“Nothing of all this is to the point now, Señor Candiola,” I said impatiently; “come with me!”
“No,” said he furiously. “No, it would be madness! My daughter has disgraced herself. I do not know why I did not kill her this morning. Until now I had supposed Mariquilla a model of virtue and honesty. I delighted in her companionship; and out of every good deal I set apart a real to buy her finery—money badly spent! My God, dost thou punish me for wasting good money on useless things which if placed at interest would have been tripled? I had confidence in my daughter. This morning at daybreak, I began by praying with fervor to the Virgin del Pilar to free me from the bombardment. I tranquilly opened the window to see what the weather was. Put yourself in my place, señor soldier, and you will understand my surprise and pain at seeing two men right over there in that balcony—two men, sir. I see them now! One of them was embracing my daughter. They were both dressed in uniform. I could not see their faces, for the light of day was yet faint. Hurriedly I left my room; but when I descended to the garden, the two were already in the street. My daughter was dumb at seeing her lightness discovered. Reading in my face the indignation which such vile conduct roused in me, she threw herself on her knees before me, begging my pardon. ‘Wretch!’ I said in a rage, ‘you are not my daughter! You are not the daughter of this honorable man who has never done wrong to anybody. Mad child, shameless, you are not my daughter! Leave this place! Two men, two men in my house at night, with you! Have you not been making it easy for those men to rob me? Have you not shown them this house where there are a thousand objects of value which can be concealed in a pocket? You deserve death. If—yes—I am not deceived, those men carried away something. Two men, two sweethearts! And receiving them at night and in my house, dishonoring your father and offending God. And I from my room saw the light in yours, and believed that you were wakeful and working. You wretched little thing, while you were in the garden that light in your room was wasting, burning uselessly. You miserable woman!’ Oh, señor soldier, I could not contain my indignation. I seized her by the arm and dragged her along to throw her out. In my anger I knew not what I did. The wretched girl begged my pardon, saying, ‘I love him, father, I cannot deny that I love him.’ My fury was redoubled at this, and I cried, ‘Cursed be the bread that I have given you for nineteen years, to invite thieves into my house! Cursed be the hour when you were born, and the linens in which we wrapped you on the third of February in the year ’91! Sooner shall the heavens fall, sooner shall the Virgin del Pilar let me go from her hand, than I will again be your father, and you be for me the Mariquilla that I have so much loved!’
“I had scarcely said this, señor, when it seemed as if the very heavens were rent in pieces, falling upon my house. What a terrible noise it was! A bomb fell upon the roof, and within five minutes two others fell. We ran in; the flames were spreading hungrily, and the falling of the roof threatened to bury us where we stood. We tried in great haste to save some few little things; but it was not possible. This house, this house which I bought in the year ’87 for almost nothing, because the mortgage on it was foreclosed against a debtor who owed me five thousand reales with thirteen thousand reales interest—this house was fairly crumbling to bits. Over there a plank fell; over there a pane of glass leaped out; on the side yonder the walls burst in. The cat yowled, and Doña Guedita fairly clawed me in the face as we got out of the room. I ventured into my own room to try to get some little receipts, and came near perishing.”
Candiola’s distress and moral suffering made it seem as if he had a nervous disorder. It was plain to be seen that terror and grief had completely upset him. His talkativeness was not of the sort that soothes the soul, it was a nervous overflow; and although he appeared to talk with me, he was in reality addressing himself to invisible beings. To judge by his gestures, they talked to him in turn. He went on talking, and answering questions which his imaginary interlocutors were asking him.
“I have said already that I shall not leave this place while such a quantity of things which can still be saved is not recovered. Indeed, am I going to abandon my estate? Are there no authorities in Saragossa? If there are, then a hundred or two workmen should be sent here to remove this debris and take out something. But, señor, is there no one who has any charity for, any compassion upon this unhappy old man who has never harmed anybody? Shall one sacrifice all one’s life for others, and, coming into such a plight as this,
