It Remains But A
Few Seconds, And His Grimy Acolyte Picks It Out With A Long Wire And
Throws It On The Tray For Sale.
They are eaten warm, the droning cry
continually sounding, "Bunuelos!
Calientitos!" There must be millions of
these oily dainties consumed on every night of the Verbena. For the more
genteel revellers, the Don Juans, Pedros, and Pablos of the better sort,
there are improvised restaurants built of pine planks after sunset and
gone before sunrise. But the greater number are bought and eaten by the
loitering crowd from the tray of the fritterman. It is like a vast
gitano-camp. The hurrying crowd which is going nowhere, the blazing
fires, the cries of the venders, the songs of the majos under the great
trees of the Paseo, the purposeless hurly-burly, and above, the steam of
the boiling oil and the dust raised by the myriad feet, form together a
striking and vivid picture. The city is more than usually quiet. The
stir of life is localized in the Prado. The only busy men in town are
those who stand by the seething oil-pots and manufacture the brittle
forage of the browsing herds. It is a jealous business, and requires the
undivided attention of its professors. The ne sutor ultra crepidam of
Spanish proverb is "Bunolero haz tus bunuelos," - Fritterman, mind thy
fritters. With the long days and cooler airs of the autumn begin the
different fairs. These are relics of the times of tyranny and exclusive
privilege, when for a few days each year, by the intervention of the
Church, or as a reward for civic service, full liberty of barter and
sale was allowed to all citizens. This custom, more or less modified,
may be found in most cities of Europe. The boulevards of Paris swarm
with little booths at Christmas-time, which begin and end their lawless
commercial life within the week. In Vienna, in Leipsic, and other
cities, the same waste-weir of irregular trade is periodically opened.
These fairs begin in Madrid with the autumnal equinox, and continue for
some weeks in October. They disappear from the Alcala to break out with
renewed virulence in the avenue of Atocha, and girdle the city at last
with a belt of booths. While they last they give great animation and
spirit to the street life of the town. You can scarcely make your way
among the heaps of gaudy shawls and handkerchiefs, cheap laces and
illegitimate jewels, that cumber the pavement. When the Jews were driven
out of Spain, they left behind the true genius of bargaining.
A nut-brown maid is attracted by a brilliant red and yellow scarf. She
asks the sleepy merchant nodding before his wares, "What is this rag
worth?"
He answers with profound indifference, "Ten reals."
"Hombre! Are you dreaming or crazy?" She drops the coveted neck-gear,
and moves on, apparently horror-stricken.
The chapman calls her back peremptorily. "Don't be rash! The scarf is
worth twenty reals, but for the sake of Santisima Maria I offered it to
you for half price.
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