[48] Ticknor, in 1818, speaks of Spain as “a country such as this where all comfortable or decent modes of travelling fail,” of the “abominable roads,” and of the inns as “miserable hovels,” destitute of provisions. A century and a half earlier Mme. d’ Aulnoy said: “You enter not any inn to dine but carry your provisions with you.” But the centuries pass not for Spanish inns.
[49] A peasant woman near Almería wore a long yellow and pink kerchief, a bright red shawl, light blue bodice, skirt of white and mauve, dark blue apron with a white line, red stockings, yellow sandals, and carried a second shawl of brilliant orange colour, yet all blent harmoniously under the glaring sunlight.
[50] Especially in the matter of letters, the ignorance, indifference, errors, and delays of the officials are, to an Englishman, past belief, and not least so at Madrid, where a letter has been kept for two months and handed over, after repeated inquiries, with the date of the Madrid post-mark, _seventy_ days earlier, clearly visible. Reforms are, however, in contemplation. Foreign letters as a rule fare better than others. A card posted at Granada on May 15, and a letter posted in France on May 26, both arrived at Barcelona on May 27 (1911).
[51] The former importance of St. Jean de Luz (in Basque Donibane Lohitzune) is shown by the lines--
“Saint Jean de Luz, petit Paris Bayonne, son écurie.”
“Cuando Almería era Almería Granada era su alquería.”
Victor Hugo quaintly describes St. Jean de Luz in 1843 as “un village cahoté dans les anfractuosités de la montagne.”
[53] In 1623 Sir R. Wynn describes the country near “Bilbo” as “all infinite Rocky, cover’d onely with Furrs and a few Juniper Trees.”
[54] At St. Jean de Luz, where Louis XIV. was married to the Infanta, a house still hears the inscription--
“L’Infante je reçus l’an mil six cent soixante On m’appelle depuis le Chasteau de l’Infante.”
[56] “_Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat._--All hours wound, the last kills.”
[57] Cf. Mme. d’Aulnoy: “We were here very well entertain’d so that our Tables were covered with all sorts of Wild Fowls.”
[58] The Basque poem, “_Altabiscarraco Kantua_,” singing of victory, was considered magnificent when it was thought to be centuries old, and though it has been proved beyond all doubt to be modern, we may still venture to consider it to be magnificent: “A cry is heard among the Basque mountains, and the Etchecojauna, standing before his door, listens and says: ‘What is it? who is there?’ and the dog asleep at his master’s feet, rises and fills the region of Altabiscar with his barking.” One line is, “_Cer nahi zuten gure menditarik Norteko gizon horiek?_--What do these men of the North want in our mountains?” and another, “Why have they come to disturb our peace?” The Basques must often have asked a like question as they have seen the foreigners of younger races crowd around their mountains; but in spite of these inroads, the Basques have succeeded in keeping a part of their language and customs, like the waters of their proverb which, after a thousand years, still run in their old course: “_Mila urthe igaro eta ura bere bidean--Después de años mil, vuelve el rio á su cubil_.”