The Marquise of O and Other Stories (6 page)

In the minds of Jerónimo and Josefa strange thoughts began to stir. When they found themselves treated with so
much familiarity and kindness they did not know what to think of the recent past: of the place of execution, the prison and the bells; or had all these been merely a dream? It seemed that in everyone's mind, after the terrible blow that had so shaken them all, there was a spirit of reconciliation. Their memories seemed not to reach back beyond the disaster. Only Doña Isabel, who had been invited by a friend to witness yesterday's spectacle but had declined the invitation, let her gaze rest pensively from time to time upon Josefa; but always her mind, having strayed only a little from the present, was snatched back into it as she heard the report of some new and ghastly misfortune.

There were stories of how, immediately after the first main tremors, women all over the city had given birth to children in the sight of all the men; of how monks, crucifix in hand, had rushed hither and thither crying out that the end of the world had come; how on the Viceroy's orders a guard had tried to clear the people out of a church, only to be told that there was no longer any Viceroy of Chile; how in the worst moments of the disaster the Viceroy had been obliged to have gallows erected to deter looters, and how one innocent man, escaping through a burning house by the back door, had been over-hastily arrested by the owner and strung up on the spot.

Doña Elvira, whose injuries Josefa was busily tending, had taken the opportunity at a moment when these very tales were being most excitedly exchanged to ask her how, on that terrible day, she herself had fared. And when Josefa, her heart filled with anxiety, outlined to her some of the main features of her story, she had the joy of seeing the lady's eyes fill with tears; Doña Elvira clasped her hand and pressed it, and with a gesture bade her say no more. Josefa felt as if she were in the land of the blessed. She had a feeling, which she could not suppress, that the preceding day, despite all the misery it had brought upon the world, had been a mercy such as heaven had never yet bestowed
on her. And indeed, in the midst of this horrifying time in which all the earthly possessions of men were perishing and all nature was in danger of being engulfed, the human spirit itself seemed to unfold like the fairest of flowers. In the fields, as far as the eye could see, men and women of every social station could be seen lying side by side, princes and beggars, ladies and peasant women, government officials and day labourers, friars and nuns: pitying one another, helping one another, gladly sharing anything they had saved to keep themselves alive, as if the general disaster had united all its survivors into a single family.

Instead of the usual trivial tea-table gossip about the ways of the world, everyone was now telling stories of extraordinary heroic deeds. Persons hitherto held to be of little consequence in society had shown a Roman greatness of character; there were countless instances of fearlessness, of magnanimous contempt for danger, of self-denial and superhuman self-sacrifice, of life unhesitatingly cast away as if it were the most trifling of possessions and could be recovered a moment later. Indeed, since there was no one who on that day had not experienced some touching kindness or had not himself performed some generous action, the sorrow in every heart was mingled with so much sweetness and delight that Josefa felt it would be hard to say whether the sum of general well-being had not increased on the one hand by as much as it had diminished on the other.

When they had both finished silently pondering these matters, Jerónimo took Josefa's arm and in a state of inexpressible happiness walked up and down with her under the shady boughs of the pomegranate trees. He told her that, the public mood being now as it was and the old order of things having undergone such an upheaval, he was abandoning his intention of embarking for Europe; that since the Viceroy had always been favourably disposed towards his cause, he would venture a personal appeal to him, if he should still be alive; and that he thus hoped to be able – and he kissed
her as he said so – to remain with her in Chile. Josefa replied that similar thoughts had occurred to her; that she too did not doubt that if her father were still alive he would be ready to forgive her; but that instead of the personal approach he had suggested she thought it would be more prudent to go to La Concepción and address a written petition to the Viceroy from there; there they would in any case be within reach of the port, and after all, if their negotiations should achieve the desired result, they could easily return to Santiago. After brief reflection Jerónimo expressed his approval of this wise precaution; they strolled a little further along the avenues of trees, thinking with happy anticipation of their future, and then rejoined the company.

Meanwhile the afternoon had come, and since the tremors had abated, the fears of the wandering refugees had no sooner been somewhat calmed than the news spread that in the Dominican church, the only one the earthquake had spared, a solemn Mass would be read by the Prior of the monastery himself, who would implore heaven to prevent further disasters. Everywhere people were already setting out and streaming towards the city. Someone in Don Fernando's party raised the question of whether they too should not participate in this solemnity and join the general procession. Doña Isabel, with some embarrassment, recalled the terrible misfortune the church had suffered on the previous day; she pointed out that such services of thanksgiving would certainly be repeated and that then, with the danger less fresh in their minds, they would be able to respond more gladly and more easily to the mood of thankfulness. Josefa, rising at once enthusiastically to her feet, declared that she had never felt a stronger impulse to cast herself down before her Maker than at this very time, when His incomprehensible and sublime power was being made so evident. Doña Elvira emphatically endorsed Josefa's opinion. She insisted that they should hear the Mass and
called upon Don Fernando to lead the party, whereupon all of them rose from their seats, including Doña Isabel. But the latter, in making the various small preparations for her departure, seemed to do so tardily and with her heart beating fast; and on being asked what was wrong with her she replied that she had an unhappy foreboding, though she could not tell of what. Doña Elvira calmed her and suggested that she should remain behind with her and her sick father. Josefa said: ‘In that case, Doña Isabel, perhaps you will relieve me of this little darling, who, as you can see, has found his way to me again.' ‘Gladly,' replied Doña Isabel, and reached out to take the baby; but when the latter wailed piteously at this infringement of his rights and would not consent to it on any terms, Josefa said with a smile that she would keep him and kissed him till he was quiet again. Then Don Fernando, who was charmed by the dignity and grace of her bearing, offered her his arm; Jerónimo, carrying little Felipe, escorted Doña Constanza; the others who had joined the party followed behind, and in this order they set off towards the city.

They had scarcely walked fifty paces when Doña Isabel, who had been having an animated private discussion with Doña Elvira, was heard to call out: ‘Don Fernando!' And she ran forward to catch them up, evidently in some agitation. Don Fernando stopped and turned round, waiting for her without letting go of Josefa's arm; but when she remained standing some distance away as if waiting for him to come and meet her, he asked her what she wanted. At this Doña Isabel approached them, though evidently with reluctance, and murmured some words in his ear in such a way that Josefa could not hear them. ‘Well?' asked Don Fernando, ‘and what harm can come of that?' Doña Isabel, looking quite distraught, continued to whisper sharply in his ear. Don Fernando flushed with irritation and replied: ‘That will do! Tell Doña Elvira that there is no need for concern.' So saying, he continued to escort Josefa on their way.

When they arrived at the Dominican church the organ greeted them with splendid music, and an immense crowd was surging inside. The throng extended far beyond the portals into the square in front of the church, and inside it small boys had climbed up the walls and were perched against the frames of paintings, with their caps clutched expectantly in their hands. All the candelabra were blazing with light, the pillars cast mysterious shadows in the gathering dusk, the great rose window of stained glass at the far end of the church burned like the very evening sun that gleamed upon it, and now that the organ was silent, stillness reigned in the whole assembly as if everyone there had been struck dumb. Never did such a flame of zeal rise to heaven from a Christian cathedral as on that day from the Dominican church at Santiago, and no hearts nourished it with a warmer fervour than those of Jerónimo and Josefa.

The service began with a sermon delivered from the pulpit by one of the oldest canons, vested in ceremonial robes. Raising his trembling hands high up to heaven, with the wide folds of his surplice flowing around them, he began at once to give praise and glory and thanks that there should still be, in this part of the world that was crumbling to ruins, men and women able to raise up their faltering voices to God; he described how, at the will of the Almighty, an event had taken place that must scarcely be less terrible than the Last Judgement; and when, nevertheless, pointing to a crack in the wall of the cathedral, he called yesterday's earthquake a mere foretaste of that day of doom, a shudder ran through the whole congregation. From this point his flood of priestly eloquence bore him on to the subject of the city's moral depravity: he castigated it for abominations such as Sodom and Gomorrah had not known, and ascribed it only to God's infinite forbearance that Santiago had not been totally obliterated from the face of the earth.

But what a piercing dagger-stroke it was to the hearts of our two unhappy friends, rent as they were already by the preacher's words, when he took occasion to dwell in detail
on the outrage that had been perpetrated in the garden of the Carmelite convent! He condemned as impious the indulgence with which it had been treated by society, and even digressed, with copious imprecations, to mention the two sinners themselves by name and to consign their souls to all the princes of hell. Doña Constanza, plucking Jerónimo by the arm, called out: ‘Don Fernando!' but the latter replied as emphatically and at the same time as surreptitiously as possible, ‘Do not say a word, Doña; do not so much as move your eyes, but pretend that you are about to faint, and then we shall leave the church.' But before Doña Constanza had even executed this ingenious stratagem for their escape, a voice, loudly interrupting the canon's sermon, cried out: ‘Citizens of Santiago, here stand those two godless sinners! Keep clear, keep well away from them!' And as a wide circle of people backed away in horror, a second terror-stricken voice asked: ‘Where?' A third man replied: ‘Here!' and filled with brutal fervour he seized Josefa by the hair and would have dragged her to the ground together with Don Fernando's child, if the latter had not supported her. ‘Are you mad?' cried the young man, putting his arm round Josefa. ‘I am Don Fernando Ormez, the son of the Commandant of this city, whom you all know.' ‘Don Fernando Ormez?' exclaimed someone who now came and stood right in front of him; he was a cobbler who had worked for Josefa and knew her at least as well as he knew her tiny feet. ‘Who is this child's father?' he demanded, turning with shameless insolence to Asterón's daughter. Don Fernando turned pale at this question. By turns he glanced furtively at Jerónimo and scanned the congregation, to see if there was anyone who knew him. Under the constraint of this appalling situation Josefa cried out: ‘This is not my child, Master Pedrillo, as you think'; and looking at Don Fernando in unspeakable anguish of mind she added, ‘This young gentleman is Don Fernando Ormez, the son of the Commandant of this city,
whom you all know!' The cobbler asked: ‘Citizens, which of you knows this young man?' And several of the bystanders repeated: ‘Who knows Jerónimo Rugera? Let him step forward!' Now it so happened that at this very moment little Juan, frightened by the uproar, began struggling in Josefa's arms and reaching out towards Don Fernando. At once a voice yelled: ‘He
is
the father!' and another, ‘He
is
Jerónimo Rugera!' and a third, ‘
These
are the blasphemers!' And the whole assembly of Christians in that temple of Jesus raised a cry of ‘Stone them! Stone them!' At this Jerónimo now cried out: ‘Stop! You monsters! If you are looking for Jerónimo Rugera, he is here! Set free that man, who is innocent!'

The furious mob, confused by Jerónimo's words, hesitated; several hands released Don Fernando; and when at that moment a naval officer of high rank approached hurriedly and, pushing his way through the crowd, asked: ‘Don Fernando Ormez! What has happened to you?', the latter, now quite free, replied with truly heroic presence of mind, ‘Why, look, Don Alonzo, what murderous villains these are! I should have been a dead man if this worthy gentleman had not calmed the raging crowd by pretending to be Jerónimo Rugera. Be so kind as to take him into protective custody, and this young lady as well; and as for this scoundrel,' he added, seizing Master Pedrillo, ‘arrest him, for it was he who started the whole commotion!' The cobbler shouted: ‘Don Alonzo Onoreja, I ask you on your conscience, is this girl not Josefa Asterón?' And when Don Alonzo, who knew Josefa well, hesitated before answering, and several people, stung to new fury by this, cried out: ‘It
is
her! it
is
her! Kill her!', Josefa placed both little Felipe, whom Jerónimo had hitherto been carrying, and little Juan in Don Fernando's arms, and said, ‘Go, Don Fernando, save your two children and leave us to our fate!'

Don Fernando took both children and said he would sooner perish that allow any member of his party to suffer
harm. He requested the naval officer to lend him his sword, offered his arm to Josefa, and told the couple behind them to follow him. And since in these circumstances the people made way for them with an adequate show of respect, they did indeed reach the door of the church, and thought themselves saved. But they had hardly entered the equally crowded forecourt when a voice from among the frenzied mob that had pursued them cried out: ‘Citizens, this is Jerónimo Rugera, for I am his own father!' And the speaker, raising a cudgel, struck Jerónimo a colossal blow that felled him to the ground at Doña Constanza's side. ‘Jesus! Holy Mother of God!' screamed Doña Constanza, fleeing to her brother-in-law's side; but immediately there was a cry of ‘Convent whore!' and a second blow from another direction struck her down lifeless beside Jerónimo. ‘Monsters!' cried an unidentified bystander, ‘that was Doña Constanza Xares!' ‘Why did they lie to us?' retorted the cobbler. ‘Find the right one, and kill her!' Don Fernando, seeing Doña Constanza lying dead beside him, was maddened with rage; drawing and brandishing his sword, he aimed so furious a blow at the fanatical murderer who had instigated these horrors that it would have split him in half if the man had not dodged aside. But as he could not overpower the surging mass that pressed in on him, Josefa cried out: ‘Farewell, Don Fernando. Here I am, murder me, you bloodthirsty tigers!' and voluntarily threw herself into their midst, to put an end to the fighting. Master Pedrillo struck her dead with his club. Then, drenched with her blood, he shrieked: ‘Send her bastard to hell after her!' and pressed forward again, his lust for slaughter not yet sated.