Montoria rose then, wiped away the tears which coursed freely from his burning eyes, saying—
“There is no lack of food still in town, according to my belief. Don Roque, my friend, will you not go and find something to eat, let it cost what it may?”
“Yesterday I paid five duros for a hen in the market,” said one of the old servants of the house.
“But today there are none,” said Don Roque. “I was there only a moment ago.”
“Friends, look about and find something. I need nothing for myself.”
He was saying this when we heard the agreeable cackle of a fowl. We all looked joyfully towards the entrance of the street, and we saw Candiola, who carried in his left hand the chicken we know of, caressing its black plumage with his right. Before they asked him for it, he approached Montoria slowly, and said—
“A doubloon for the chicken.”
“What a starved thing it is!” exclaimed Don Roque. “The poor creature is little more than bones.”
I was not able to restrain my anger at seeing such shining evidence of the repugnant meanness and hard-heartedness of Candiola. So I went up to him, and snatched the chicken from his hands, saying violently—
“This chicken is stolen! Come, you miserable miser, one would sell one’s own cheaper! This was sold for five duros yesterday in the market. Five duros you may have, you coward, you thief, not a fraction more!”
Candiola began to howl for his chicken, and was on the point of getting a good thrashing, when Don José de Montoria intervened, saying—
“Let him have what he wishes. Give Señor Candiola the doubloon that he charges for this fowl.” He gave him the extortionate amount, which Candiola was not slow to accept; and then our friend went on thus—
“Señor Candiola, let us speak together. Now, about that wherein I offended you. Yes—a few days ago—about that affair of the blows. There are times when one is not master of one’s self, when the blood mounts up to the head. It is true that you provoked me, and you charged more for the flour than the Captain-General had ordered. It is true, Don Jeronimo, my friend, that I shook you off, and you see—yet—one could not help that and—I, I believe the—well, I suppose that my hand flew away from me, and I did something.”
“Señor Montoria,” said Candiola, “a day will come when we shall again have authorities in Saragossa. Then we shall meet again face to face.”
“Are you going to make it a matter of justices and notaries? That’s bad. That which is past—it was an access of anger, one of those things which cannot be helped. My mind now is filled with the thought that I am in trouble, very great trouble. One does not wish to offend one’s neighbor.”
“It is not much to offend him, after robbing him,” said Don Jeronimo, looking about at us all, and smiling contemptuously.
“It was not exactly robbing,” said Don José, patiently; “because I did that which the Captain-General commanded. The offence of word and deed was undeniable; and now when I saw you coming with the chicken, I determined at once to own up that I did wrong. My conscience urged it upon me. Ah, Señor Candiola, I am very unhappy! When one is happy, one does not know his faults. But it is true, Don Jeronimo, that as I saw you coming toward me just now, I felt desirous to ask your pardon for those blows. I hold out the hand that offended. So it is. I don’t know what I am doing—yes, I do request you to forgive me, and let us be friends. Señor Don Jeronimo, let us be friends, let us be reconciled, and not make a permanent grudge out of an old resentment. Hatred poisons the soul, and the remembrance of not having done right oppresses us with an insupportable weight.”
“After an act of robbery, you think all can be arranged with hypocritical words,” said Candiola, turning his back and skulking away from the group, muttering, “Señor Montoria should talk of refunding the price of the flour. Begging forgiveness of me! I have lived to see all there is to see.”
He moved slowly away. Montoria, seeing that several of us were about to pursue the insolent cur, said—
“Let him go in peace. Let us have compassion on that unfortunate man.”
XXVI
On the third of February, the French gained possession of the Convent of Jerusalem,1 which was between Santa Engracia and the hospital. The battle which succeeded the conquest of such an important position was as bloody as those of Las Tenerias.
Don Marcos Simono, the distinguished commander of engineers, was one of those who died there. In the suburb, the besiegers had advanced but little; and in six or seven days’ effort, they had not gained possession of the Calle de Puerta Quemada.
The authorities understood that it would be difficult to prolong the resistance much longer, and with offers of money and honors tried to rouse the patriots anew. In a proclamation of the second of February, asking for means, Palafox said, “I am giving my two watches and twenty silver dishes, which are all I have left.” In that of the fourth of February, he offered to give especial honors, to make caballeros of the twelve men who should most distinguish themselves; a military order of nobility was created for them, called the Infanzones. In the proclamation of the ninth, he mourned the indifference and readiness to yield, exhibited by some citizens at the misfortunes of their country; and after intimating that this loss of heart was brought about by French gold, he threatened dire punishment for those who showed themselves cowards.
The battles of
