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Updated: May 6, 2025
"It's a losing cause. But if we lose we pay. We don't ask for mercy!" They sat together that evening at a café on the Rambla, the strolling place of the Spanish beauties, who promenaded there in an endless stream, with waving fans and rustling draperies, carnations and roses burning in dark, elaborately dressed hair. Tziganes made wild, witch music. At the cafés people laughed and drank.
"Nephew," said the count, "I came from Vaena with a determination to fight this Moorish king, and I will not be disappointed." "At any rate," replied Don Diego, "let us wait but two hours, and we shall have reinforcements which have been promised me from Rambla, Santaella, Montilla, and other places in the neighborhood."
But on reaching the torre, whose number he still kept in mind, and pausing a few seconds before its architecture of a feudal castle whose interior was probably like that of the beer gardens, he saw the door opening, and appearing in it the same woman that had talked with him in the flower Rambla. "Come in, Captain." And the captain was not able to resist the suggestive smile of the cook.
Having seen and reconnoitered all this, although not with impunity, because the enemy had killed six soldiers with the artillery and wounded Alferez Joan de la Rambla in the knee with a musket-ball, the Spaniards returned to the army.
And though on the whole they are countered, as with amazement they admit, by the amateurs from England, still every now and then not very often they do bring something off." Thus Hillyard reasoned as he turned the corner of the Plaza Cataluña into the wide Rambla.
Dinner being over, we next visit a palverine cafe, where we meet a number of Spanish acquaintances, with whom we take coffee and a cigar. We all sally out together, and walk for an hour or two, either in the environs of the city, or along their mural terrace, overlooking the blue waters of the Mediterranean, closing our promenade at length upon the crowded and animated Rambla.
After the hot day the Rambla, with its broad tree-shaded alley in the middle, its carriage-ways on each side of the alley, and its shops and footwalks beyond the carriage-ways, was crowded with loiterers. The Spaniard, to our ideas, is simple in his pleasure.
Such insistence was not particularly gratifying to his pride; for she was a female of protruding bust and swaying hips, a cook with a basket on her arm, like many others who were passing through the Rambla in order to add a bunch of flowers to the daily purchase of eatables.
Sometimes their road was a mere rambla, or dry bed of a torrent, cut deep into the mountains and filled with their shattered fragments.
Emile made his way into the cool, shady Rambla, where a double avenue of plane trees met overhead, and where a grateful darkness could always be found even at mid-day. On either side of the promenade were the finest shops, the gaiest cafés. A band of students passed him, waving a scarlet flag and shouting a revolutionary chanson of the most fiery description. Emile scowled angrily.
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