Читать книгу Trafalgar & Saragossa - Benito Pérez Galdós - Страница 10

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I remember very well that the day after the cuffing bestowed on me by Doña Francisca in her wrath at my irreverent conduct and her intense aversion to all naval warfare, I went out to attend my master in his daily walk. He leaned upon my arm, and on the other side of him walked Marcial; we went slowly to suit Don Alonso’s feeble pace and the awkwardness of the old sailor’s wooden leg. It was like one of those processions in which a group of tottering and worm-eaten saints are carried along on a shaky litter, threatening to fall if the pace of the bearers is in the least accelerated. The two old men had no energy or motive power left but their brave hearts, which still acted as truly as a machine just turned out of a workshop; or like the needle of a ship’s compass which, notwithstanding its unerring accuracy, could do nothing to work the crazy craft it served to guide! During our walk my master—after having asserted, as usual, that if Admiral Córdova had only tacked to port instead of starboard the battle of ‘the 14th’ would never have been lost—turned the conversation once more on their grand project, and though they did not put their scheme into plain words, no doubt because I was present, I gathered from what they said that they intended to effect their purpose by stealth, quietly walking out of the house one morning without my mistress’s knowledge.

When we went in again indifferent matters were talked over. My master, who was always amiable to his wife, was more so, that day, than ever. Doña Francisca could say nothing, however trivial, that he did not laugh at immoderately. He even made her a present of some trifles, doing his utmost to keep her in a good humor, and it was no doubt as a result of this conspicuous complaisance that my mistress was crosser and more peevish than I had ever seen her. No accommodation was possible; she quarrelled with Marcial over heaven knows what trifle, and desired him to quit the house that instant; she used the most violent language to her husband; and during dinner, though he praised every dish with unwonted warmth, the lady was implacable and went on grumbling and scolding.

At last it was time for evening prayers, a solemn ceremony performed in the dining-room in the presence of all the household; and my master, who would not unfrequently go to sleep while he lazily muttered the Paternoster, was that evening unusually wide awake and prayed with genuine fervor, his voice being heard above all the rest. Another incident occurred which struck me particularly. The walls of the rooms were decorated with two distinct sets of prints: sacred subjects and maps—the hierarchy of Heaven on one hand and the soundings all round Europe and America on the other. After supper my master was standing in the passage, studying a mariner’s chart and tracing lines upon it with his trembling forefinger, when Doña Francisca, who had gathered some hints of the plan for evasion, and who always appealed to Heaven when she caught her husband red-handed in any manifestations of nautical enthusiasm, came up behind him, and throwing up her arms, exclaimed:

“Merciful Heaven! If you are not enough to provoke a Saint!”

“But, my dear,” my master timidly replied, “I was only tracing the course taken by Alcalá Galiano and Valdés in the schooners Sutil and Mejicana when we went to explore the straits of Magellan. It was a delightful expedition—I must have told you all about it.”

“I shall come to burning all that paper trash!” cried Doña Francisca. “A plague on voyages and on the wandering dog of a Jew who invented them. You would do better to take some concern for the salvation of your soul, for the long and the short of it is you are no chicken. What a man! to be sure—what a man to have to take care of!”

She could not get over it; I happened to pass that way, but I cannot remember whether she relieved her fury by giving me a thrashing and demonstrating at once the elasticity of my ears and the weight of her hands. The fact is that these little endearments were so frequently repeated, that I cannot recollect whether I received them on this particular occasion; all I remember is that my master, in spite of his utmost amiability, entirely failed to mollify his wife.

Meanwhile I have neglected to speak of Rosita; she was in a very melancholy mood, for Señor de Malespina had not made his appearance all day nor written her a note; all my excursions to the market-place having proved vain. Evening came and with it grief fell on the young girl’s soul, for there was no hope now of seeing him till next day—but suddenly, after supper had been ordered up, there was a loud knock at the door. I flew to open it, and it was he; before I opened it my hatred had recognized him.

I fancy I can see him now as he stood before me then, shaking his cloak which was wet with rain. Whenever I recall that man I see him as I saw him then. To be frankly impartial, I must say he was a very handsome young fellow, with a fine figure, good manners, and a pleasant expression; rather cold and reserved at first, grave and extremely courteous with the solemn and rather exaggerated politeness of the old school. He was dressed that evening in a frock-coat, with riding breeches and top boots; he wore a Portuguese hat and a very handsome cloak of scarlet cloth, lined with silk, which was the height of fashion with the gilded youth of that time.

As soon as he had come in I saw that something serious had happened. He went into the dining-room where all were much surprised to see him at so late an hour, for he never called in the evening; but my young mistress had hardly time to be glad before she understood that this unexpected visit was connected with some painful occasion.

“I have come to take leave of you,” said Malespina. They all sat stupefied, and Rosita turned as white as the paper on which I am writing; then she turned scarlet and then again as pale as death.

“But what has happened? Where are you going Don Rafael?” asked my mistress. I have said that Malespina was an artillery officer, but I did not mention that he was stationed at Cadiz and at Vejer only on leave.

“As the fleet is short of men,” he replied, “we are under orders to embark and serve on board ship. They say a battle is inevitable and most of the vessels are short of gunners.”

“Christ, Mother Mary and Saint Joseph!” shrieked Doña Francisca almost beside herself. “And they are taking you too? That is too much. Your duties are on land, my friend. Tell them to manage as best they may; if they want men let them find them. Upon my soul this is beyond a joke!”

“But, my dear,” said Don Alonso humbly, “do not you see that they must. …” But he could not finish his sentence, for Doña Francisca, whose cup of wrath and grief was overflowing, proceeded to apostrophize all the potentates of the earth.

“You—” she exclaimed, “anything and everything seems right in your eyes, if only it is to benefit those blessed ships of war. And who, I say, who is the demon from hell who has ordered land forces on board ship? You need not tell me.—It is Buonaparte’s doing. No Spaniard would have concocted such an infernal plot. Go and tell them that you are just going to be married. Come now,” she added, turning to her husband, “write to Gravina and tell him that this young man cannot join the squadron.” Then, seeing that her husband only shrugged his shoulders, she cried:

“He is of no use whatever! Mercy on me! If only I wore trousers I would be off to Cadiz and stop there till I had got you out of this mess.”

Rosita said not a word. I who was watching her narrowly perceived how agitated she was. She never took her eyes off her lover, and if it had not been for good manners and to keep up her dignity, she would have cried and sobbed loudly to relieve the grief that was almost suffocating her.

“The soldier,” said Don Alonso, “is the slave of duty, and our young friend is required by his country to serve on board ship in her defence. He will gain glory in the impending struggle, and make his name famous by some great deed which history will record as an example to future generations.”

“Oh yes—this, that and the other!” said Doña Francisca mimicking the pompous tone in which her husband had made this speech. “We know—and all for what? To humor those ne’er-do-weels at Madrid. Let them come themselves to fire the cannons, and fight on their own account!—And when do you start?”

“To-morrow morning. My leave is cut short and I am under orders to proceed at once to Cadiz.”

It would be impossible to describe the look that came into my young mistress’s face as she heard these words. The lovers looked at each other, and a long and mournful silence fell after this announcement of Malespina’s immediate departure.

“But this is not to be borne!” exclaimed Doña Francisca. “They will be calling out the peasantry next—and the women too, if the whim takes them. Lord of Heaven!” she went on looking up to the ceiling with the glare of a pythoness, “I do not fear to offend Thee by saying: Curses on the inventor of ships—Curses on all who sail in them, and Curses on the man who made the first cannon, with its thunder that is enough to drive one mad, and to be the death of so many poor wretches who never did any harm!”

Don Alonso looked at the young officer, expecting to read some protest in his face against these insults to the noble science of gunnery. Then he said:

“The worst of it is that the ships will lack material too and it would be. …”

Marcial, who had been listening at the door to the whole conversation, could no longer contain himself. He came into the room saying:

“And why should they lack material?—The Trinidad carries 140 guns—32 thirty-six pounders, 34 twenty-four pounders, 36 twelve-pounders, 18 eighty-pounders, and 10 mortars. The Príncipe de Astúrias carries 118, the Santa Ana 120, the Rayo 100, the Nepomuceno, and the San …”

“What business have you to interfere!” exclaimed Doña Francisca. “And what does it matter to us whether they carry fifty or eighty?” But Marcial went on with his patriotic list all the same, but in a lower voice and speaking only to my master, who dared not express his approbation. Doña Francisca went on:

“But for God’s sake, Don Rafael, do not go. Explain that you are a landsman, that you are going to be married. If Napoleon must fight, let him fight alone: let him come forward and say: ‘Here am I—kill me, you English—or let me kill you.’ Why should Spain be subject to his lordship’s vagaries?”

“I must admit,” said Malespina, “that our alliance with France has proved most disastrous.”

“Then why was it made? Every one says that this Godoy is an ignorant fellow. You might think a nation could be governed by playing the guitar!”

“After the treaty of Basle,” the young man said, “we were forced to become the enemies of the English, who defeated our fleet off Cape St. Vincent.”

“Ah! there you have it!” exclaimed Don Alonso, striking the table violently with his fist. “If Admiral Córdova had given the word to tack to port, to the vessels in front—in accordance with the simplest rules of strategy—the victory would have been ours. I consider that proved to a demonstration, and I stated my opinion at the time. But every man must keep his place.”

“The fact remains that we were beaten,” said Malespina. “The defeat might not have led to such serious consequences if the Spanish ministry had not signed the treaty of San Ildefonso with the French republic. That put us at the mercy of the First Consul, obliging us to support him in wars which had no aim or end but the furthering of his ambition. The peace of Amiens was no better than a truce; England and France declared war again immediately, and then Napoleon demanded our assistance. We wished to remain neutral, for that treaty did not oblige us to take any part in the second war, but he insisted on our co-operation with so much determination that the King of Spain, to pacify him, agreed to pay him a subsidy of a hundred millions of reales—it was purchasing our neutrality with gold. But even so we did not get what we had paid for; in spite of this enormous sacrifice we were dragged into war. England forced us into it by seizing, without any justification, four of our frigates returning from America freighted with bullion. After such an act of piracy the parliament of Madrid had no choice but to throw the country into the hands of Napoleon, and that was exactly what he wished. Our navy agreed to submit to the decision of the First Consul—nay, he was already Emperor—and he, hoping to conquer the English by stratagem, sent off the combined fleets to Martinique, intending to draw off the British naval forces from the coasts of Europe. Thus he hoped to realize his favorite dream of invading Great Britain; but this clever trick only served to prove the inexperience and cowardice of the French Admiral who, on his return to Europe would not share with our navy the glory of the battle off Finisterre. Then, in obedience to the Emperor’s orders, the combined fleets were to enter Brest. They say that Napoleon is furious with the French Admiral and intends to supplant him immediately.”

“But from what they say,” Marcial began, putting his oar in again, as we say, “Monsieur Corneta wants to cancel it, and is on the look-out for some action which may wipe out the black mark against him. I am only too glad, for then we shall see who can do something and who cannot.”

“One thing is certain,” Malespina went on, “the English fleet is cruising in our waters and means to blockade Cadiz. The Spanish authorities think that our fleet ought not to go out of the bay, where they have every chance of conquering the foe; but it seems that the French are determined to go out to sea.”

“We shall see,” said my master. “It cannot fail to be a glorious battle, any way.”

“Glorious! yes. …” replied Malespina. “But who can promise that fortune shall favor us. You sailors indulge in many illusions and, perhaps from seeing things too closely, you do not realize the inferiority of our fleet to that of the English. They, besides having a splendid artillery have all the materials at hand for repairing their losses at once. As to the men, I need say nothing. The enemy’s sailors are the best in the world—all old and experienced seamen, while only too many of the Spanish vessels are manned by raw recruits, indifferent to their work and hardly knowing how to serve a gun; our marines, again, are not all we could wish, for they have been supplemented by land-forces—brave enough, no doubt, but certain to be sea-sick.”

“Well, well,” said my master, “in the course of a few days we shall know the end of it all.”

“I know the end of it all very well,” said Doña Francisca. “All these gentlemen—though I am far from saying they will not have gained glory—will come home with broken heads.”

“What can you know about it?” exclaimed Don Alonso, unable to conceal an impulse of vexation, which, however, lasted but a moment.

“More than you do,” she retorted sharply. “But God have you in his keeping, Don Rafael, that you may come back to us safe and sound.”

This conversation had taken place during supper, which was a melancholy meal, and after Doña Francisca’s last speech no one said another word. The meal ended, Malespina took a tender leave of them all, and as a special indulgence on so solemn an occasion the kind-hearted parents left the lovers together, allowing them to bid each other adieu at their ease and unseen, so that nothing might prevent their indulging in any demonstration which might relieve their anguish. It is evident that I was not a spectator of the scene and I know nothing of what took place; but it may be supposed that no reticence on either side checked the expression of their feelings.

When Malespina came out of the room he was as pale as death; he once more bid farewell to my master and mistress, who embraced him affectionately, and was gone. When we went up to Rosita we found her drowned in tears, and her grief was so desperate that her devoted parents could not soothe her by any persuasion or argument, nor revive her energy by any of the remedies for which I was sent backwards and forwards to the apothecary. I must confess that I was so deeply grieved at the distress of these hapless lovers that my rancorous feelings against Malespina died away in my breast. A boy’s heart is easily appeased, and mine was always open to gentle and generous impulses.