But in spite of all these disasters, Spain had paid dearer for the war than her haughty ally. France had lost the flower of her navy indeed, but at that very time Napoleon had won a glorious victory on land. His army had marched with wonderful rapidity from the shores of the English Channel across Europe, and was carrying out his colossal schemes in the campaign against Austria. It was on the 20th of October, the day before Trafalgar, that Napoleon, at the camp at Ulm, looked on as the Austrian troops marched past, while their officers delivered up their swords; only two months later, on the 2nd of December, he won, on the field of Austerlitz, the greatest of his many victories.
These triumphs consoled France for the defeat of Trafalgar; Napoleon silenced the newspapers, forbidding them to discuss the matter; and when the victory of his implacable enemies, the English, was reported to him he simply shrugged his shoulders and said: “I cannot be everywhere at once.”
XVII
I postponed the fatal hour when I must face my master as long as possible, but at last my destitute condition, without money and without a home, brought me to the point. As I went to the house of Doña Flora my heart beat so violently that I had to stop for breath at every step. The terrible shock I was about to give the family by announcing young Malespina’s death weighed so terribly on my soul that I could not have felt more crushed and guilty if I had myself been the occasion of it. At last however, I went in. My presence in the courtyard caused an immense sensation. I heard heavy steps hurrying along the upper galleries and I had not been able to speak a word before I felt myself in a close embrace. I at once recognized Doña Flora, with more paint on her face than if it had been a picture, but seriously discomposed in effect by the good old soul’s delight at seeing me once more. But all the fond names she lavished on me—her dear boy, her pet, her little angel—could not make me smile. I went upstairs, everyone was in a bustle of excitement. I heard my master exclaim: “Oh! thank God! he is safe.” I went into the drawing-room, and there it was Doña Francisca who came forward, asking with mortal anxiety—“And Don Rafael?—Where is Don Rafael?”
But for some minutes I could not speak; my voice failed me, I had not courage to tell the fatal news. They questioned me eagerly and I saw Doña Rosita come in from an adjoining room, pale, heavy-eyed, and altered by the anguish she had gone through. At the sight of my young mistress I burst into tears, and there was then no need for words. Rosita gave a terrible cry and fell senseless; her father and mother flew to her side, smothering their own grief, while Doña Flora melted into tears and took me aside to assure herself that I, at any rate, had returned whole in every part.
“Tell me,” she said, “how did he come by his death? I felt sure of it—I told Paca so; but she would only say her prayers and believed that so she could save him. As if God could be troubled with such matters.—And you are safe and sound—what a comfort! No damage anywhere?”
It is impossible to describe the consternation of the whole household. For a quarter of an hour nothing was to be heard but crying, lamentation, and sobbing; for Malespina’s mother had come to Cádiz and was also in the house. But how mysterious are the ways of Providence in working out its ends! About a quarter of an hour, as I say, had elapsed since I had told them the news when a loud assertive voice fell on my ear. It was that of Don José María, shouting in the courtyard, calling his wife, Don Alonso, and Rosita. That which first struck me was that his tones seemed just as strident and cheerful as ever, which I thought very indecorous after the misfortune that had happened. We all ran to meet him, and I stared to see him radiant and smiling.
“But poor Don Rafael. …” said my master.
“Safe and sound,” replied Don José. “That is to say not exactly sound, but out of danger, for his wound is nothing to be anxious about. The fool of a surgeon said he would die, but I knew better. What do I care for surgeons! I cured him, gentlemen—I, I myself, by a new treatment which no one knows of but myself.”
These words, which so suddenly and completely altered the aspect of affairs, astounded the audience. The greatest joy took the place of grief and dismay; and to wind up, as soon as their agitation allowed them to think of the delusion they had suffered under, they scolded me soundly for the fright I had given them. I excused myself by saying that I had only repeated the tale as it was told to me, and Don José flew into a great rage, calling me a rascal, an imposter, and a busybody.
It was happily true that Don Rafael was alive and out of danger; he had remained with some friends at Sanlúcar while his father had come to Cádiz to fetch his mother to see him. My readers will hardly believe in the origin of the mistake which had led me to announce the young man’s death in such perfect good faith; though a few may have been led to suspect that some tremendous fib of the old man’s must have given rise to the report that reached me.
