain-general of all those Lucifers. ” “It seems that even the French themselves ignore them. Tell me, Sená Frasquita, why do they call these people Masons? I truly don’t understand the term. ” “Nor do I; but it’s enough to know that they are very bad, and that they are in cahoots with the French to suppress religion and close the churches. ” “And such people, when they enter a town, steal all the maidens they find. Well, I say: we must also be careful with the children, for they will steal them to raise them as they please, which is in the faith of Majoma.” The soldiers had begun to break down the door, and the women were encouraging them, due to the great hatred the town felt toward the Masons. We’ve already seen what happened to Monsalud. Surely Santorcaz, despite being the supreme pontiff of the nomadic sect, wouldn’t have fared any better if I hadn’t arrived on that occasion. Once the door yielded to the heavy blows and axe blows, I ordered that no one enter through it; I arranged for the soldiers to guard the entrance, restraining and removing the shrieking and insolent women, and I went up. I crossed two or three rooms, whose furniture was in disarray, indicating the confusion of the escape. All the doors were open, and I was able to freely advance from room to room until I reached a small, dark room, where I saw Santorcaz and Inés: he lying in a miserable bed; she beside him, the two of them so closely embraced that their figures were blurred in the gloom of the room. Father and daughter were terrified, trembling, like those who expect death at any moment, and they had embraced each other, waiting together for the terrible ordeal. Upon seeing me, Inés gave a cry of joy. “Father,” she exclaimed, “we won’t die. Look who’s here.” Santorcaz fixed his eyes on me, which looked like two glowing embers on his cadaverous face, and in a hollow voice, whose timbre froze my blood, he said: “Have you come for me, Araceli? Is that butcher tiger who commands you sending you to look for me because the slaughterhouse workers are already out of work?… They’ve already dispatched Monsalud; now it’s me… ” “We didn’t kill anyone,” I replied, approaching. “They won’t kill us,” Inés exclaimed, shedding tears of joy. ” Father, when those barbarians were banging on the door, When we expected to see them enter armed with axes, swords, rifles and guillotines to cut off our heads, as you say they did in Paris, didn’t I tell you that I thought I heard Araceli’s voice? We owe her our lives. The Mason fixed his eyes on me, looking at me as if he were not sure it was me. His physiognomy was extremely decomposed: his eyes sunken into their purple sockets, his beard grown, his forehead shiny and yellow. It seemed that ten years had passed since the scenes from Salamanca. “They spare our lives,” he said with disdain. “They spare our lives when they see me sick and infirm, unable to move from this bed, where my illness has nailed me. The Count of Spain, is he going to come up here? ” “The Count of Spain has left Babilafuente.” When I said this, the old man breathed as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders . He sat up, helped by his daughter, and his features, contorted with terror, calmed a little. “Has that executioner gone… towards Villoria?… Then we will escape by… by… And the English, where are they? ” “If it’s a question of escape, there are those everywhere who prevent it. No more running around in the villages. ” “So I am a prisoner,” he exclaimed in stupor. “I am your prisoner, a prisoner of…! You have caught me as one catches a mouse in a trap, and I have to obey you and perhaps follow you!” “Yes: imprisoned until I wish. ” “And you will do with me as you please, like a merciless child who tortures a lion in its cage, because he knows that the lion cannot harm him. ” “I will do what I must, and above all…” Santorcaz, seeing that I fixed my eyes on his daughter, clasped her again in his arms, shouting: “You will not separate her from me, except by killing her, vile and miserable executioner… Is this how you repay the favor I did you in Salamanca?… Order your barbaric soldiers to shoot us; but do not separate us.” I looked at Inés, and saw in her such affection, such frank devotion to the old man, such truth in her demonstrations of filial affection, that I had to cut short my violent determination. “Here I find a feeling whose existence I did not suspect,” I said to myself; “a great, immense feeling, which reveals itself to me suddenly, and which frightens me, stops me, and makes me retreat. I thought I was walking along a steady and safe path, and I have reached a point where the path ends and the sea begins. I cannot go on… What immensity is this before me? This man will be a villain; he will be the unhappy girl’s jailer; he will be an enemy of society, a troublemaker, a madman who deserves to be exterminated; but there is something more here. Between these two beings, between these two creatures so different, one so good, the other odious and hated, there exists a bond that I must not and cannot break, because it is the work of God. What shall I do?… These reflections were followed by others of a similar kind; but they did not lead me to any categorical affirmation regarding my conduct, and I expressed myself in this way, which seemed to me the most appropriate to the circumstances: “If you change your conduct, you will perhaps be able to live near, if not at the side of your daughter, and see and interact with her.” “Change my conduct!… And who are you, ignorant youth, to tell me to change my conduct, and where did you learn to judge my actions? You are full of pride because despotism has masked you with that livery, and placed those epaulettes that serve only to mark the hierarchy of the various oppressors of the people… What do you know about conduct, fool! You have heard the friars and Don Carlos España speak, and you think you possess all the knowledge in the world. ” “I possess no knowledge,” I responded, exasperated; “but can it be allowed that innocent, honorable creatures, worthy in every way of a better fate, should live with such parents? ” “And you, a stranger to her, a stranger to me, what business is it of yours or what does it concern you?” he exclaimed, waving his arms and beating the clothes on the untidy bed with them. “Mr. Santorcaz, let’s finish. I’ll leave you free to go wherever you please.” I promise to guarantee her the greatest safety until she is out of the country occupied by the Allied army. But this young woman is my prisoner, and she will only go to Madrid to her mother’s side. If by chance tender feelings have arisen in you that you did not know before, I assure you that you will be able to see your daughter in Madrid whenever you request it. ” As I said this, I looked at Inés, who with extraordinary astonishment looked alternately at me and at her father. “You are a madman,” said Don Luis. “My daughter and I will not separate.” Talk to her about this matter, and you’ll see how she reacts… Anyway, Araceli, are you going to let us escape, yes or no? I can’t waste time arguing. I’ve already said everything I had to say. In the meantime, you’ll stay in the house, and no one will dare to harm you. “Arrested, captured, my God!” cried Santorcaz, more afflicted than angry, and weeping in despair. “Arrested, captured by this hired soldiery whom I detest; arrested before I can do anything useful, before I can strike a couple of sure blows! This is dreadful! I’m a wretch… I’m good for nothing… I’ve left everything to the last minute… I’ve been busy with nonsense… The serious, the proper thing to do is to destroy everything possible, since surely nothing exists here worth preserving. ” “Be calm, for the state of that body is not conducive to reforming the human race. ” “Do you think I’m weak, that I can’t get up?” “—he cried, trying to get up with painful efforts.—I can still do something… this will pass… it’s nothing… I still have a pulse… Alas! From now on I will spare no one. Whoever falls under my hand will perish without remedy. ” Agnes placed her hands on his shoulders to restrain him, and gathered up his outer garments, which the sick man’s movements were throwing from side to side. “Imprisoned, caught like a mouse!” he continued. “It’s enough to drive one mad… When I had founded thirty-four lodges, which included the most select, the most daring, and the most rebellious, that is to say, the best and the worst of the whole country!… Oh! Those unworthy French have betrayed me!” I have served them, and this is the payment… Araceli, are you saying I’m a prisoner, that they’ll take me to the Madrid jail, to Ceuta perhaps?… I curse the infamous livery of despotism that you wear! Ceuta!… Well: I’ll escape like the other time… my daughter and I will escape. I still have agility, breath, vigor; I am still young… To fall into the power of these executioners with epaulettes, when I thought I was free forever and touched the highlights of my work of so many years!… Because yes, you are nothing more than executioners with epaulettes, degrees and false and false honors. Women of the earth, bear children for the nobles to whip, for the friars to excommunicate, and for these executioners to kill!… I have always said it well! Freemasonry must have no entrails; It must be cruel, cold, heavy, overwhelming, like the executioner’s axe… Who says I’m sick, that I’m weak, that I’m going to die, that I can’t get up again?… It’s a lie, a hundred times a lie… I will get up, and woe to anyone who stands in my way! Araceli, be careful, be careful, apprentice executioner… Yet… He continued talking for a while longer; but he was gradually losing his breath, and the words became confused and disfigured on his lips. At last we heard only broken, guttural moos that expressed nothing. His breathing was labored; he had closed his eyes; but he opened them from time to time with the sudden agitation of the fever. I touched his hands and they shot out fire. “This man is very ill,” I said to Inés, who looked at me in perplexity. “I know; but in this house there is nothing, we have no medicine, no food; in a word, nothing.” Calling my assistant, who was in the street, I ordered him to provide Inés with everything necessary and available in the place. “My assistant will not leave here while you need him,” I said to my friend. “The door will be closed. You may rest assured. We will not leave here all day . Goodbye: I am going to the square; but I will return soon, for we have much to talk about.” Chapter 29. Upon my return, I found her sitting beside the sick man’s bed, whom she was staring at fixedly. Turning her head, she indicated to me with a sign that I should make no noise. Then she rose, brought her face close to Santorcaz’s, and, assuring herself that he remained in complete and beneficial repose, prepared to leave the room. Together we went to the next room, only half closing the door, so that we could keep an eye on the unfortunate sleeper, and We sat opposite each other. We were alone, almost alone. “Have you heard from my mother?” she asked me, very moved. “No; but we shall see her soon… ” “Here, my God! Such happiness is not for me. ” “I will write to her today, saying that I have found you and that you will not escape me . I will tell her to come to Salamanca at once. ” “Oh! Gabriel… you are doing precisely what I wished for, what I have wished for so long… If you had been prudent in Salamanca and had listened to me before…” “My dearest, you have many things to explain to me that I have not understood ,” I said lovingly. “And you to me? You really need to explain yourself well. Until you do, do not expect a word from me, not one. ” “I have been looking for you for six months, my soul; six months of toil, of sorrow, of anxiety, of despair… How God makes me work before granting me what He has destined for me!” How I have suffered for you, how I have wept for you! God knows I have won you well. “And during that time,” he asked with amusing malice, “has that English lady, who calls you her knight and has driven me mad with questions, accompanied you? ” “Questions? ” “Yes: she wants to know everything, and to shut her up I had to tell her how and when we met. What concerns me matters little to her; your life is what interests her: she has driven me so dizzy wanting to know the follies and sublime things you have done for this unhappy woman, that I have been unable to help amusing myself at her expense… ” “Well done, my love. ” “How proud she is!… She laughs at everything I say, and, according to her, I only open my mouth to utter vulgarities. But I have punished her… When she insisted on knowing your amorous ventures, I told her that after Bailén, twenty-five armed men tried to rob me, and that you alone killed them all. ” Inés smiled sadly, and I stifled my laughter. “I also told her that in El Pardo, in order to speak to me, you disguised yourself as a duke, such was the power of false clothing that you deceived the entire Court, and they introduced you to the Emperor Napoleon, who locked himself with you in his study and confided to you the plan of his campaign against Austria. ” “So you get your revenge,” I said, delighted by my poor friend’s malice. ” Give me a hug, child, a hug or I die. ” “So I get my revenge.” I also told her that when I was in Aranjuez, you swam across the Tagus every night to see me; that in Córdoba, you entered the convent and tied up all the nuns to steal me; that another time you rode eighty leagues on horseback to bring me a flower; that you fought with six French generals because they had looked at me, along with a thousand other heroic deeds, assaults, and amorous exploits that came back to me as she asked me questions. “Hey, sir, you can’t say I don’t care about your reputation… I’ve put you on the horns of the moon… You can believe the Englishwoman was astonished. She listened to me with her beautiful mouth wide open… What do you think? She thinks you’re a Cid, and she at least imagines you’re Doña Jimena herself. ” “How you’ve made fun of her!” I exclaimed, moving my chair closer to Inés’s. “Have you ever been jealous? Tell me if you’ve ever been jealous, enough to make me laugh for three days… ” “Sir Araceli,” she said, wrinkling her brow gracefully, “yes, I have been and I still am… ” “Jealousy of that crazy woman!” I answered, laughing, my soul flooded with joy. “Inés, my love, give me a hug.” The girl’s pretty little hands shook in front of me and whipped my face as I approached. I, catching them in midair, kissed them. “Inesilla, my darling, give me a hug… or I’ll eat you.” “You’re hungry. ” “Hungry to love you, my wife. Do you think so…? Six months loving a shadow. And you?” I didn’t know what to say. I was deeply moved. My unfortunate friend tried to hide her emotion; but she couldn’t stop the torrent of tears that struggled to escape from her eyes. “Don’t remember that woman, if you don’t want me to get angry. Is it possible?” that you, with the elevation of your soul, with your admirable insight, have been able to… ?
“No, I’m not crying for that, my dear friend,” she said, looking at me with profound affection. “I’m crying… I don’t know why. I think it’s from joy. ” “Oh! If Miss Fly were here, if she saw us together, if she saw how we love one another through God’s special blessing, if she saw this affection, superior to the setbacks of the world, she would understand how much difference there is between her poetic sparks and this inexhaustible fountain of the heart, this divine light in which our souls rejoice, and will rejoice for ever and ever. ” “Don’t mention Miss Fly to me… If at one time meeting her distressed me, I no longer pay attention to her…” she said, drying her tears. “At first, frankly… I had doubts, more than doubts, jealousy; but when I met her closely, they dissipated. However, she is very beautiful, more beautiful than I am. ” “I wish she were like you. She’s a tomboy.” “She’s also very rich, according to what she says. She’s noble… But despite all her merits, Miss Fly made me laugh, I don’t know why. I reflected and said: ‘It’s impossible, my God. It can’t be… All misfortunes will fall upon me except this one…’ Oh! This one I certainly wouldn’t have borne. ” “How well you thought! I recognize you, Agnes. I recognize your great soul. It doubts everyone, it doubts what your eyes see; but don’t doubt me, for I adore you. ” “My heart is overflowing…” she exclaimed, pressing her breast with a hand that slipped from mine. “I’ve wanted to cry like this for a long time… in front of you… Blessed be God who is beginning to listen to what I’ve told him! ” “Agnes, I too have been jealous, my dear; jealousy of another kind, but more terrible than yours. ” “Why?” she said, looking at me sternly. “Poor me!… I remembered your good mother and said, looking at you, ‘This scoundrel no longer loves us.’ ” “I don’t love you? ” “My soul, now I ask you as I ask children. Who do you love? ” “All of us,” she answered resolutely. This answer, as concise as it was eloquent, left me confused. “All of us,” she repeated. “If I didn’t believe you capable of understanding it like this, how little you would be worth in my eyes! ” “Agnes, you are a superior creature,” I affirmed with true enthusiasm. “You have a greater portion of divine breath in your soul than others. You love your enemies, your cruelest enemies. ” “I love my father,” she said fortitude. “Yes; but your father… ” “You’re going to say he’s a wicked man, and that’s not true. You don’t know him. ” “Well, my friend, I believe what you tell me; But the circumstances in which you have come into the power of this man are not the most appropriate for you to take a great liking to him… You are talking about things you do not understand. If I were to tell you something… Wait… let me finish… I know what you are going to say. It is that you have found in him, when you least expected it, a noble and profound paternal affection. Yes; but I have found something more. What? Misfortune. He is the most unfortunate, the most unlucky man who exists in the world. It is true: the nobility of your soul is boundless… but tell me: surely the feelings of hatred and the frenzy of this unfortunate man will not find an echo in it. I hope to reconcile him, she said simply, with those he hates, or pretends to hate, for his anger with certain people does not spring from the heart. Reconcile him! I repeated with true astonishment. Oh! Agnes: if you did such a thing, “If you could achieve such a great goal by the sole force of your sweetness and your love, I would consider you the most admirable person in the whole world… But much must have passed between you and him that I don’t know, my dear. When you saw yourself snatched by that man from the arms of your sick mother, didn’t you feel…? ” “A horror, a fright… don’t remind me of that, my little friend, because I shudder all over… What a night, what agony! I thought I was going to die, and in truth I was asking for death… Those men… they all seemed black to me, with their hair standing on end and their hands like hooks… those men made me shudder.” They locked me in a carriage. To urge you on my fear, my pleas, my constant crying for I don’t know how many days would be impossible. At times, desperate and mad, I hurled a thousand insults at them; at other times, I begged on my knees for my freedom. For a long time, I resisted eating, and I also tried to escape… Impossible, because they guarded me very well… After a few days of marching, they all left, and he was left alone with me in a place called Cuéllar. “And he mistreated you? ” “Never: at first he treated me harshly; but later, the more proud I became, the greater his gentleness. In Cuéllar, he told me that I would never see my mother again, which caused me such despair and anguish that that night I tried to throw myself out the window into the countryside. Suicide, which is such a great sin, did not terrify me… He brought me immediately to Salamanca, and there I heard him repeat that I would never see my mother again.” Then I realized that my tears moved him deeply… One day, after we had argued and shouted for a long time, he knelt before me and, kissing my hands, told me that he was not a bad man.
“And did you suspect anything about your kinship with him? ” “You see…” I told him that I considered him the worst, the most abominable being on all the earth, and then he told me that he was my father… This revelation left me so suspended, so astonished, that for a moment I lost consciousness… He took me in his arms and for a long time he lavished a thousand caresses on me… I did not want to believe it… In the depths of my soul, I accused God of having made me born of that monster… Then, realizing my doubts, he showed me a portrait of my mother and some letters that he chose from among many he had… I was half dead… it seemed like a dream to me. In the anguish and confusion of such a painful scene, I fixed my gaze on his face, and a cry escaped my lips. “Had you not observed him well?” “Yes: I had noticed a certain incomprehensible mystery in his features; but until then I did not see… I did not see that his forehead was my forehead, that his eyes were my eyes. That night I found it impossible to sleep: a terrible fever came over me, and I tossed and turned in bed, believing myself surrounded by shadows or demons who tormented me. When I opened my eyes, I found him sitting at my feet, never taking his penetrating gaze from me, which made me tremble. I sat up and said to him: “Why do you hate my dear mother?” Kissing my hands, he answered: “I do not hate her; she hates me. For having loved her, I am the most unhappy of men; “For having loved her, I am this dark and despised satellite of the French that you see in me; for having adored her, I inspire you with terror today instead of love.” Then I said to him: ” You must have done great evils to my mother, for her to hate you.” He made no reply… He strove to calm my agitation, and from that night until the end of my illness, he never left my side for a moment. Everything that can be invented to amuse a sad and sick child, he invented: he told me stories, some happy, some terrible, all from his own life, and finally he told me what I most wanted to know about it… I trembled at every word. He had begun to inspire me with such compassion that at times I begged him to be silent and say no more. Little by little I lost my fear of him: he inspired a certain respect in me; But to love him… that was impossible!… I kept saying that I couldn’t live far from my mother, and if this suddenly enraged him, it was later a reason for him to redouble his affection and consideration for me. His insistence was always to convince me that no one in the world loved me as he did. One day, impatient and distressed by the long confinement, I spoke to him very harshly; he threw himself at my feet, begged my forgiveness for the great harm he had caused me, and cried so, so much… “Has that man shed a single tear?” I said with surprise. “Are you sure? I would never have believed it. ” “He shed so many and so bitter ones that I felt, not only compassionate, but also moved. My heart was not born for hatred: it was born to respond to all generous feelings, to forgive and reconcile. I had before me an unfortunate man, my own father, alone, helpless, forgotten; I remembered some obscure and vague words my mother had said about him, which seemed a little unjust to me. Deep pity oppressed my chest: the adoration, the mad idolatry that that unfortunate man felt for me could not remain indifferent to me, no, not in any way, despite the harm I had suffered. I then told him every word of comfort I could think of, and the poor little fellow was so grateful for them , so very grateful! For the first time in his life, he was happy. “Angel of heaven,” I exclaimed with deep emotion, “say no more! I understand you and I admire you.” He then begged me to treat him with the greatest confidence; to call him “Father” and “you” in the manner of France, which would give him great consolation, and so I did. That terrible man, who terrifies all who hear him and speaks of nothing but extermination and destruction, trembled like a child upon hearing my voice; and, forgetting the guillotine, the nobles, and what he called the common people, he remained for hours in ecstasy before me. Then I formed my plan, although I said nothing to him, hoping that the dominion I exercised over him would reach the ultimate degree. “What plan? ” “To bring that corpse back to life; to return him to the world, to the family; to untie that heart from the wheel on which it suffered torment; to free that unhappy reprobate from hell, and to eradicate from his soul the hatred that consumed him. For some time, I did not speak of returning to my mother’s side, nor did I complain of the long and sad solitude; rather, I appeared submissive and even content. Then we undertook those horrible journeys to found lodges; The company of these hated men began, and I could not hide my disgust. When the two of us spoke alone, he laughed at Masonic practices, saying they were simple and foolish, although necessary for subjugating the people. His hatred of nobles, friars, and kings remained very much alive; but when he spoke of my mother, he always named her with reserve and also with emotion. This was a flattering sign, and a beginning of conformity with my ardent desire. I thanked him for it, and I repaid him by showing myself more affectionate toward him; but always reserved. The repeated trips, the lodges, and the fellow Masons inspired in me repugnance, weariness, and fear. I did not hide it from him, and he told me: “This will soon be over. I will not conquer the fools except with this farce; ” And if the French establish themselves in Spain, you’ll see what a mess I’ll make…” “Father,” I would say to him, “I don’t want you to do bad things , or kill anyone, or take revenge. Revenge and cruelty are characteristic of base souls.” He would praise me for the injustices and mischief that rule today’s society, assuring me that everything must be turned upside down, and to do so, it’s best to start by destroying everything. We’ve talked about this so much! Finally, such horrors no longer frighten me. I’m convinced that my poor father isn’t as cruel or bloodthirsty as he seems… ” “So be it, since you say so.” “We were in Valladolid when he fell ill, very ill. A famous doctor from that city told me that he wouldn’t live long. However, whenever he experienced any relief, he believed himself completely recovered.” In one of his most serious attacks, while we were in Salamanca, he said to me: “I stole you, my daughter, to make you an instrument of the horrible anger that inflames me. But God, who undoubtedly does not consent to the loss of my soul, has filled me with a profound and heavenly love that I had not known before. You have been my guardian angel, the living image of divine goodness, and you have not only consoled me, but converted me. Blessed are you a thousand times over for this new life you have given to my sad life. But I have committed a crime: you do not belong to me; I entered like a thief into another’s garden, and I stole this flower… No, I cannot keep you at my side one moment longer against your will.” The unfortunate man told me this with such sincerity that I felt inclined to love him. more. Then he went on to say to me: “If you have compassion for me; if your generous soul refuses to leave me in this solitude, sick and hated, come with me and assist me; but let it be by your will and not by force of mine. Let me kiss you a thousand times, and then go away if you do not wish to be at my side.” I answered him in no other way than by embracing him with all my strength and weeping with him. What could I, what should I do? “Stay. ” This was the most appropriate occasion to confide my wishes to him. After repeating that I would not abandon him, I told him that he must be reconciled with my mother. At first, he took the warning very badly; but I begged and pleaded so much that at last he consented to write a letter. I began it, and as I put into it, I don’t remember what words, begging for forgiveness, he became very angry and said: “Ask for forgiveness, ask for forgiveness? Rather than die.” Finally, by substituting and substituting phrases, I finished the epistle; but the next day I saw that he had changed considerably in his conciliatory dispositions; and what would you believe, my friend? Well, he tore up the letter, saying to me: “We’ll write it later, later. Let’s wait a bit.” I waited with holy resignation; and, finding ourselves in Plasencia, I made a new attempt. He wrote the letter himself, spending no less than four hours on it; and we were about to send it to its destination when one of those hated men who accompany him came in, telling him that the French police were looking for him and pursuing him through the efforts of a high-ranking lady in Madrid. Ah, Gabriel! When he learned this, his anger was renewed, and he threatened the whole human race. I need hardly tell you that we neither sent the letter nor did he speak about the matter again for several days. But I persisted in my purpose. Upon returning to Salamanca, I expressed the need for reconciliation; he was angry with me; I told him I was going to Madrid; he embraced me, wept, moaned, threw himself at my feet like a madman, and finally, my son, finally, we wrote the third letter: I wrote it myself. Finally, my beloved mother was to hear news of her poor daughter. Alas! That night, my father and I chatted happily; we made sweet plans; together we cursed all the Freemasons of the earth, all the revolutions and guillotines past and future; we rejoiced in supposed happiness that was to come; we told each other all the sorrows of our past life… but the next day… “I showed up… wasn’t that right? ” “That’s right… You know his character… When he saw you and realized you were sent by my mother, when you insulted him…” His anger was so strong that day that it frightened me. “There you have it,” he said, “I am preparing to be good to her, and she sends the French police against me to torment me and a thief to deprive me of your company. You see: she is implacable… To France, we will go to France; you will come with me. That woman is finished for me and I for her…” You know the rest, and I don’t need to tell you. This morning we thought we would die here! How much I have suffered in this horrible Babilafuente, seeing him sick, so sick that he will never recover; seeing us threatened by the mob, who wanted to come in and tear us to pieces!… And all for what? Because of Freemasonry, because of those silly things and nonsense that lead nowhere. “They lead somewhere, my dear, and the seed that your father and others have sown will one day bear fruit. God knows what it will be. ” “But he is not an atheist, like others, nor does he mock God.” It’s true that he is often called by a strange name, like the _Supreme Being_, or something similar. “Call it God or the Supreme Being,” I exclaimed, once again taking my beloved friend’s hands in my own, “the fact is that he has done finished and perfect works, and one of them is you, who confuse me, who diminish and annihilate me more the more I treat you and speak to you and look at you. ” “You are truly a fool; for what have I done that is not natural?” I asked myself, smiling. “It is natural for angels to exist without stain, to inspire good actions, to praise God, to take creatures to heaven, to spread goodness throughout the sinful world. What have you done? You have done what I have not done.” I neither expected nor guessed, although I always considered you to be of the same goodness; you loved that unfortunate man, the most unfortunate of men, and this prodigy, which now, after its completion, seems so natural to me, once seemed an aberration and impossible. You have the instinct for the divine, and I do not; you accomplish the greatest things with the simplicity proper to God, and my only role is to admire them after they are accomplished, astonished at my stupidity for not having understood them… Inesilla, you do not love me, you cannot love me! “Why do you say that?” he asked candidly. “Because it is impossible for you to love me, because I do not deserve you.” When I said this, I was so convinced of my inferiority that I did not even try to embrace her, when, crossing her defending hands, she seemed to leave me the field free for that amorous excess. “Truly, it seems you are a fool.” –But, since your heart knows only how to love, if it knows nothing else, even if the world teaches it in a thousand ways to the contrary, there must be something for me in a little corner. –A little corner…? How big? –How happy I am! But I’ll tell you the truth, I would like to be unhappy. He only answered me laughing, mocking me with such impudence… –I want to be unhappy so that you love me as you loved your father, so that you go all out for me, so that you go crazy for me, so that… But you’re laughing, are you still laughing? Am I talking nonsense? –Bigger than this house. –But, my child, I’m stunned. Tell me, you who know everything, if there is some extraordinary way of loving, a new, unheard-of way… –Like this, always like this, is enough… Nor is it necessary for you to be unhappy. No, let’s stop with the misfortunes, we’ve had enough. Let’s pray to God that there are no more battles in which you can die. “I want to die!” I exclaimed, feeling that pure and extreme affection was carrying my mind to a thousand strange subtleties and fussinesses, and my heart to incomprehensible and perhaps ridiculous whims. “To die!” she exclaimed sadly. “And what’s the point of all this now? May I ask, my dear lord? ” “I want to die to see you weep for me… but truly, this is absurd, because if I were to die, how could I see you? Tell me you love me, tell me. ” “That’s good. At the end of old age… ” “If you’ve never told me… Perhaps you wish to maintain that you have.
” “No?” she said with charming cheerfulness. “Well, no.” I don’t know what else she was going to say; but she undoubtedly thought of saying something, sweeter to me than the words of angels, when a hoarse voice sounded in the room. “No, you’re not leaving, dove, without embracing your husband,” I exclaimed, squeezing that lovely body, which escaped from my arms to fly to the sick man’s side. Chapter 30. I approached the door of the sad bedroom. Santorcaz didn’t see me, because his attention was tired and dull because of his illness, and the room was half dark. “Someone is around,” said the mason, kissing his daughter’s hands. ” I thought I heard the voice of that scoundrel Gabriel. ” “Father, don’t speak ill of those who have done us a favor; don’t tempt God, don’t provoke him. ” “I too have done him favors, and you see how he repays me: by arresting me. ” “Araceli is a good boy. ” “God knows what those executioners will do to me!” exclaimed the unfortunate man with a sigh. “This is over, my daughter.” “The madness, the travels, the lodges, which only serve to cause harm, are over,” Inés affirmed, embracing her father. “But your daughter’s love will remain, and the hope that we will all live, all happy and peaceful lives. ” “You live on sweet hopes,” she said, “I on sad or fatal memories. Life is opening up for you; for me, the opposite. It has been so horrible that I already wish that black and gloomy door would close, leaving me outside once and for all… You speak of hope: what if these despots bury me in a prison, if they send me to die in one of those dunghills in Africa…?” “They won’t take you; I vouch that they won’t take you, Father.” “But whatever my fate may be, it will be very sad, my dear child… I shall live shut up; and you… what will you do? You will be forced to abandon me… So, are you going to shut yourself up in a dungeon? ” “Yes: I will shut myself up with you. Wherever you are, there I will be,” replied the girl affectionately. “I will not leave you; I will never abandon you, nor will I go… no: I will not go anywhere where you cannot go too.” I heard no voice, only the sobs of the poor sick man. “But, on the other hand, Father,” she continued in a tone of affectionate admonition, “you must be good, have no evil thoughts, hate no one, and speak of killing people, for God has a good hand at doing it.” that you desist from all this nonsense that has messed up your head, and do not lose your peace of mind and your health because there is one more or one less king in the world; nor pay attention to the friars or the nobles, who, dear father, are not going to be suppressed or annihilated because you wish it, nor because the bad mood of Señor Canencia, Señor Monsalud, and Señor Ciruelo wants it so … Here are three who speak ill of the nobles, the powerful, and the kings, because, until now, no king or any lord has thought of throwing them a piece of bread to shut them up, and another to make them shout in his favor… So you will be good? Will you do what I tell you? Will you forget this nonsense?… Will you love me very much, and all those who love me? Saying this, she arranged the bedclothes, arranged Santorcaz’s venerable and beautiful head on the pillows, smoothed away any folds and hardness that might bother him, all with such affection, concern, kindness, and sweetness that I was enchanted by what I saw. Santorcaz remained silent and sighed, allowing himself to be treated like a child. There, the daughter seemed, more than a daughter, a tender mother, pretending to be angry with the precious boy because he wouldn’t take his medicine. “You’ll turn me into a child, my dear,” said the sick man. “I’m moved… I want to cry. Put your hand on my forehead so that I don’t lose that divine light I have inside my brain… put your hand on my heart and squeeze. It hurts from so much feeling. Did you say you won’t leave me? ” “No: I won’t. ” “And if they take me to Ceuta?” “I’ll go with you. ” “You’ll go with me! ” “But it’s necessary to be good and humble. ” “Good? Do you doubt it?” I adore you, my daughter. Tell me I am good; tell me I am not evil, and I will be more grateful than if you came to me calling on behalf of the Supreme Being… on behalf of God, as we Christians say. If you tell me I am a good man, that I am not evil, I will consider those who insist on calling me evil to be liars. “Who doubts that you are good? To me at least. ” “But I have done you some harm. ” “I forgive you, because you love me, and above all because you sacrifice your passions to me, because you consent that I am the one destined to remove those thorns that have been stuck in your heart for so long. ” “And how they sting!” exclaimed the unhappy Mason with profound sorrow. “Yes: take them away, take them all away with your angelic hands; take them away one by one, and those bloody wounds will heal themselves… So I am good?” “Well, yes: I will say so to whoever believes otherwise, and I hope they will be convinced when I say it. Of course… The truth comes first. You will see how much everyone will love you, and what good things they will say about you. You have suffered: I will tell them everything you have suffered. ” “Come,” murmured Santorcaz in a stammering voice, stretching out his arms to take his daughter’s head in his trembling hands. “Bring here that beautiful head that I adore. It is not the head of a woman, but of an angel. Through your eyes God looks upon the earth and upon men, satisfied with his work.” The old man covered the beautiful forehead with kisses, and I, for my part, will not hide that I wished to do the same. At that moment I took a few steps and Santorcaz saw me. I noticed a sudden change in the expression of his face. countenance, and looked at me with disgust. “It’s Gabriel, our friend, who defends and protects us,” said Inés. “Why are you frightened? ” “My jailer…” Santorcaz murmured sadly. “I had forgotten that I am a prisoner. ” “I am not a jailer, but a friend,” I affirmed, coming forward. “Mr. Araceli,” he continued in a grave voice, “where are you taking me? Oh, miserable me! It is bad to fall into the clutches of the satellites of despotism… no, no, my child, I didn’t say anything; I meant that the soldiers… I can’t deny that I hate soldiers a little, because without them, you see, without them there would be no kings… cursed be kings!… no, no, I don’t mind if there are kings, my child: let them come to an agreement. Only… frankly, I can’t help hating a little that boy who wanted to separate you from me.” You see, his masters ordered him… these soldiers are servile people that the great ones employ to oppress the children of the people… I can’t see him, and neither can you, is that true? –Not only can I see him, but I hold him in high esteem. –Then let him come in … Araceli… I once held you in high esteem too. Inés says you’re a good boy… We’ll have to believe it… Since she holds you in high esteem, do you know what I would do? Except you alone, you alone; put you aside, and send everyone else to the guillotine… no, I didn’t say anything… If others want to raise it, let them do it in good time; I’ll do nothing but watch and applaud… no, no, I won’t applaud either: go to hell with the guillotines. –Father, –said Inés, –give Araceli your hand, she’ll go about her business, and ask her to come back and see us later. Oh! They say there’s going to be a battle: don’t you feel that some misfortune might befall him? ‘ ‘Yes, certainly,’ said Santorcaz, shaking my hand. ‘Poor young man! The battle will be very bloody, and it’s most likely that he’ll die in it. ‘ ‘What are you saying, Father?’ asked Inés in terror. ‘ The best battle in the world, my daughter, will be the one in which everyone perishes, all the soldiers of the two contending armies. ‘ ‘But not him, not him! You’re frightening me. ‘ ‘Well, well, long live him… long live Araceli. Young man, my daughter loves you, and I… I too… I also love you. So God will do well to spare your precious life. But you will no longer serve the executioners of the human race, the oppressors of the people, those who fatten on the blood of the people, the rogue friars and… ‘ ‘Jesus! You’re talking like Canencia, no more, no less. ‘ ‘I didn’t say anything; “But this Araceli… whom I esteem… hates us, my dear; he wants to separate us: he is the agent and servant of a person… ” “Whom you esteem also, Father. ” “Of a person…” continued the Mason, turning so pale that he seemed a corpse. “Whom you love, Father,” added the girl, throwing her arms around the poor sick man’s head; “whom you will ask forgiveness… for…” Santorcaz’s face suddenly flushed with intense congestion; his eyes flashed with a very bright ray. He sat up in bed and, stretching out his arms and closing his fists and frowning terribly, he cried: “I!… to ask her forgiveness… to ask her forgiveness… Never, never!” Saying this, he fell onto the bed like a body from which life suddenly and in terror flees. Inés and I rushed to his aid. He stammered passionate phrases… he called for Inés, believing her to be absent; he looked at her in confusion; She bade me farewell with shouts and threats, and finally, she calmed down, falling into a heavy sleep. “Another time,” Agnes told me, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t mistrust her. Do as we agreed. Write to her this very afternoon. ” “I will write to her, and she will come to Salamanca at once. Prepare to leave there with your patient.” Chapter 31. Making a great deal of noise, calling out to me and lashing the doors and furniture with her whip, Miss Fly entered the house. I received her in the parlor, and upon seeing me, she smiled with incomparable grace, not devoid of coquetry. It caught my attention to see that she had dressed up and put herself together, something truly unusual in that place and on that occasion. Her face She glowed with beauty and freshness. She had combed her hair as if she had the most delicate toiletries at hand, and her dress, now clean of dust and mud, concealed its tears and wrinkles with some singular skill, only revealed to women. Why not say it? I detest prudishness and affectation. Yes, I will say it: Athenais was charming, bewitching, beautiful. When I expressed my surprise at this restoration of her attractive persona, she said to me: “Sir Araceli, after your soldiers put out the fire, there was a little water left for me. Some villagers gave me what I needed to comb my hair… But, Commander, are you fulfilling your duties like this? Wouldn’t you be better off leading your troops? Leith arrived a little while ago with his division, and he’s asking for you…” Upon hearing the news, I didn’t want to delay. I said goodbye to Inés, and after securing the entrance to the house and entrusting Tribaldos with the care of the two prisoners, I went down to the plaza, where Miss Fly separated from me for no apparent reason. English troops were beginning to arrive. General Leith, to whom I informed that Spain had sent me to pursue the French, ordered me to wait until nightfall. “It is impossible to pursue the French at close range,” he said. “They are far ahead, and it will be difficult for us to harm them. Our troops are tired. ” I remained there, not without joy, and arranged for Santorcaz and his daughter to be transferred to Salamanca. Fortunately , Buenaventura Figueroa, my closest and dearest friend, returned that afternoon to remain as a garrison there , and I gave him detailed instructions on what he should do with my prisoners in the city and during the journey. This took place at night in a convoy sent to ” Little Rome.” Not without difficulty, I obtained a reasonably comfortable wagon, inside which I accommodated father and daughter, accompanied by Tribaldos and a good supply of provisions for the journey. I also wanted to give them money; but Inés refused. In truth, they no longer needed it, because Mr. Santorcaz—I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it—who had inherited their entire estate a year earlier, possessed a decent fortune, more than enough for his modest means. I also gave Inés instructions to help prevent her unfortunate father from going on any further adventures in the Montiel camp of Masonic adventures, and she promised me with unequivocal certainty that she would imprison him appropriately without causing him any harm. With this, very saddened, we both said our goodbyes: I for this new separation, the limits of which I didn’t know, and she foreboding the danger to which she was exposed in the terrible campaign she had undertaken. In this, and in writing to the Countess what the reader supposes, I occupied a large part of the last hours of the day. We set out at dawn of the following day, pursuing the French, who did not stop until they had crossed the Duero at Tordesillas, extending as far as Simancas. There Marmont reinforced his army with Bonnet ‘s division , and we waited for him on the left bank, watching his movements. The question was to know at what point the French wanted to cross the river, to meet the allied army, whose headquarters were at La Seca. Marmont, as one might suppose, did not wish to please us, and without warning us, which was also quite natural, he suddenly set off for Toro… “Everyone march to the left, English, Spanish, Lusitanians; march again toward the Guareña and toward the wicked towns of Babilafuente and Villoria! ” “And this is what they call waging war!” said one. ” The English have such good legs because of all the exercise they get.” Now it turns out that Marmont doesn’t accept the battle at Guareña either, and we’ll look for him at the Pisuerga, the Adaja, or perhaps at the Manzanares, or at the Abroñigal at the gates of Madrid. It just so happened that after two weeks of marching and countermarching, we found ourselves again on the outskirts of Salamanca. But the funniest thing was when we danced the minuet, as we Spaniards used to say, It so happened that both armies marched parallel for a whole day , they on the left, we on the right, seeing each other very well at a distance of half a cannon shot and without expending a cartridge. This happened not far from Salamanca; and when we stopped at San Cristóbal, there was plenty to see the mockery caused by such a maneuver and strategic march, which the riffraff called a contradance. From San Cristóbal I wanted to go to Salamanca; but it was impossible, because neither long nor short leaves of absence were granted. I had, however, the pleasure of learning that nothing unusual had occurred at the house on Calle del Cáliz during my absence and the marches and minuets of the allied army… As for Miss Fly, I hasten to name her because I hear the same question on the lips of all who listen to me. She had honored me more than once with her charming words during the trips to Tordesillas, to La Nava, and to Guareña; But always in short and very discreet encounters, as if there were some unknown obstacle, some mysterious impediment to her once boundless freedom. In these brief encounters, I always detected in her an unparalleled sweetness and melancholic abandonment, and also an unjustified admiration for me and all my actions, even the most common and insignificant. Besides, if the interviews were short, they were extremely frequent. We never stopped at any point without Athenais, like my own shadow, appearing to me and speaking discreetly, generally telling me things that were convoluted and subtle, if not honeyed and passionate. The most refined courtesy and an excellent humor for joking inspired my replies. At every turn, she gave me a thousand little things, sweets, or trinkets of little value, which she acquired in the various towns along the way. In the meantime, I beg my listeners to pay close attention to this, because it serves as a lamentable precedent to one of the major setbacks of my life. I noticed that the unfounded suspicion aroused by the trip from Athens to Salamanca had not been dispelled among my English and Spanish companions . In short, the Little Bow Tie had returned to headquarters, and my good opinion and reputation for chivalry remained as problematic as the day I appeared in Bernuy. On two occasions when I had the high honor of speaking with the Duke, I experienced mortal grief, finding him not only disdainful, but extremely austere and unpleasant toward me. Colonel Simpson’s spectacles shot Olympian rays at me, and in general, everyone I met in the English ranks showed in various ways little or no affection for my honorable person. –Mr. “Araceli, Mr. Araceli,” Athenais said, appearing before me unexpectedly on July 21, when we had just occupied the hill commonly called Arapil Chico, “come to my side. Simpson hasn’t left Salamanca yet. Has anything happened to you since we haven’t seen each other yesterday? ” “Nothing, madam, nothing has happened to me. And to you? ” “Me, yes; but I’ll tell you about it later. Why are you looking at me like that? You, too, are led to believe, like the others, that I’m sad, that I’m pale, that I’ve changed a lot… ” “Indeed, Miss Fly: I imagine that face isn’t the same. ” “I don’t feel well,” she said with a gracious smile. “I don’t know what’s wrong… Ah! Don’t you know? They say there’s going to be a great battle. ” “I don’t doubt it. The French are heading towards Cavarrasa. When will that be?” “Tomorrow… It seems you’ll be rejoicing,” she said, displaying a feminine fear that surprised me, knowing as I did her manly courage. “And you will be rejoicing too, madam. A soul like yours, to sustain itself at its own level, needs these grandiose spectacles, immense danger followed by colossal glory. We will fight, madam, we will fight with the Empire, with the common enemy, as they say in England, and we will defeat it.” Athenais did not answer me, as I expected, with any burst of enthusiasm, and the poetry of the ballads seemed to have withdrawn timidly and ashamedly, perhaps, into the deepest recesses of her soul. “It will be a great battle, and we will win,” she said dejectedly; “but… many people will die. Don’t you think you might die? ” “Me?… and what does it matter? What does the life of one miserable soldier matter, as long as the flag remains triumphant? ” “That’s true; but you mustn’t expose yourselves…” she said with some emotion. ” They say the Spanish division will not fight. ” “Madam, I don’t know you; you are not Miss Fly. ” “I am beginning to believe what you say,” she affirmed, fixing her sweet blue eyes on me; “I am beginning to believe that I am not Miss Fly… Listen carefully, Araceli, to what I am going to tell you. If you do not enter the fray tomorrow, as I expect, let me know… Goodbye, goodbye. ” “But wait a moment, Miss Fly,” I said, trying to stop her. “No, I can’t.” You are very indiscreet… If you only knew what they say… Goodbye, goodbye. Taking a few steps toward her, I called out repeatedly; but at the same instant I saw a carriage or post-chaise stop in front of me in the middle of the road; I saw a face, a hand, an arm appear through the door… If it was the Countess! Almighty God, what immense joy! It was the Countess, stopping her carriage in front of me, looking for me with her eyes, calling me with a lovely gesture, doubtless about to say the sweetest things. I ran toward her, mad with joy. Chapter 32. Before relating what we discussed, it is appropriate that I say something about the place and time when these events took place, because both are equally interesting for the history and the account of the events of my life that I am relating. On the afternoon of the 21st, we crossed the Tormes, some by the Salamanca Bridge, others by the nearby fords. The French, according to all conjectures, had crossed the same river at Alba de Tormes, and were apparently in the woods beyond Cavarrasa de Arriba. We formed a not very extensive line, the left resting near the Santa Marta ford, and the right on Arapil Chico, near the road to Madrid. A small English division with some light troops occupied Cavarrasa de Abajo, the most advanced point of the Anglo-Spanish-Portuguese line. It was on the slopes of Arapil Chico, and at the edge of the road, that Athenais appeared to me, returning on horseback from Cavarrasa, and a few moments later the Countess, my beloved protector and friend. I ran to her, as I have said, and with the most lively emotion kissed her beautiful hands, which were still sticking out of the gate. The immense joy I experienced barely allowed me to utter any words other than “My mother and my lady,” words in which my soul, with utmost spontaneity and confidence, expected similar displays of affection from her. But, with bitterness and astonishment, I noticed in the Countess’s eyes disdain, anger, rage, what do I know!… an inexplicable severity that left me absorbed and frozen. “And my daughter?” she asked dryly. “In Salamanca, madam,” I replied. ” You couldn’t arrive any sooner. Tribaldos, my assistant, will accompany you. It was a coincidence that we met here. ” “I already knew you were in this place they call Arapil Chico ,” she told me in the same severe tone, without a smile, without an affectionate look, without a handshake. At Cavarrasa de Abajo, where I stopped for a moment, I found Sir Thomas Parr, who told me where you were, with other things about your conduct, which have caused me as much astonishment as indignation. “About my conduct, madam!” I exclaimed, with a pain as keen as if a steel blade had pierced my heart. “I believed that there was nothing in my conduct that could displease you.” “I knew Sir Thomas Parr at Cadiz, and he is a gentleman incapable of lying,” she added, with an inexpressible glow of anger in her eyes, which had once held so much tenderness for me. “You have seduced a young Englishwoman; you have committed an iniquity, a violence, a villainous act. ” “I, madam, I!… This honorable man who has given so many proofs of his loyalty?… This man has done such wicked things?” “Everyone says so… Not only Sir Thomas Parr has told me so, but others.” Many: Wellesley will tell me so too. ‘ ‘Well, if Wellesley were to say so,’ I replied in despair; ‘if Wellesley were to say so, I would tell him—’ ‘That he is lying—’ ‘No: the first gentleman of England, the first general of Europe, cannot lie; it is impossible for the Duke to say such a thing. ‘ ‘There are facts which cannot be concealed,’ she added ruefully, ‘which cannot be distorted. They say that the injured party is preparing to demand that you be compelled to comply with the English laws concerning marriage.’ At this, a stirring hilarity and a terrible indignation crossed their various effects in my soul, like two thunderbolts meeting and striking the same object, and for an instant disputing it. I laughed and was almost moved to tears of rage. ‘Madam, I have been slandered. It is false, it is a lie that I—’ I cried, thrusting first my head and then half my body through the carriage door . I’ll go mad if you, if this person whom I respect and adore, whom I can never deceive, gives credence to such a vile slander. “So it’s slander?” he said with genuine pain. ” I would never have believed it in you… We live to see horrible things… But tell me, will I see my daughter immediately? ” “I repeat, it’s false. Madam, you are killing me; you will drive me to extremes of madness, of despair. ” “Will no one prevent me from picking her up, from taking her with me?” he asked eagerly, ignoring the frenzy that dominated me. “Let your assistant come. I can’t stop myself. Didn’t you say in your letter that everything was arranged? Is that executioner dead? Is my daughter alone? Is she waiting for me? Can I take her?” He answered. “I don’t know, madam; I don’t know anything; don’t ask me anything,” I said, confused and absorbed. From the moment you doubt me… “A lot… Who can be trusted? Let me go on… You are no longer the same to me. ” “Madam, madam, don’t tell me that, or I’ll die!” I exclaimed with immense distress. “Well, if you are innocent, you have time to prove it to me. ” “No… no… Tomorrow there will be a great battle. I could die. I will die irritated and condemn myself… Tomorrow! God knows where I will be tomorrow! You are going to Salamanca, you will see and speak to your daughter; between the two of you you will forge a web of suspicions and false assumptions, which will forever entangle the memory of the unfortunate soldier, who will perhaps be dying in a few hours on this very spot where we are. It is possible that we will never see each other again… We are on a battlefield. Can you see those oak groves down below? Well, the French are behind you. Forty-seven thousand men, madam! Tomorrow this place will be covered with corpses.” Cast your gaze over these surroundings. Do you see that youth of three nations? How many of these will be alive tomorrow? I believe myself destined to perish, to perish in a rage, because the thought of having lost the love of the two people to whom I have consecrated my life will hasten and embitter my death. My words, ardent as the voice of truth, had some effect on the Countess, and I watched her, suspended and moved. She cast her gaze over the field, occupied by so many troops, and then covered her face with her hands, sinking into the back of the carriage. “How horrible!” she said. “A battle! Aren’t you afraid? ” “I’m more afraid of slander. ” “If you prove your innocence, I will believe I have recovered a lost son. ” “Yes, yes, you will recover him,” I affirmed. “But isn’t it enough that I say it, isn’t my word enough? Have we known each other only yesterday? Oh!” If Inés were told what you have been told, she would not believe it. Her generous soul would have absolved me without hearing me. A voice cried: “That carriage, forward or back! ” “Goodbye,” said the Countess, “they’re throwing me out of here. ” “Goodbye, madam,” I replied with profound sadness. ” In case we never see each other again, know that on the last day of my life I treasure the sentiments I have displayed at every moment of my life before you and before another person who has loved us both.” It is very dear to us. I thank you, today as yesterday, for the love you have shown me, the trust you have placed in me, the dignity you have instilled in me, the elevation you have given to my conscience… I do not want to leave any debts… If we never see each other again… The carriage departed, forced to do so by a battery, to which it was necessary to give way. When I stopped seeing the Countess, she was holding a handkerchief to her eyes to hide her tears. Suffocated and stunned by the anguished grief that filled my soul, I did not notice that the headquarters was coming along the road ahead in the direction of Arapil Chico. The Duke and his retinue dismounted at the foot of the hill, directing their gaze towards Cavarrasa de Arriba. The Lord called the officers of the Ibernia regiment, one of those stationed there, and after I was introduced first, he said: “Ah!” You are Sir Araceli… “The same, General,” I replied, “and if Your Excellency will allow me on this occasion to speak on a private matter, I will beg you to shed light without delay on the slander that has been leveled against me since my trip to Salamanca. I cannot bear to be judged lightly by the gossip of malicious people.” Lord Wellington, undoubtedly occupied with a more serious matter, barely paid any attention to me. After quickly scanning the entire horizon with his telescope, he said to me almost without looking at me: “Sir Araceli, I can only answer you that I am determined that Great Britain shall be respected.” As I had never ceased to respect Great Britain, nor the other European powers, this concept, which undoubtedly contained a threat, disconcerted me somewhat. The general officers surrounding the Duke engaged him in a very important discussion about the battle plan. My demands then seemed inopportune and even ridiculous to me , so, somewhat embarrassed, I replied thus: “Great Britain! I wish nothing more than to die for her. ” “Brigadier Pack,” Wellington said briskly to one of those accompanying him, “in the adjutantship of the 23rd Line, which is vacant, place this young Spaniard, who wishes to die for Great Britain. ” “For the glory and honor of Great Britain,” I repeated. Brigadier Pack honored me with a look of protective sympathy. “Despair,” Wellington told me later, “is not the principal source of courage; but I shall be glad to see Mr. de Araceli tomorrow on the summit of Arapil Grande. Señor D. José Olawlor,” he added, addressing his intimate friend who accompanied him, “I believe that the French are preparing to advance upon us tomorrow to occupy Arapil Grande.” The Duke expressed some concern, and for a long time his telescope scanned the distant oak groves and hills toward the east. Little could be seen now, because night fell. The army corps continued moving to occupy the positions arranged by the general-in-chief, and I separated from my comrades from Ibernia and the Spanish division. “We,” Spain told me, “are going to Torres’s place, on the extreme right of the line, more to observe the enemy than to attack him. An admirable plan! General Picton and the Portuguese d’Urban seem to be in charge of guarding the Tormes crossing, so the French situation could not be more disadvantageous. All that remains is to occupy Arapil Grande. ” “That’s what it’s all about, General. The Pack Brigade, to which I have belonged for a moment now, will wake up tomorrow, with God’s help, at the hermitage of Santa María de la Peña, and then… The honor of Great Britain demands it . ” “Goodbye, my dear Araceli.” Behave yourself. Goodbye, my dear general. I greet my companions from the summit of Arapil Grande. Chapter 33. Arapil Grande! It was the larger of those two earthen sphinxes, raised one opposite the other, looking at each other and at us. Between the two of them, the next day, one of the bloodiest dramas of the century was to unfold, the true preface to Waterloo, where the epic trumpets of the Empire sounded for the last time. On either side of the At a place called Arapiles, the two famous hills rose, one small, the other large. The first belonged to us; the second belonged to no one on the night of the 21st. It belonged to no one for the very reason that it was the most coveted prey; and the leopard on one side and the eagle on the other looked at it longingly, wanting to take it and fearing to take it. Each feared meeting their opponent there at the moment of setting foot on the precious height. To the right of Arapil Grande, and closer to our line, was Huerta, and to the left, at an advanced point, forming the vertex of the wedge, Cavarrasa de Arriba. The one below, much further away, already behind Arapil Gran, was in the hands of the French. The night was like July, serene and clear. Pack’s brigade camped on a plain to await daylight. Since fires were not allowed, the poor English had to eat cold meat; But the women, who in this respect were powerful auxiliaries to the British militia, brought from Aldea Tejada and even from Salamanca very well-seasoned cold cuts, which, with abundant rum, restored the spirits of those emaciated bodies. The women—there were no fewer than twenty of them I saw in the brigade —conversed affectionately with their husbands, and, as far as I could understand, prayed or strengthened their spirits with memories of Green Erin and beautiful Scotland. It was a great torment for the Highlanders not to be allowed to play the bagpipes in that place, intoning the melancholy songs of their country; and they formed lively groups, into which I pleasantly inserted myself, to have the strange pleasure of hearing them without understanding them. It was extremely pleasing to me to see the contentment and joy of those people, transported so far from their homeland, sustained in their duty and driven to sacrifice for the faith of their country itself… I listened with delight to their words, and although I understood very little of them, I thought I understood the spirit of their ardent conversations. A burly, tall, and handsome Scotsman, with golden hair and rosy cheeks like a maiden, stood up when he saw me approaching the group, and in a broken language, half Spanish, half Portuguese, he said to me: “Sir Spanish officer, please honor us by accepting this piece of meat and this glass of rum, and let us toast the health of Spain and of old Scotland. ” “To the health of King George III!” I exclaimed, accepting without hesitation the gift of those brave men. Loud cheers came in reply. “Man dies, and nations live,” said another Scotsman, carrying under his arm the enormous, swollen skin of a panpipe, addressing me. “Hurrah for England! What does it matter if we die! A grain of sand carried here and there by the wind means nothing on the surface of the world. God is looking down on us, friends, through the beautiful eyes of Mother England.” I could not help embracing the generous Scotsman, who clasped me to his breast, saying: “Long live Spain! ” “Long live Lord Wellington!” I cried. The women were weeping and chattering in low voices. Their language, incomprehensible to me, seemed like a chorus of birds pecking around the nest. The Scots were distinguished by their picturesque red and black checked dress , their bare legs, their beautiful Ossianic heads covered with fur hats, and their belts adorned with locks that looked like hair, torn from the skull of the victor in the savage northern wars . Mixed in with them were the English, whose red coats made them very visible despite the darkness. The officers, wrapped in white cloaks and topped with pointed, feathered hats , certainly not graceful, resembled wading birds with broad wings and movable crests. At first light, the brigade set out toward Arapil Grande. The closer we got, the more we became convinced that the French had anticipated us, being in better condition to move due to the proximity of their line. The brigadier distributed his forces, and the guerrillas deployed. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the chapel located about halfway up the hill, and on the few scattered houses, the only buildings that interrupted the solitude and barrenness of the landscape for long stretches. A few columns climbed without any obstacles, and we arrived about 100 yards from Santa María de la Peña when the undulation of the terrain, descending before our eyes as we advanced, allowed us to see first a line of heads, then a line of busts, then entire bodies. They were the French. The rising sun, appearing behind our enemies, dazzled us, causing us to see them only imperfectly. A distant murmur reached our ears, and on this side the Scots also uttered a few words: nothing more was needed for the electric spark to erupt. The firing broke out. The guerrillas held it, while some ran to occupy the chapel. This was preceded by a courtyard, resembling a cemetery. The English entered it ; but the Imperials, who had sneaked in through the apse, soon dominated the main part of the building with the rear annexes. So, before our men had forced the door, they were already firing from the bell tower and from the skylight above the portico. Brigadier Pack, one of the bravest, most serene, and most chivalrous men I have ever known, harangued the Highlanders. The colonel commanding the 3rd Chasseurs harangued his men, and in short, everyone harangued, even I, who spoke to them in Spanish, the language most appropriate to the circumstances. I am certain they understood me. The 23rd Line had not entered the courtyard, but was flanking the hermitage on its left, watching for any further French forces. Otherwise, the game was ours, for the simple reason that we were in greater numbers up to that point. But another enemy column soon appeared . To wait for it, to give it respite—that is, to pretend, even for a moment, that one feared it—would have been to surrender all advantage in advance . “To them!” I shouted to my colonel. “All right!” he exclaimed. And the 23rd line fell like an avalanche upon the French column. A lively hand-to-hand fight ensued; our English hesitated a little, for the enemy’s thrust was terrible at first ; but returning to the charge with that imperturbable constancy which, if not heroism itself, is the closest thing to it, the entire advantage was soon on our side. The Imperials retreated in disorder, or rather, they varied their tactics, dispersing into small groups, while reinforcements came up. We had suffered almost equal losses on both sides, and quite a few bodies lay on the ground. But that was nothing yet: a child’s play, an innocent preface that almost made us laugh. Our real disadvantage was that we were unaware of the force the French could send against us. We saw the thick forest of Cavarrasa in front of us, and no one knew what lay beneath that blanket of greenery. Could there be many, or few? When intuition, inspiration, or the divine genius of great captains cannot answer these questions , military science is very likely to prove vain and sterile, like the jargon of pedants. We looked at the forest, and the dark foliage of the oaks told us nothing. We couldn’t read that greenish-black surface, which offered mysterious changes of color and light, moving bands and oscillating signs across its vast expanse. It was an enormous mass of greenery, a flat and horrible monster flattened on the ground with its head bowed and its wings outstretched, perhaps brooding countless warriors beneath them. Seeing the second French column retreating, Pack ordered the attempt against the hermitage to be redoubled, and the Highlanders attempted to assault it from various points, which would have been easy if, when the first shots rang out, something unusual had not happened on the side of the woods. It would have been thought that the monster was moving; that it was raising one of its wings; that It erupted a swarm of homunculi, which could be distinguished far away at their mother’s side, small as ants. Then they grew, they drew closer… from pygmies they turned into giants; they displayed their helmets; their swords resembled flaming rays; they mounted in a threatening gesture, column after column, man after man. The colonel looked at me, and we, the leaders, all looked at each other without saying a word. With the speed of a good tactician, Pack, without abandoning the siege of the hermitage, sent us more troops, and we waited calmly. The forest continued vomiting people. “We must fight on the defensive,” said the colonel. “On the defensive, yes. Long live England! ” “Long live the Emperor!” echoes echoed in the distance. “Englishmen, England is watching you!” The clamor that had previously answered us from afar, saying: “Long live the Emperor!” resounded louder. The animal was approaching, its ferocious bellow instilling fear. Chapter 34. Some old houses and some brickyards about sixty yards away on either side of the hermitage were instantly occupied, establishing an imaginary defensive line, the only material support of which was a depression in the ground, a sort of shallow ditch that seemed to mark the boundary between two estates. If I had commanded Brigadier Pack’s entire force , I would have tried to go all out and disconcert the enemy before they attacked; but the English never did such foolish things, which work once and fail twenty times. On the contrary, Pack arranged his forces on the defensive; with an admirable and quick eye, he took in all the features of the terrain, the gentle undulations of the hill on that side, the isolated rock, the solitary tree, the ruined wall, and he took advantage of everything. The French arrived. They looked at us from afar with suspicion, they smelled us, they listened to us. Have you seen the stork stretch its neck from side to side, so that it is hard to tell whether it is looking or hearing, standing on one foot, raising the other with the intention of keeping it steady until it finds sure ground? Well, that is how the French approached. Some among us were laughing. I cannot imagine the silence that reigned in the ranks at that moment. Were they soldiers on the lookout or monks at prayer? But instantly the stork put both feet on the ground. It was on firm ground. A thousand shots rang out simultaneously, and a human wave of bayonets, shouts, kicks, and nameless ferocity descended upon us. “Fire! Death! Blood! Scoundrels!” These are the words with which I can express, from what little I understood, that uproar of English indignation that bellowed around me. A concert of guttural articulations, a croaking at once discordant and sublime, like a thousand celestial parrots and parakeets chattering at once. I had seen admirable things in Spanish and French soldiers trying to attack; but I had never seen anything comparable to the English trying to resist. I had never seen columns allow themselves to be slashed. The old, inert trunk does not receive with such patience the blow of the axe that cuts it, as those men did the bayonet that shattered them. They repeatedly repelled the French, making them run far beyond the hermitage. There were enough men for everything: to die resisting, and to kill by pushing. At times it seemed we were repelling them definitively; but the forest, bringing out new nests of people from under its plumage, put us at a numerical disadvantage, for although some companies came to help us from Arapil Chico, they were not in sufficient numbers. The death toll was heavy on one side and on the other, even more so on our side, so high that we found ourselves in great difficulty in removing the many dead and wounded who made movement impossible. The fighting was suspended and engaged in short intervals. We did not retreat a single line; but neither did we advance, and we had abandoned the courtyard of the hermitage because it was impossible to hold out there. The farmhouses and The tile factory was indeed ours, and the Highlanders did not seem inclined to let it be taken away from them; but this series of advantages and disadvantages that balanced the two enemy powers, this counterbalance sustained by sheer courage, could not last long. Let the French send men; let Lord Wellington, on the other hand, send them, and the matter would soon be decided; let them both send them at the same time, and then… only God knew the outcome. Brigadier Pack called me, saying: “Run to headquarters and tell the Lord what is happening.” I mounted my horse and made full speed ahead to headquarters. As I descended the slope towards the lines of the allied army, I clearly saw the masses of the French army moving incessantly; but between the center of one army and the other, not a single shot had yet been fired. All the interest was still in that remote scene of the Arapil Grande; in what seemed an insignificant detail, a whim of a military genius who was then meditating on the great battle. When I passed by the various corps of the allied line, my attention was drawn to seeing them standing still and calm, awaiting orders, hand in hand. There was no battle; in fact, it didn’t seem like there was going to be a battle, but a simulation. But the commanders, all standing on the rises in the terrain, on the ammunition wagons, and even on the gun carriages, watched, aided by their glasses, the events of Arapil Grande, next to the hermitage. “Why don’t all these people run to aid Brigadier Pack?” I asked myself, filled with confusion. The fact was that neither Wellington nor Marmont wanted to appear to have any great desire to occupy Arapil Grande, for the same reason that both considered that position to be the key to the battle. Marmont feigned various movements to disconcert Wellington; he threatened to run toward the Tormes so that the English captain’s imperturbable eye would be drawn away from Arapil; Then he pretended to retreat as if he didn’t want to fight, while Wellington, still, immutable, serene, attentive, vigilant, remained at his post observing the Frenchman’s movements, and held with a powerful hand the thousand reins of that army that wanted to launch itself prematurely. Marmont wanted to deceive Wellington; but Wellington not only wanted to deceive, he was deceiving Marmont. Marmont moved to disconcert his enemy, and the Englishman, attentive to the other’s advances , spied on the Frenchman’s slightest mistake to fall upon him. At the same time, he pretended to ignore the Arapil Grande, and placed enough troops on the right of the Tormes to make it seem that he wanted to focus all the battle’s focus there. Meanwhile, he had enormous forces ready for a difficult case on the great hill. But that difficult case, according to him, had not yet arrived, nor would it arrive while there was still raw meat on Santa María de la Peña. It was ten in the morning, and apart from the brief action I have described, the two armies had not fired a shot. When I crossed the lines, many commanders, posted at different points, asked me questions that were impossible to answer; and when I arrived at headquarters, I saw Wellington on horseback, surrounded by a multitude of generals. Before I approached him, I had already said expressively with my gestures and my eyes: “It can’t be done. ” “It can’t be done!” he exclaimed with imperturbable calm, after I had verbally explained to him what was happening there. “To dominate the Arapil Grande. ” “I didn’t order Pack to dominate the Arapil Grande, because it’s impossible,” he replied. “The French are very close, and since yesterday they have made a thousand preparations to dispute that position with us, although they pretend not to. ” “Then…” “I didn’t order Pack to completely dominate the hill, but to prevent the French from establishing themselves there permanently. Will they establish themselves?” Don’t the 23rd Line, the 3rd Chasseurs, or the 7th Highlanders already exist? –They still exist… a little, my general. “The forces that have gone since are sufficient for the purpose, which is to resist, nothing more than resist. It is enough that not a single Frenchman sets foot on the slope that falls in this direction. If the hermitage cannot be captured, I do not believe there will be enough men to stall the enemy for a few hours. ” “Indeed, my general,” I said. “No matter how quickly one dies, eight hundred corps are very good. We can hold on to what we have until noon.” As he said this, paying more attention to the distant enemy lines than to me, I noticed a sudden movement in him; he turned to General Álava, who was at his side, and said: “This changes suddenly. The French are extending their line too far. Their right wing wants to envelop me…” A formidable mass of Frenchmen was extending toward the Tormes, leaving a quite notable gap between it and Cavarrasa. You would have to be blind not to understand that through that gap, through that joint, the genius of the allied army was about to drive its terrible sword up to the hilt . Chapter 35. General headquarters retreated, orders were given, officers ran from one side to the other, an eloquent murmur resounded throughout the army, cannons advanced, horses stamped. Without waiting any longer, I rushed to Arapil to announce that everything was changing. The lines of the regiments could be seen oscillating, and the reflections of the bayonets represented moving waves of light; the army corps shuddered, moved by the intimate palpitations of that singular fear that always precedes heroism. The breathing and emotion of so many men gave the atmosphere I know not what strange warmth. The hot, heavy air was not enough for everyone. The orders transmitted with immense rapidity carried within them the thought of the commander-in-chief. We all guessed this by virtue of the strange solidarity that at given moments is established between the will and the limbs, between the brain that thinks and the hands that execute. The plan was to rush the center into the gap in the enemy line, and at the same time throw the entire force of the right wing, which until then had remained on the plain in a wait-and-see attitude, against Arapil Grande. I was near the point of departure when a horrible crash filled my ears. It was the artillery of the enemy’s left wing, thundering against the great hill. It attacked with colossal force. Our right wing, composed of valiant army corps, moved up at the same moment to rescue the incomparable Highlanders, the 23rd Line Infantry, and the 3rd Light Infantry, whose exploits I have described. I passed through the Fifth Division, under General Leith, who was marching from the village of Arapiles to the hill. I passed between the Third Division, commanded by Major-General Packenham, General d’Urban’s cavalry , and the dragoons of the Fourteenth Regiment, which were going in four columns to envelop the enemy’s left on the famous height; and I saw from a distance General Bradford’s brigade, Cole’s, and Stapleton Cotton’s cavalry, marching in another direction against the enemy center; I also saw in the distance my comrades from the Spanish division forming part of the reserve commanded by Hope. The aforementioned hermitage did not crown Arapil Grande, as there were much higher heights. It was, in reality, that irregular and stepped eminence, and if from a distance it did not seem so, upon venturing into it, one found great depressions in the ground, undulations, slopes, sometimes gentle, sometimes rough, and a slightly stony earth floor. The French, from the moment they thought it appropriate not to conceal their thoughts, appeared from various points and occupied the highest part and prominent sites, threatening from all of them the few forces that had been operating there since the morning. The first division to open fire on the enemy was Packenham’s, which attempted to ascend and climbed the slope that leads to the town. It was supported by Urban’s Portuguese cavalry; but its progress was not great, because the French, who had just emerged from the wood, had taken positions at the top, and although the slope was gentle, it gave them quite an advantage. When I reached the vicinity of the hermitage, Brigadier Pack hadn’t lost a single line of his previous positions; but his brave regiments were reduced to less than half. General Leith had just arrived with the Fifth Division, and the whole picture had changed completely, for if the enemy sent numerous forces to the summit of the hill, we were no less than second to none in number or bravery. But there was no time to lose. It was necessary to throw men and more men onto that mound of earth, ignoring the fire of the French artillery, which bombarded us from the woods, although without doing us much damage. It was necessary to drive the French out of Santa María de la Peña, and then continue climbing, climbing until we planted the English colors on the highest peak of Arapil Grande. “The reinforcements arrived almost before the reply,” I said to Brigadier Pack. “What should I do?” “Take command of the 23rd Line, which has been left without a leader. Up, always up ! I see what we have to do. Hold here, attract as many enemy troops as possible, so that Cole and Bradford don’t encounter much resistance in the center. This is the key to the battle. Up, always up!” The French seemed to no longer attach much importance to Santa María de la Peña, and they crested the height. The columns, artfully staggered, awaited us at attention. There was no possibility of smashing them with cavalry there, or of doing much damage with cannons positioned at a great distance. We had to go up bare-chested and drive them out of there, as God gave us to understand. The problem was difficult, the task immense, the danger horrible. The glory of advancing first against the motionless French columns occupying the height fell to the 23rd Line . What a dreadful moment! The staircase, gentlemen, was terrible, and on each of its funereal steps, the soldier marveled at finding himself alive. If he were going down instead of up, that would be the staircase to Hell. And yet, Pack’s and Leith’s troops were ascending. How? I don’t know. By virtue of an inexplicable miracle. Those Englishmen were not like the men I had seen. They were ordered to do something, something absurd, something impossible, and they did it, or at least they tried. In recounting what happened there, I am unable to specify the movements of each battalion, nor the orders of each commander, nor what each one did within his sphere. Imagination preserves with indelible and terrifying characteristics the main thing; but not the secondary things; and the main thing then was that we were pushed upward by an irresistible force, by I don’t know what powerful hands that gripped our backs. We saw death ahead, above; but death itself was drawing us. Oh! Anyone who has never climbed more than the stairs of their own home will not understand this. Since the ground was uneven, there were places where the gradient disappeared. On those steps, partial battles of unprecedented fury and ferocity were fought. The brave men of midday, who rarely know the passive heroism of allowing themselves to be killed rather than break ranks by separating from them, will not understand that imperturbable madness to which desperation turned into virtue drove us. It is easy for the high summit to break away and rush forward, increasing its speed with the movement, and fall upon the plain and overwhelm and invade it; but we were the plain, determined to ascend to the summit, and eager to crush it, and sink it, and dent it. In war, as in nature, height dominates and triumphs; It is material superiority, and a symbolic form of victory, because victory is truly something that, with blazing speed, rolls down and tramples, cleaves and destroys. He who is on top has the material and moral strength, and, consequently, the thought of the fight, which he can direct as he pleases. Like the head in the body human, has the senses and the idea… We were poor crawling forces, scratching the ground, at the mercy of those above, and yet we wanted to dethrone them. Imagine if our feet insisted on throwing our heads from our shoulders to get on top of them; stupid people, who only know how to walk! The first steps offered no great difficulty. Many people died; but they climbed. Afterwards, things were different. One would have thought that the French allowed us to ascend in order to catch us more closely. Pack’s dispositions to ensure that we suffered as little as possible were admirable. Needless to say, all the leaders had left their horses; and some behind, others at the head of the lines, led, so to speak, the obedient soldiers by the hand. Precise order amidst the deaths, a sure step, an unparalleled poise regulating the maneuver, prevented the ravages from being excessive. With modern weapons , such an achievement would have been impossible. It was essential to take advantage of the intervals when the enemy was loading their rifles to rush forward with bayonets. Fatigue was against us, for if in some places the slope was little more than a steep incline, in others it was a steady incline. The French, relaxed, content, and secure in their position, scorched us with accurate fire and met us with bare bayonets. Sometimes, one of our columns managed, with overwhelming persistence, to cut a path over the corpses of the enemy; but this required doubling and tripling the thrusts, doubling and tripling the dead, and the result did not correspond to the immensity of the effort. What a frightful ascent! When partial battles were engaged in a break, the voices, the tumult, the swarming of those craters are incomparable to anything that the rage of men has invented to imitate the ferocity of beasts. Amidst a thousand deaths, the terrain was conquered inch by inch; And once they had mastered it, they fiercely held on to the piece of ground necessary to place their feet. England would not yield the space on which they secured the soles of their shoes; and to wrest it away and overcome this prodigy of perseverance, the French had to deploy all their courage, aided by their height. Even so, they could not throw the British down the slope. Woe to him who rolled first! Aware of the immense danger of a temporary fainting spell, of a retreat, of a backward glance, the feet of those men took root. Even after death, it seemed that their long legs remained planted in the ground up to the knees, like milestones that would eternally mark the conquest of England’s powerful genius. But at last, a terrible moment arrived; a moment when the columns rose and died; when the many people who threw themselves down that slope, shattered, scorched, decimated, feeling themselves diminish with every step, understood that their strength offered little advantage. Behind the overwhelmed French columns , others appeared. As in Macbeth ‘s frightful forest , on the crest of the Grande Arapil, every branch was a man. We approached the summit, and that upper crater vomited soldiers. It was unknown where so many people could have come from, and the plateau of the hill had room for an army. Then came a moment when the English saw the summit of the hill itself approaching them, a horrendous monstrosity brandishing a thousand bayonets and aiming thousands of rifle barrels. Panic seized everyone, not the nervous panic that compels one to run, but a sovereign and grave anguish that takes away all hope, instilling resignation. It was impossible, absolutely impossible, to continue climbing. But descending was the difficult part. Nothing could be easier if they allowed themselves to be stabbed by the French, resigned to rolling on the ground, alive or dead. A step-by-step retreat, giving the enemy every inch of ground as slowly as it was taken away, is the ultimate difficulty. Pack bellowed with rage, and the blood pooling in the burning flesh of his face seemed to want to ooze from every pore. He was a man with the soul to stand alone on the summit of the hill. He gave orders in a hoarse voice; but his orders were no longer heard: he brandished his sword, slashing at the sky, because heaven was undoubtedly to blame for the English being unable to continue forward. The occasion had arrived for one of them to die stoically in order to protect with his body the one who was taking a step back. In this way, half the flesh was saved. A wrong retreat throws everything on the spit into the embers. The columns were staggered with admirable skill ; the fire was more vivid, and each time one of those heavy avalanches descended from the heights , breaking away, one would have thought that all was over; but the momentary confusion disappeared instantly, the English masses appeared once again compact and formidable, and death had to be content with half. Thus, part of the ground slowly gave way , until the Imperials stopped attacking us. They had reached a point where the English cannon was greatly bothering them, and Packenham’s advances on the flank of Grande Arapil were also quite worrying. They regrouped and waited. Meanwhile, admirable and glorious events were occurring elsewhere. Everything was going well everywhere except on our ill-fated hill. General Cole was smashing the French center. Stapleton Cotton’s cavalry, penetrating through the broken ranks, delivered one of the most brilliant, sublime, and at the same time most horrifying charges ever seen. From the position to which we retreated, not ashamed, but humiliated, we could see in the distance that admirable display that made us envious. The columns of dragoons, the phalanxes of cavalry, the swiftest, most lively, and most warlike that could be seen, penetrated like immense snakes through the French infantry. The saber blows offered a perpetual spattering of tiny lightning bolts to the eye, a tiny rain of steel that shattered hearts, annihilated people, trampled and shattered like a hurricane. The shouts of the riders, the gleam of their hooves, the neighing of the steeds rejoicing in that bloody feast with their brutal and imperfect souls, offered a terrifying spectacle. Naturally indifferent to the enemy’s misfortunes, the warriors’ hearts were deified by that spectacle. Confidence flees from combat, a frightened and tearful deity, driven by fear; nothing remains but warlike rage, which forgives nothing, and the barbaric instinct for strength, which, through a mysterious enigma of the spirit, becomes an admirable virtue. Stapleton Cotton’s squadrons, as I have said, performed the great miracle of that battle. In vain the French gained some advantages elsewhere; In vain they had managed to seize some houses in the village of Arapiles. Believing that possessing the village was important, they spiritedly took the first buildings and defended them bravely. They clung to the earthen walls and stuck to them, like mollusks to stone; they allowed themselves to be crushed against the walls rather than abandon them, swept away by the English shrapnel. Precisely when the French thought they had gained a great advantage by taking the village, and when we were descending from the Great Arapil, Cotton’s cavalry penetrated like a great dagger into the heart of the imperial army; the great body was seen split in two, cracking and bursting at the violent friction of the powerful wedge. Everything yielded to it: strength, foresight, skill, courage, daring, for it was an admirable power, an overwhelming unit, composed of thousands of pieces that worked harmoniously without a single one disagreeing. The thousands of breastplates gave an idea of the Roman testudo; But that immense turtle with its steel shell had the swiftness of a reptile, and thousands of legs and thousands of mouths with which to scream and bite. Its snapping teeth widened the hole into which it had crawled; everything fell before it. The enemy battalions groaned in terror. Marmont ran to restore order, and a cannonball took off his right arm. Then Bonnet ran to replace him, and he too fell. Ferey, Thomières, and Desgraviers, illustrious generals, perished with thousands of soldiers. On the slope of our hill, the firing had been suspended. An officer who had fallen beside me while descending was being carried by two soldiers. I saw him as I passed, and he, almost dying, called me with a sign. It was Sir Thomas Parr. Once he was on the ground, the surgeon, examining his shattered chest, gave me to understand that it was hopeless . Other English officers, most of them also wounded, surrounded him. Poor Parr turned his eyes toward me, from which the last glimmer of life was slowly fading, and in a weak voice he spoke thus: “I was told before the battle that you bear me a grudge and that you were preparing to demand redress for some grievance. ” “Friend,” I exclaimed, deeply moved, “on this occasion not a trace of anger can remain in my breast.” I forgive and forget all. The slander you have echoed, surely without malice, cannot injure my honor: it is one of those levities that we all commit. “Who doesn’t commit some, Sir Araceli?” he said in a grave voice. ” Admit, however, that I could not have offended you. I die without the anxiety of being hated… Are you saying I slandered you? Are you referring to the case of Miss Fly? And you call that slander? I have repeated what I heard. ” “Miss Fly? ” “Since it is said that you will necessarily marry her, I have nothing to reproach you for. Do you admit that I have not offended you? ” “I admit it,” I replied, without knowing what I was saying. Parr, turning to his compatriots, said: “It seems we are losing the battle. ” “The battle will be won,” they replied. He took out his watch and handed it to one of those present. “Let England know that I am dying for her! Let her not forget my name!” he murmured in a voice that gradually faded. He named his wife and his children; he spoke a few endearing words, shaking the hands of his friends. “The battle will be won… I am dying for England!” he said, closing his eyes. Slight movements and slight oscillations of his lips were the last signs of life in the body of that brave and generous soldier. A moment later, a number was added to the terrifying tally of the dead that the Great Arapil had swallowed. Chapter 36. Stapleton Cotton’s tremendous charge had changed the situation . Leith appeared among us again, accompanied by Brigadier Spry. From their faces, from their gestures, as well as from Pack’s shouts, I understood that a new attack on the hill was being prepared. The enemy’s situation was now much less favorable than before, because the advantages gained in our center by the advance of the cavalry and General Cole’s progress completely changed the complexion of the battle. Packenham, after repelling them from the village, was pressing them hard on the eastern slope of the hill, so that they were exposed to the consequences of an encircling movement. But they had a powerful force on the vast hill and a safe retreat through the Cavarrasa Hills. Spry’s Brigade, which had previously maneuvered in the vicinity of the village, moved to the right to support Packenham. Leith’s Division, Pack’s Brigade with the 23rd Line, the 3rd and 5th Light Infantry, again came under fire. The French, reconcentrating in their positions from the Hermitage upwards, waited with an imposing attitude. Shots rang out from various points; the columns marched in silence. We were now familiar with the terrain, the enemy, and the difficulties of that ascent. As before, the French seemed prepared to let us advance, perhaps to receive us with a hail of bullets; but it was not so, for they suddenly broke away with threatening force on Packenham and Leith, attacking with such courage that it took an Englishman to resist them. The columns on either side had lost their alignment, and formed into irregular and misshapen groups, they offered Foreheads bristling with spikes, if I may put it that way, which were embedded in each other. The two armies dug their claws into each other, tearing at each other. Streams of blood furrowed the ground. The falling bodies were sometimes the main obstacle to progress; at times, these were interrupted like death embraces, and each retreated a little to gather new strength for a new onslaught. We observed the clearings in the bloody ground littered with corpses, and far from being dismayed by this terrible spectacle, we reproduced the same clashes with double fury. Covered in blood, which I didn’t know had come from my own veins or from someone else’s, I threw myself into the same delirium I saw in the others, forgetting everything, feeling—and this is evident—like a second, or rather, a new soul that existed only to rejoice in those nameless ferocity; A new soul, yes, in whose irritated powers all memory of the past was erased, all idea foreign to the frenzy in which it was immersed. I bellowed like the Highlanders, and , extraordinary thing! On that occasion, I spoke English. Neither before nor after did I know a word of that language; but it is certain that everything I howled in battle was understood by the English, and in turn, I understood them. The powerful effort of the Scots somewhat disconcerted the imperial lines, precisely at the instant when Clinton’s division, which until then had been in reserve, arrived on our field. Fresh and untiring troops entered the action, and from that moment we saw that the horrible ranks of French remained inactive, although firm. Shortly after, we saw them withdraw, continuing to fire very briskly. Despite this, the English did not rush upon them. Some time passed, and then we observed the troops occupying the top of the hill slowly abandoning it, protected by the front, which continued firing. I don’t know if orders were given for this; what I do know is that suddenly the English regiments, which occupied the slope at various points, advanced calmly and without haste upwards. The summit of Grande Arapil was a vast, irregular expanse, composed of other small hills and valleys. It could hold an immense number of soldiers ; but night fell, the center of the enemy army was defeated, as was their left side toward the Tormes, so it was impossible for them to defend the disputed height. France was beginning to retreat, and the battle was won. However, it wasn’t easy to cut down, as some would have liked, the French, who still occupied several heights, because they defended themselves vigorously and knew how to cover the retreat. It was on our side that the greatest damage was done to them. Much effort was devoted to breaking their ranks, to shattering and destroying that wall that protected the others from fleeing toward the forest; but at first it was not easy. The sight of the considerable forces retreating almost unharmed and peacefully impelled us to charge at them with even greater vigor. Finally , so much was pounded and crushed into the unfortunate French line that we saw it crack, break, crumble, and its countless openings were penetrated by the fist and claw of the victor, leaving nothing alive. What a terrible hour, that hour when a defeated army must organize its escape from the threatening and implacable fury of the victor, who destroys it if it flees, and destroys it too if it stays! Evening was falling; the landscape was slowly darkening. The scattered groups of the enemy army, fleeting streaks that snaked across the ground in the distance, vanished, absorbed by the earth and the forests, amid the sad music of hoarse drums. These, along with the nearby uproar and the noise of the cannon, which was still singing the last mournful stanzas of the poem, produced a mad din that made the mind faint. It was not possible to hear even the voice of our friend shouting in our ear. The moment had arrived when features and gestures speak volumes, and it was useless to give orders, because They didn’t understand each other. The soldier saw the opportunity for individual feats had arrived , for which leaders were not needed, and everything was now reduced to seeing who could kill the most fleeing enemies, who could take the most prisoners, who could lay their paw on a general, who could manage to lay their hand on one of those venerated eagles that had proudly strutted all over Europe, from Berlin to Lisbon. The roar that thundered through the air when the victor, filled with rage and thirsty for revenge, rushed upon the vanquished to drown him, is beyond description. Anyone who has not heard the thunder of lightning crash in the midst of human storms will always be ignorant of such scenes. Blind and mad, seeing neither danger nor death, hearing only the whirlwind, we threw ourselves into that volcano of rage. We mingled with them: some were unarmed, others threw at their feet the daring man who tried to take them prisoner; some died killing, others stoically allowed themselves to be captured. Many Englishmen were sacrificed in the last kick of the wounded and desperate beast; they slashed at each other mercilessly: thousands of hands dealt death in all directions, and vanquished and victors fell together, tangled and entwined, mixing the burning blood. There is no hatred in history comparable to that between English and French at that time. Guelphs and Ghibellines, Carthaginians and Romans, Arabs and Spaniards, sometimes forgave each other; but England and France, in the time of the Empire, hated each other like Satan. The simultaneous envy of these two peoples, one of whom dominated the seas of the globe and the other the lands, erupted on the battlefields in a horrific way. From Talavera to Waterloo, the duels between these two rivals left a million bodies on the ground. At the Arapiles, one of their fiercest brawls, both reached the height of ferocity. To capture prisoners, they destroyed everything possible of the enemy’s life. With a few Portuguese and Englishmen, I penetrated perhaps more than was appropriate into the heart of the bewildered and fleeing enemy infantry. On all sides, I witnessed insane struggles and heard the most insulting words of those two languages, which fought with their insults like men with weapons. The whirlwind, the spiral, carried me away, ignorant of what I was doing; my soul retained no more knowledge of itself than a very lively desire to kill something. In that confusion of shouts, raised arms, infernal faces, and eyes disfigured by passion, I saw a golden eagle perched on the top of a pole, wrapped around a filthy rag, a colorless burlap, as if it had been used to wash all the dishes on the tables of all the European kings. I devoured with my eyes that rag, which, in one of the flutters of the crowd, was unfurled by the wind and revealed an N that had once been gold and was drawn over three bands whose hue was a pastel of earth, blood, mud, and dust. Bonaparte’s entire army had wiped the sweat of a thousand battles with that perforated handkerchief that no longer had any shape or color. I saw that glorious sign of war at a distance of about five yards. I don’t know what happened; I don’t know if the flag came toward me, or if I ran toward it. If I believed in miracles, I would believe that my right arm lengthened five yards, because, without knowing how, I grabbed the flagpole and held it so tightly that my hand stuck to it and shook it and tried to tear it from where it was. Such moments cannot be appreciated by the senses. I saw myself surrounded by people: they were falling, rolling, some dying, others defending themselves. I made efforts to pull out the flagpole, and a voice shouted in French: “Take it.” At the same second, a pistol was fired at me. A bayonet pierced my flesh; I didn’t know where, but it did. Before me was a livid figure, a face covered in blood, eyes that shot out fire, claws that gripped the flagpole , and a contracted mouth that looked as if it were about to devour an eagle, a rag. and the antler, now to devour me too. I cannot tell how much I hated that monster : we looked at each other for a while and then struggled. He fell to his knees: one of his legs was not a leg, but a piece of flesh. I struggled to wrest the standard from his hands. Someone came to my aid, and someone helped him. I was wounded again, I was inflamed with even wilder rage, and I pressed the beast to the ground with my knees. With both hands I grasped both things, the flagpole and the sword. But this could not last longer, and my right hand remained only with the sword. I thought I had lost the flag; but the steel I had thrust into sank deeper and deeper into an inexplicable softness, and a trickle of blood ran straight to my face like a needle. The flag remained in my possession; But from that body that was writhing beneath mine, there sprang like antennae, claws, or some kind of rabid, sticky tentacle, and a mouth rushed at me, digging its sharp teeth into my arm with such force that I let out a cry of pain. I fell, embraced and constricted by that dragon, for it seemed to me a dragon. I felt myself squeezed by it, and we rolled down I know not what slopes of the earth, among a thousand bodies, some dead and inert, others alive and running. I saw nothing more: I only felt that in that swift rolling I was carrying the eagle tightly in my arms. The terrible mouth of the monster pressed my arm ever more tightly, and it dragged me with it, both of us wrapped together, confused, one on top of the other and against the other, under a thousand legs that trampled us; amidst the earth that blinded our eyes; amidst a gloomy darkness; amidst a buzzing so loud, as if the whole world were a single bumblebee; without any awareness of what was above and below; with all the confused and vague symptoms of having been transformed into a constellation, into something like a circumambulatory creature, in which all the limbs, all the entrails, all the flesh and blood and nerves revolved endlessly and vertiginously around the fiery brain. I don’t know how long I was circling: it must have been a short time; but to me it seemed like centuries. I don’t know when I stopped; what I know is that the monster continued to form a single person with me, and its ferocious mouth continued to bite me… Finally, it wasn’t content with eating my arm, but, it seemed, it sank its poisoned tooth into my heart. What I also know is that the eagle was still on my chest: I felt it. I felt the shaft as if it were stuck in my entrails. My thought took over everything with confusion and delirium, for it itself was a burning light falling from I know not where, and in the inestimable speed of its course, it described a streak of fire, an endless line, which… I also know not where it went. Greater torment I never experienced! It ended when I lost all notion of existence. The Battle of Arapiles was concluded, at least for me. Chapter 37. Let me rest for a moment, and then I will answer the questions that are directed to me. I did not regain consciousness in a moment, but I was gradually entering into the mysterious clarity of knowledge; I was reborn little by little, with vague perceptions; I was recovering the use of some senses, and there was within me a kind of dawn, but very slowly, extremely slow and painful. The new life pained me; it mortified me as the light a blind man who has not seen for a long time mortifies him. But everything was turmoil. I saw some objects, and I did not know what they were; I heard voices, and I didn’t know what they were either. I seemed to have completely lost my memory. I was in a place because it was undoubtedly a place on the globe ; I saw shapes around me, but I didn’t know that the walls were walls, nor that the ceiling was a ceiling; I heard the wailing, but I didn’t recognize those plaintive vibrations that hurt my ear. In front of me, very close, face to face with me, I saw a face. Seeing it, my spirit made an effort to appreciate the visible form; but it could not. I didn’t know what that face was: I didn’t know, as one doesn’t know what another thinks. But the face had two very beautiful eyes. who looked at me lovingly. All this was determined in me by feeling, because understanding?… I understood nothing. So, by feeling, I divined in the person before me a kind of compassionate, tender, and affectionate tendency toward me. But the strangest thing was that this affection, which hung over me, protecting me like a Guardian Angel, also had a voice, and the voice vibrated in the spaces, stirring all the particles of the air, and with the particles of the air, all the atoms of my being, from the center of my heart to the tip of my hair. I heard the voice saying: “You are alive, you are alive… and you will also be healthy.” The beautiful face became so joyful that I was pleased too. “Do you know me?” said the voice. I must not have answered anything, because the voice repeated the question. My sensitivity was so great that each word, like a steely blade, pierced my chest. Pain and weakness overcame me again, no doubt because I had made efforts of attention beyond my condition, and I relapsed into faintness. Closing my eyes, I stopped hearing the voice. Then I experienced a material discomfort. A strange object brushed against my forehead, falling over my eyes. As if the protecting angel had guessed, I immediately noticed that the obstacle was being removed. It was my disheveled hair, which was falling over my forehead and eyebrows. I felt a warm, affectionate softness, which must have been a hand, which freed my forehead from the annoying contact. A little while later, while I continued with my eyes closed, it seemed to me that a butterfly was fluttering above my head, and after tracing several curves and turns, in a sign of indecision, it landed on my forehead. I felt its two wings lowered against my skin; but the wings were warm, heavy, and fleshy: they remained imprinted on me for a long time, and then they rose, producing a certain rustling, a soft popping sound that made me open my eyes. If I opened them quickly, the winged insect fled even more quickly. But the same face as before was so close to mine, so close that its warmth bothered me a little. There was a certain flush about it. At the sight of it, my spirit made an effort, a great effort, and said to itself: “What face is this? I think I know this face.” But having not solved the problem, it resigned itself to ignorance. Then the voice sounded again, saying with a pathetic accent: “Live, live for God’s sake!… Do you know me? How are you feeling? You have no serious injuries… you have contracted a stroke; but the fever has subsided… You will live, you will live without remedy, because I want it… If the human will did not resurrect the dead, what would be the use? Deep down, far in the depths of my being, I don’t know what faculty, emerging numb from a profound slumber, uttered mysterious voices of assent. “Can’t you see me?” “—she continued, repeating that I didn’t know who she was. “Why aren’t you speaking to me? Are you angry with me? Impossible, because I haven’t offended you… If I haven’t seen you, if I haven’t spoken to you more often in recent days, it’s because I wasn’t allowed to. I was almost sent back to my country in a cage… But they can’t prevent me from caring for the wounded, and I’m here watching over you… How I suffered waiting for you to open your eyes! ” I felt my hand clasped tightly. The face turned away from me. “Are you thirsty?” said the voice. I tried to answer with my tongue; but the gift of speech was still denied me. Somehow, however, I explained myself affirmatively, because the guardian angel placed a cup to my lips. This gave me immense well-being. As I was drinking, another figure appeared before me. I also didn’t know precisely who it was; But inside, deep inside me, a spark of memory simmered restlessly, striving with its uncertain glow to explain to me the enigma of that other , gaunt, bony, sad being, from whose skeleton hung a black, shroud -like garment. Crossing his hands, he looked at me with profound pity. The woman then said: “Brother, you may go and look after the other wounded and sick.” I will keep watch over him tonight. From within the black sheath that had wrapped the living bones of a man, another voice came out and said: “Poor Señor Don Gabriel de Araceli! What a pitiful state he is in!
” Hearing this, my spirit experienced great joy. It rejoiced, it was moved all over, just as Columbus’s must have been when he discovered the New World. Rejoicing in his great conquest, my spirit thought thus: “So my name is Gabriel Araceli?… Then I am someone who was present at the Battle of Trafalgar and on the Second of May… Then I am the one who…” This effort, the greatest I had made until then, prostrated me once more. I felt lethargic. The light was fading; night was coming . A reddish light, coming from a sad lantern, illuminated the space where I was. The man had disappeared, and only the beautiful woman remained. For a long time she looked at me without saying a word. Her silent, sad, and fixed image before me, as if painted on a canvas, faded and vanished as I sank back into that dark night of my soul, from whose bottomless bosom I had emerged only a short while before. I slept I don’t know how long, and when I came to , I had gained little clarity of mind. The stupor remained, though not as deep. The thaw was very slow. My angelic protector had not left me, and after giving me a substance to drink that gave me great relief and revival, she laid my head on the pillow and said: “Are you feeling better?” A breath ran from my brain to my lips, which uttered: “Yes. ” “It’s familiar,” the voice added. “Your face is different. I think the fever is disappearing. ” I answered yes a second time. In the stupidity that dominated me, I knew nothing else to say, and I delighted in constantly using the only treasure I had acquired until then in the immense realm of speech. Yes is the complete vocabulary of idiots. To answer yes to everything, to give assent to everything that exists, no reasoning, comparison, or even judgment is necessary. Someone else has done the work before. On the other hand, to say no, it is necessary to oppose a new reasoning to that of the person asking, and this requires a certain degree of intelligence. Since I was at the dawn of reasoning, answering in the negative would have been a marvel of genius, of precocity, of inspiration. “You slept very peacefully last night,” said my nurse’s voice . “You’ll be well soon. Give me your hands, they’re a little cold: I’ll warm them. ” As I did so, a lightning bolt passed through my mind, but so weak, so swift, that it was not yet a certainty, but a presentiment, a hope of knowing, a premonition. In my brain, the skein was unraveling; but so slowly, so slowly… “You owe me your life…” continued the voice belonging to the person whose hands were squeezing and warming mine, “you owe me your life.” The skein of my brain stirred its threads: it made such an effort to untangle them that it was on the point of breaking them. “In your delirium,” it continued, “some very flattering words have escaped you. The soul, when it sees itself free from the empire of reason, presents itself naked and unmuzzled: it shows all its beauties, and says everything it knows. So yours has hidden nothing from me… Why do you look at me with those fixed eyes, black and sad as night? If with them you beg me to say it, I will say it, even if it violates the law of propriety. Know that I love you.” The skein then pulled its threads so tightly that it was about to break, was breaking irremediably. “I needn’t tell you, because you already know,” he continued after a long pause. “What you don’t know is that I loved you before I met you… I had a twin sister more beautiful and purer than the angels. I bet you don’t know anything about this… Well, a libertine tricked her, seduced her, stole her from God and her family, and my poor little thing, my beloved, my idolized Lillian, had a moment of despair and killed herself. The eldest of my brothers chased the wicked man, author of our shame: both of them went one night by the seashore, they fought, and my poor Charles fell never to rise again. Shortly after, my mother, distraught with grief, gradually left the earth, and one morning in May she said goodbye to us and fled to heaven. Surely you knew nothing of this. I continued being an idiot, and I answered that I did. “After these events, on the face of the earth existed a man more hated than Satan. To me, his very name was an execration. I hated him so much that if I had seen him repentant and walking to heaven, my lips would not have uttered a word of forgiveness for him. I imagined him to be a corpse, and I trampled on him… The skein twisted and turned, and made such tangles and entanglements that my brain ached intensely. There was a taut, stiff thread there , which, hurting me more than the others, made me say: “I am Araceli, the same one who was at Trafalgar, and was shipwrecked on the Rayo and lived in Cadiz… In Cadiz there is a tavern owned by Mr. Poenco. ” “One day,” he continued, “while I was in Spain, where I came following my second brother, I was told that that man had been killed by another in a duel of honor. I asked with such eagerness, with such profound curiosity, the name of the victor, that I almost knew it before it was revealed. They told me your name; they related to me some details of the case, and from that moment on—why hide it?—I adored you. My spirit made inexplicable balances over two grotesque images; and placed on a scale, two figures called Poenco and Don Pedro del Congosto, one went up while the other went down.” At that moment I must have said something more substantial than the original “yeses,” because she, still ignorant of who I was, placed her hand on my forehead and spoke thus: “You guessed me without a doubt; you saw me from afar with the eyes of your heart. I searched for you for many months. It took you so long to appear that I came to believe you were devoid of real existence. I read romances, and I applied them all to you. You were the Cid, Bernardo del Carpio, Zaide, Abenámar, Celindos, Lancelot del Lago, Fernán González , and Pedro Ansúrez… You took shape in my imagination, and I took care to make you grow in it; but my eyes searched the earth and could not find you. When I found you, it seemed to me that you were shrinking; but I saw you suddenly rise and touch the very high point of stature with which I had measured you. Until then, all the men I met either mocked me or did not understand me.” You alone looked me in the face and faced the sublime temerities of my thought without fear. I saw you spontaneously inclined to perform uncommon actions. I associated myself with them, I wanted to lead you even further, and you followed me blindly. Your soul and mine clasped hands and touched each other’s foreheads, to convince themselves that they were both of one size. The light of both merged into one. Upon hearing this, the skein of my knowledge was stirred in an extraordinary way. The threads entered and exited one another , and twisted to separate and arrange themselves. They now appeared in groups of different colors, and although still quite tangled, many of them, if not all, seemed to have found their place. “You loved another,” continued the one, who was now beginning to be no stranger to me. “I saw her and I observed her.” I wanted to know her for some time, and I did know her and I got to know her; I found her so unworthy of you that I immediately considered myself the victor. It is impossible that I could be mistaken. Upon hearing this, my heart, which until then had remained still and mute, asleep like a child in its cradle, began to jump so lively and to call to me in such a sweet little voice that it really hurt me. Within me there arose—I don’t know if I should say a vapor—a wave that was first warm and then burning, which rose from the depths to the surface of my being, awakening in its wake all that was asleep; an invading, dominant wave that possessed the gift of the word, and as it ascended through me it kept saying: “Up, up all.” “What’s the matter?” continued that woman. “You’re agitated. Your face is flushed… now it’s turning pale… Are you going to cry? I’m crying too. Health is returning to your body, as sensitivity is to your noble soul. Could it be that the revelation I made has moved you? Do not judge my audacity with vulgar criteria, believing that I am lacking decorum, propriety, and modesty in telling a man that I love him. I, at the same time, am pure as the angels and free as the air. The fools who surround me may slander me and slander you; but they will not stain my honor, just as an ideal and heavenly love does not stain it when it passes from thought to word. If for a long time I have dissembled and pretended to flee from you, it has not been for fear of fools, but for the benefit of both of us.” When I saw you almost dead, when I picked you up in my arms from the battlefield, when I brought you here and nursed you and looked after you, trying to bring you back to life, I was deeply saddened that you should die without knowing my secret. My stupor was coming to an end. My thoughts and my heart were returning to their pristine state; but words were slow, oh, slow! “God has heard me,” she added. “Not only can you hear me, but you are alive, and you will be able to speak to me and answer me. Tell me that you love me, and if you die later, I will always have something of you.” A celestial figure, so celestial that it did not seem of this world, entered inside me, flattering and folding itself so that there was not a single space inside me that was not filled with it. “You don’t answer me a single word,” said my nurse’s voice. ” You don’t even look at me.” Why do you close your eyes?… Is that how you answer, sir?… Know that I not only have doubts, but also jealousy. Have I displeased you with what I have done recently? I will not hide it from you, for I have never lied. My tongue was born for the truth… Do you perhaps not know that your enchanted princess and her scoundrel of a father were in Salamanca? Who brought them, I do not know. The unfortunate Mason longed for freedom, and I gave it to him with the greatest pleasure, obtaining from the general a safe-conduct permit so that he could leave here and cross all of Spain unmolested. Upon hearing this, reason, memory, feelings, words, everything suddenly returned to me with violence, with force, with a crash, like a waterfall tumbling from the heights of heaven. I gave a cry, sat up in bed, waved my arms, flung away with instinctive brutality the beautiful figure before me, and burst into exclamations of rage. I looked at the lady and named her, for I had already recognized her. Chapter 38. The hospitaller I had seen before came in when he heard my cries, and they both tried to calm me. “He’s become delirious again,” said John of God. “I have been the cause of this disturbance,” said Miss Fly, very distressed. My own weakness overcame me, and I fell upon the bed, stifled by the indignation that was dully concentrated within me, finding neither voice nor strength to express itself outside. “Poor Mr. Araceli,” said John of God with pious feeling, “will go mad like me. The devil has laid his hand on him. ” “Be quiet, brother, and don’t talk nonsense,” said Miss Fly, covering my arms with the blanket and wiping the perspiration from my brow. “What are you talking about here about demons? ” “I know what I’m talking about,” added the Augustinian, looking at me with profound pity. “Poor Don Gabriel is under an evil influence… I’ve seen it, I’ve seen it. ” Saying this, he stuck out two thin, pointed fingers from his closed fist and pointed with them at his eyes. “Go outside and look after the other sick people,” said Miss Fly cheerfully, “and don’t bother us with your nonsense. ” Juan de Dios left, and Athenais and I were left alone again. Finding myself now in complete possession of my thoughts, I spoke to her thus: “Madam, repeat to me what you just said.” I didn’t quite understand. I believe that neither my senses nor my reason are calm. I am delirious. “As that good man said. ” “I have spoken to you for a long time,” said Miss Fly, somewhat perturbed. “Madam, I cannot but make out in a very confused way what I have seen and heard this evening… Indeed, I saw before me a beautiful and consoling figure; I heard words… I do not know what words. In my mind are mingled the echo of other voices and the mysterious sound of others that I myself must have uttered… I cannot clearly distinguish the real from the true; for some time I have seen objects and appearances without knowing them. ” “Without knowing them! ” “I have heard words. Some I remember, others I do not. ” “Try to repeat the substance of all that I have told you, ” murmured Athenais, pale and grave. “And if you have not understood clearly, I will repeat it to you. ” “In truth, I cannot repeat anything. There is a frightful confusion within me … I thought I saw before me a person whose ideal representation never leaves me in my dreams; a figure I love and respect, because I believe it to be the most perfect thing God has placed on earth… I thought I heard I don’t know what sweet, clear words, mixed with others I didn’t understand… I thought I heard, now music from heaven, now the roar of a hundred storms raging inside my heart… I can’t say for sure… at last I saw you clearly, I knew you… “And did you hear me clearly too?” she asked, bringing her face close to mine. “I know that conversation should not be given to sick people. I must have bothered you. But the truth is that I was anxiously hoping you could hear me. If by misfortune you were to die… ” “Of what I heard, madam, I only clearly remember that you had freed someone I had imprisoned. ” “And does this displease you?” asked the Little Fly in terror. “Not only does it displease me, but it vexes me greatly, greatly,” I stated uneasily, shaking out the bedclothes to free my arms. Athenais groaned. After a brief pause, she looked at me fixedly and proudly, and said: “Sir Araceli, is such anger because the enchanted bird has escaped from Chalice Street? ” “That’s why, that’s why,” I repeated. “And surely you love her?” “I adore her, I have adored her all my life. For some time now, my existence and hers have been as intertwined as if they were one. My joys are her joys, and her sorrows are my sorrows. Where is she? If she has disappeared again, Lady Athenais, from my soul, I swear to you that all the romances of Bernardo, the Cid, Lancelot, and Celindos would seem too few to search for her. ” Athenais was pitifully disfigured. It seemed as if she were the sick man and I the nurse. For a long time I watched her as if she were carrying on some horrible struggle with herself. She turned her face away so that I could not see her emotion; She looked at me afterwards with a violent anger that, without her wanting it, turned into inexplicable sweetness, until, rising with an expression of majestic pride, she said to me: “Sir Araceli, farewell. ” “Are you leaving?” I said sadly, taking her hand, which she quickly removed from mine. “I shall be left alone… I deserve that you should despise me, because I have returned to life, and my first word was not to thank this affectionate friend, this charitable soul who undoubtedly rescued me from the field of battle, who has cured me and assisted me… My lady, my lady! The life that you have won from death would gladly see the moment when it would have to be lost again for you. ” “Beautiful words, Sir Araceli,” she said to me with a solemn tone, without approaching me, looking at me pale, sad, and serious from a distance, like a sententious sibyl pronouncing the revelations of my destiny. “Beautiful words; but not so much that they conceal the vulgarity of your empty soul. I brush aside that debris and find nothing. You are composed of greatness and smallness. ” “Like everything, like everything created, madam. ” “No, no,” she added briskly. “I know something that is not so; I know something where everything is great. You have done in your life and even These very days, admirable things. But the same thought that conceived Lord Gray’s death, you hand over to a vulgar and prosaic housewife like a blank sheet of paper to write the laundress’s accounts. Your heart, which knows how to feel so well at times, is of no use to you, and you hand it over to the seamstresses to make of it a little cushion in which to stick their pins. Sir Araceli, I am bored here. “Madam, madam, for God’s sake, don’t leave me! I am still very ill. ” “Do I not have a higher rank than that of a nurse? I am very proud, sir. Brother Hospitaller will look after you. ” “You are joking, dear friend, charming Athenais; you are mocking true affection, the admiration you have inspired in me. Sit beside me; we will talk of various things: of the battle; of poor Sir Thomas Parr, whom I saw die.” “I still believe I’m good for more than just chatting with the idle and the bored,” he answered me disdainfully. “Sir, you treat me with a familiarity that surprises me. ” “Oh! We shall remember the unheard-of exploits we have performed together. Do you remember Jean Jean? ” “You are truly impertinent. I have waited on you long enough; I have spent enough hours by your side. While you were raving, I have laughed, listening to the silly and amusing absurdities you were continually uttering; but you are in your right mind now, and you are a fool again. ” “Well then, madam, I will rave, I will rave, and I will talk all the nonsense you like, provided you will come with me,” I exclaimed cheerfully. “ I don’t want you to go away angry with me.” Miss Fly leaned against the wall to keep from falling. I saw the expression on her face change from senseless fury to profound emotion. Her eyes filled with tears, and as if it seemed to her that her hands weren’t hiding them well enough, she quickly ran outside. Her first intention was undoubtedly to leave; but she remained near the door , in a place where I could hardly see her. Nevertheless, her presence was sufficient to reveal it to me—I don’t know whether it was the sighs I thought I heard, or the shadow that appeared on the wall and rose to the ceiling. What is beyond doubt for me is that, after being immersed in sad thoughts for a long time, I felt sleepy, and slowly fell into a very deep state that lasted until morning. Should I say that when I was almost completely losing the use of my senses, the strange phenomena that had accompanied my painful return to life were repeated? Should I say that I thought I saw a winged insect fly over and around my head, which then came to rest its two soft, heavy, and burning wings on my forehead? This was nothing more than a repetition of what I had previously dreamed. The strangest phenomenon of all that very strange night came next, putting a worthy end to my confusion. Gentlemen , my confusion about the Little Bird had not yet dissipated when I noticed a long, black thing hovering over my forehead, not very large, although it was very difficult for me to determine its size. This object, or little animal, had two long legs and two pointed wings, which it alternately opened and closed; all black, rough, rigid, and extremely ugly. That horrible crustacean would curl up, and then it looked like a black dagger; then it would open its legs and wings, and it was like a scorpion. Slowly it came down toward me, and when it touched my forehead, I felt cold all over my body. It became very agitated; it wiggled its horrible limbs repeatedly, emitting a shrill, dry, harsh screech that shook my nerves, and then it fled. Chapter 39. After a long and profound sleep, I awoke in broad daylight, feeling considerably better. The beautiful brightness of the sun brought me immense well-being, and besides bodily relief, I experienced a certain peaceful repose of soul. I reveled in my health as a fool revels in his beauty. At my side were two men, the hospitaller and a military doctor, who, after examining me, gave cheerful prognoses concerning my condition. illness, and he ordered me to eat something succulent if I could find charitable souls who would provide it for me. He went off to cut off I don’t know how many legs, and the brother, as soon as we were alone, sat down beside me and said to me contritely: “Follow the advice of a poor penitent, Señor Don Gabriel, and instead of taking care of the food of the body, attend to that of the soul, which needs it greatly. ” “So then, Señor Juan de Dios, am I going to die?” I said, fearing that he wanted to try the system of wild herbs on me. “To live as you live,” affirmed the friar in a lugubrious tone, ” is worth a thousand times more death. I at least would prefer it. ” “I don’t understand. ” “Señor Araceli, Señor Araceli,” he exclaimed, not only uneasy, but with real alarm, “think of God; call on God to help you; Eliminate all worldly thoughts from your mind; abstract yourself… To achieve this, let us pray, my friend; let us pray fervently for four, five, or six hours, without a moment’s distraction, and we will be freed from the immense, the horrible danger that threatens us. “But this man is going to kill me,” I said fearfully. ” The doctor ordered me to eat, and now it turns out I need a six-hour ration of prayer. Little Brother, for the love of God, bring me a hen, a turkey, a ram, an ox. ” “Lost, irretrievably lost!” he exclaimed with utmost affliction, raising his eyes to heaven and crossing his hands. “Eat, eat! Treat the body to tempting delicacies when the soul is threatened.” Threatened, Mr. Araceli… Come to your senses… Let us pray together, for just six hours, without a moment’s distraction… with our thoughts fixed on high… In this way, the perfidious one will be frightened, he will hesitate at least before laying his infernal hand on an innocent soul, he will find it bound to heaven with the holy chains of prayer, and perhaps renounce his execrable purposes. –Brother John of God, get out of my sight, or I don’t know what I’ll do. If you are a raving lunatic, fortunately I am not, and I want to feed. –For mercy, for all the saints, for the salvation of your soul, my beloved brother, moderate yourself, curb those light appetites, put a hundred chains on the concupiscence of chewing, for all sinful fastidiousness enters through the door of gastronomy. I looked at him, half-angry and half-smiling, because his austerity, which had begun to become grotesque, angered me and at the same time amused me. No, it’s not possible for me to paint him as he was, as I saw him at that moment. To reproduce on canvas the strange figure of that man, whom fasting and the exaltation of his imagination had brought to such a pitiful state, Zurbarán’s brush wouldn’t be enough—no: it would be necessary to rummage through the palette of the great Velázquez to find there something that had been used to make his immortal fools. I laughed at him, saying, “Bring me something to eat, and then we’ll pray.” The hospitaller’s only reply was that he knelt down and, taking out a prayer book, said to me, “Repeat what I’m reading. ” “This man will kill me, he’ll kill me! Please!” I shouted angrily. Juan de Dios stood up, and placing his hand on my chest, frightened and trembling, he spoke to me thus: “He’s coming! He’s going to come!” “Who?” I asked, tired of this farce. “Who could it be, wretch, who could it be?” he said in a low and dejected voice. “Who could it be but the clumsy enemy of the human race, the black king who rules the empire of darkness as God rules the empire of light; he who hates holiness and lays a thousand snares for virtue to entangle it? Who could it be but the filthy beast who possesses the art of changing and beautifying himself, assuming the figure and attire that most easily seduce the careless sinner? Who could it be? A strange question indeed! I am amazed at the innocent calm with which you speak to me, finding yourself, as you are, in the same state as I am!” My peals of laughter thundered through the room. “I shall be very glad if you come,” I said. “How do you know that “Is he coming? ” “Because he’s already been, poor fellow; because he’s already laid his treacherous hands upon you as a token of possession and dominion, because he said he would return. ” “That makes me exceedingly glad. And when have I ever had the honor of such a visit? I have seen nothing. ” “How could you see him if you were asleep, wretch!” she exclaimed with pity. “Sleep, sleep! That is the great danger. He takes advantage of occasions when the soul is loose and up to no good, free from the vigilance of prayer. That is why I never sleep; that is why I am constantly watching. ” “Did he come while I was sleeping? ” “Yes: last night… horrible moment! The English lady who has looked after you so well had gone out. I was alone and became a little distracted in my prayers. ” Without knowing how, I had let my thoughts wander through voluptuous and rosy spaces… unworthy sinner, a thousand times unworthy!… I had placed the book on my knees, and closed my eyes, and allowed myself to fall asleep in a delicious swoon, whose vaporous mist and gentle warmth recreated my body and spirit… –And then, when my blessed little brother was rejoicing in such levities, the earth opened, a flame of sulfur came out… –It was not the earth that opened, but the door, and he appeared… Alas! He appeared in that celestial form, stolen from the creatures of the highest angelic sphere; he appeared as my sinful eyes always see him. –Brother, brother, I am happy and I would regret if you were sane. –He appeared, as I have said, and the sight of him turned me into a statue. Another woman of equal stature accompanied him, also in feminine form, appearing older than the first, the one as hated as she was adored, who is the terror of my nights and the terror of my days, and the abyss that swallows my soul. “Well, I assure you that I adore those demons, Mr. Juan de Dios, and right now I’m going to send them a message with you. ” “With me? Unhappy little wretch! They’ll come for you and take you away with their satanic tricks. ” “I want to know what they did, what they said. ” “They said: ‘They’ve assured us he’s here.’ And then their all-seeing eyes in the gloom of the horrendous night saw the wretched body, and they rushed toward it with howls that seemed like the tenderest sobs, with wails that seemed the sweet harmony of maternal love, weeping beside the cradle of the dying child. “And I, fast asleep!” Father John, you are an imbecile, a fool! Why didn’t you wake me? You were still delirious; the two of them, alas! Those two most beautiful appearances, so polished and perfect that only I, with the perspicuous eyes of my soul, could discern beneath their dazzling structure the hand of the infernal artificer; the two women, I say, shed demonic sparks upon your breast and forehead, disfigured with such ingenious alchemy that they seemed tears of tenderness. They placed their fiery lips on your hands as if kissing them, they arranged your bedclothes, and then… And then? And then, they looked for me with their eyes as if to ask me something; but I, more dead than alive, had hidden myself under that table and was trembling there and dying. Mr. Gabriel, I was dying wanting to pray and not being able to pray, wanting to stop seeing that spectacle and seeing it forever… Finally, they decided to leave… they were already masters of your soul and needed no more. “So they left. ” “They left saying that they were going to ask permission from I don’t know who to transfer you to a better place… to Hell at least. In this way, a Hospitaller brother who was a great sinner disappeared from among the living : they took him away one morning, whole, and without leaving a single piece of his physical structure. ” “And then?… I am very happy, Brother Juan. ” “Then came that lady they call _Doña Flay_, who is an angelic creature, who loves you very much. You began to emerge from that stupor or disorder in which the ambassadors from the dark underworld had left you: the English lady spoke with you at length, and I, I began to listen behind the door; I heard him say a thousand tender, honeyed, and bewitching little things to her. “And then? ” “And then you got furious, and I came in, and the Englishwoman told me to leave. And from what I understood, my Don Gabriel fell asleep. The Englishwoman went in and out, crying incessantly. ” “And nothing more? ” “There is something else, yes, without a doubt the most terrible and frightful thing, because the tormentor of the human race, he who, according to a holy Father, counts woman as an accomplice in his infamous industry, who is the furnace of his alchemies and the foundation of his ugly concoctions; he who torments me and wants to ruin me, entered again in the same duplicate form of a beautiful woman… ” “And I, was I sleeping too? ” “You were sleeping peacefully and restfully. The Englishwoman was next to that table, wrapping I don’t know what in a paper. They came in … I didn’t die at that moment by the miracle of God… they approached you, and back to the howls that seemed like weeping, and to the palmistry signs similar to soft and loving caresses. “And they said nothing? They said nothing to Miss Fly or to you? ” “Yes,” she continued after taking a breath, because the fatigue in her oppressed chest hardly allowed her to speak, “they said they already had the license, and that they were going to look for a litter to take you to a place they didn’t name…” But the strangest thing is that upon hearing this, the English lady, who was no less absorbed, no less suspended, no less frightened than I, must have realized that such ostentatious beauties were the work of the one who carried Jesus to the top of the mountain and to the summit of the city; and, as terrified as I was, she uttered a piercing scream , rushing out of the room. I followed her, and we both ran a long way, until she stopped her hasty run and, leaning her head against a wall, began shedding tears, exhaling deep sighs, and uttering vehement words with which she begged God for mercy. An hour later I returned, you awoke, and nothing more. All that remains is for us to pray, as I said before, because only prayer and spiritual vigilance drive away the Evil One, just as perfidious sleep, luxurious meals, and worldly conversations call him. Juan de Dios said no more; trembling and livid, he focused his attention on strange noises outside. “Here, here I am, Inesilla… Countess!” I cried, recognizing the sweet voices I heard from my bed. “Here I am, alive and well and happy, and loving you both more than my life. Oh!” They both came in and, desolate, ran toward me. One hugged me on one side and the other on the other. I almost fainted with joy as the two beloved heads pressed against my chest. John of God fled in a leap, in flight, or I don’t know how. I wanted to speak, but emotion prevented me. They were crying and saying nothing either. Finally, Inés raised her eyes to my forehead and observed it with curiosity and attention. “What are you looking at?” I said. “Am I so disfigured that you don’t recognize me? ” “It’s not that.” The Countess looked too. “It’s just that I notice you’re missing something,” Inés said, smiling. I put my hand to my forehead, and, indeed, something was missing. “Where have the two long locks of hair you had here gone ? ” As she said this, she touched my head with her little fingers. “Well, I don’t know… maybe in the battle…” They both laughed. “My dear ones, I remember having seen in a dream a small, cold, black animal above my head , and now I understand what it was: a pair of scissors. I have a graze here on my temple… do you see it?… Those hairs were bothering me, and here’s the surgeon’s. He’s a knowledgeable man who doesn’t forget the smallest detail. I had so many questions to ask that I didn’t know where to begin. ” “And how did that battle end?” I said. “Where is Lord Wellington?” “The battle ended where all battles end: it ended when they grew tired of killing each other,” one of them answered me, I don’t know which one. “But the French were retreating when I fell.” “They retreated so far,” said the Countess, “that they’re still running. Wellington is catching up with them. Don’t worry about that, they’ll do fine without you… We’ll see if they give you a rank for having caught the eagle. ” “So I caught an eagle…?” “An eagle all gilded, with its wings open and its beak broken, perched on a pole, and with lightning bolts in its talons: I saw it,” said Agnes with satisfaction, going into pompous descriptions of the imperial insignia. “They found you,” added the Countess, “among many dead and wounded, embracing the corpse of a French standard-bearer, who was biting your arm. It was the part of my body that hurt the most. ” “We’ve been looking for you since the 22nd,” said Agnes, “and until last night it was all running and running without any result. We thought you were dead. I went to the large ditch where the poor bodies are buried .” There were so many, so many, that I couldn’t see them all… It seemed like a curse from God. If I had had the eagle you caught in my hand when I saw that, I would have thrown it into the ditch too, and then dirt, lots of dirt on top of it. “Well, Inesilla: no one better than you tells the greatest truths in a simpler way. Military glory and the dead of battles should be buried in the same grave… Anyway, my beloveds, I’m alive to love you very much, and to marry one of you, with the consent of the other. ” The Countess frowned slightly, and Inés looked at my hair. The happiness that flooded my soul overflowed into open laughter and joyful expressions, to which Inés would have responded in some way, if her mother’s seriousness had allowed it. ” Let’s get that scoundrel out of here now,” said the Countess, “and then we’ll see.” We must thank that English lady who took you in from the battlefield and who has taken such good care of you, so we’ve been told. I know who she is, and we’ve seen her. I met her at the Port… By the way, sir, you and I need to talk. ” “Isn’t she around? Athenais, Athenais!… She’ll insist on not coming when we need her. I’m overjoyed that you two know each other. I think this acquaintance will save me some grief. Miss Fly is a loyal and generous person. Mr. Juan de Dios!… He won’t come even if he’s hanged. He’s taken to saying you’re the devil. ” “That blessed hospitaller?” the Countess indicated. “The doctor told us he’d already escaped from the asylum twice… Let’s see how we can fix you on the stretcher. We’ll call another orderly.” When the Countess left, I said to Agnes: “You haven’t told me anything about that person… ” “You’ll know everything,” she replied, without objecting to my kissing her hands. “Come home quickly… try to get up. ” “I can’t, my dear child, I’m very weak. That devilish hospitaller decided to starve me to death today. The Augustinian insisting I shouldn’t eat, and Miss Fly driving me crazy with her gossip… ” “Oh!” said Agnes with a charmingly threatening expression. “Is that Englishwoman supposed to be with you everywhere? I have a suspicion, a terrible suspicion, and if it were true… Am I too good, too trusting and innocent, and are you a complete scoundrel?” She looked at my forehead again, not with anxiety, but with real alarm. “My dear Ines!” I exclaimed. “If you have suspicions, I ‘ll dispel them! Do you doubt me? That can’t be.” It never happened, and it will not happen now. Can I doubt you? Can the faith of this mutual religion, in which we have long lived and dearly adored one another, be shaken? “So it has been up to this point; but now… you are hiding something from me… my mother has carelessly uttered a few words… No, Gabriel, do not deceive me. Tell me, tell me quickly. Miss Fly picked you up from the field . She has denied it; but it is true. We have been told so. ” “Deceive you!… That is funny. Even if I were wicked and wanted to deceive you, I could not… But I must tell you the truth, the whole truth, my wife, and I begin from this moment… Why do you look at my face?” forehead? “Because… because…” she said, pale, grave, and threatening, “because Miss Fly took that lock of hair from you. I can guess. ” “Well, yes, it was her,” I answered with imperturbable serenity. “Herself!… And she confesses it!” she exclaimed, half in suspense and half terrified. Her eyes filled with tears. I didn’t know what to say to her. But the truth rushed out in an impetuous wave from my heart to my lips. Lying, pretending, twisting, dissembling, was unworthy of me and of her. Sitting up with difficulty, I said to her: “I will tell you many things that will surprise you, my dear. Let you and I thank that generous woman who took me from the dead at Arapil Grande, so that you would not be left a widow. ” “Let’s go,” said the Countess, coming in suddenly and interrupting me. “You’ll be fine in this litter.” Chapter 40. The house on Chalice Street, to which I have twice transported my listeners, and to whose grounds they must follow me again if they wish to know the end of this timely story, was the ancestral home of Santorcaz, who had inherited it from his father a year earlier, along with some productive land. The mansion consisted of two or three buildings of varying size and structure, which were purchased, joined, and connected by Mr. Juan de Santorcaz, a villager who had become wealthy at the beginning of the last century. That dwelling lacked elegance and beauty, but not solidity, magnitude, or comfort, although some rooms were too far apart, and the corridors were excessively long , as were the number of steps leading from one side to the other. Santorcaz was in the rooms where we saw them earlier with his daughter on July 22, during the battle. This last circumstance will make my listeners understand that I did not witness what I am about to relate. But if I relate it as a reference, if I place it in the place of the facts I witnessed, it is because I place as much faith in the word of the one who told them to me as in my own eyes and ears; and thus, let this be considered true and real. Thus, as I have said, the unfortunate Don Luis and his daughter were in the parlor; she was lamenting the existence of wars, and he was cursing his sad state of health, which did not allow him to witness the spectacle of that day, when the famous knocker of the culebrón rang with a terrible crash , and a short time later, the only servant who served them and the soldier who guarded them announced to the solitary owners that a lady wished to enter. As Miss Fly had been there a few days before, offering the mason safe conduct to leave Salamanca and Spain, he was delighted and gave orders that the generous visitor be allowed to pass immediately and enter his presence. After a few minutes, the Countess entered the parlor. Santorcaz roared like a wounded beast unable to defend itself. For a long time, mother and daughter remained clasped, mingling their tears, so oblivious of the rest of creation that they alone existed in the world. Finally restored to their senses, the mother, observing with terror that rabid, somber man, who fixed his eyes on the ground, as if he wanted to dig a hole into which to crawl with the mere force of his gaze , tried to take her daughter with her, and said words very similar to those I uttered in similar circumstances. Those who saw my surprise can judge what Amaranta’s surprise was when Inés separated from her and, in a flood of tears, ran with open arms toward the old man, in an affectionate gesture. The Countess watched this incredible movement in rapture. Santorcaz, when his daughter was close, turned his face and stretched out his arms to push her away. “Go away from here,” he said, “I don’t want to see you, I don’t know you. ” “Madman!” ” cried the girl in pain. “If you tell me to leave again , I will leave. ” Santorcaz turned his fierce eyes from one side of the room to the other, looked with equal rancor at the Countess and her daughter, and trembling with anger, he repeated: “Go, go: I told you to go. I don’t want to see you again. Get out of here.” this house with that woman, and don’t come back. ” “Father,” said Inés, not attaching much importance to the old man’s frenzy. ” Didn’t you tell me this house is mine? Haven’t you given me the keys? Well, I’m going to put this lady up in a room on the street, because today it’s impossible for her to find a place to stay, and tomorrow the two of us will leave you alone.” Taking a bunch of keys and rattling them, not without a certain mocking intention, Inés left the room followed by Amaranta, who understood nothing of this tragicomedy. Once he was alone, Santorcaz strolled around the room, turning it in endless twists and turns, like a treadmill . His face expressed everything that human physiognomy can express , from the most terrible anger to the most tender emotion. He then picked up a book, but threw it on the floor a few minutes later. He then took a quill pen, and after scratching the paper for a short time, tore it to pieces and trampled on it. He rose and, with hesitant steps and an uncertain gesture, went to the French window; he entered the next room, where there was a woman’s dressing table and a white bed. Kneeling on the floor, he made a reclining bed, and resting his face on it, he wept all day. If Santorcaz had had the acute and fine hearing of some ornithological species, he would have perceived the sound of faint footsteps in the nearby corridor; if Santorcaz had possessed second sight, which is an absurdity in physiology, but which would not seem so if the mysterious organs of the spirit were understood, he would have seen that he was not entirely alone; that a celestial figure was flapping its wings in the vicinity of the sad alcove; who, without touching the ground with her light step, came and approached, and with a graceful gesture, applied her pretty head to the door to listen, and then she would insert a ray of her eyes through a crack to observe what was happening within; and as if what she saw and heard pleased her, she would illuminate those dark spaces with a smile, and leave, only to return a little while later to attend to the same thing. But the poor mason saw nothing of this. That afternoon, an English orderly brought him a safe-conduct to leave Salamanca; but the mason tore it up. The Countess and Agnes, except during the intervals when Agnes went out, talked endlessly in the rooms on the street. Imagine the task of two women’s tongues , who can say in one day everything they have kept silent about in a year. They talked incessantly, moving from one subject to another, without exhausting any, experiencing diverse emotions, always surprised, always moved, taking each other’s word, referring, pondering, emphasizing, commenting, affirming, and denying. This happened on July 22nd. From time to time, they were interrupted by a distant hum, a dull shudder of the earth and the air. It was the voice of the cannons of England and France, which were clashing where we all know. The two women folded their hands, raising their eyes to the sky… The cannon shots were repeated more frequently. In the afternoon, it was an incessant roar like that of the stormy ocean. Mother and daughter were so overcome with terror that they fell silent: that’s all there is to say. They thought about the number of men that would be swallowed up with each shock of the angry sea, which roared in the distance. Night came, and the cannon shots ceased. Very late, Tribaldos entered the house. The poor boy was dismayed, and, although he thought he was brave, he shed a few tears. “Where are you going?” the mother asked her daughter anxiously, seeing that she put on the cloak without saying why. “To Arapil,” Agnes replied, giving another cloak to the countess, who also put it on without saying anything. Agnes visited the old man for a few moments, and left the house and the city, accompanied by her mother and faithful Tribaldos. An immense crowd of curious onlookers filled the road. The battle had been horrendous, and all those who had not been able to see the feast wanted to see the remains. They walked for a long time, all night, up and down, and back and forth. There, without finding what they were looking for, nor anyone to give them any reason for it. Near daylight, they saw Miss Fly returning from the battlefield, leading a well-dressed and covered stretcher on which they were carrying a man who had been found at Arapil Grande, covered with wounds, unconscious , and with a horrible bite on his arm. Agnes, the Countess, and Tribaldos approached Miss Fly to ask her questions; but she, impatient to continue, replied: “I don’t know a word. Let me continue. I have poor Sir Thomas Parr on this stretcher, who is seriously wounded.” They and Tribaldos continued on, and they walked around the battlefield, which the light of the dawning day allowed them to see in all its horror; they saw the bodies lying stretched out and twisted, their faces retaining the expression of rage and terror with which death had surprised them. Thousands of dull, lightless eyes, like the eyes of marble statues, looked at the sky without seeing it. Hands stiffened on rifles and saber handles, as if about to rise to fire and slash again. Horses raised their stiff legs and bared their white teeth in a mournful smile. The two disconsolate women saw all this and examined the bodies one by one; they saw the puddles, the ditches, the ruts made by the wheels, and the holes opened by so many thousands of feet in the tumbling of the fight; they saw the crushed flowers of the field, and the butterflies that took flight with their wings stained with blood. They returned to Salamanca; they returned at night to the battlefield, no longer moved, but desperate; they prayed along the way; they asked all the living, and the dead too. Finally, after repeated trips and explorations in and out of the city, which took them three days, with brief intervals of residence and rest at the house on Calle del Cáliz, they found what they were looking for in the improvised field hospital in La Merced. They found him separated from the others, in a solitary room, and in the hands of a poor, demented friar. They made inquiries with the military authorities, and finally, they managed to take him—that is, to take me with them. Chapter 41. They accommodated me in a bright, pretty room and in a good bed, which they hastily prepared for me. They gave me food, for which I was grateful with all my heart, and I began to feel very well. What most contributed to hastening my recovery was the inexplicable joy that filled my soul. An external symptom of this joy was an expansive joviality, which drove me to laugh at any frivolous reason. The night I entered the house, while the Countess was writing letters to every living creature, Inés was giving me dinner in the adjoining parlor. We were alone, and I told her the entire, absolutely entire, almost incredible novel “Miss Fly,” omitting nothing that might harm or exalt me in the eyes of my interlocutor. She listened to me with profound attention, but not without sadness; and when I concluded, it seemed as if my constant friend had lost the use of words. I don’t know in what vague perplexities her great spirit remained suspended and floating. In her face I observed anger struggling with compassion, pride perhaps in conflict with hilarity. But she said nothing, and her large eyes were fixed on me. For my part, the longer her contemplative abstraction lasted, the more inclined I felt to mock the clouds that darkened my sky. “Is it possible that you still think about that?” I said to her. “I hope you’ll show me the blond lock of hair that the black man paid you with … Good piece of work, do you think I’ll marry you, a lost soul, a scoundrel? We’ll take care of you, and as soon as you’re well, you’ll go off with your beloved Englishwoman. I have no need of you. ” She wanted to get serious, and she almost succeeded. “I won’t leave, no,” I told her, “because I love you more than the apple of my eye; you’ve made me fall in love with you, because you’re a creature of other times, because your soul, madam, I like to address you as you.” People, take my hand and we both rise to heights where the vulgarity and baseness of those born never reach. For you, madam, I will be Bernardo del Carpio, El Cid, and Lancelot of the Lake; I will undertake the most absurd enterprises; I will kill half the world and eat the other half. “If you think to fool me with such nonsense…” he said, not wanting to laugh, but laughing. “Madam,” I exclaimed with a dramatic tone, “you are the magnet of my existence, the only partner worthy of my soul; I adore eagles that fly looking face to face with the sun, and not hens that only know how to lay eggs, raise chicks, cluck in their coops, and die for man. Take me, take me with you, madam, to the spaces of great emotions and the loftiness of thought. If you abandon me, I will mourn for you in the ruins; If you love me, I will be your slave, and I will conquer ten kingdoms to put one on each finger of your hands. “Hush, hush, you fool, you charlatan,” said Agnes, defending herself as best she could against the hilarity that choked her. “Ah, my lady and master!” I continued, strengthening my intonation. ” You reject me. Your heart is unworthy of mine. I believed it tempered in the fire of passion, and it is a piece of soft, flabby flesh. I asked you to join it to mine, and you throw the soldiers at it to stick their bayonets in it. You are unworthy of me, madam. I tell you these sublime things, and instead of listening to me, you spend all day sewing yourselves up; you tremble when I go to war; you think only of your children, instead of thinking of my glory, and you occupy yourselves with making stews and various dishes to feed me. I don’t eat, madam: in the region where I live, no one eats… You are truly foolish: you have insisted on loving me with a sweet and tranquil affection, proper to seamstresses, apothecaries, sergeants, covachuelistas, and doorway tailors. Oh! Love me with exaltation, with frenzy, with delirium, as Bernardo del Carpio loved Doña Estela; sing of the exploits of the heroes who are the compass and beacon of my life, and place yourselves before me like a historical figure, without caring that my clothes are in tatters, my table without food, and my children naked. What do I see? Do you laugh? Human misery! I die for you, and you laugh! I suffer, and you rejoice! I grow thin, and you present yourselves to me fresh, happy, and plump! Inés wept with laughter, but in such a frank and natural way that all her anger was fading away in those sparks of joy. My heart sympathized with hers, like siblings who quarrel for a moment in order to love each other more. “I am abandoning you because you love another, a vulgar and unpoetic creature, madam,” I continued, looking at her forehead and making a movement with my fingers similar to the opening and closing of scissors. “But I want to take a memory of you with me, and so I will cut off that lock of hair that hangs over your forehead. ” Saying this, I took her beautiful head and gave it a thousand kisses. “You hurt me, barbarian,” she cried, continuing to laugh. The Countess, who was in the nearby room, came running, and seeing her, Inés, redder than a poppy, said to her: “It’s Gabriel, he’s so funny.” “Don’t make a noise, I’m writing.” I still have many letters to write, as I have to write to Wellington, Graham, Castaños, Cabarrús, Azanza, Soult, O’Donnell, and King Joseph. My beloved mother-in-law had a mania for letters. She wrote to everyone and received a reply from everyone. Her collection of letters was a rich historical archive, from which I will one day extract many precious things. The following day, my mother-in-law went to visit Miss Fly, whom, as I said, she had met in the Port and recently recognized in Salamanca. Athenais paid a visit to the Countess that same day. She came elegantly dressed, dazzling with beauty and grace. Serving her as a gentleman was Colonel Simpson, always red-faced, lively, well-groomed, and composed like a model, and always honoring all objects and people with the quadruple gaze of two eyes and two glasses that never rested in their investigative observation. I had I stood and remained motionless during the visit, which wasn’t long, although it was worthy of second to last place in this true story. “So you’re leaving for England for good?” said the Countess. “Yes, madam,” replied Athenais, who didn’t deign to look at me. “I’m tired of the war and of Spain, and I wish to embrace my father and sisters. If I ever return to Spain, I’ll have the pleasure of visiting you. ” “Perhaps I’ll have the opportunity to write to you first,” said my mother-in-law, remembering that there were paper and pens in the world. “For lack of time, I haven’t yet written to Lord Byron, whom I met in Cadiz. You won’t take bad memories of Spain with you. ” “Very good ones. I had a great time in this strange country; I studied the customs, made many drawings of the costumes, and a large number of landscapes in pencil and watercolor. I hope my album will attract attention. ” “You’ll also take a memoir of the sad scenes of the war, ” said Amaranta with emotion. “The French respect nothing,” Miss Fly remarked with the indifference one employs during visits when discussing the weather. “In their retreat,” Simpson affirmed, “they have destroyed all the villages on the banks of the Tormes. They have not forgiven us for having killed five thousand men and taken seven thousand prisoners with two eagles, six flags , and eleven cannons… A great and important battle! I cannot but congratulate Monsieur de Araceli,” she added, doing me the honor of addressing me, “on his good behavior during the action. Brigadier Pack and the honorable General Leith have praised you in my presence. I know that His Excellency the great Wellington is not ignorant of anything that so favors you. ” “In that case,” I said, “perhaps the prejudice His Excellency had against me for reasons I was never able to know will dissipate. ” Athenais turned pale; But instantly controlling herself, she not only dared to fix her beautiful heavenly eyes on me, but she laughed, and very heartily, it seemed. “This gentleman,” she replied with a joviality astonishingly well feigned, “has had the misfortune and the fortune to pass for my lover in the eyes of the idlers of the camp. In Spain, the honor of ladies is at the mercy of any malicious person. ” “But how! Is it possible, madam?” I exclaimed, feigning surprise, and besides surprise, enraged. “Is it possible that because of that most fortunate meeting of ours…? I certainly knew nothing. And they have dared to slander you!… How horrible! ” “And they almost assumed I was married to you,” she added, turning her eyes away from me, contrary to what the propriety of conversation demanded. It has been a great diversion for me, because, in truth, although I consider you worthy of consideration— ” “Not so much that I could deserve the honor,” I added, completing the sentence. “That’s as clear as day.” “It all stemmed from someone seeing us together in the city, when, to save yourselves from those infamous soldiers, you passed yourself off as my servant for a few hours,” said Athenais, flirting and beguiling. ” Now the question remains whether, out of youthful vanity, it was you yourself who dared to spread such ridiculous rumors about a noble English lady, who has never thought of falling in love in Spain, much less with a man like you. ” “I do, madam! Colonel Simpson is a witness to what I thought on the matter. ” “The rumors,” said the amiable Abraham, “originated from the English officers and began to circulate when Araceli returned from Salamanca and Athenais did not.” “And you, my dear Sir Abraham Simpson,” said Miss Fly somewhat angrily, “gave rise to the vulgarities that were being bandied about me. ” “Let me say, my dear Athenais,” Simpson said in Spanish, “ that your conduct in this matter has been somewhat odd. You are proud—I know—you thought you were lowering yourselves by merely being concerned with the matter… The truth is, you heard everything, and then you kept silent. Your sadness, your silence, made it seem… ” “I don’t think you have the facts right,” said Athenais, beginning to blush. “Everyone was talking about it; Wellington himself dealt with it. They questioned you delicately, and you answered vaguely. It was said that you intended to demand compliance with the English laws on marriage. Slander, pure slander; but the fact is that they said it and you did not deny it… I myself called your attention to this serious matter, and you remained silent…” “You have a poor grasp of the facts,” repeated Athenais, blushing more deeply, “and you are also very indiscreet. ” “Why, in my opinion,” said Simpson, “you carried delicacy to a lamentable extreme, my dear Athenais… You were outraged merely by the idea of being believed… well… a woman of your class… I do not wish to offend Monsieur; but… it is absurd, monstrous. England, madam, would have trembled in its granite foundations. ” “Yes, in its granite foundations!” “I repeated. What would have become of Great Britain! It’s a frightening thing.” Miss Fly gave me a terrible look. “Well,” said the Countess, “the rumors circulated… I heard them myself… But the thing is worthless if Great Britain remains untainted … ” Miss Fly stood up. “Madam,” I said with the greatest respect, “I should be sorry if you were to leave Spain without my being able to express the profound gratitude I feel… ” “Why, sir?” she asked, holding the handkerchief to her lovely mouth. “For your kindness, for your charity. As long as I live, madam, I will bless the person who rescued me from the field with other unfortunate companions. ” “You are greatly mistaken,” she exclaimed, laughing. “I have not thought of such a thing. You, no doubt, wished it. I rescued several, yes; but not you. You have been deceived.” You saw me at La Merced, wandering through the halls and bedrooms… I don’t want you to give me credit for works that don’t belong to me. “Then, madam, allow me to thank you for… No, what I mean is, I beg you not to hold a grudge against me for having been the cause, however innocent, of those ridiculous rumors… ” “Oh, oh!… I pay no attention to such nonsense. I am far superior to such misery… Slander! Does it matter to me at all?… Your person! Does it mean anything to me? You are vain and petulant.” Miss Fly made extraordinary efforts to maintain in her countenance that English calm which serves as a model for the majestic impassivity of sculpture. She looked at the glass, the old paintings, the floor, at Inés, at everyone, at everyone but me. “Then, madam,” I added, “since no harm has come to you because of me… ” “None, absolutely none.” You do yourself too much honor, Sir Araceli, and just by apologizing for the vile slander, just by associating your person with mine, you are lacking in courtesy, yes, lacking in the consideration that a daughter of Great Britain should inspire throughout the land . “Pardon me, madam, a thousand times pardon. It only remains for me to tell you that I wish to be your most humble servant and retainer, here and everywhere and on all occasions of my life. Am I also lacking in courtesy in this way? ” “Also… but, in short, I accept your homage. Thank you, thank you ,” he said haughtily. “Goodbye.” At the end of the visit, although he repeatedly tried to laugh, he could only half manage it. His hands trembled, tearing the corners of the yellow shawl. He bid the Countess a fond farewell, and with great ceremony to Inés and me. “And won’t you be so good as to write to us sometime to inquire about his health?” I said. “Do you care? ” “A lot, a lot!” I replied vehemently and with profound sincerity. “Write to you! For that, I would need to remember you. I am very forgetful, Mr. Araceli. ” “As long as I live, I will not forget your generosity, Athenais. It is very difficult for me to forget.” “Well, not me,” she said, looking at me for the last time. And in that last look that her eyes gave me, she put so much Pride, such arrogance, such irritation, that I felt truly sorry. At last, she left the room. The pallor of her face and the fury of her soul made her terribly and majestically beautiful. A few moments later, that beautiful insect of a thousand colors, which for a few days had fluttered in capricious circles and played around me, had disappeared forever. Many people who have previously heard me tell this maintain that Miss Fly never existed; that this whole part of my story is an invention of mine to amuse myself and amuse others; but shouldn’t the word of an honest man be blindly believed? Perhaps, one who has given such proof of integrity, is he now capable of darkening his reputation with absurd fictions, with figments of the imagination that have no basis and foundation in the truth itself, daughter of God? Shortly after the two Englishmen left us alone, the Countess said to Agnes: “My child, do you mind marrying Gabriel?” “No, none,” she replied with such aplomb that it surprised me. With ineffable affection, I kissed her beautiful hand, which I held in mine. “Is your soul calm and content, my child? ” “Calm and content,” she replied. “Poor Miss Fly!” We both looked at each other. A heaven full of divine light and the inexplicable music of angels floated between our faces… If it is possible to see God, I saw him. “How wonderful it is to live!” I exclaimed. “How well God did in creating us, both of us, all three of us! Is there happiness comparable to mine? But what is this, is it living or is it dying? ” Hearing this, the Countess, who had run to embrace us, moved away from us. She fixed her eyes on the ground in sadness. Agnes and I thought the same thing at the same time, and we felt the same sorrow, an intimate and deep pity that disturbed our happiness. “How are you today?” “Amaranta asked. “Very bad,” Inés replied. “Only his spirit lives. ” Amaranta sighed and hugged us again. “Get up,” Inés told me. “Let’s both go there. He hasn’t seen me for an hour and a half, and he must be very taciturn.” Although exhausted and weak, I got up and followed her, leaning on her arm. “I’ll make a last attempt, and I will win,” she said, nearing the mason’s den. “I’ve watched him very closely all day, and the poor thing now wants nothing more than to surrender.” Chapter 42. Upon entering the solitary and sad room, we saw Santorcaz sprawled in the armchair, attentively reading a book. He raised his eyes to look at us. Inés, placing her hand on his shoulder, said with affectionate grace: “Father, do you know I’m getting married? ” “Are you getting married?” the old man said in astonishment, putting down the book and devouring us with his eyes. “You!” “Yes,” Inés continued in the same tone. “I’m marrying this rogue Gabriel, an oppressor of the people, an executioner of humanity, a satellite of despotism. ” Santorcaz wanted to speak, but emotion numbed his tongue. He wanted to laugh; then he wanted to become serious, even angry; but his face expressed nothing but confusion, hesitation, and unease. “And since my husband will have to serve kings and queens, because that is his profession,” Inés continued, “I will be forced, dear father, to quarrel with you. Now I’ve taken to nobility; I want to go to court, have a palace, carriages, and many luxurious servants… That’s who I am. ” “You’re joking, Señora Doña Inesita,” Santorcaz said in a bittersweet tone, finally recovering the power of speech. “Is there no choice but to marry the first person who comes along?” “I’ve known him for a long time, you know that well,” she said, laughing. ” I’ve told you many times… Now, Father, you will stay here with Juan and Ramoncilla, and I will go to Madrid with my husband. You will amuse yourself by founding a grand lodge and reading books about revolutions and guillotines, so that you will end up going mad, like Don Quixote, with the books about chivalry. ” Saying this, she embraced the old man and let him kiss her. “Goodbye, goodbye!” she repeated. “Since we shall not see each other again, let us say our goodbyes properly.” “You rascal,” he said, clasping her lovingly to his chest and seating her on his knees. “Do you think I’m going to let you go? ” “And do you think I’m going to wait for you to let me out? Father, have you become a fool? Have you forgotten the person who has been in your house and who has so much power? Don’t you know you’re a prisoner? Do you think there is no justice, no laws, no magistrates? Dare to breathe…” The Mason pushed the girl away; he tried to get up; but his aching legs prevented him, and hitting the arms of the chair, he spoke thus: “Well, of course… you would go and leave me! Araceli,” he added, addressing me kindly, “since my daughter has the weakness of loving you, I allow you to be her husband; but you and she will stay with me. ” “You’re mostly going with entreaties!” said Inés, laughing. By all means, my husband gets along well with the Masons. He and I detest the common people and worship kings and friars. “Well, I’ll stay,” said Santorcaz with a slight joking inflection in his tone. “I’ll die here. You know how my health is, my child: I’m alive by a miracle. In these days that you’ve been angry with me, I felt that my life was slipping away from me by the moment, like a glass that’s emptying. Alas! There’s so little left, I can see, I can already see the black bottom. ” “Everything will be all right,” I said, moving my chair closer to that of the sick man. ” We’ll take the enemy of kings with us.” “That’s it, that’s it… Gabriel has spoken with as much talent as Voltaire ,” said the Mason with sudden vigor. You’ll take me with you… I have no objection, really… “Well, we’ll take him,” said Inés, embracing her father, ” we’ll take him to Madrid, where we have a very large house, a very large one, and where we’ll be very comfortable, because my mother is going with all her servants to live in Andalusia, never to return. ” “Never to return!” said the sick man in confusion. “Who told you? ” “Herself. She’s leaving me as long as you live. ” “As long as I live!” said Inés sweetly. “That’s why you’ll know the immensity of her hatred. ” “On the contrary, Father,” said Inés sweetly, “she’s leaving because you can’t see her, and to leave me free to take care of you and be with you during your illness. What I was telling you a little while ago about abandoning you and going off alone with my husband was a joke.” A few tears were welling up on the old man’s eyelids, which he wished he could hold back. “I believe it; But the idea of your mother leaving you to grant me the inestimable benefit of your company seems like a farce to me. “Don’t you believe it?” “No: she wouldn’t dare come here and say it in my presence? ” “You wish that, father. How could she come to tell you that, or anything else, when she’s gone? ” “She’s gone! She’s gone!” exclaimed Santorcaz, with such profound grief that he remained stupefied for a long time. “Don’t you know? Didn’t you hear the voice of some English gentlemen? They are accompanying her to Madrid, from where she will leave for Andalusia.” The domination of that beautiful and excellent creature over her father was so great that Santorcaz seemed to believe it just as she said it. He fixed his eyes on the ground and slowly stroked his beard. “Look for her all over the house,” continued Inés. “By my faith, the lady would be happy to live inside this cage of madmen. ” “She’s gone!” “—repeated Santorcaz somberly, speaking to himself. “And it cost me no small effort to stay,” she added, making charming faces and hands. “Her wish was to take me with her. There, I don’t know who told her—nothing can be kept secret—that I had grown very fond of you. For this reason alone, she came prepared to forgive you, to be reconciled with you… This was the most natural thing to do, for you had loved her very much, and she had loved you… But you’re mad… you welcomed her as one welcomes an enemy… you became furious… you refused to be kind to her. You’ve made me go through times I won’t forgive you for.” Tears streamed down Santorcaz’s face. “My duty was to flee from this hated house; to flee with her, abandoning yourself to the perversities and rancor of your heart,” said Agnes, who combined the sanctity of angels with a certain diplomatic astuteness. “But I remembered that you were sick and bedridden; I told her so…” The Mason looked at his daughter, asking her with his eyes everything it was possible to ask. “I told her so, yes,” she continued, “and since that lady has a good, generous, and loving heart; since she has never, ever wished harm on others, nor lived by hatred; since she knows how to forgive offenses and do good to those who hate her… oh! You will not believe it or understand it, because a heart of iron like yours cannot understand this. ” “Yes, I believe it, I understand it,” said Santorcaz, drying his tears. “Well then: she herself agreed that I should not leave you, to console and strengthen you in your last days.” And since she and you can’t be together in the same place, she decided to withdraw. We agreed that I should marry the executioner of humanity, and that Gabriel and I should take you to live with us… “And she left?” asked Santorcaz with a shred of hope. “And she left, yes, sir. She came prepared to be reconciled with you, to love you as I love you. The poor thing wept a lot, seeing that after so many years, after so many misfortunes that have befallen her because of you, after so much harm that you have done to her, you still refuse to utter a Christian word, to erase with a moment of generosity all the faults of your life, to unburden your conscience and also hers of the weight of unbearable resentment. She left forgiving you.” God will be in charge of judging you when, at the moment of Judgment, you present to Him, as the only merits of your existence, that callous and perverse heart, or rather, that nest of snakes, which you have raised, which you feed every day so that they may grow and live forever, and bite you here and in the eternity of the hereafter. The old man was tossing and turning in his chair with anguish; the tears had ceased to flow from his eyes; his face was flushed, his hands clenched, his head thrown back, and his breath was choked with a labored suffocation. “Father,” cried Agnes, throwing her arms around his neck, “be good, be generous, and I will love you even more. You know my wish: prepare to fulfill it, and my mother will return. I will call her, and she will return. ” Santorcaz’s muscles stretched, becoming rigid; he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and his appearance was that of a corpse. At that very moment, the door opened and the Countess entered, pale and weeping. Walking slowly, she advanced until she reached the sick man’s side, who remained inert, mute, and apparently lifeless. Alarmed, we all rushed to him and, with the help of Juan and Ramoncilla, laid him down on his bed. We immediately summoned the doctor who usually attended him. Inés and the Countess watched him closely, their eyes fixed on the gaunt, yet always handsome, countenance of the unfortunate Mason. They stared at that abyss with horror, terrified by what lay within its depths, without fully understanding it. The doctor, after examining him, announced his imminent end, adding that he was amazed that he had prolonged his life so much, for the day before he had almost pronounced him dead, although he concealed the fatal prognosis from Inés. As night fell, a deep sigh announced that he had regained consciousness. He opened his eyes and, casting them about the room in terror , fixed them on the Countess, whose face was illuminated by the sad light. “Here you are again!” he exclaimed in a clumsy voice, his expression one of weariness and anger. “Here you are again? Woman, know that I hate you! Prison, exile, the gallows—all this has seemed too little to you for persecuting me! Why do you come to disturb my happiness? Go away. Why do you hold my daughter with that hand as yellow as death’s? Why do you look at me with those silver eyes that look like moonbeams? ” “Father, don’t talk like that, you frighten me,” cried Agnes, embracing him. His eyes were full of tears. The Countess said nothing, and she was weeping too. Santorcaz, after this crisis of his spirit, fell into a new, very deep sleep, and near dawn he regained consciousness with a serene and peaceful awakening. His expression was calm, his voice clear and complete, when he said: “Agnes, my child, dear angel, are you here?” “Here I am, Father,” she replied, running affectionately to his side. “Can’t you see me?” Agnes trembled when she observed her father’s eyes fixed on those of the Countess. “Ah!” said Santorcaz, smiling slightly. “She’s there… I see her… she’s coming this way… But why doesn’t she speak?” The Countess had taken a few steps toward the bedside; but she remained silent.
“Why doesn’t she speak?” repeated the sick man. “Because she’s afraid of you,” said Agnes, “as I am of you, and the poor thing doesn’t dare say anything to you. You don’t say anything to her either.” “No?” the mason said in astonishment. “I’ve been speaking to her for two hours… my mouth is dry from talking so much, and she doesn’t answer. Oh!” he added with pain, turning his face away, “she is too cruel to this wretch. ” “Do you love her very much, Father?” Inés asked, so moved that we could hardly understand her words. “Oh, very much, very much!” the sick man exclaimed, clutching his heart. “That’s why, ever since you saw her,” the girl continued, “you have asked her forgiveness for the slight harm you may have unwittingly caused her. We have all heard you and praised God for your good behavior. ” “Did you hear me?” he said in astonishment, looking at us all. “Did you hear me… did she hear me… did Araceli hear me too?” He had said this softly, very softly, so that only God would hear me, and every living being would ignore it. Amaranta, taking Santorcaz’s hand, said: “I have long, long desired to forgive you: I would have done so on any occasion, if, since Inés came into my power, you had presented yourself to me as a friend… I too have had resentments; but misfortune has soon taught me to smother them… ” Abundant tears cut her voice. “And I,” said Santorcaz with a gentle voice and serene demeanor. “I, who am about to die, do not know what passes in my heart. It was born to love. He himself does not know whether he has loved or hated all his life.” After these words, everyone fell silent for a short time. The souls of those three individuals, so united by Nature and so separated by the storms of the world, were immersed, so to speak, in the depths of a religious and solemn meditation on their respective situations. Inés was the first to break the grave silence, saying: “It is well known, dear father, that you are a good, honorable, generous man.” If you’ve had a reputation for the opposite, it’s because you’ve been slandered. But we, we two, and Araceli too, know you well. That’s why we love you so much. “Yes,” the Mason replied, like a dying man responds to his confessor’s questions . “If you’ve done some bad things,” Inés continued, “that is, things that seem bad, it was as a joke… I understand this perfectly. For example: when they persecuted you… I bet the persecution wasn’t even half of what you imagined… but, well, whatever it is. The truth is that you were angry, and with good reason, because you were in love, you wanted to be good… But there are proud families… It’s also necessary to consider that a noble family must have a certain point… God first and the world later have not wanted everyone to be equal. ” “But you do see punishments, or if not punishments, then providential justice on earth,” Santorcaz said sharply, looking at Amaranta. Countess , today you have consented to your only daughter and noble heiress marrying a boy from the beaches of La Caleta. A fine lineage, indeed! “It would be better,” replied the Countess, “to say an honorable, dignified, generous young man of true merit and promise. ” “Oh! My lady, that’s exactly what I was twenty years ago,” affirmed Santorcaz. with sadness. Then she closed her eyes, as if to banish painful images. “It’s true,” Inés said, half jokingly, half serious; “but you gave in to despair, dear father; you didn’t have the strength of mind of this oppressor of the people; you didn’t fight adversity like he did, nor did you rise step by step to an honorable position in the world; you let yourself be overcome by misfortune, ran to Paris, and joined the rogue revolutionaries who then enjoyed killing people. Wronged like you and you like them, you all believed that by cutting off other people’s heads you were gaining something, and that those who were left with it on their shoulders were worth more… Then you came to Spain with your heart full of revenge. You wanted us to have the same fun here as they had there; people didn’t want to please you, and you amused yourself with the masonic antics and nonsense, which, according to them, does a lot, but as far as I can see, does nothing. “Yes,” the old man murmured. “At the same time, you were trying to harm the person you should have loved the most… I know that if she hadn’t despised you the way she did, you would have been good, very good, and would have gone out of your way for her… ” “Yes, yes,” he repeated. “This is clear: God consents to such things. Sometimes two good people seem to agree to do evil, without realizing that, by saying a few words to each other, they would end up embracing and loving each other very much. ” “Yes, yes.” “And I have no doubt,” continued Inés, constantly pouring that torrent of generosity upon the soul of the poor sick man, “there is no doubt that you took possession of me, because you loved me very much and wanted me to accompany you. ” Santorcaz neither affirmed nor denied anything. “Which pleases me very much,” she continued. “You have been a loving father to me. I declare that you are the best of men, that you have loved me, that you are worthy of being respected and loved, as I love and respect you , setting an example for all those present.” The revolutionary looked at his daughter with an ineffable expression of gratitude. Religion could not have won a soul better. “I am dying,” said Don Luis in a moved voice, extending his right hand to Amaranta and his left to his daughter, “without knowing how God will receive me.” I will present myself with my burden of guilt and my burden of misfortune, each so great that I do not know which will be heavier… My breast has breathed vengeance and hatred for too long… I have believed too much in the justices of the earth; I have distrusted Providence ; I have sought to conquer with terror and force what I believed belonged to me; I have had more faith in evil than in the virtue of men; I have seen in God an irritated and tyrannical superiority, determined to protect the inequalities of the world; I have completely lacked humility; I have been as proud as Satan, and I have mocked the Paradise I could not reach; I have done harm, retaining in the depths of my soul a certain inexplicable interest in the offended person; I have run after the pleasure of revenge, as a thirsty man runs in the desert after imaginary water; I have lived in perpetual anger, tearing my heart apart with my own nails. My spirit has not known rest until I brought to my side an angel of peace who consoled me with her sweetness, when I mortified her with my anger. Until then I did not know that there were two consoling virtues of the heart: charity and patience. May they both fill my soul; may they close my eyes and lead me before God. Saying this, he gradually fainted. He seemed asleep. The two women, kneeling on either side of him, did not move. I thought he had died; but approaching, I observed his peaceful breathing. I retired to the adjoining room, and Agnes followed me shortly after. Between the two of us, we agreed to summon the Prior of the Augustinians, a venerable man who had been a very dear friend of Father Santorcaz. The good friar was not long in coming. In the morning, after the pious spiritual ceremony, Santorcaz He begged us to leave him alone with the Countess. The two of them spoke alone for a long time; but when we suddenly heard a noise, we entered and saw Amaranta kneeling at the foot of the bed, and him sitting up, restless, with all the symptoms of a tormenting delirium. With his wandering eyes, he looked everywhere, without seeing us, attentive only to the imagined objects with which his spirit filled the dark room. “I’m going,” he said, “I’m going… Goodbye! It’s day… Don’t tremble… Those footsteps you hear are your father’s, coming with an army of armed lackeys to kill me… They won’t find me… I’ll leave by the tower window… Good heavens! They’ve removed the ladder… I’ll throw myself down even if I die… You say well: my body, found at the foot of these walls, will be your shame and the dishonor of this house… Shall I wait? Don’t you want me to wait?… They’re already there: your father is knocking at the door and calling you… Goodbye: I’ve thrown myself into the field… There are servants down there too with sticks and shotguns. God has abandoned us because we are criminals. A happy thought occurs to me. You’re saved… hide there… go to your bedroom. Let me gather these valuable glasses, these silver candlesticks. I’ll take them with me, and I’ll try to slip with my stolen treasure over the cornice of the tower until I reach the roof of the stables. Goodbye… I’ll go out; open the door and shout: “Thief, thief!” God and your father will know your dishonor if you wish to reveal it to them; but not that vile mob. They saw a man enter; but they don’t know who it is or what came. My soul, take courage; play your part well. He cries: “Thief, thief!”… Goodbye… I’m coming out now, I’m slipping along these slippery, greenish stones… Those below haven’t seen me yet. They must see me. Oh! Now the wretches see me with my load of precious things, and they all cry: “Thief, thief!” What immense joy I feel ! No one will know anything, my life and heart; no one will know anything, nothing… He fell backward, shuddering slightly, and his soul sank into the bottomless, shoreless sea. Inés and I approached the lifeless body with religious respect. In our stupor and emotion, we thought we heard the murmur of the black, eternal waters, agitated by the impulse of the being who had fallen into them; but what we heard was the labored breathing of the Countess, who wept bitterly, not daring to raise her sinful brow. Chapter 43. Those who wish to know how and when I married, with other details as precious as they are unknown about my almost unalterable tranquility for so many years, should read, if they have the patience, what other tongues less weary than mine will narrate in the future. I conclude here, with no little pleasure on the part of my weary listeners, and great pleasure for myself at having reached the highest occasion of my life, which was the event of my wedding, the first foundation of the sixty years of tranquility I have enjoyed, doing all the good I could, loved by my own people and well liked by strangers. God has given me what He gives to all when they ask for it, seeking it, and they seek it without ceasing to ask for it. I am a practical man in life and religious in my conscience. Life was my school, and misfortune my teacher. I learned everything and I had everything. If you want me to tell you something else—although others will take charge of getting me back into the service, despite my love of obscurity—know that a series of circumstances, difficult to enumerate due to their multitude and complexity, prevented me from taking part in the rest of the war. But the strangest thing is that from the moment I left the service, I began to rise in the ranks to such an extent that it was a blessing. Having regained the esteem and consideration of Lord Wellington, I received from this distinguished man proofs of cordial affection; and he looked after me and entertained me so much in Madrid that I have always lived deeply grateful for his kindnesses. One of the happiest days of my life was when we learned that the Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo had won the Battle of Waterloo. Shortly after Los Arapiles, I obtained the rank of lieutenant colonel. But My mother-in-law, with the talisman of her uninterrupted correspondence, made me a colonel, then a brigadier, and I hadn’t even recovered from the shock when one morning I found myself made a general. “Enough,” I exclaimed indignantly, after reading my service record. “If I don’t do something about it, they’ll be capable of making me a captain- general without any merit.” And I asked for my retirement. My mother-in-law continued writing to increase our well-being in various ways, and with this, along with incessant work, and the admirable order my wife established in my house (because my wife had a mania for order, like my mother-in-law had a mania for letters), I acquired what the ancients called the aurea mediocritas; I lived and live comfortably, I was and am almost rich, I had and have a brilliant army of descendants, including children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Goodbye, my dear friends. I dare not ask you to imitate me, for that would be immodest; but if you are young, If you find yourself deterred by fortune; if you find before your eyes steep mountains, inaccessible heights, and you have neither ladders nor ropes, but strong hands; if you find yourself unable to realize in the world the generous impulses of thought and the laws of the heart, remember Gabriel Araceli, who was born with nothing and had everything. The Battle of Arapiles was not only a crucial military victory, but also a turning point in the fight for Spain’s freedom. Galdós, with his narrative mastery, does not limit himself to recounting the events, but gives them soul through characters who embody the emotions, contradictions, and spirit of an entire nation. We hope this reading has transported you to that historic moment and has allowed you to reflect on the weight of sacrifice and the strength of collective will. Thank you for joining us for Ahora de Cuentos.
📚 Sumérgete en *La batalla de los Arapiles* de Benito Pérez Galdós, una obra maestra de la literatura histórica española que revive uno de los enfrentamientos más decisivos de la Guerra de la Independencia Española. Acompaña a Gabriel de Araceli en esta narración épica llena de valor, estrategia militar y emociones humanas intensas. 🇪🇸💥
En este episodio inolvidable de los *Episodios Nacionales*, Galdós despliega con maestría el caos y la gloria del campo de batalla de Arapiles, donde las tropas españolas, británicas y portuguesas se enfrentan al poderoso ejército napoleónico. A través de los ojos de un testigo privilegiado, presenciarás los momentos que marcaron un punto de inflexión en la historia de España.
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-🔥 La batalla de los Arapiles ⚔️🇪🇸 Una epopeya histórica inolvidable[https://youtu.be/6E8x2AHFK-w]
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