The ladies certainly used to say that Madame had a perplexing way of putting leading questions as to why somebody's daughter went with somebody else's son, or what on earth could that nice gentlemanly young curate (Low Church of course) see in that fast young lady who was always working banners and such like enormities? But we never noticed this; though that which on this particular evening probably no one could fail to notice was, that their places were now occupied by a couple of beings as strikingly thin as Mr. and Mrs. Berecasque had been fat. We were told their name, but there was rather a buzz of conversation going on at the time, and we might not have caught it properly, but it certainly sounded like "Grouser." However, that does not matter much; what is far more to the point is the amusement that Mr. Grouser gave to those who had the privilege of sitting near him. Apparently a self-made man, without any children—who by better educations might have helped him to knowledge—his acquaintance with the French language was like a peasant child's with turtle-soup; perhaps "a lick and a promise" would best explain it. But though only knowing a few words, which he pronounced with the vilest of accents, and then only when he had inserted his glass in his eye, he brought them out with ludicrous frequency whenever he had the chance. Here are examples—"Hi garsong! bring me another plate!" "Garsong poorquar don't you fetch some bread when I've asked three times for it?" "Hi garsong! sil voo plate, where are those potatoes?" And so on all through dinner; while he appeared rather to enjoy the merriment he caused, thinking he must have said something really good, although of course he hadn't the slightest idea what it was!
To sketchers and lovers of contrasts a visit to Fuenterabia cannot fail to prove a treat, and a better specimen of an old Spanish town it would be difficult to find. The only convenient train in the morning thither leaves early, and although we preferred driving, we made an early start too, in order to spend a long day. Having accomplished the eight miles and arrived at St. Jean de Luz, we had still a distance of 8 miles more before reaching Hendaye, the frontier town. There were occasional pretty bits of country to be seen, especially in the vicinity of Urrugne (10-1/2 miles), a village in which the Spanish element is noticeable, but the succession of poplars along the roadside all the way—more or less—to Béhobie, was very monotonous. At Béhobie (14-1/2 miles) the road to Hendaye leaves the direct route to Spain and branches off to the right. Following this, we were soon at the frontier. Hendaye (16 miles) is celebrated for its cognac and a certain liquor called by its name, as well as for an excellent beach and bathing establishment, beyond which there is little worth mention. Having put up the horses at the Hôtel de France, we repaired to the jetty, where happily the tide was high enough to permit of our being ferried across, instead of carried on the back of some brawny (and garlicky) native. As we were half-rowed, half-poled, down the narrow winding channel of the Bidassoa, we were once again indubitably "'twixt France and Spain," though the vicinity of the ancient Spanish town, and the lazy sentinels on the river's bank, made the scene much more Spanish than French. Once landed, we strolled slowly across the "Embarcadéro," and entered the town by the ancient gateway. The principal street, which we then ascended, is indeed picturesque. The miniature verandahs and overhanging roofs of the houses, the latter approaching so close to one another as nearly to permit of shaking hands across; an occasional bright costume appearing at the window or on the verandah; the old church higher up the street, and the battered "Castilio" at the top, furnished ample materials for a very pleasant sketch. The church is well worth a visit, being very old and of interesting appearance. Owing to its sheltered position it did not suffer nearly as much as most of the buildings from the missiles in the late Carlist war. We passed several groups of lazy soldiers, who leered at us offensively and made some uncomplimentary remarks, but otherwise—beyond the fact that the women stared a good deal when Miss Blunt attempted to sketch—we met with no discourtesy. The new casino proves an "extra" attraction in summer, but it is to be regretted that, for gambling purposes alone, many people should be drawn to this quaint old-world town, so worthy of a visit for its picturesqueness alone.
At the time when we wished to visit San Sebastien we learnt that the "Citadol" was closed to visitors, owing to some foreigner having foolishly lighted his cigar near a powder magazine. As the "Citadol" is the chief attraction, we penned a highly polite letter to his Excellency the Governor of the Province, asking for his permission to visit this otherwise forbidden ground.
We received a most gracious reply, to the effect that, whenever we liked to come, the place was at our disposal, and accordingly selected the first fine morning for our trip. On this occasion we formed a party large enough for a coach and four, but were very careful to avoid a repetition of our Bétharram experiences.
We discovered no new features of interest as far as Béhobie, but the day being very clear, we had a fine view of the distant Pyrenees and the Spanish coastline from various points along the road. Passing through Béhobie's narrow streets and crossing the Bidassoa by the strong stone bridge, we were only a minute "'twixt France and Spain," and entering Irun found ourselves in the hands of the Customs authorities. Having "nothing to declare" and nothing contraband undeclared, we were soon permitted to proceed, although our "cocher" almost immediately afterwards stopped to change horses. Accordingly, we walked on up a pretty lane with ivied walls, near which—in the background—stood an old church. Finding a comfortable place for lunching in the vicinity, we awaited the arrival of the coach, and discussed our hamper before again moving on. Not having too much time, however, we did not delay long, and remounting, bowled merrily along to "Pasages." This was once the safest port on the coast, and in fact is yet; but the accumulation of sand, &c., at the entrance, has made it practically useless for any ships but those of very light draught. It forms a tidal basin, and houses are built on its sides, along one of which the road for some time skirts, but afterwards assumes a straight course and descends into San Sebastien. From the highest point of the road, before we commenced descending, we had a splendid view of the town, which looked busy, imposing, and clean.
When once inside, we drove to the Hôtel de Londres; then crossed the street to the guardhouse, presented our "permit" for the "Citadol," and after a little fuss and red tapeism—such as Spaniards, even more than Frenchmen, dearly love—under the guidance of a soldier, commenced the ascent. How many times we presented our "carta" we know not, but at every turn some official was ready to ask to see it, and this business took almost as long as the actual mounting, though in the end we did manage to reach the summit. The view from thence was very fine, extending for miles in all directions, but after enjoying it for a short time, we descended to visit the graves of the English who fell in defending the place in 1836 against the Carlists, which lie in a little cemetery on one side of the hill. Maiden-hair ferns grow among the rocks by the path, which from time to time discloses views of the town and the pretty rocky island—Santa Clara—in the bay. After descending, we had time for a glimpse at the interior of the church of Santa Maria and the bull-ring, as well as a stroll along the beautiful beach, before it was necessary to start homewards, and when at length we were deposited in safety at our hotel, we all acknowledged that the day had been a very pleasant one indeed! With such enjoyable drives, and the tennis, and the ever-changing sea, we never found time hang heavily on our hands; and if we had, there was the little railway to carry us into the bustle of Bayonne for shopping or listening to the band, where ennui would speedily have been driven away. Speaking of this railway reminds us that at Anglêt, one of the stations on the line, there is a very interesting convent of "Silent Sisters" within easy access from the train. Although it is a sad sight to see all these women deluded with the notion that their sins, however great, could not be pardoned without such a bitter expiation; yet the order and cleanliness that is patent everywhere, and the gardens and greenhouses, lend an attraction to the place in spite of its melancholy associations. [Footnote: Visitors are expected to purchase a specimen of the needlework exhibited to them, or at any rate to put a donation in the convent box.]
When June has succeeded May, Biarritz begins to empty of its English and American visitors, to give place in July to the Spaniards and French. On the 15th of that month prices go up with a bound, often becoming double and even treble what they were during the winter season. This is the time to stroll on the "Plage" and watch the bathing; to note the varied costumes, see the merry faces, and listen to the children's laughter, mingled with the splash of the waves. But we are only treating of spring, so must not encroach upon summer; but—following our countrymen's example—bid "Au revoir" to Biarritz before the glare forces us to parade the streets with blue spectacles and double-lined parasols.
CHAPTER XIV.
CONCLUSION.
"Where duty leads"—Resorts in the Eastern Pyrenees—Caen—"Riou"—Our paths diverge—"The Lesson of the Mountains"—Farewell.