Chapter III · IN WHICH WE COMPLETE OUR ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE THREE WOOERS, AND OTHER THINGS.

We will begin with Señor Alonso whose surname was Pacheco. He was a native of Salamanca, where he had studied philology, and left his home because he was displeased at his father’s second marriage. He followed the only career possible to him in that epoch, that is he enlisted and served for three years in Italy, leaving behind him proofs of his great valor. This profession might have proved lucrative for him, for he was much thought of by his chiefs, but he was dangerously wounded, during his three years service, and before he had completely recovered his strength, he received a letter from his father in which he informed him of the death of his step-mother and complained of feeling sad and lonely during these last years of his life. Since the cause of Señor Alonso’s discontent was thus removed, and as he loved his father, and was besides growing tired of the reckless life of a soldier, he left its perils and its glory to others, and returned home. Two years passed away, and his father died, leaving him a sufficient income to allow him to live decently, and a lawsuit of great importance which, two years later, brought him to court, where he had been only once before, for a few days on his way to Italy. Señor Alonso had never been in love, first, on account of the circumstances in his family, and afterward, because, in his life as a soldier, he had never had a chance to think of women, except as objects of diversion, beings who helped to make his life more pleasant. For the last two months of his stay in Madrid, he had been absorbed in his lawsuit, which was apparently approaching its end and looked so promising that it seemed not only possible but probable that he would soon find himself quite wealthy. Eight days before our story opens, he had in coming out of the church of San Jose,—which is now no longer in existence,—noticed among a crowd of people the head of a lady on whose face he had been compelled to fix his gaze, even against his own wishes. We may mention that the hidalgo’s suddenly became as red as though the blood were trying to rush out, and then he turned pale and nervous, and began sighing and trembling as though he were quite weary. What had happened? He himself could not explain it, but the fact is that Doña Sol’s black eyes were the cause of this commotion. It was only for a moment, a single moment, that the young girl had looked into the face of the hidalgo, but it was enough to make him feel as he had never felt before, and he became so excited that very little was wanting to make him forget that he was in a sacred place, and force himself through the crowd toward her, causing the greatest scandal. But he soon lost sight of those eyes of fire, and provokingly tempting lips, and longing to see them again, he moved forward, elbowing his way from one side to the other, and looking about him constantly, until at last he reached the street. Here he could move at ease, for the faithful (Catholic Christians who live in obedience to the church) were dispersing in every direction. He looked about him like a dog nosing in the air, but he had lost his black eyes. He ran up the street, and then back, but the bewitching being had completely disappeared, making it impossible for him to find out who she was or where he could see her. When at last he rested he was out of breath. He clenched his fist with all the force of despair, for his desires were kindling more and more as the obstacles which he encountered increased. Thus the hidalgo stood for more than half an hour, leaning against a wall, with drooping head, eyes closed, arms folded, and mind engaged in contemplating the lady of the black eyes. As he could do nothing more, he had to resign himself to fate, trusting that an accident might bring about better luck. He went to church the next day, but without meeting her. Thus he passed four days, always preoccupied, sleeping very little, and eating still less, when one morning, returning from mass, and passing down Las Infantas street, he heard a woman’s voice, and raising his eyes, could not restrain an exclamation of surprise and joy, for there on the balcony was the bewitching brunette, leaning out to call after a man who was just leaving the house. The man, who was small, ugly and stupid looking, returned and entered. Doña Sol, as if by accident, looked at the hidalgo, left the balcony, turned round to close the blind, gave him another glance, and disappeared.

“Ah,” sighed Señor Alonso, as though he wished to send his soul after the young lady, “how happy I am!”

There was no longer any necessity to search for her; all he had to do was to approach her. Judging correctly that the little man was a servant, he decided to wait for his return, imagining that as his purse was well stocked it was all that was necessary. In less than five minutes the servant came back and started on his errand. Señor Alonso followed him, stopped him in La Horteleza street, and, showing him a gold piece, said,

“Don’t be offended at my offering you a little present. Take this.”

“What do you wish?” asked the servant, smiling, and examining the hidalgo from head to foot.

“Almost nothing, but it is a great deal to me. I worship your lady—”

“Ah, already?”

“I am a hidalgo, have enough to live on, and before two months are over I shall be quite rich, and you, too, if you serve me.”

“I understand.”

“My name is Alonso Pacheco.—But here, take this.”

“No.”

“You refuse to serve me? Perhaps your lady is no longer mistress of her heart?”

“She loves no one,” said the servant, candidly.

“How fortunate!”

“I am obliged to tell my noble lady everything I see or hear in the street, and everything I do or say.”

“In that case—”

“May God keep you!” said the servant, turning and running away so quickly that it would have been impossible to overtake him.

Señor Alonso was left behind with the money in his hand.

“Vive el cielo! Could anybody imagine such a thing?”

He had, however, the consolation of thinking that his words would reach the ears of the beautiful young girl, and that she would make him some sign if she should reciprocate his affection, or wish to correspond with him, and he was glad that fortune favored him so far that there was no rival in the case. Next day Señor Alonso went again to Las Infantas street, and was rewarded by seeing the young girl, who opened the balcony, put out her head and immediately disappeared. And the same thing happened day after day, and as Doña Sol always gave the gallant a glance, he was induced to think that she reciprocated his affection, although he expected still to have to surmount many difficulties. He came again at night to look at the house and sigh, and behaved in every respect like a beardless lad of seventeen. He had never been in love before, and now it had taken such firm hold of his heart that it would never leave it again. Señor Alonso regretted very much that he had never learned to play the guitar, and that his voice was not pleasant, for he was deprived of the pleasure of serenading his beloved. Pacheco was honorable, brave, and had a noble heart, his one fault being that his only solution of difficult questions was the sword. That was the result of his old training and soldier life. He had thought more than once that the best plan would be to scare the stupid servant with a cudgel, instead of offering him money, but fortunately he could not find an opportunity of carrying out his absurd resolution.

Now, let us say a few words about the black-eyed hidalgo. His name was Jacinto Carmona, he was from Sevilla, and he, too, had enough to live decently, although he was not rich, and spent all he had—and more too—in enjoying himself, and dressing as extravagantly as possible. At ten years old he had been left an orphan under the guardianship of a clergyman, a man of honor, but very strict and severe, who had always tried to do his duty in bringing up the orphan in the ways of virtue and training him to work and to be a useful man. He made him study Latin for five years, but could not accomplish anything more. The boy was as turbulent as possible, and the more severe the punishment, the more he rebelled, the result of which was that the good priest became so weary that he had finally to acknowledge himself conquered. The good man complained of his misfortune, but his young pupil complained still louder, asserting that he was the victim of exaggerated severity and the stale prejudices of his guardian.

“You can see for yourself,” he would say. “You have only to look at my clothes to see how I am treated. They have been worn out and mended so often that it would be hard to tell which was the original stuff. Didn’t my father leave me an income of six hundred ducats? Why shouldn’t I be dressed decently? And as for eating, even without counting fast days, how often do I get meat? Very seldom, indeed. For my uncle says that gluttony is a mortal sin, and whenever he wants to punish me he makes me do without breakfast, dinner, or supper, and as he wants to punish me pretty often, the result is that I fast half the days in the year. That’s the reason that I am so thin and pale and weak, and in the end I shall die, not from any disease, but from starvation. Though my uncle does say that I look that way on account of my sins, and that I would be possessed by an evil spirit, if it were not for his fervent prayers which the good Lord has heard.”

Whenever Jacinto spoke in this strain he appeared much moved, his eyes would become moist and at times he would even weep. And being a handsome young man, he always appealed to the women, so that he found plenty of defenders whenever he quarrelled with his uncle. The fair sex was his weakness, and his follies in this direction excited serious disgust in more than one of his acquaintances. When the young man reached his twenty-fifth year, his uncle surrendered to him his inheritance, in a greatly improved condition, and gave him some good advice besides. Jacinto felt like a man who has been a long time in prison and suddenly recovers his liberty. He threw himself with avidity into a life of dissipation that would have speedily accomplished his ruin if his good uncle had not continued his advice and sometimes admonished him severely.

“I want to see the world,” said the young fellow at last, and gathering together all the money he could obtain, and bidding his uncle farewell, he took the road to Madrid, leaving behind him three women who had been foolish enough to believe in the love of a young scapegrace.

Apart from this failing, Jacinto was very kind-hearted, and could not look upon distress unmoved. What was his object in going to Madrid? He wanted expansion, emotions, life, and went without any definite object. He had never been seriously in love, and, to his misfortune, the same fate as Señor Alonso’s overtook him. One day he saw Doña Luz on one of the balconies of her house, and, as we have mentioned, she neither looked at people on the sly, or sought to hide herself, as did her sisters. Jacinto stared at her, and she contemplated him with perfect tranquility. He felt that his heart was beating more strongly than usual, and Doña Luz, probably unconsciously, smiled.

“Where am I?” cried the young man. “Not even in dreamland can one conceive such a vision of beauty.”

The quiet look, revealing the tranquility of its owner’s mind, charmed the young man all the more in that he was beginning to tire of his stormy pleasures. He could contain himself no longer, but lifting his head was preparing to call to her with his customary daring, when Doña Luz smiled a second time, and disappeared.

“She would not have listened to me!” exclaimed the young man in despair. “And yet she smiled to me when she left. Now that I think of it, it would have been folly to do what I was thinking of, and she has given me a lesson that will teach me to be more prudent.”

After this Doña Luz came to the balcony every day at the same time, always perfectly tranquil, and always smiling, and Jacinto finished by falling seriously in love. Not knowing any one in Madrid, he could not find out who the lady was, and as luck would have it, he never saw the stupid servant, either going or coming. This was the situation of affairs when he met the other two gallants.

And now we will finish by saying a few words concerning the plump chubby-cheeked one.

His name was Santiago Morcillo. He was a native of Leon, had no parents, and was one of those quiet beings whom it is difficult to rouse, either through anger or pleasure. When anything unpleasant happened, he said only, “God’s will be done,” and if he had reason to feel pleased, showed it only by a smile or by going to church to thank God for the favors which he bestowed on him. His father’s conduct had been disorderly, and he left but few unencumbered possessions, his affairs being in confusion, but the good-natured Santiago did not mind this. He was quite the opposite of his father and, by force of work, economy and shrewdness, he recovered what was lost, and even improved his condition so far that finally he was free from debt and in easy circumstances. Until then he had never thought of women, and when he did, he said,

“I shall take a rest now. It would be folly to begin a dangerous experiment immediately. My mother was a very virtuous woman, but all women are not alike.”

The good Morcillo was not only economical, but somewhat avaricious, and it occurred to him to use the influence of his relatives to obtain some sort of office, and with this object in view he had come to the court at Madrid. One morning he went to mass at St. Joseph’s Church, and standing near the entrance, and turning aside to let a caballero pass, he saw Doña Estrella, who was kneeling in prayer, her virgin lips moving in religious fervor, and her eyes raised to Heaven with a most sweet and tender expression. For the first time Señor Santiago felt a vivid impression, and involuntarily he made a somewhat impious comparison between the sublime young girl and an angel. He was always timid in the presence of women, but this being was not a woman, she was a cherub. Being a good Catholic, the hidalgo instantly repented of his sinful attention to worldly affairs, and turning his back upon the young lady, began to repeat his prayers; but he was unable to forget the cherub with the blue eyes, and ten minutes later, moved by an irresistible attraction, he turned and looked again. He saw her a second time, and felt his heart beating. When the mass was over, the good Morcillo could contain himself no longer. He turned quickly round and looked for her. The mother was very near her daughter, and in front, one behind the other, were her two sisters. However, in the crowd it was not easy to see that the four belonged together, and besides, the hidalgo had no eyes for any except the fair one. He tried to get nearer to her, but every one rose at the same moment, and he again lost sight of her for a few moments. He tried his best to force a way for himself through the crowd, but, being quite confused, he paid no attention as to where he planted his feet, and many of the faithful accosted him roughly, while others threw themselves against him and prevented his getting out. The poor fellow was almost suffocated, crushed and choking. He could hardly breathe, and perspired freely, while his face became livid. His stoutness was his great misfortune, and he missed the lady.

“Is it possible that I have fallen in love?” he asked himself when he got into the street.

He could not forget the fair face, and began to think the matter over with as much calmness as he could muster in his embarrassment. Having met such an angel of a woman, why should he not marry her? A bachelor’s life was very nice, but only up to a certain age. He went to mass the next day, and again he saw Estrella, and lost her in leaving the church. At last, on the day when our story begins, Morcillo, like the others, discovered by accident the residence of the charming maiden. He saw her on the balcony. Nothing else happened, but, feeling sure that he was in love, and that his will power was not strong enough to resist his passion, he made up his mind to go on with his wooing, and not to stop, unless this marvelous being with the face of an angel should prove to be a demon, which was, of course, impossible.

Now we know the three hidalgos, who did not resemble each other in the slightest degree.

(To be continued.)