The Lady in the Balcon.
Notwithstanding the disagreeables above enumerated, and some others, I was not among those who would have preferred quarters in Timbuctoo.
One’s liking for a place often depends upon a trivial circumstance; and just such a circumstance had given me a penchant for Puebla.
The human heart is capable of a sentiment that can turn dirt into diamonds, or darkness to light,—at least in imagination. Under its influence the peasant’s hut becomes transformed into a princely palace; and the cottage girl assumes the semblance of a queen.
Possessed by this sentiment, I thought Puebla a paradise; for I knew that it contained, if not an angel, one “fair as the first that fell of womankind.” As yet only on one occasion had I seen her; then only at a distance, and for a time scarce counting threescore seconds.
It was during the ceremonial of our entry into the place, already described. As the van of our columns debouched into the Piazza Grande a halt had been ordered, necessarily extending to the regiments in the rear. The spot where my own troop had need to pull up was overlooked by a large two-story house, of somewhat imposing appearance, with frescoed front, balcons, and portales. Of course there were windows; and it was not likely that so situated I should feel shy about looking at, or even into them. There are times and circumstances when a man may be permitted to dispense with the strictest observance of etiquette; and, though it may be quite unchivalric, the conqueror claims, on the occasion of making entry into a conquered city, the right to peep into the windows.
No better than the rest of my fellows, I availed myself of the saucy privilege, by glancing toward the windows of the house, before which we had halted.
In those below there was nobody or nothing—only the red iron bars and the black emptiness behind them.
On turning my eyes upwards, I saw something very different—something that rivetted my gaze, in spite of every effort to avert it. There was a window with balcony in front, and green Venetians inside. Half standing on the sill, and holding the jalousies back, was a woman—I had almost said an angel!
Certainly was she the fairest thing I had ever seen, or in fancy conceived; and my reflection at the time was—I well remember making it—if there be two of her sort in Puebla, the place is appropriately named—La Puebla de los Angeles!