"Come and see," laughed the canon; and crossing the kitchen, he led the way through a further door down a short passage into a small, whitewashed room beyond. Here on a large stove Juanita and her hand-maiden conducted their mysteries. A dozen brass pans stood upon the stove, and every one of them seemed in use.
"Surely these are not for dinner!" we cried. "It was to be a fast-day."
"A fast-day as far as flesh is concerned," laughed the canon. "That does not absolutely mean that you are to starve. I know no more than you what Juanita has prepared. If I intruded upon her province with the faintest suggestion, she might retaliate by sending us empty dishes. I fear our faces would lengthen before them—that is if anything could lengthen mine," he gurgled, turning his large, round, delightful countenance full upon us. "I see signs of approaching readiness in those steaming saucepans. Let us continue our inspection. Daylight dies; nothing remains but the afterglow."
We passed again through the charming old kitchen, where the logs on the great hearth blazed and crackled.
"Summer and winter, Juanita will have a fire," said the old canon, pointing to the crackling logs. "She declares that she is growing old and shivery, and the bright flames chase the vapours from her mind."
We passed up the old oak staircase. Everywhere we came upon the same signs of age; the same artistic old panelling; bedrooms with ancient oak furniture, oak ceilings finely carved. A perfect house of its kind, and much larger than it appeared from the outside. One room was the canon's own sanctum, fitted up with book-shelves, where reposed many a precious volume. Amongst his treasures he produced some ancient illuminated manuscripts of rare value. The desk at which he sat and worked was placed near a latticed window in a corner of the room, through which one just caught sight of the tower of La Seo.
Again we exclaimed that so perfect a house should be found in Zaragoza.
"Mine by inheritance," said the canon. "Early in the sixteenth century it belonged to a far-away ancestor, who was Bishop of Zaragoza. Dying, he left it to his brother and his children, of whom I am a direct descendant. The singular thing is that between the bishop and myself there has not been a single ecclesiastic in the family. When I die, the direct line of nearly four centuries will be broken. The house will pass to my nephew, who is mixed up with Court life, and has married a Court beauty. He is already nearly middle-aged, with sons and daughters growing up. As far as possible I have ordained that the house shall never be altered. But who can legislate for what shall happen after death?"
We returned to the dining-room, where we soon found that our fast was to be in reality a light, refined and delicate feast. Fish of more kinds than one, dressed to perfection; eggs and sweet herbs in many forms and disguises; choice fruits. And from his cellar the canon brought forth exquisite wines—priceless Johannisberg and Chambertin; whilst with our coffee he gave us Chartreuse fifty years old. Yet he himself passed over all delicacies, limiting his dinner to eggs and sweet herbs, with which he drank coffee.
"You censure others by the dignity of excelling," we said. "Though crowding upon us these indulgences, you abstain from all."