A ROMANCE OF HISTORY.

(From the Spanish.)

At the time of the great earthquake that took place in 1647, at San Jago, then the capital of Chili, and in which so many persons lost their lives, there was confined in the common gaol a noble Spaniard, Don Jeronimo Ruguera, accused of stealing a nun from the cloister, and of marrying her contrary to the canons of the church. From the rigour and long duration of his imprisonment, he had become weary of life; and was preparing to rid himself of it, by suspending himself from a pillar which supported the roof of his cell, when the first shock of the earthquake made his prison tremble to the very foundation.

Don Henrico Asteron, one of the richest grandees of the city, had, about a year before, dismissed him from the office of tutor in his family, on discovering that he entertained a passion for his daughter, Donna Josephine. The secret had been revealed to him by the jealous

irritate the old don against his sister; and, in order that he might become sole heir to his father's possessions, suggested, that to save the credit of the family, she should take the veil. After enduring their cruelty and tyranny for some months, she gave a reluctant consent to enter the convent of Notre-Damede-Mont, as a nun of the order of the Carmelites.

Jeronimo was rash enough to continue his interviews with her, by scaling the walls of the convent. At last they were detected conversing together in the garden; and hardly had Josephine risen the next morning, when she was cited to appear before the ecclesiastical court, by order of the archbishop. The inhabitants of St. Jago displayed such bitterness of feeling on the occasion, and were so violent in their reproaches against the inmates of the convent, on account of the scandal it occasioned against the religious orders, that neither the prayers of the family of Asteron, nor the solicitations of the abbess, who had conceived a lively interest for the young lady, could

mitigate the doom with which the laws of the cloister threatened her. All they could obtain was, that the sentence of the stake, to which she had been condemned, to the pious joy of all the matrons and virgins of St. Jago, was commuted, by the viceroy, to that of decapitation.

When the day of execution had finally been appointed, seats were let at the windows in the streets through which the procession was to pass. Over the terraces of the houses awnings were spread, to shade the spectators from the burning rays of the sun, and the fashionables of the city invited their friends to witness the spectacle which the devotion of the church had prepared for them!

Immured in a dungeon and literally bereft of reason, on reflecting on the awful doom which threatened his mistress, the thought of utter hopelessness of escape but added to his despair. All his projects against the walls and bars availed nothing; and an attempt to file the iron grating of his window, redoubled the vigilance of his gaolers. In vain he prostrated himself before the image of the holy Virgin (as the only one who had power to save him,) and prayed for succour and deliverance. But the longdreaded day at length arrived, and with it the consciousness of his desperate situation. Already the clock had struck the hour at which Josephine was to prepare to exchange the prison for the scaffold. Despair seized his soul, and he resolved to terminate a life, rendered odious to him, by means of a cord which accident had thrown in his way. He was already, as we have said, at the base of a pillar, and had attached the fatal noose to an ornament in its capital, when the city, as seen through the bars of the cell, seemed to reel to and fro like a stormtossed vessel, and his ears were stunned by a crash as if the heavens had fallen and overwhelmed the city in their ruins. Jeronimo, rendered motionless by terror, and fearful of being crushed by the falling of the building, clung for safety to the very pillar which he had so lately contemplated making subservient to his self destruction. The ground trembled under his feet, the walls of the prison burst asunder, and the whole edifice leaned so much toward the street that, if the shock of the falling of the next house had not given it a contrary direction, it would have been overthrown.

Trembling, his hair standing on end, his legs refusing him support, Jeronimo crept along the floor, and with much difficulty escaped through an opening in

the front of the prison. Hardly did he find himself at liberty when a second shock levelled the remainder of the houses in that street. Dismayed, he first took the road toward the city gate, across the broken timbers and ruins of what had so lately been stately palaces and comfortable dwellings. A house, from which large masses of stone were continually falling, forced him to seek his way by the next street. The clouds of smoke in which it was enveloped, together with the flames from the burning roofs, drove him from that.

On this side, the river Mepocho overflowing its banks, rushed with a loud roar, and sweeping all obstruction before it, forced him to retreat to a situation more remote from danger; on the other hand lay a heap of dead bodies, from under which proceeded, at intervals, the deep groans of some poor wretch suffocating by the weight of the corpses of those who, perhaps, in life, had been his dearest friends. The river, gradually encroaching on the spot where he stood, every now and then lifted their dead limbs, and the spectator might almost imagine that they yet lived. On the burning roofs, numbers were seen vainly imploring aid; and some in the madness of despair, precipitated themselves to the pavement below.

Reaching the city gates, Jeronimo, overcome with fatigue, sunk under its arch. There he lay in a deep swoon upwards of an hour. A gentle breeze from the west gradually recalled his scattered senses, and his eyes wandering in all directions, with joy beheld the verdant plains of St. Jago.

The sight of the dead bodies by which he was surrounded, tended to diminish the satisfaction he felt at his own escape. He could not at first, comprehend how he or they came to the place in which they were; and it was not till looking behind him, and perceiving the city a shapeless mass of ruins, that he fully realized to himself the terrible catastrophe which he had survived. He knelt, and bowing to the earth, returned thanks to heaven for his miraculous preservation. He then mingled with the crowd, who were busy saving what little they could out of the general wreck, and timidly inquired if the execution of the daughter of the house of Asteron had taken place; but he found none able to give him information. At length he met a female, bent double under the weight of household goods which she carried, who told him, in passing, that

she had herself witnessed the decapitation of the nun.

On comparing the time of the first shock with the hour appointed for her execution, he no longer doubted that the sentence had been carried into effect. He started on his feet, and plunged into a neighbouring wood, abandoning himself to despair. He wished that all the powers of nature were again let loose against him. He regretted that death had refused to receive him when he offered himself a willing victim. After shedding a flood of tears, hope again visited him. He rose and traversed the country in all directions. He examined all the dead bodies which lay stretched in his path, and removed the rubbish under which he could perceive female clothing. With trembling footsteps he traversed the ruins of the nunnery; but nowhere discovered the remains of Donna Josephine.

About sunset, Ruguera, beginning to despair of finding his mistress, ascended a rock which overlooked a secluded valley. At its foot he perceived a young female, bathing an infant in a neigh bouring brook. Jeronimo hastened to the spot, exclaiming, "Holy Mother!" It was Josephine.

Imagination can but faintly picture the transports of the lovers at this providential meeting. After their rapture had in some measure subsided into more sober feeling, Josephine related all that had befallen her during the last twentyfour hours. She was preparing to mount the scaffold, when the falling of the houses dispersed the multitude assembled to witness her execution, and, together with them, fled the executioners and the other myrmidons of justice. As soon as she could rouse herself from the stupor into which the prospect of approaching dissolution had thrown her, she fled toward the gates, but quickly returned to the nunnery, in which she had left her child. She found it on fire, and the abbess, (who had promised Josephine, at the moment which seemed to be so near her last, to take charge of her infant,) was shrieking amid the flames. Josephine rushed through the smoke along the galleries, which were falling on all sides; and, as if all the angels of heaven protected her, she re-appeared unhurt under the portal, supporting the sunken form of the abbess, and carrying her tender infant in her arms!

She had scarcely reached the portal, when the roof suddenly fell, burying most of the nuns in its ruins. Josephine,

horrified at the fate of her former associates, managed, after much difficulty, to effect her escape. She had not proceeded far when she encountered the mangled corse of the archbishop. The palace of the viceroy was in ruins-the court of justice, where sentence had been pronounced against her, was in flames; and on the site of her father's house appeared a lake, from which rose a red vapour. Josephine rallied all her energies to sustain her at this trying moment. She went on courageously, carrying her recovered treasure. approached the ruins of her lover's prison, and reflected on his probable fate. At this sight she trembled so violently as scarcely to be able to support her infant, till roused by the continual falling of the surrounding buildings, she redoubled her exertions, embracing her child, and soothing the alarm which was too plainly depicted in its eyes.

She

Exhausted with fatigue, she reposed some time in expectation of seeing him, whom of all others was most dear to her, approach, if he had been so fortunate as to have survived. But when the crowd increased she proceeded farther, and at last entered a small valley of lime-trees; and there, removed from public gaze, offered up a prayer for the repose of the soul of her beloved Jeronimo. She recounted to him all these incidents; and after she had finished her woful recital, presented to him his child.

It was one of those lovely nights, on whose beauties poets love to dwell; and dead to feeling, and unmindful of gratitude, must man be, who, formed to carry his face erect toward the heavens, on beholding "the starry firmament on high," resplendent with its myriads of lights, fails to adore its omnipotent Creator, to recognise in its all-beautiful harmony, the overruling providence of the Most High!

on

The survivors of this day, so replete with horror, encamped in the valley by the light of the moon, and all were busy collecting moss and dried leaves, which to seek in repose some interval of relief from their overwhelming misery. On all sides the poor people were lamenting their misfortunes-one had his house destroyed; another had lost wife and children; and a third had lost all he possessed. Jeronimo and Josephine, after an evening hymn of thanksgiving, resigned themselves to repose.

When they awoke the sun was high in the heavens, they noticed near them seve

ral families employed over a fire in preparing a slight repast. Jeronimo was reflecting how he should procure some refreshment for himself and those under his charge, when a young man, genteelly clad, holding an infant in his arms, advanced toward Josephine, and modestly begged her to administer to the wants of the little unfortunate, whose mother, grievously wounded, reposed at no great distance under a tree.

Josephine was somewhat perplexed at recognising this chevalier, who, misinterpreting her embarrassment, observed, "Donna Josephine, I only solicit your kindness for a few moments; this infant has taken no nourishment since the hour which involved us all in one common calamity!" Josephine took the child, and gave her own to Jeronimo.

Don Fernando (that was the name of the stranger) expressed his gratitude for her kindness by offering to conduct them to the fire round which his family were assembled. Donna Elvira, the wife of Fernando, who had received an injury in one of her feet, made Josephine sit be side her, and shewed her much attention. Don Pedro, Elvira's father, whose shoulder was fractured, greeted them in the most cordial manner. Jeronimo and Josephine, while reflecting on the kindness with which they were treated, could scarcely bring themselves to believe in the reality of the past-The prison! the scaffold! the funeral dirge! appeared but as a dream.

Donna Elizabeth, the sister-in-law of Fernando, one who had been invited by a friend to witness the execution of the nun of Notre-Dame-de-Mont, alone appeared to view Josephine with coldness and suspicion, almost amounting to horror; but she, the latter, was too deeply absorbed in her own reflections to notice it. As for Donna Elvira, she conversed with Josephine in an under-tone, and her eyes manifested the interest she took in hearing her adventures. Josephine candidly confessed everything; and Elvira, tenderly taking her hand, made a sign to be silent.

The day being far advanced, and the trembling of the earth having altogether subsided, their spirits began to revive. From the report of the passers-by they learned that high mass was to be celebrated in the cathedral of the Dominicans, the only sacred edifice left standing, to supplicate the father of all mercies to avert from the city farther calamity. Don Fernando proposed to join the procession. Josephine, on whom all eyes

were turned, acquiesced in their opinion that never was there more reason, than at this moment, to manifest their gratitude to Him, who had preserved them through such imminent dangers. Elvira much approved of Fernando's resolution, and prepared to accompany them. Donna Elizabeth expressed a wish to remain behind with her sick father, at the same time offering to take the child, who was still in Josephine's arms; but little Juan began screaming, and manifested such reluctance to quit its nurse, that its mother consented, at the solicitation of Fernando, that it should accompany them.

On entering the cathedral, where the service had already commenced, they beheld the vast multitude with which it was crowded devoutly kneeling, absorbed in silent prayer. The shadowy outline of the long rows of willows, contrasted with the rays of the setting sun, reflected through the painted windows in all the variegated colours of the rainbow; the twinkling of the candles shedding a dim haze of religious light on the priest at the altar, surrounded by a halo of incense, entranced their senses, and inclined their minds to regard with mingled veneration and awe the solemn and imposing ceremonies of the catholic church.

After mass, a sermon was preached by the senior canon of the cathedral. He commenced by praising God that some men were yet found, who, remembering the tender mercies of Him who reigneth in the heavens, had come to His temple to humble themselves before Him-to offer up their votive hymns of praise for their signal deliverance. The preacher depicted what had happened as a sign from heaven. The last day, in his estimation, could scarcely exceed it in terror; and in pursuing his theme, he dwelt upon the wonders that had been wrought at the crucifixion, when the earth as it were, quaked in terror at the death of its Lord. Becoming animated, as he proceeded, he described the rending of the veil of the temple at Jerusalem, when, suddenly pointing to a large fissure in the roof of the cathedral, he pronounced the earthquake a warning of the kindling wrath of the Almighty, perhaps the last vouchsafed in mercy, before man's final doom-a cold shudder ran through the assembly.

When the canon, to cite an example, spoke of the licentious profanation so lately committed in the garden of the Carmelites, and inveighed against the indifference manifested by the people at

large on the occasion, Donna Josephine, overpowered by remorse, fell shrieking to the earth. Immediately a voice, iuterrupting the preacher, cried aloud, "Men of St. Jago, both the criminals stand in the midst of you!"

"Where?" cried another.

"Here!" responded the first speaker: and a wretch, whom fanaticism had wrought into a state of frenzy, seized Josephine by the hair, and would have dashed her on the stone pavement, together with Don Fernando's child, if the latter had not caught her in his arms. "Coward!" cried the young man, "I am Don Fernando Ormez, the son of the commandant of this city."

"Don Fernando Ormez !" vociferated a shoemaker, who worked for the convent to which Josephine had belonged, "who, then, is the father of that child?"

At this question Don Fernando turned pale. At one time he looked toward Jeronimo; at another, scrutinised the multitude, to see if there was any one to whom he was known.

Josephine, in despair, exclaimed, "the child you see here is not mine, as you believe, Master Pedrillo; and this young man is not Jeronimo Ruguera, but Don Fernando, the son of the commandant of the city."

The shoemaker, addressing the mob, inquired, "Which of you, citizens, know this young Don?"

Little Juan, frightened at the tumult, took the opportunity to escape from Josephine, and ran to his father's arms.

66

That's the father-that's Jeronimo Ruguera!" resounded on all sides. "Those are the miscreants who have polluted the sanctity of the cloister-who have drawn down the vengeance of heaven upon us and our devoted city!"

"Stop!" interrupted Jeronimo, advancing with a firm step toward them, "If you seek Don Jeronimo Ruguera, behold him here! I am he! Let this chevalier depart-he is innocent!"

The rabble, irresolute how to proceed, ceased their clamour, when an officer of some rank appearing, to take cognizance of the affair, Fernando immediately surrendered himself to his custody and besought his protection.

Pedrillo, mounting on a chair, addressed the officer in a loud voice: "Don Alonzo Onoreja! I appeal to your conscience: is not this the sister Josephine?"

The officer, well aware of her identity, hesitated; when the people began to shout, "Death to the impious wretches!" and endeavoured to seize them.

Apprehensive of what might follow, Josephine took the hand of Philippo, whom Ruguera, till then, had held in his arms, and resigned both him and Juan to Don Fernando's charge, saying, “Go, Don Fernando, save your two children, and leave us to our fate."

Fernando took the children, and vowed rather to perish than abandon them. At the same time he opened a passage for himself through the crowd, which respectfully divided to let him pass. When they reached the church door, they thought all danger over; but hardly had Don Fernando crossed the threshold, when he perceived that the building was surrounded by a furious rabble. A voice from behind exclaimed: "Fellow citizens! this man is Don Ruguera, who to impiously outraged the holy seclusion of the cloister. I know him well. I am his father!"

At these words, with a heavy bludgeon he had in his hands, the speaker smote Jeronimo, who fell lifeless at the feet of Donna Costanza.

"Wretch of the cloister!" cried the same man, "thus I immolate thee as an atonement for the city!" and, with one blow, terminated her mortal career! Don Fernando, drawing his sword, fought with the fury of desperation over the body of his sister, and plunged it to the very hilt into the breast of her murderer.

"Save yourself and our children!" cried Josephine, and precipitated herself upon the crowd. Pedrillo struck her with his fatal club, and finally put a period to her suffering, by placing his foot on her neck and strangling her!

Don Fernando, with his back against a pillar of the portico, combated manfully against the host that surrounded him. Seven of these blood-thirsty assassins had he already sacrificed to the manes of his sister, when Pedrillo seized little Juan by the legs and killed him on the spot!

Shortly after, the multitude, as if stricken with remorse, and ashamed of their barbarity, fled; and silence reigned where, so lately, all had been tumult and disorder.

Don Fernando and Philippo were discovered next morning senseless, where they fell, and with difficulty were restored to life. Donna Elvira sank under the shock of the horrible catastrophe. Old Don Ruguera claimed the child, and, after some time, presented him to the Dominican fathers to bring up to the church.