The Serapion Brethren, Vol. II

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

Edgar now learned that the old gentleman's name was Baldassare de Luna, and that he belonged to one of the most noble families of Spain. He was helpless and friendless, and had the prospect, unalleviated, of dragging out a miserable existence, far from home, without a friend or pecuniary resource. It was some time ere Edgar could succeed in infusing any hope or comfort into his heart: but when, at length, he most solemnly undertook to arrange for their escape to England together, new life appeared to circulate in the Spaniard's veins. He was no longer the old invalid, but an enthusiastic youth, breathing out defiance to his oppressors. Edgar kept his word. He succeeded in evading the vigilance of the spies, and in escaping with Baldassare de Luna to England. But it was not the will of fate that this brave and luckless man should see his native land again. He was prostrated by another attack of illness, and died in London, in Edgar's arms. A spirit of prophecy gave him to see the coming glory of his rescued country. Amid the latest prayerful whisperings which issued with difficulty from his lips stiffening in death, Edgar distinguished the word "Vittoria," and an expression of heavenly beatitude glowed on de Luna's countenance.

At the time when Souchet's victorious force was threatening to bear down all opposition and rivet the shameful foreign yoke more firmly than ever, to all eternity, Edgar arrived before Tarragona with Colonel Sterret's English brigade. It is matter of history that Colonel Sterret considered the position so insecure, that he would not disembark his troops. This our eager young soldier could not endure. He left the English force, and betook himself to the Spanish general Contreras, who was occupying the fortress with 8,000 Spanish soldiers. We are aware that Souchet's force took Tarragona by storm, notwithstanding the most heroic defence, and that Contreras himself, with a bayonet wound, fell into the hands of the enemy.

The scenes which passed before Edgar's eyes, displayed all the terribleness of hell itself. Whether it was on account of shameful treachery, or from incomprehensible carelessness on the part of those whose duty it was to attend to the matter, the troops who had to defend the principal enceinte of the fort, soon ran short of ammunition. They for a long time resisted with the bayonet the incoming of the enemy through the gateway which had been forced: but when, ultimately, they had to retire before the urgency of his fire, they rushed across to the further gateway in wild disarray, and in confused masses: and as this gate was too narrow to admit of their passage, they had, therefore, to submit to a terrific massacre. Yet some 4,000 Spaniards--Almeira's regiment, with which Edgar happened to be at the time--managed to force their way through. With the courage of despair they broke their passage through the enemy's battalions which were there posted, and continued their flight towards Barcelona. They were fancying that they were in safety, when they were assailed by a terrible fire from some field-pieces, which the enemy had placed in position behind a trench cut across the road, bringing inevitable destruction into their ranks. Edgar was hit, and fell to the ground.

A violent pain in the head was what he felt when he recovered consciousness. It was dark night, and all the terrors of death permeated him as he heard the hollow groans and the heart-piercing cries which surrounded him. He managed to get upon his legs and creep along. When at length the morning began to break he found himself close to a deep ravine; but as he was about to go down into it a troop of the enemy's cavalry came slowly up. It seemed an impossibility to avoid being taken prisoner; but suddenly shots came dropping out of the thickest part of the wood, emptying several saddles, and presently a party of Guerillas made an attack on the remainder of the troop. He shouted out to his deliverers in Spanish, and they welcomed him gladly. He had only been struck by a spent ball, and soon recovered, so as to be able to join Don Joachim Blake's force, and enter Valenzia with it, after several engagements.

Who does not know that the plain watered by the Guadalquivir, where stands the beautiful Valenzia with her stately towers, is an earthly paradise? All the heavenly delightsomeness of a sky for ever fair penetrates and pervades the hearts and souls of the dwellers there, for whom life is an unbroken festa. And this Valenzia was now the theatre of a most bitter and bloody war. Instead of the dulcet tones of the lute, stealing like the cooing of doves up in the nights to the trellised windows, the place resounded with the hollow rolling of guns and ammunition waggons, the wild challenge of sentries, and the weird, mysterious murmur of soldiery marching through the streets. All joy was driven into dumbness. All the white faces, drawn by grief and horror, had written upon them the dread anticipation of terrible things imminent. The most furious execrations, offspring of inward fury, were showered upon the enemy. The Alameda--at other times the haunt of the gay world--was now a parade ground for the troops. Here Edgar one day, as he was standing alone, leaning against a tree, reflecting on the dark, adverse destiny which seemed to weigh upon Spain, observed that a man, far advanced in years, tall, and of haughty demeanour, who was walking up and down near him with long steps, stopped and scrutinized him keenly each time that he passed him. At last Edgar accosted him, enquiring courteously what in him had attracted such a share of his attention. "I see that I was not mistaken," he answered, whilst a gloomy fire flashed from beneath his black, bushy eyebrows. "You are not a Spaniard--and yet, if your coat does not belie you, I am bound to look upon you as one who fights on our side. And that strikes me as rather remarkable." Edgar, though nettled at the brusquerie of this gentleman's address, told him, temperately enough, what had brought him to Spain.

But scarcely had he mentioned the name of Baldassare di Luna than the old man cried out in much excitement, "Baldassare di Luna do you say? My beloved cousin! the dearest and most intimate friend I have left in the world." Edgar repeated all that had happened, not failing to mention the heavenly hopes with which Baldassare had taken leave of life.

The old man clasped his hands, raised his eyes to heaven--his lips moved--he seemed to be communing with his departed friend. "Forgive me," he said, "if a gloomy mistrust, which is foreign to my character, influenced me against you. Some time ago it was believed that the accursed knavery of the enemy had gone so far as to introduce foreign officers amongst our forces to act as spies. The incidents at Tarragona but too much encouraged suspicions of this kind, and the Junta has now determined to expel all foreigners. Don Joachim Blake, however, has insisted that foreign engineers, at all events, are indispensable to him, solemnly engaging, at the same time, to shoot down every foreigner at once who is subject to the slightest ground of suspicion. If you are a friend of my Baldassare you are undoubtedly a man of valour and honour. At all events, I have told you everything, and you can act accordingly." With this he took his departure.

The fortune of arms appeared to have completely abandoned the Spaniards, and the very courage of despair itself could avail nothing against the rapidly-advancing foe. Valenzia was hemmed in more and more closely on all sides, so that Blake, pushed to extremity, determined to force his way out with twelve thousand chosen troops. It is known that few succeeded in getting through, that the remainder were in part killed, in part driven back into the town. It was here that Edgar, at the head of the brave Ovihuela Rifle Regiment, managed to give a momentary check to the enemy, thus rendering the wild confusion of the flight less disastrous. But, as at Tarragona, a musket bullet struck him down at the crisis of the engagement. He described his condition from that moment till he regained clear consciousness as one inexplicably strange. It often seemed to him that he was in the thick of fighting. He would seem to hear the thunder of the cannon, the wild cries of the combatants--the Spaniards would seem to be advancing victorious, but as he was seized on by the joy of battle and starting off to lead his battalion under fire, he would seem to become suddenly paralysed, and sink down in unconscious insensibility. Then he would become clearly aware that he was lying on some soft bed, that people were giving him cool drink--he heard gentle voices speaking softly, and yet could not arouse himself from his dreams. Once, when he thought he was back in the thick of the battle, it seemed to him that he was grasped firmly by the shoulder, whilst a rifleman of the enemy's fired at him, striking him on the breast, where the bullet in an incomprehensible manner went slowly boring its way into the flesh with the most unspeakable torments till all sense of feeling sunk away into a deep, deathlike sleep.

Out of this death sleep Edgar awoke suddenly into full and clear consciousness, but in such strange surroundings that he could not form an idea as to where he might be. The soft luxurious bed with its silken curtains, was quite out of keeping with the small, low-roofed, dungeon-like vault of undressed stones in which it stood. A dim lamp shed a feeble light around--neither door nor window was discernible. Edgar raised himself with difficulty, and saw that there was a Franciscan friar sitting in a corner, seemingly asleep. "Where am I?" Edgar cried, with all the energy which he could concentrate.

The monk started from his sleep, trimmed the lamp, took it up, looked at Edgar's face by the light, felt his pulse, and murmured something which Edgar could not understand. He was going to interrogate the monk as to what had happened to him, when the wall opened noislessly, and a man came in whom Edgar immediately recognized as the person who had spoken to him on the Alameda. The monk called out to this person that the crisis was over and all would now go well. "Praise be to God," said the old gentleman, and approached nearer to Edgar's bed.