Saragossa: A Story of Spanish Valor

by Benito Pérez Galdós

"In that case it is better not to go in," I answered, "because besides the danger of falling into the hands of that old scoundrel, there would be a great scandal, and all Saragossa will know that the son of Don José Montoria, the young man destined for a bishop's mitre, goes by night to see the daughter of the goodman Candiola."

But this and all that I could say to him was like preaching in the desert. Without listening to reason, and insisting that I should follow him, he made the signal of love, waiting and watching with great anxiety for the reply. Some time passed, and at last, after long looking and looking again from the pavement in front, we saw a light in a high window. We heard the fastening of the gate drawn back softly, and it was opened without creaking. Love had taken precautions, and the ancient hinges had been oiled. We two entered meeting, unexpectedly, not a perfumed and fascinating damsel, but a vinegary countenance which I recognized at once as that of Doña Guedita.

"He lets hours pass before he comes, and then he comes with another," she grumbled. "Young men, be so kind as to make no noise. Walk on tip-toe, and be careful not to stumble over even a dried leaf, because Señor Candiola seems to me to be very wide awake."

This she said to us in a voice so low that we heard with difficulty; then she went on before, making signs that we should follow her, putting her finger to her lips to enjoin absolute silence. The garden was small. We soon crossed it, and came to the stone staircase which led up to the doorway of the house. Here there came to meet us a shapely figure wrapped in a mantle, or cloak. It was Mariquilla! Her first gesture was to impose silence, indicating with anxiety, as I saw, a window which opened upon the garden. She then showed surprise that Augustine had not come unaccompanied. But he knew how to soothe her, saying, "It is Gabriel, my best, my only friend, of whom I have spoken so many times."

"Speak lower," whispered Mariquilla; "my father went out of his room a little while ago with a lantern, and made the rounds of the house and the garden. I doubt if he is asleep yet. The night is dark. Let us hide in the shadow of the cypress, and talk in a very low voice."

The stone stairway led up to a kind of balcony with a wooden railing. The great cypress in the garden cast a deep shadow at the end of the balcony, forming there a refuge against the clear light of the moon. The bare boughs of an elm spread above the other end of the balcony, casting a thousand fantastic shadows upon the floor, upon the walls of the house, and upon ourselves. In the protection of the cypress, Mariquilla seated herself upon the only seat that was there, and Montoria threw himself upon the floor beside her, resting his hands upon her knees. I seated myself also upon the floor not far from the pair. It was a January night, still, dry, and cold. Perhaps the two lovers with hearts aflame did not feel the low temperature; but I, a creature stranger to their fires, wrapped myself in my cloak to keep myself from the chill of the tiles. Guedita had disappeared. Mariquilla led the conversation, plunging at once into the difficulty.

"I saw you in the street this morning. When Guedita and I heard the noise of the people crowding about our gate, I went to the window, and I saw you on the sidewalk in front."

"It is true, I was there," replied Montoria, with emotion, "but I was obliged to go at once. I couldn't stand it."

"Didn't you see how those barbarians were trampling my father underfoot? When that cruel man struck him, I looked everywhere, hoping that you would come forward in his defence. But I did not see you anywhere."

"I tell you, Mariquilla of my heart," said Augustine, "that I was obliged to go. After they told me that your father had been so ill-treated, I came as soon as I could get a chance."