The Three Don Juans

Don Juan Tenorio was the son of Don Diego Pons Tenorio, the fifteenth lord of Cabezan in Asturias, the eleventh lord of Peral y Cobos in Old Castile, and the sixth lord of Fuente-Palmera in Andalusia. This means he descended from an ancient and noble lineage.

Don Diego was a significant figure. In addition to his lordships, won by his ancestors at the point of the sword, he owned a palace in Seville where he spent part of the year. There, he managed the Administration of tithes and buildings for the military religious order of which he was commander. His total income was estimated at eighteen thousand ducats of gold.

When his wife, the beautiful Countess Clara, felt the pains of childbirth, there was great turmoil in the castle. She sadly spent the months of her pregnancy. It seemed that a terrible and mysterious illness had descended upon her. Often she was seen weeping for no reason or trembling with fright. At times, with a fixed gaze and heaving chest, she appeared to be undergoing the fascination of some ghost visible only to her. In vain did she spend most of her nights locked in her oratory. She could be heard murmuring long prayers, interspersed with convulsive sobs. Nightmarish dreams troubled her nights, and many times she awoke with a start, letting out stifled cries. Neither the affectionate care of her husband nor the encouragement of the chaplain could restore her calm.

At the announcement of her delivery, awaited by the Countess with such singular apprehension, one of the most illustrious doctors of the time was called from Seville.

He was a baptized Jew named Alonzo Levita. He had studied at all the Universities of Europe.

He questioned the sick woman, examined the symptoms, and reassured everyone. A few hours later, in fact, Doña Clara gave birth to a beautiful boy.

It was a goat that served as the wet nurse for Don Juan, a wild goat from the high sierra.

He was baptized in a grand ceremony at the cathedral of Granada, in the presence of the Catholic kings and their court. He had for godmother Doña Francesca Pacheco, marchioness of Mondejar, and for godfather Don Juan de Ganelès, from whom he took his name in accordance with custom.

The Countess had made a plan. She wanted to consult a famous astrologer recommended to her by Don Alonzo Levita. The worries that had haunted her since the early days of her pregnancy had not dissipated, in fact.

She went to find Don Jorge, her husband’s brother, during a trip to Seville, and shared her desire to go to the man of occult sciences in his company.

"It seems natural to me, Doña Clara," Jorge said to her, "that you consult a professional of the Kabbalah about your son's future... But one must be careful as these kabbalists are often mere rogues, quite capable of interfering with the purse and even the lives of honest folks. I will accompany you..."

"Jorge, I ask you for secrecy. If the astrologer were to predict something unpleasant for me..."

"I'll cut off his ears! I do not want some scoundrel of that sort to upset my lovely sister-in-law."

After the evening prayer, Don Jorge and Doña Clara, guided by Master Alonzo Levita, headed to the astrologer who lived in a deserted street at one end of the city.

Master Max Jacobi had been warned by his comrade of the honorable and lucrative visit he was about to receive. Thus, the wicket opened at the first knock of the hammer.

An old woman with a witch-like head showed her smoky lamp through the iron bars. Her shifty eye viewed the visitors with suspicion.

"Open, Barbara," said the doctor. "Your master is expecting us."

The old woman obeyed, silently.

Having followed a long winding corridor, they arrived at a door that Levita opened without further ceremony, and they found themselves in the astrologer's laboratory, who was also an alchemist.

It was a large room with a high arched ceiling illuminated by a lamp hanging from an iron hook. Irregular shadows danced on the smoke-blackened walls. There were few pieces of furniture but many objects and scientific utensils: furnaces, bellows, retorts, flasks, alembics, spheres, compasses, squares, hourglasses, metals, stones, dried plants, stuffed animals, skeletons, bones, and a skull with an oversized jaw among many other bric-a-brac hanging, dangling, resting on shelves, piled up or scattered on the floor. Perched on a mobile carcass, in the back of a dark corner, an owl swayed, rolling its luminous and sinister eyes in the shadows.

The Countess shivered; Don Jorge raised his shoulders with a grimace. As for Levita, he smiled.

In the farthest corner was a table singularly cluttered. A small movable lamp cast a rather bright light on this jumble. The astrologer was reading from a large open book, placed on an old lectern. His bald head, where the light of the lamp shone, rested motionless between his two hands. He was so absorbed that he did not hear the visitors enter.

Jorge, leaning over the book, caught sight of an indecipherable grimoire that gave him a low opinion of the master’s orthodoxy. But since he did not care otherwise, he tapped him on the shoulder:

"Hey! Friend, here comes a lady of sufficient stature for you to take the trouble to get up. Stand up, then!"

Don Jorge, an old soldier, affected simple and blunt language.

Master Max Jacobi indeed rose, gravely saluted the Countess, and waited. His appearance was quite imposing: his forehead was broad, his long eyes shone with an inner gaze, a gaze of a scholar accustomed to transforming into unforeseen abstractions the images provided for meditation by the contemplation of nature; his head showed the energetic modifications due to ascetic habits.

"What would you like to know, madam?" he said.

"The future of my youngest son."

"In which part of the science do you wish to consult, palmistry, sciomancy, neomancy, necromancy, oniromancy?"

"Speak Christian," Don Jorge interrupted abruptly. "Madam does not understand Hebrew!"

"I ask you, madam, if you please to inquire the signs of the hand, the numbers, or the dead?...

"Not the dead!" the Countess exclaimed in horror.

"The dreams," Jacobi continued, "the stars..."

"Yes, the dreams and the stars."

"The hands and the card games," resumed Don Jorge knowingly, "that is suitable for common folks who get their fortune told for a maravedi a head. I find dreams rather disagreeable as all the old hags meddle with them... I do make an exception for them. But what suits me perfectly are the stars. They are used among princes and in esteemed families. So speak, master astrologer, but please only predict pleasant things for my sister-in-law... Otherwise, we would have to settle it between us. I command the men-at-arms of the Grand Captain and I have no rotten wrist. Count on that.

"My lord," replied the astrologer, "I am only the interpreter of the decrees of heaven and must not bear the responsibilities for them."

"That is fair, Don Jorge," said the Countess. "I ask you to allow the learned man whom I am questioning to speak freely. How could he tell me the truth if he were not free in his words?"

"Let us not speak of it anymore. What is said is said. To the wise listener, greetings!"

"I have often dreamed," said the Countess at the astrologer's request, "that during my sleep, a serpent took refuge in my breast to warm itself. Overcome by horror and fear at the touch of its icy scales, I wanted to cast it away from me. But it was so beautiful, it looked at me with such gentle and sad eyes that I no longer had the heart to rid myself of it. Then it began to hiss languidly, as if thanking me, and I fell back asleep with a softened and troubled heart...

"And then?"

"The first time, the dream ended there... Another day, I saw the flowers in my garden shaking at the same time, covered in blood, and the serpent gliding quickly among them. And I heard the flowers singing, and they said: 'Justice! justice! He is killing us.' But the serpent coiled near me replied: 'Do not believe them. It is they who have hurt me with their thorns. This blood you see is mine. Save me.' It seemed to suffer as much as the flowers. I began to weep. It drank my tears, and we both fell asleep again.

"Another time, there were white doves fluttering around me, giving desperate cries. The serpent was playing around my neck and caressing my hair. 'He has devoured our young,' the doves said, 'avenge us...' But the serpent whispered in my ear: 'They are mistaken... The eagle has eaten their young, and I have killed the eagle.' Leaning on my shoulder, it showed me a large bird of prey struggling on the ground in the convulsions of agony. Then it raised its head, hissing in a terrible manner. The doves fled, crying: 'Woe to you! woe to you!'

"The last night, at last, I felt a sting in my heart. 'Ungrateful,' I cried out, 'murderer of your benefactor!' And I pulled the serpent out of my breast. Falling to the ground, it lay still. But it spoke to me with such sweetness that I was saddened: 'Pity me if I have killed you, for I love you. I lived because of you; I did not wish to die without you.' It transformed into a flower. I found myself changed into a dove. I seized the flower, but it had turned into an eagle. The eagle grasped me in its claws and carried me into the sun, where we were consumed together.

"I have not dreamed since."

"Your dreams have a clear meaning," said Master Jacobi. "This serpent is your son."

"Hum, hum," Jorge grumbled.

"This serpent," I said, "represents your son. These flowers are the emblem of joy, the doves of affection, the eagle of courage, the sun of glory. It is the law of contrasts that governs the divination of oniromancy, and dreams say the opposite of what they seem to say. Thus, your dream signifies that you will have a son whose tenderness will bring you happiness and whose valor will bring you glory."

"The good words, master," the Countess exclaimed, all joyful. "Count on my gratitude."

"The explanation is fitting," Jorge deemed to approve.

"Master," the Countess resumed, "I now ask you to consult the stars. May their answer be as favorable as that of the dreams!"

"I would need the state of the sky at the moment of birth."

"I have drawn it up very accurately," said Levita, pulling out a paper from his pocket.

The astrologer examined the drawing while murmuring cabalistic formulas.

"Orion towards the East. Left arm in the air. Sirius at its zenith. Hum! hum! The heart. Jupiter in conjunction with Taurus. Aldebaran, the star of Bohemia. Venus absent. Very well, very well... Let’s draw the magic square."

The astrologer inscribed on a paper two squares one inside the other and divided the interval into twelve equal triangles.

"What are these little machines?" asked Don Jorge, who seemed very interested in the operation.

"The twelve houses of the sun."

"And what does he do there?"

"He visits them in turn. In each is a phase of human life... Houses of health, wealth, inheritances, patrimonial goods, legacies and donations..., houses of sorrows and diseases, of marriage and weddings, houses of fright and death, of religion and travels, of charges and dignities, of friends, imprisonments, and violent death..."

The astrologer fell silent. In the general silence, he opened a book filled with astronomical signs and turned several pages, comparing the observations of the doctor, the magic square, and the consecrated formulas.

Finally, after long meditations, he resumed:

"Here, madam, is your son's horoscope. The conjunction of Jupiter with Taurus announces many wishes that will be fulfilled, great travels, and abundant riches. Your son will be elegant in his clothing and honored in his life. But let him be careful! Orion influences his left arm and begins to topple, proof that his heart will often be threatened. It is, moreover, only a moral danger. The Sun having not visited the twelfth house, your son must not die a violent death; however... this point presents a peculiarity unknown in the annals of astrology.

"Oh! my God!" the Countess exclaimed.

"In any case, he will not lack for money, having obtained it through legacies, donations, and other means besides."

"What does that mean?" asked Don Jorge.

"Oh! perfectly justifiable, quite justifiable in our time."

"Will he be happy?" the Countess finally inquired.

"If fortune, health, power, and fame can make him happy."

"Will he have a numerous progeny?" the Countess asked at last.

"I cannot say, Venus, who presides over fertility, being hidden below the horizon. All I can tell you is that your family will end as it began."

"And what does that mean?" asked both the Countess and Don Jorge at once.

"To whom does one trace their origin?"

"To the founder of the house of Lara, of which the Tenorios are the only direct descendants, to Madarra the Bastard."

"This means," continued the astrologer, leaning over his drawings and grimoires, "that your family will ultimately end up... with countless bastards!"

"Despicable! Scoundrel! Liar! Insolent!" Don Jorge roared furiously.

And leaving it to the doctor to revive the fainted Countess, he took it upon himself to avenge her. With a large ruler, once used for mathematics, he began to beat the unfortunate Jacobi, who cried out as he struggled:

"Mercy! Help! The murderer!"

"I warned you, rascal!"

"Levita! Levita! Old comrade!"

But Levita stood cautiously in a corner. There was no doubt that, preferring to show his courage as a fighter, he would rather intervene later as a doctor.

Suddenly, Don Jorge made a terrible swing that struck the dangling skeleton atop which the owl was perched.

Startled, it flapped its wings. A heavy dust emanated from it, darkening the atmosphere. Perhaps the creature had not moved in several years. The nocturnal bird flew wildly around the room, rising, falling, bumping into skeletons, scattering papers, mixing its mournful hootings with the concert of human voices. It must be said that Barbara, finally arrived, was howling like a dog barking at death.

Finally, the owl, exhausted, stopped to grasp a solid object. But which one, good heavens! Just as the Ark of the Covenant settled, after the flood, on the summit of Mount Ararat, the bird clung tightly to the skull of the exasperated Don Jorge.

He fled in terror, arms in the air, knocking everything over in his path. Fragile objects shattered: Patatras! Catacri! Gressecrec! The Countess rushed after him. It was only at the threshold that, with his sword drawn, Don Jorge managed to make the ancient bird release its grip, which was, by the way, obscured by the light of day.

"What a cavern!" he cried. "The plague be upon Levita! May the devil take Jacobi! As for that owl!... "

Night was falling. Don Jorge escorted his sister-in-law home.

"Monks are fanatics, doctors are donkeys, astrologers are liars... To bring sorrow to my charming, charming sister-in-law. I will not allow it... "

And, saying this, the old gallant, in the favorable shadow, passed his thick arm around the graceful waist of Doña Clara.

But she was already turning the little golden key in the lock of the secret door through which she had escaped.

"Give me a kiss so that I may keep the secret," Don Jorge continued...

"A kiss! Brother-in-law, you are nothing but an old rogue. Here, take this to shake off the owl's dust!"

And, pushing the door, she lightly struck the illuminated nose of the soldier with her fan.

At seventeen, Don Juan was in the bloom of beauty.

"Decidedly," said Don Jorge to his nephew one morning, "you cannot leave it at that. You have had the most brilliant education in Spain, masters in all languages, living or dead, in mathematics, literature, and even in poetry and music; in short, you are indoctrinated in the seven arts. You are seventeen years old, your mustache is beginning to grow, you ride like Don Alexander, the emperor of the Greeks, you handle the lance as well as Bernal del Carpio, and the rapier better than I do; you are, moreover, a handsome boy, and not at all foolish. It is indecent that you do not have a mistress.

"A mistress! A mistress!" Juan repeated, startled.

"You are a novice, but not a monk! For my part, I have the pretension not to be a pedant. If the family disinherited me, it was not without some good reasons. We are both gentlemen, good relatives, and good friends. I owe you the enlightenment of my experience.

"You are going to enter the world. You must make a good start. A well-born man is recognized by two qualities: gallantry and bravery.

"If we had some beautiful war, I would take you with me and urge you to be the first to mount the breach. But, alas! there are no great battles anymore. That good time has passed! My captain is dead, and he has taken glory to his tomb.

"For a gentleman of quality, it is therefore only permitted to seek personal quarrels, and for that, nothing is worth the intrigues of love."

Don Rinalte, with whom the uncle intended to take his nephew that very evening, was a fine man, fond of joy for himself and for others. Rich from his inheritance, he also possessed one of the best commanderies of Alcantara. He spent his fortune wisely, enjoying the income without overly jeopardizing the future, generous with some wisdom. He provided the best meals in Seville, delicate fare, fine wines, splendid service, and took his fair share.

He was a fine eater and a top-notch drinker. He had the true nature of a bull, calm, slow, powerful, terrible in his anger.

Don Niceto Iglesias, the other guest, was a rather touchy young man about his honor. He had a peculiar taste for uproar. A perfect gentleman otherwise, very elegant in his person and burning his wealth at both ends, women adored him as much as men feared him.

"I believe him," said Jorge to Juan, "with regard to Pandora, one of the courtesans you will see this evening.

“Pandora is a mythological name that her beauty earned her in Italy where she was trained. A superb girl to behold, but nothing more. She has not a shred of heart, but that is not her business to have one. There is no hope of pleasing her. Love is for her a matter of money.

"As Don Niceto has taken the lead, it would not be appropriate for you to go after him. If she pleases you, you will take your chance. But you would do well, in that case, to consult me on the arrangements. Alas! my dear nephew, I have experience!

"For the other two, Soledad and Magdalena, I need not tell you they are occupied. One, Soledad, belongs to Don Rinalte; as for the other, she is my mistress. I have passed sixty, but my joints are good and my eyes bright. You should equally respect them, as Don Rinalte is your host and I am your uncle.

"However, little nephew, you are free, at least as far as I am concerned. I have too much experience to succumb to jealousy, and I love you too much to be grieved over a woman.

"I doubt, however, that Magdalena would suit you. She is a very pretty person, but a bit silly, not to say foolish. Her clumsiness, which amuses me, would probably bore you.

"And she is only sixteen. That is to my taste but too young for you. Someone a bit more mature would suit your spirited youth better.

"Nothing shapes young men like the company of courtesans. They only associate, at least to my knowledge, with proper people, titled, rich, knights, and among the clergy, never less than canons. Near them a bourgeois would lose his ducats and a monk his Latin. Listen, watch, and profit then. Wear a flattering outfit; these ladies are queens of fashion. If they find you pretty, the others will find you charming.

"The appointment is at eight o'clock. I am off to see a theologian of the order, with whom I have some business to attend to. I will return to fetch you at sunset. Be ready."

Dazzled, intoxicated, and aghast at these words, Juan spent the rest of the day in violent agitation. A real feast! An orgy, perhaps! All this seemed wonderful and terrible to him.

He donned a sky-blue doublet, embroidered with white silk, with white silk undersleeves and breeches.

Jorge praised the simplicity of this costume, which highlighted the young man's splendid beauty.

"You have made a mistake," he only said to him, "by taking the sword your godfather gave you: it is a weapon for show or war and not for strolling. I have what you need, a rapier with a rich guard, the scabbard of which, in sky-blue velvet, will match your outfit perfectly.

"Try it yourself. You will see that it is good, well-crafted, and well-tempered. All the weight is in the guard; the blade is light and simple. It comes, the mark of the little dog attests, from Romero, the best armorer in Toledo.

"I have had occasion to use it more than once and have always had good things to say about it. I have, on many occasions, lent it to friends who have always killed or injured their man. That is what I call a lucky sword. It will bring you good fortune. I give it to you."

Juan belted the rapier, thanked his uncle, and left with him.

His heart was racing as he entered Don Rinalte's house. He met his hosts as soon as they were announced.

He was a man of around forty years, stout and tall, with the demeanor of a lord and a bon vivant.

In the salon were already the other guests.

The sight of the women dazzled Juan's soul. He admired all three without yet distinguishing them.

From the outset, they did not fail to look at him. Never had they seen a young man so accomplished. Gallant women know how to judge masculine beauty at first sight.

Juan felt somewhat embarrassed by this scrutiny. He feared being more an object of ridicule than of admiration.

But the other men were not mistaken. The two older ones exchanged a knowing smile while the younger one pursed his lips.

Don Niceto Iglesias, in his twenty-fifth year, had bright eyes, white teeth, black hair, fine and regular features, a slender build, and all the grace of Andalusia.

A skilled hand had also perfected the elegance of his magnificent outfit, satin and velvet, gold and embroidery. Meticulous care presided over his hairstyling.

He was considered the most handsome young man in Seville. He knew it and cared about that reputation.

At that moment, he felt dispossessed. The superiority of his new rival was too evident and left no room for doubt. Was not the judgment of the three courtesans, moreover, final?

Don Niceto became immediately jealous of Don Juan and, for a fop as for a coquette, jealousy is hatred. But he was a well-mannered man, familiar with his kind. And was it not more skillful to accept an inevitable defeat?

He therefore resolved to treat this unknown rival, whom he secretly loathed, as a friend.

Juan made an effort to respond appropriately to the attentions of the young horseman, but despite his attempts to be cordial, he was only polite. His instinct warned him of an enemy beneath that benevolent facade, like a serpent under flowers.

The two doors of the parlor swung wide open, and the head steward, followed by torchbearers, announced that supper was served.

The women shed their mantillas. The splendid shoulders of one, more delicate but no less white than the others, appeared bare. It was the custom of courtesans to lower their necklines rather low. Their bodices, split lengthwise, revealed their firm breasts marbled with delicate blue veins. From behind, the line of the bodice curved in an arc down to the waist. The dresses were so light! They knew nothing of corsets. This spectacle stirred some emotion in the still inexperienced soul of young Juan.

After rising like everyone else, he found himself at a loss for what to do and remained awkwardly like a fool in the middle of the parlor. Don Niceto offered his arm to Soledad, who was regarded as the mistress of the house.

Pandora was waiting standing. She was a magnificent creature, tall, beautifully made, white and pale as marble, with large black eyes and raven-wing hair. She wore a black satin gown, a yellow basquine, a gold chain around her neck, and in her hair, a bright red rose. The two friends were dressed with equal luxury. They had adopted a peculiar fashion, which consisted of covering their heads with wigs in various colors of the rainbow. This one, a blonde girl from Murcia, and that other one, a Catalan, had thus styled their hair with gold reflecting shades of eggplant and orange.

Seeing that neither the uncle nor the nephew approached her, Pandora resolutely went to the young man and took his arm with a smile.

Juan trembled, and involuntarily he grasped that beautiful bare arm that had just settled on his.

"That is indeed a fine couple!" exclaimed Don Rinalte.

Juan smiled and lowered his gaze; Pandora made a little disdainful pout.

Juan, whether by chance or not, found himself placed to the right of Pandora, who had Don Niceto to her left.

All that makes for the beauty, excellence, and charm of a meal was gathered there.

The hall was tastefully decorated and wildly illuminated. There were flowers in abundance; the tablecloth was strewn with rose petals. The table shone with the most refined European luxuries: damasked cloths from Flanders, crystals from Venice, silverware from Florence. Every detail had its price and revealed what a connoisseur Don Rinalte was.

The exquisite dishes, the golden wines, the semi-nude beauty of the women, the mingled scent of perfumes and flesh, an animated conversation, all appealed to the senses, inviting indulgence and pleasure.

However, supper began quietly. People who know how to live know how to moderate their pleasures.

The women, moreover, still showed some reserve. Juan even wondered if they were truly ladies of society who had gone astray.

The influence of the good meal began to be felt gradually. Minds and eyes grew animated. Voices became louder, the tone more lively. The uncle ventured a few salty remarks that were well received by the guests.

Juan drank like everyone else, and his shyness evaporated in the fumes of the wine. The lights seemed brighter to him, the men wittier, and the women prettier if that were possible. He saw everything through a rosy lens. His blood flowed faster, giving him courage. He dared to speak and spoke well. He showed wit, and even the men had to applaud him.

"He is charming," said Rinalte in a fatherly tone.

"Adorable!" added Niceto.

Jorge rubbed his hands together, delighted to see his pupil succeed.

Pandora cast fiery glances at Juan. Yet he held back and still dared not return her advances.

At dessert, dancers were brought in. They performed a traditional seguidilla with that fury and conviction that belongs to their race. Offering and desire, refusal and surrender, the most lascivious pleasure at last, that’s what they loved, with offered breasts, twisted hips, and half-closed eyes. Then, at Don Jorge's request, one of them, a little Moorish girl, disrobed and danced naked. It took some coaxing reminiscent of a madam for two or three gold ducats to finally reach a settlement.

The little brown body swayed in turn while the guests clapped in rhythm. This virgin girl mimicked, with a wickedness to damn all men, the rhythm of possession. The movement intensified according to what the African tradition prescribes. She finally fell, faint, having given herself to all, convulsed by a spasm almost painful. And the guests took the flowers strewn on the table and threw them onto her lovely stretched body, her barely blossomed breasts, her little golden belly, her strong, muscled thighs.

However, Pandora, with a clumsy gesture, had allowed the red flower that adorned her hair to fall between her breasts. Niceto was already hurrying to help, but the haughty girl turned away:

"Take my rose," she said to Juan.

The latter, quite tipsy from the generous sherry and the spectacle he had just witnessed, did not need to be told twice. He plunged his hand into the opulent bodice of the courtesan and drew out the flower, which he passionately kissed.

Pandora then gave him her hand, and he pressed his lips to it.

Everyone applauded, Niceto louder than the others.

But to see his mistress snatched away at the same time as his dignity, to feel struck one blow after another in his self-esteem and in his love, was too much! Despite his efforts, he began to lose control.

Rinalte noticed this and, as an astute host, tried to find a diversion.

"I believe the moment to kiss has come," he said.

And leaning over his mistress, he kissed her on the cheek.

"Pass it on," he said.

Soledad turned to Niceto and passed on the kiss.

Niceto, vaguely consoled, leaned over Pandora, who allowed him to do so quite docilely. She avenged herself by applying a beautiful kiss on the neck of the beardless Juan.

But he, instead of passing it on, as he should have done, to Magdalena, who was already offering her cheek, found it more pleasant to restore it and placed his lips at the corner of Pandora’s imperial mouth.

Rinalte, the diplomat, let out a great laugh. Jorge began to stomp with joy. The old warrior was deeply moved. He would have gladly cried.

Niceto had jumped with a cynical laugh.

It was Magdalena who saved the situation.

"And me?" she said in a pitiful tone.

There was a general hilarity. It doubled when it was seen that the poor girl was saddened rather than amused by it.

"That's only fair," Jorge said. "She hasn't had her share."

"Excuse me, my beauty," said Don Juan. "I will make amends.

"I don't want to," cried Pandora in a fierce tone, holding him by the neck.

Juan allowed it while Magdalena burst into tears.

Jorge and Rinalte laughed all the more.

But Niceto was losing his patience:

"What business is it of yours?" he asked Pandora in a trembling voice.

"And you," she retorted haughtily, "what business is it of yours? You have no rights over me. I am not your mistress!"

"My mistress, no. One does not buy a mistress, one only buys slaves."

"Me, your slave!"

"Yes, since you wear my chain," he said with a bitter laugh, showing her the gold chain around her neck.

"Well then! I free myself!"

She tore off the chain, breaking it, and threw it before Niceto. He picked it up to throw it at Pandora.

But Juan had seen the gesture and quickly extended his arm to cushion the blow.

"To raise a hand against a woman!" he said.

"She's not a woman," replied Niceto, beside himself, "she's a prostitute!"

"Cowardice upon cowardice!"

He had not finished these words when Niceto had already hurled the chain at his face. Juan leaped at his opponent and knocked him down onto the table. With the clash, plates and bottles toppled to the floor.

Niceto tried to resist, but in vain. Then he was seen reaching for a knife.

"No knives!" said Rinalte, snatching the sharp weapon from his hand.

"No," cried Jorge, "swords! By God! Swords! We are not muleteers. Let him go, Juan."

Once Niceto was back on his feet, everyone left in agreement.

"The swords are in the anteroom," Jorge said. "To fight, you will do better in the garden than here."

Pandora, pale as death, trembled all over. The two other women cried out and shouted. Their dresses had come undone, their basquines torn, who knows how! Half-naked, their eyes shining with wine, they tried to cling to the men's sleeves.

"Peace! Peace!" Jorge said in his loud commanding voice. "Stay in your corner or I will get angry, little ones!"

They obeyed and grouped on the divan in the dining room, which Rinalte locked behind him as he exited.

Each of the two men had taken his sword.

"Are you not mistaken?" Jorge said to his nephew. "Is that not the one I gifted him?"

And saying this, he slipped a small medal suspended on a silver chain around his neck.

Niceto had already descended. Juan hurried to follow in his footsteps. Jorge, accompanying him, was stopped by Rinalte’s voice.

"Friend Jorge," he said to him, "please take one of these torches. I will hold the other. It is fitting that these children see clearly. They will not be disturbed. The women are locked up, and I have dismissed the servants."

"Is your nephew skilled with the sword?"

"More skilled than I! And I was in my time, as you know, a duelist of some renown. Of the ten cuts, there is not one that he does not execute perfectly, whether straight or false. I have seen no one perform the right hand oblique ascending so elegantly. As for the thrust to the eye, I will say nothing: you will judge for yourself."

"The fight will be good, for Niceto is strong."

"He will find someone to talk to! By the way, you are Niceto's godfather. I support my nephew, as is right."

In the courtyard, the two witnesses placed themselves facing each other, crossing the line occupied by the combatants. Then they set them in position.

"You may proceed, gentlemen," said Rinalte.

Contrary to what the two witnesses had anticipated, there was no struggle. The two adversaries rushed fiercely at each other, blades drawn. There was a trick shot but with very different results: Niceto's sword glided across Juan's chest, Juan's sword hit Niceto squarely in the belly.

The latter, his weapon lax, fell backward, his face contorted. A red stain gradually seeped through his white doublet...

Juan had stopped, horrified. But Jorge breathed more easily.

"Are you grievously wounded?" asked Rinalte of his client.

"No," Niceto replied out of pride. "I will have my revenge."

"When you will," replied Don Juan, to which this new threat had restored his confidence.

Meanwhile, Rinalte's squire had rushed in, and, along with his master, he carried Niceto to his bed.

"I am pleased with you, Juanito," said the uncle to his nephew. "There are your proofs made and well made. But next time, don’t put in so much zeal. It’s dangerous. You nearly got yourself killed. I don’t understand how the sword... But let’s see..."

He grabbed the medal he had given Juan and examined it closely. It was deeply scratched from one edge to the other.

"The medal saved your life! It is a medal of Saint George, my patron, blessed by Pope Alexander VI himself. It protects against iron and fire. Without it, how would I have escaped so many misfortunes! And now, let’s go back up, your beauty is waiting for you."

"What, uncle, after what has happened?"

"All the more reason. You fought for her, she owes you a reward!"

As Juan was about to enter the dining room, he stopped, thinking he heard the sound of a dispute.

It was, indeed, Soledad and Pandora, who were arguing.

"I saw you well," said the latter. "During supper you were eyeing him below."

"The sun shines for everyone. Do I not have the right to look at this young man?"

"If you are unfortunate enough to do so again, I will inform Don Rinalte."

"I don't care. I wouldn't lack suitors in Seville. Do you think you're the only one capable of pleasing men? Because you’ve had cardinals! I too could have cardinals if I went to Italy!"

"Let’s see. Regardless, Juan is not for you! You are not his equal, my dear. Besides, I am from Seville and carry a dagger on my garter. Since I don't need it to defend my virtue, I will use it to defend my love. Yes, my love, for I love him, do you hear? I want him!"

Don Juan entered the room, half-dazed by the words he had just heard. He cast his gaze upon the two creatures, whose flesh was thus offered to him. He was the master. He could choose.

But Pandora had seized his arm.

"Come, my beloved," she said. "Come let me embrace you. You fought valiantly. I saw you. I was there at the window, leaning over the garden, and I watched. Oh! If that Niceto had killed you, I would have stabbed him!"

She kissed him long on the lips.

"Let us take our mantles, ladies," said Don Jorge. "Rinalte will spend the night by Niceto’s side and wishes you goodnight."

"Madame Soledad has no one to accompany her," said Pandora in an ironic tone. "But we will escort her..."

Soledad was defeated. They indeed escorted her to her home, without her daring to attempt anything further against her audacious rival.

From there, they went to Pandora's house. She knocked impatiently, and her maid came to open the door. Then, Juan released her arm and saluted her respectfully.

"Madam," he said, "I have the honor of wishing you goodnight."

"Ah, so," she replied, looking at him mockingly, "do you intend to marry me in six months?"

Jorge burst into laughter.

Magdalena shoved Juan into the corridor and wished him a goodnight as well.

The next day, Don Jorge went early to Don Rinalte's to inquire about the wounded man.

"Ah! That was a famous sword stroke," said he. "The doctors could not stop the bleeding. Niceto died last night. To defeat, in the same evening, the most famous duelist and the coldest courtesan in Seville! At seventeen! Your nephew will go far!"