Chapter II: The Wooers

It was in the month of November.

The clocks struck ten, an hour of the night when most of the inhabitants of Madrid are at home, and the streets were almost deserted, dark, and silent. There was no moonlight and the stars were not very bright, for the sky was clouded near the horizon.

A man entered Infanta street, coming from the direction of Hortaleza, while at the same time another appeared from the other side. It was impossible to distinguish their features, but one was taller and thinner than the other. They advanced rapidly to the middle of the street,—it was dangerous to walk near the walls as an arm clasping a dagger might dart out from near any entrance,—saw each other and stopped, while at the same time a third man, short and stout, came out of San Bartolome street, and stopped likewise on seeing them. The three remained immovable about fifteen or twenty steps apart, and scrutinized each other as closely as the light would permit.

The space where the Bilboa Square is now situated was at that time occupied by some houses belonging to the licenciado (jurisconsult) Barquero, and it was there that, later on, the convent of the Capuchin Friars was built, for reasons which will be explained later.

What the three men thought of each other is hard to tell, but it was plain that each one was displeased to find that he was not alone. About five minutes, which must have seemed an interminable time to them, passed, and then all three turned their faces in the same direction, and were able to watch Doña Elena’s house, and to see that a light was visible through a crevice in one of the balconies.

“They are not asleep yet,” said one to himself, “but these fellows are in my way.”

“Are they after the same thing as I?” the second asked himself.

“I shall be patient and come back later,” murmured the third.

“They are looking at the balcony.”

“Which of them is it?”

“This affair is beginning badly and may end worse.”

Another five minutes passed, and then the tallest one, losing patience, turned and walked slowly up the street.

“Since he is going I sha’n’t stay here. I’ll follow him and try to bring to light that which is as dark as this unfortunate night.” And the one who came out of the garden also went up the street.

A few minutes after, the chubby one followed the other two.

We cannot tell whether each one knew that he was followed by the others, or not, but after passing several streets they reached one called “Majaderitos,” or to speak more correctly the first reached it, the second being in Carretas street, and the third in Puerta de Sol.

In those days there was in this Majaderitos street a hostelry, the resort of all gay young people, and more frequented by night than by day, as a general thing. The doors were always locked at the hour prescribed by law, but would be opened for every customer, and at all hours of the day and night one could find there good eating and still better wines, while as the house had many large apartments and small rooms, and as the hotelkeeper and all the attendants were accommodating, wise, and discreet, those who honored the house at any time that was convenient found there independence, freedom, and forgetfulness of their troubles.

The muffled wanderer stopped at this inn and called. A small window opened immediately, and a voice asked,

“Who is there?”

“A very good friend.”

Apparently this was the countersign, for the door opened, and the visitor met a man who greeted him with,

“God protect you, Señor Alonso.”

“Are there many people here?”

“Nobody at all.”

“Then there will be no noise.”

“Are you alone?”

“Can’t you see that I am?”

“The whole house is at your disposal.”

“Put me wherever you please.—Here,” said Señor Alonso, entering a room whose only furniture was a large table, “and give me whatever you like for supper, but the best wine that you have, for I have something important to talk to you about, and I want to get my head clear.”

“Would you like a piece of loin with gravy, and a slice of roast lamb?”

“Yes.”

The innkeeper went out, and Señor Alonso, taking off his coat, sat down at the table with the lamplight full in his face. He was, as we have already said, tall and spare, and we will now add that he was about thirty, was well dressed, and that there was nothing extraordinary in his manners except, perhaps, the keen glance of his small round gray eyes. His movements were energetic, and he seemed endowed with a great deal of muscular force. The length of his arm would have made him a dangerous opponent with a sword in his hand, if he had known how to use it.

While the keeper was away someone else knocked at the door, and a few minutes later, another person entered the room. There was no reason why he should not stay, and so he stayed. Giving a “Good evening” to Señor Alonso, and taking off his coat, he also sat down, at the other end of the table, saying to the landlord,

“I leave the supper to your discretion, but the wine—”

“Shall be an old one and pure, Señor Hidalgo.”

“That is the kind I want.”

This second person was the one who had been following the first. He looked about twenty-five and his face was aquiline, swarthy and bilious, with a clear forehead, black hair, wide black eyes with long lashes, and a glance fiery and expressive, sometimes penetrating, sometimes melancholy. He showed much intelligence, not a little cunning, valor, and courage. While taking his seat he glanced at Señor Alonso, who was also watching him, and both frowned slightly.

The landlord went out to get the supper, but soon returned without it, bringing with him another guest, apparently also a hidalgo, short and bulky, with an apoplectic complexion, shining eyes and a large mouth which was slightly opened in a pleasant smile. He might have been about twenty-eight, his clothing was good and new although dark, contrasting with that of the second arrival, whose clothes were not only bright colored, but adorned with all the ornaments that were permitted to people of his class. He saluted very politely, took off his coat, ordered his supper, and sat down, whereupon the looks of the other two were centered upon him, while he examined them alternately.

“I recognize them. They are the same ones,” said Señor Alonso to himself.

“I have followed them, and they are after me,” thought the one with the black eyes. “So much the better, for now we will get rid of all our doubts, and finish things once for all.”

The supper was brought in at last and the three men, as if obeying the same impulse, filled their glasses and began to drink. Then they began to eat in almost absolute silence. It was, however, only the calm before the storm. Apparently the three hidalgos were only occupied with their supper, but while eating and drinking they were stealing angry glances at each other. Each one was trying to find some pretext for opening a conversation, but could not find anything to suit, till at last he of the bright clothes lost patience, and, calling the landlord, said,

“I cannot live without talking. Silence vexes me, and I cannot digest my supper without conversation.”

“Since I am busy waiting upon you—”

“You will serve me better by listening to me.”

“You honor me more than I deserve.”

“I will tell you what has happened to me, and as you are older and wiser than I, and have more experience, you shall advise me, for I feel half stupified and perplexed.”

“In that case, speak, Señor Hidalgo. You have all you want here now, and I can stay.”

“Tripas de Satanas! I am the most unhappy of living creatures, for I am madly in love with the most beautiful and bewitching woman ever born.”

“If she is unmarried—”

“Yes.”

“And honorable, and of your own station in life—”

“She is all that.”

—Señor Alonso knit his brows. The chubby-cheeked no longer smiled.—

“And does not this noble lady return your favor?”

“She has given some indications that make me feel hopeful.”

“Well, if she does not love another.—”

“Vive Dios! But there are others who aspire to her love. I have just learned it. I have seen it, and—I went to the street where the beauty lives who has captivated me, and when I got there two other suitors appeared. They watched as I watched. I waited and they waited. What ought I to have done? At first the blood rushed to my head, and then I laughed, for what followed seemed amusing to me. And now I don’t know how I feel.”

“And do you know your rivals?”

“In the daytime I could have recognized them, but in the dark all I could see was their two bodies. When they found me there why did they not come to me and tell me that I was disturbing them?”

“Excuse me,” said Señor Alonso, “but since you are talking in a loud voice and I am not deaf—”

“Well, say what you please.”

“Since you kept silent and did not draw your sword, why do you think it strange that they did the same? And besides, are you sure that they looked at the same balcony and had the same object in view as yourself?”

“From the place where they stood—”

“It seems to me that I know one of your supposed rivals.”

“Indeed?” said the black-eyed quickly.

“As surely as this wine is from Arganda,” answered Señor Alonso, raising his glass to drink. “And Crispin here cannot deny that it is Arganda wine.”

“And I know the other rival,” said the stout man.

Two sparks shot from the eyes of the youngest, and he sprang to his feet. “Vive el cielo!” he cried. “What are their names?”

“Here is one,” said Señor Alonso, pointing to their chubby companion, who rose, and standing behind his chair as though to make a rampart of it, laid his hand on his sword and said quietly,

“And you can see the other now.”

“Rayos!”

“Por el infierno!”

The three swords flashed, but for a moment the hidalgos stood motionless and silent.

“Dios misericordioso!” exclaimed the innkeeper in accents of terror. “What are you going to do? Have you all taken leave of your senses? At least wait until you are sure that you have not made a mistake. And then, how are you going to fight? There are three of you, and all enemies.”

“Let me alone.”

“How can I let you alone when you are trying to ruin me? The police have never entered my house as yet, but if they should once succeed, everything would be lost, and my reputation ruined.”

“That will do.”

“You must talk like reasonable beings, until you are convinced that there is no possible agreement.”

“It is impossible. I would sooner die than yield.”

“And I, too.”

“I say so, too,” said the chubby-cheeked.

“The love of that enchanting being is my life.”

“To me it is happiness.”

“And I have lost my senses through her looks.”

“Well, let her belong to the bravest or the luckiest.”

“I suppose you are not going to kill each other _here_,” said the innkeeper.

“No matter where.”

“I will scream and the patrol will come.”

“Stop your talking this moment!”

“Let us finish it at once.”

“I have decided, and I am at your disposal,” said Señor Alonso. “Which of you is ready to fight with me?”

“I am,” said the youngest.

“I have nothing to say against that, for I have the comfort of knowing that one of you will always be left for me.”

“You have too big an abdomen. It will be a hindrance to you.”

“And you have more tongue than is needed on such occasions.”

“Cuernos de Lucifer!”

“Come into the street.”

“No, right here.”

“Unfortunate men!” cried the innkeeper, seeing that the swords began to move, that the eyes flashed, and that the rivals began to approach each other. “They are going to kill each other, and they do not even know that they are in love with the same woman.”

“There is some reason in that.” said the chubby-cheeked, “for it is possible that we are deceived by appearances.”

“Vive Dios!” exclaimed the black-eyed. “You are getting scared already and trying to find an excuse, but you won’t succeed, for only one of us will be alive after to-night.”

“What I feel is not fear, but common sense.”

“Is it possible that there can be a mistake?”

“Yes.”

“Weren’t you watching in front of the licenciado Barquero’s house?”

“And I, too,” said Señor Alonso.

“Then since she lives there—”

“Thank God! you are not going to kill each other then,” interrupted the landlord, whose face was covered with cold sweat, “you are not going to,—no.”

“Why?”

“Doña Elena—But quiet down now. Put your swords in their scabbards and sit down and listen to me.”

It was all that was needed to let the first burst of passion subside without further consequences.

“Explain to us,” said the fat one, sitting down.

“In the first place, it is impossible that such hidalgos as you should kill each other for such women, who, it is said, owe their beauty to the diabolical arts of their mother.”

“Take care, Master Crispin! If you let your tongue run away like that⸺”

“I repeat that it is said so. But leaving that aside,—though it ought not to be, for it is important,—there is still the fact that since there are three daughters—”

“Three!”

“Didn’t you know that?”

“Fuego de Satanas!”

“It is quite possible that each of you may have fallen in love with a different one. Then in that case you are not rivals, but you ought to be the best of friends.”

“Certainly.”

“You, Señor Alonso, came here a month ago, and yet you do not know the ground you are treading on.”

“I have been here for the last fifteen days.”

“And I twelve.”

“Bah! The subject is changing its aspect.”

“How are we going to find out whether it is the same one or not who has set all our hearts on fire?”

“They are not like each other. Doña Sol has a dark complexion. Her eyes are as black as jet—”

“That is the one I am in love with. She must have a soul of fire,” said Señor Alonso.

“Still I am not satisfied,” said the youngest.

“Nor I either,” echoed the chubby-cheeked.

“The second is Doña Luz.”

“White?”

“Yes.”

“Thunder!”

“Oh!”

“Chestnut hair.”

“You mean red.”

“No.”

“And gray eyes.”

“Are you sure they are not blue?”

“Doña Estrella’s are blue. She is the youngest.”

“I am so happy!”

“What luck!”

“Light of my soul!”

“Star of my existence!”

“Sun, whose rays set my heart on fire!”

“Let’s have more wine, Master Crispin.”

“But I don’t want Arganda wine.”

“Let it come from Jerez.”

And the cries of rage were succeeded by joyous shouts. Their faces expanded, and their lips opened in smiles. The host brought the bottles with the fiery sherry, and they drank, toasting the beauty of Elena’s daughters and the friendship which was to unite them from that moment and last forever. They vowed to protect each other, and being true hidalgos were sure to fulfil their oaths.

“Listen,” said Señor Alonso suddenly.

“We are listening.”

“Our friendship must be so firm that it will stand above all other considerations.”

“A good idea, and well expressed.”

“Is not a friend worth more than a strange woman?”

“Much more.”

“Well, let us swear that not one of us will marry unless the others succeed in their courtship, too.”

“I swear it.”

“And I.”

“Another cup.”

“To Elena’s beautiful daughters!”

“To our love!”

“To our success!”

“More wine, Master Crispin!”

“Yes, yes,” said the landlord, “wine instead of blood. But don’t you forget that the faultfinders—”

“I shall tear your tongue out.”

“Let us be more quiet, my friends,” said the chubby-cheeked. “Why shouldn’t we know all that is said about Doña Elena and her daughters? We will lose nothing by listening to Master Crispin, and it is only just that we should appreciate his good intentions.”

“You speak sensibly.”

The landlord brought out more wine.

However, before we repeat what he said, it would be well to take more particular notice of these hidalgos.