Chapter I: Doña Elena, Doña Luz, Doña Estrella

Never, either in the times when the Spaniards were ruled by a King who was the best of cavaliers and worst of poets—yet still a poet—a King who paid too much attention to pretty women, and none whatever to affairs of state,—nor yet up to the present time, has any one known or hoped to know the history of the famous Elena and her three daughters who have acquired a fame scarcely inferior to her own. Yet it has become known. We know it, and the reader shall know all that afterwards happened to these three women and to their mother, who made them worthy of the celebrity which they acquired.

Doña Elena used to affirm that she was the widow of an “Alcalde de casa y corte” (a sort of justice of the peace), and that she was able to live decently and at ease on the property consisting of her marriage portion and what her husband had left her; and certainly she did live in this style. She was very devout, went to mass every day, to confession and communion every Sunday, and there was never a religious festival at which she was not present. She received no visitors except a Dominican friar, a very virtuous man; a gentleman who was very rich, old, and belonged to the order of Santiago, who never left the cross except when he went to sleep, and then only because he had another at the head of his bed; and a retired captain, lame and one-eyed, who had once held an important position in the Indies. Neither their age, characters, nor condition could give rise to any suspicion, or give any reason for censure.

The widow had three daughters, grown to womanhood, and brought up in the fear of God, as they must have been with such a mother. It was supposed that they wanted to get married, which was very natural, yet as they never gave any cause for scandal, it was impossible not to recognize their virtue. As far as could be ascertained, the family was as honorable as any other, and led a saintly life, yet the widow and her daughters were looked upon with a certain avoidance, some distrust and some fear. Why? Nobody knew. The suspicions, though apparently unjust, were instinctive.

People persisted in their determination to see something mysterious in the family, and that was enough. When the occasion arises, we shall repeat some of the grave and extraordinary things that were said about them, things touching the miraculous and supernatural; but, as no one could affirm that he had actually seen anything, it was all hearsay, and there was reason to suppose that an evil-disposed, hidden and despicable enemy had spread these reports, in order to harm the widow and her daughters with impunity.

Many people came to this sensible conclusion, but still there was always some doubt left, and a lack of confidence was justifiable because the _vox populi_ might be right, and it has always been considered better to err on the side of prudence than that of daring.

If the enemy was some discarded suitor, who was resolved that no one else should have what he could not obtain, he might well have rejoiced at the success of his scheme, for it was not an easy thing for these three girls to find husbands while such doubts and rumors concerning them were afloat, in spite of the virtues which adorned them.

We are not sure how old Doña Elena was, and it was not an easy thing to guess her age, for her looks varied. In the street, dressed in black and wrapped in a cape, with her head bent and eyes fixed on the ground, the only visible part of her face her large nose,—which was shaped like the beak of a bird of prey and adorned with a black and white wart, shaped like a sweet pea, a legacy of her misfortune,—she looked about seventy. But at home, without the cape, with her face held erect, with her abundant black hair which a young girl might have envied, with her energetic movements and sharp, penetrating eyes, one could not have imagined her over sixty.

From what we have been saying our readers will suppose that the widow was ugly, and really her ugliness was perfection. She was very tall, with a muscular and somewhat masculine form, a very large mouth, with an overlip covered with a black down that resembled a moustache, with only two large and sharp upper teeth remaining, with two patches of hair on each side of her beard, a narrow furrowed forehead, thick bushy eyebrows, and round sunken eyes. One of these, the left one, she invariably closed when speaking rapidly or looking attentively at any object, while the other then became very expressive, and it was impossible to avoid her penetrating gaze. Her voice was heavy and obscure, sounding, whenever she raised it, like an echo from the distance. Some of her ill-natured detractors had even said that there was reason to doubt the sex of Doña Elena, as she might as easily be a beardless man in disguise as a bearded woman.

Now that we have described the widow, if not as she really was, at least as she was known to the world, we will speak of her daughters. They did not resemble the widow in the least. They were young, nineteen, eighteen, and seventeen, and were all prodigies of beauty. They were called Sol, Luz, and Estrella, and with the dark clouds of Doña Elena’s ugliness, formed a heaven on earth.

Doña Sol’s face was somewhat dark, and oval, her hair black, and her eyes of the same color, lazy, wide open, with glances penetrating and expressive, such glances as set you on fire, and produce an effect similar to that of an electric current. It was impossible to look at her unmoved, for her lips were as provoking as her fiery eyes were burning, and it was unnecessary for her to speak or smile to set the coldest hearts on fire, and turn the heads of the steadiest.

Doña Luz was not so tall, and of somewhat fuller though wonderfully perfect proportions, with a fair skin, chestnut hair, and large gray eyes with long lashes, through which passed her sweet, quiet and melancholy glances. There was always a slight smile on her lips, her words were pleasant, she showed great tenderness and common sense, and was one of those gentle spirits, who, instead of promising ineffable pleasures, offer a sweet happiness and all the delights of an unalterable calm.

It is impossible to draw a correct likeness of Doña Estrella, who was a spiritual and sublime being, one of those angels in human form, apparently descended from Heaven to give us a conception of celestial beauties. Her blonde hair, pure transparent azure eyes, slender form and delicate shape presented a combination of unutterable charms. Sensible, innocent, candid, and timid,—we repeat, it is impossible to give a correct description of Estrella.

It seems impossible, too, that three girls such as we have tried to describe could all fail to find husbands, but as we have observed, public opinion was strongly rooted against them, and there were people who firmly believed that their wonderful beauty was the work of Satan to lure the innocent to destruction.

The four always went together to fulfil their religious duties, the girls in front, the youngest first, and the mother bringing up the rear that she might watch over them all, even with her left eye closed as it usually was. Those who met the little procession, saw first of all Estrella, whose timidity kept her eyes fixed on the ground, and, impressed with the sentimentality and sublimity of her blushing innocence, they looked up to see Doña Luz, full of artlessness and enviable tranquility, showing her face like one who had nothing to fear from malice; and finally, willing or unwilling, were compelled to meet the running fire which darted from the eyes of Doña Sol—eyes that in the street did not look upon you face to face, but slyly as if they did not wish to see. After all these pleasant, fascinating and enchanting visions, they beheld the round sunken eyes of the widow, eyes with pupils like phosphorescent lights in the depths of some cavern, and her big nose with the wart on it. And they would ask themselves if such a horrible looking monster could really have given birth to such beautiful daughters.

In spite of all that was said about them, the influence of their charms brought many daring wooers to the street inhabited by Doña Elena, and the sounds of the guitar, and voices filled with deep emotion chanting their sweet love songs, could frequently be heard there, yet no one of these nocturnal troubadours could pride himself upon having noticed the smallest opening of a window or balcony in the dwelling of these bewitching women. It happened, too, that none of these serenades ever ended in bloody affrays, as was frequently the case in those times, and these are our proofs for the assertion that the young ladies never gave rise to any scandal which could injure their reputation.

But curiosity is never hindered by obstacles and is perhaps more tenacious than love itself, and so sometimes the lovers and sometimes inquisitive outsiders attempted to bribe the servants of the widow, but succeeded only in learning that there are some servants who are incorruptible. Yet their attempts did not stop there, for the slyest of all found some means of entering into relationship with the only three persons who visited the widow, that is, the Dominican friar, the Knight of Santiago, and the lame, one-eyed captain.

But the friar when approached on the subject only said:

“It is not permitted to clergymen to speak about their children of the confessional, for this might lead to indiscretions which, however harmless, might become dangerous in the end.”

The Knight of Celibacy would answer angrily:

“This respectable lady is my friend. I don’t know anything more.”

And the veteran, looking askance at the interrogator with his remaining eye, would say, twisting his moustache angrily:

“Por Dios Vivo! What I detest most is an inquisitive person.”

And all this contributed to the fact that Doña Elena and her daughters were looked upon as mysterious people.

We have now only to state that they lived in a large house in the street called “de las Infantas,” which in those days began in “La Hortaleza” street, and ended in a dirty alley, which formed an angle following the garden wall of the convent of the Barefooted Carmelites.