"Well, friend, make way!"

"Bah! bah! make way yourself," returned Don Pedro.

"You are the one to make way," replied the merchant; "make way, make way."

"Bah, bah, be kind enough to let me pa.s.s," returned Senor Miranda.

Neither man budged an inch. They unm.u.f.fled themselves and unsheathed their swords.

"Will you have the kindness?"

"Will you have the goodness?"

Who knows what awful tragedy might not have taken place in Sarrio at that instant, if they had not recognized each other?

"Does it happen to be Don Feliciano?"

"Is it Don Pedro?"

"Don Feliciano!"

"Don Pedro!"

And rushing to each other, they shook hands with effusion.

"What a fate would have been yours had I not recognized you, Don Feliciano!" exclaimed Senor Miranda, showing his broad iron sword with its bone handle.

"And yours would not have been agreeable, Don Pedro!" returned the merchant, as he made pa.s.ses in the air with his finely polished Toledo blade.

One had to go down two steps to enter Morana's shop. The shop was a confectioner's, although it did not look like it; it was the only confectioner's in Sarrio. Nowadays there are three, if I am not mistaken. I say, it did not look like a confectioner's, because church tapers, wax hands and feet and bodies for votive offerings were sold there and had gradually become the chief stock in trade instead of a mere supplementary one; and this was due to the lack of greediness in the town, which speaks very well for it. It is usual in Spain for the folk of little villages and towns to be pa.s.sionately fond of sweets, for want of the pleasures peculiar to great towns, for, say what one may, the pleasures of the table even are not equal in small towns to those of large ones. In the first place, clever cooks are not forthcoming, the food has not the variety induced by the laws of biology, and the palate has not risen to the state of culture from a right and just estimate of the culinary science.

Perhaps it will be remarked: "But the nuns of St. Augustine used to make sweets." Yes, but we must remember that this manufacture was limited exclusively to preserves of cherry, quince, pear, and apricot, almond tart and burrage tart, and a particular sweetmeat shaped like fishes'

fins, called orange flower.

I can only repeat the fact that there are few high livers in Sarrio.

After all, rare as this abstemiousness may be in towns in the interior, it is common in maritime places, which are known to be less under ecclesiastical sway. For observation teaches the visitor of the towns that more sweets are consumed where church services and religious rites absorb the greater part of life, and where enthusiasm for the religious sentiment is evinced in nones, ma.s.ses, confraternities, and canonries, which shows that there must be some mysterious affinity between mysticism and sweetmeats.

This branch of Morana's business was exhibited in the shop by two pine wood cupboards, painted blue, with gla.s.s doors at each end of the counter. In these cupboards there was a fair show of caramels, spiral cakes, sugar cakes, almond cakes, madeleines, and above all the celebrated tablets, the renown of which must certainly have reached the ears of our readers, as it dates from remotest time. The secret of the magic composition of these tablets we have never been able to discover, but their fascination was irresistible, and, strange to say, it was based upon their extraordinary hardness. At the age when Morana's tablets are eaten, the chief thing is not that the sweets should be delicate, savory, and exquisite, but that they should last a long time.

It was not easy to get the teeth into them at all, but once in this stick-jaw paste, the extrication from it presented a really difficult problem.

Allow me to offer a delicate tribute of affection and grat.i.tude to these tablets which, from four to eight years of age, const.i.tuted the greatest joy of my existence.

It is perhaps to their sweet influence that the author of this book owes the optimistic spirit which, according to the critics, shines in his works.

Morana, daughter and successor of another Morana, who was dead, was a woman of forty years of age, of a pallid complexion, with gutta-percha plaisters on her temples for the severe pains in her head.

She married a Juan Chrysostom, who, according to Don Segis, the chaplain, did not take after his patron saint.

Nevertheless, when he administered corporal punishment to his wife, he seasoned it with rather a rare amount of learned talk.

"I who love this woman," he exclaimed, as he commenced operations--"I who love this woman like a wife, and not like a servant, according to the Apostle Paul's command--you have read the Apostle Saint Paul?--what right have you to read, you great a.s.s!"

The wine was very good, one can almost say it was the only good thing in the place, and that was because it did not remain long in the bottle, for Don Roque, Don Segis, Don Benigno, Don Juan, "the old Salt," and Senor Anselmo, the cabinet-maker, took care to empty it. It was a white wine, strong and superior, and it went to one's head with alarming facility.

The customers of the shop left every night between eleven and twelve, rather stumbling in their gaits, but silent and quiet, which prevented any scandal. They sallied forth arm in arm, leaning one against the other, and they went along without saying a word, albeit with much puffing and blowing.

Their instinct, which never completely left them, instigated this prudent behavior, for they knew if they spoke much or little, some dispute would arise and then a scandal would ensue. Not a word--not a word; it was better even not to whisper--and when they arrived at their houses, they murmured a gruff "good-night" and the one left last was Don Roque, as he lived further away than anybody.

So these venerable men got intoxicated every night in this solemn, quiet, patriarchal fashion.

Two of them, Don Juan, "the old Salt," the clerk of the harbor-master, and Don Segis, were reaping the consequences of that course. "The old Salt" had a nose enough to frighten one. When least expected, the hour of retribution came for Don Segis, who, seized with an apoplectic fit, was left with one leg dragging as if a weight of six pounds were tied to it. It is true that the insatiable chaplain was not contented with his four quarterns of wine at the confectioner's; he made Morana give him a gla.s.s of gin in each, which greatly added to the expense; if he had six quarterns of wine, he had six gla.s.ses of gin; if eight, eight; and so on.

The effect of all this gin was evident.

"But, Don Segis, how can you drink so much gin at a time?"

"There is nothing for it," he replied in a tone of humility; "if I did not take a gla.s.s with every quartern, child of my soul, what would become of me? I should be ill."

The conversations at Morana's were less exciting and thrilling than those of the Club. Very few things interested these old parties; the most important local matters, which excited storms in the Club, were here treated, or rather touched upon, with indifference.

When the Gonzalezes sent off the captain of the "Carmen" and put an Andalusian in his place, they only said in a quiet tone:

"If the Gonzalezes have done so, they had reasons for doing it," for they were quite indifferent on the subject.

"It is true," said another, after some time, raising his gla.s.s to his lips.

"Ripalda seems a good fellow," said a third, after five minutes, as he put his gla.s.s down on the counter.

"Yes, he seems so," replied another gravely.

Ten minutes pa.s.sed in meditation. The customers gave affectionate kisses to their gla.s.ses, which shone like topaz. Don Roque at last broke the silence.

"There is no manner of doubt that Don Antonio embraced her."

"Embraced her," said Don Juan, "the Salt."

"Embraced her," echoed Don Benigno.

"Embraced her," corroborated Senor Anselmo.

"Really embraced her," added Don Segis in a lugubrious tone.

Their minds were occasionally exercised on the subject of dovecots.

Senor Anselmo and Don Benigno were devotedly attached to this pursuit; each had his dovecot, his doves, and mode of management, and long and lively discussions were held occasionally on the subject. The others listened without daring to give an opinion, as they raised their gla.s.ses to their lips in solemn silence.

The crime of Las Acenas horrified them, but it did not cause as great a commotion as in the rest of the neighborhood.

At the end of five or six days they returned to their patriarchal customs, and such was their bravery that the majority left their arms behind in the shop.

It was nearer one o'clock than twelve when Don Roque, who had exceeded by three quarterns his usual six, sallied forth with the other five frequenters of the confectioner's in a serried line to their different homes.