notes of a short trip to spain. part x: homeward

Irish Jesuit Province

Notes of a Short Trip to Spain. Part X: HomewardAuthor(s): John FallonSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 13, No. 148 (Oct., 1885), pp. 523-533Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20497314 .

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( 523

NOTES OF A SHORT TRIP TO SPAIN.

BY JO01N FALLON.

PART X. -Hom EWARD.

IIAD any one told me, when leaving Ireland, that I would return from Spain leaving a host of places unvisited, each of them well deserving of a special pilgrimage, I should have had considerable difficulty in believing him: vet here I am, rapidly rolling north wards, all owing to the still increasing temperature, which begins to make sight-seeing a toil instead of a pleasure. Spaiin is a country

so large, and so full of interest, that its different provinces affordI ample material for separate trips; and it would be Vandalism and

folly to visit any of them at a disadvantagce. To me the places unseen will be pleasures deferred; thus am I homeward bound, much sooner than I projected, but more than content with the little I have accomnplished.

Central Spain is often described as an " elevated plateasu,' a " lofty table-land," and by other words which leave on the mind a vague idea of plains instead of mountains. Elevated the land no doubt is, varying from two thousanld four hundred to four thousand five hundred feet above the sea; but, so far as the run

northward of Madrid is concerned, it is no more level than the Snowdon district of North Wales, Which it somnewhat reminds one of, in the first part of the journey, by the wildniess of its features.

Scarcely an hour from Madrid, you are in the midst of the Sierra le Guadarrama, bleak and savage beyonid description. IIuge

bloclks of granite, many of them from twevnty to thirty feet in diameter and hundreds of tons in weight, lie strewn along the

steep slopes as if they had fallen from the sky. If ever "the

Titans fought the gods, some such place as this must have been

their battle-ground; or rather, it must have beenl soIne such sight as this that first suggested the legend; and the wondor is, how

freshly fallen the ponderous masses look. In the midst of such strange surroundings Philip IT. reared

his Escurial, " eighth wonder of the world," palace and burial vault, convent and college, all rolled into one. The vast pile stands quite near the railway station, on the right hand side as

you travel northwards; it looks to be of grey granite, and is like

a huge barrack all perforated with windows like the portholes of



524 Notes of a Shor t Tri#) to Spain.

an old-fashioned man-of-war; at each corner is a turret, and, in the centre, a commanding dome. That the name of " Escurial " is taken from the scoriae of old Roman mines still worked, is a stereotyped piece of etymology. That it was reared by Philip It. in votive thanks for the fruitless victory of St. Quentin that opened his long reign, and built on the ground plan of a gridiron because that battle was won on the feast of St. Lawrence, all that is matter of history and general literature. But what art or magic can explain the mystery of a man, who was nzot a lunatic, selecting such a site for such a work, and interning himself here for years like a cloistered monk, while issuing orders to more than half the

world ?

At intervals, as we advance, the welcome sight of pine-woods meets the eye, showing, if needs be, that we are rising into cooler regions of the atmosphere; but too many of the trees, alas ! are marked for the axe. And now, interspersed through the rocks, are frequent bits of real verdure, with great brown goats grazing innocently on them, then scampering off at the sight of our train.

On we go, whirling over viaducts that, Roman-fashion, span the ravines arch over arch; then cutting through tunnelled headlands or hugging their precipitous sides and looking down at the airy depths beneath. My companions were three young Spaniards who never stopped chatting and smoking alternate cigarettes; they insisted on my jolning in their conversation; I hope I was intelligible; as for them, it was itmpossible for any one not to understand them, speaking as they did with their fingers quite as much as their lips. While thus advancing, night fell, rapidly as usual; and again, as in the Sierra Morena, a glorious thunder storm followed; the purple lightning was almost continuous; the

majestic thunder spoke through the hills, truly like the voice of God; and soon large rain-drops came pattering down: to me, after the recent days of simmering heat, they seemed like manna from heaven.

It takes nearly twenty hours to get from Madrid to the French frontier town of St. Jean de Luz; and the train passes, at about

equal intervals of time and distance, Avila, Valladolid, Burgos, and Vittoria. How dearly would I have wished to break the journey at the first and third of these ! but the delay might have

involved missing the Pacific boat, which I had resolved to catch at Bordeaux. So that Avila, medii3val city of paramount attrac tions, and home of St. Theresa, the seraphic lyrist of divine love, is only associated in my mind with an excellently served Spanish



Notes of a Short Trip to Spain. 525

supper, eaten with Spaiish dignity and calm; and Burgos, premier capital of Old Castille, and home of the Cid, is to me only a fleet ing vision of tower and steeple, seen in the cool grey twilight of norning, in a half-wakeful interval of sleep; an open carriage

was returning empty from the station; I felt that I ought to be in

that carriage, instead of rolling remorselessly away: but Burgos, like the rest of places unvisited, will be to me a dream for the

future, and foremost on the list. And now ditimiss all thought of Titanic boulders and bleak

rocks, for we have got into a country still hilly, but all made up

of pastures and woodland, deliciously refreshing to the eye. The Pyrenees are supposed to end at the corner of France, but the

mountain range continues westwards, into the Asturias and Galicia, only under a new name and title. Approaching the southern slopes of this long range, nothing could be more charming than the small

Basque provinces of Alava and Guipuscoa. Crops of standing corn still far from ripe-flocks of white-woolled sheep wandering in sweet liberty on an emerald sward-forests of dark-foliaged oak and chesnut-such were the scenes that unfolded themselves, as

mists of genuine moisture rolled up the hills like shrouds before the sun. One kingly tree towers in this district over all its asso ciates, with glossy foliage of darkest tint, ponderous boughs and rough trunk; it bears lovely sprays of palest green blossom, but I failed to learn its name.

Before reaching the frontier, a little incident brought our train to a halt: the carriage in which I was took fire, through some

over-heating of the fittings adjoining the axle. Not in the least

degree did this disconcert the calm officials; the too combustible vehicle was quietly detached and shunted; the connections were restored, and off we went.

Fuentarabia looks brown and Moorish from across the bay of Irun: both places evoke lively recollections of the Carlist war. At Hendaya French soil is reached, and evinces itself in s change

of carriages, an examination of luggage, and a capital buffet, only so noisy-but this just helps to make the night travellers shake themselves wide-awake and gay. The Bidassoa, frontier stream of historic associations, is crossed here. A little island, within view of the bridge, was the favourite trysting ground for the kings and diplomats of France and Spain to meet, as on neutral soil, to

plan and plot treaties and marriages, without the slightest reference to the parties concerned: here Louis XI. met Henrique IV. for

just such a double purpose: here Mlazarin met the representative



526 Notes of a S/wsor Tr to Sp)ain.

of Philip IV., for just such another. And it was here that Charles V. set Francis I. at liberty, in exchange for his two sons. The island has been curiously called the " isle of pheasants," but

it is also known as the " island of conferences," a far better name

for such a place.

And now, with frontier crossed, the next station, just seven miles off, is St. Jean de Luz, and I shake the honest hand of an

honiest friend, and descend.

St. Jean de Luz is a small place, buit full of historic associations. Not to go further back, the marriage just referred to as negotiated

by Mazarin in the " isle of pheasanits," was celebrated here: the

parties concerned were no less than Aruria Theresa of Spain and

the young "Grand Monarque" himiiself. The large houses in which both lodged, preparatory to the occasion, are still in perfect preservation, and inhabited. That which was honoured by the presence of Louis XIV. has an oak staircase, kept carefully as he

stepped on it, and dark with age. It reminds oine a little of that

in the " Posada de la Sancta HIermanidad," at Toledo.

The parish church in which the marriage was solemnized is one of the quaintest I have ever seen. In span it is much wider than any cathedral that I know of, being fully sixty feet in the

(lear, but of course niot stone-vaulted. Three galleries, one over ainother, of time-darkened oak, run along its rectangular sides. 'To these galleries the lords of creation must climb to pray; while their wives and mothers, daughters and aunts, calmly send up their

jiaculations from the pavement below. Suspended from the lofty r oof, like a sanctuary lamp, is a miniature ship full-rigged, large enough to float a man or two ; this I do not menition as exceptional,

for, in almost every seaport along the French coast, is found some such emblem in the parish church, betokening the devotion of the nariner to "1 Mary, star of the sea."

As at other sea-sides, half the natives have an amphibious look. They join the sea from inherited taste, or to avoid the hateful

military conscription, which stares them at every turn. Brave to the tips of their fingers and toes, they detest enforced soldiering, and, to shun it, they face the horrors of the North Pole, and of

Cape Horn. All wear the " berret " cap, a sort of flattened glena

geary-also a blue sash round the waist-and they are a fine broad

chested type of men, with straight features and open countenances, and the frank ennobling air of freedom in every turn.

A sculptor would say the women are a splendidlv built raee,



Notes of a Short Tr-ip to Spain. 527

with classic features, and more than classic heitht. A regiment of lifeguards might easily be enrolled from amongst the tall Amazons whom I saw assembled in the fair-gPeen to-day, driving their fathers' teams all unconsciously. Their cattle resemble the

Estremadura breed, which used to fiighten our Dublin salesmasters into fits ere now-fawn-coloured, dark nosed, large-footed; but

with horns less wide-spreading, and beef on every joint. Prizes lhad been awarded to the best matched teams, and it was a pleaaure

to see them driven, or rather led, by those rLustic daughters of

noble pedigree, each walking in front of her quadrupeds, and

quickening their pace, or bringing them to a stand-still, by one

wave of her spiked wand, or one glance of her eyes. Blue is the

costume of all, with a white handkerchief on the shoulders, and

another on the head: and truth compels me to add, many wear a

slight moustache, just enough to qualify theorn for court beauties,

had they lived in the days of Charles II., and becl iralmortalised

by Sir Peter Lely.

They all speak French, I believe; but it is not their language:

Basque is their national tonrg(ue, and I can vouch that it sounlds sweet and musical to the ear. Scholars agree that it is no patois,

but as distinctive fromu other European languages as the dead

Etruscan, or the liviing Magyar. Older than Latin, or Greek, or

Sanscrit, it allows no affinity with any of them, or with any rude

Teutonic dialect of the savage north, The legend is that Adam

spoke it; Lucifer tried to learn it, and/ailed; it was the language of the masons of Babel before the confusion of toncgues. As a

matter of fact, the friend, with whom it was my privilege to wallk

spoke it fluently, and it was interesting to observe the respectfil freedom with which the brave peasants discussed with him the

awards of the cattle show judges. In some remote time, a king of

Castille, or Navarre, whom their ancestors had served right loyally,

unable to repay them in kind, adopted the bright expedient of

ennobling thenii all, and you can discern in the present genera

tion, peasants as they are, that they know what is due to themselves, and to you.

Note, they were never conlquered; the Romani she-wolf never

flaunted on their ramparts. Virgil compared themn to mnidnight rob

bers, and to wolves; but admitted them to be untamed, and, to keep themn off, recommended the feeding of Molossian bloodlhounds:

"N unquam custodibais illis

"Nocturnum stabulis furein, incursusque ltporuni,

"Aut impacatos a terg liorrebis iberos."



5Y28 Notes of a S/tort Trip to 'Spain.

King Recared, the Gothic monarch who rebuilt the cathedral of Toledo in the sixth century, uised to despatch his troops against these Cantabrian highlanders, as Cetywayo in our own days sent out his braves, just to whet their spears and learn fighting. The Bidassoa, boundary between two kingdoms, has made no severance in their language or character; they are still Basques on both sides of the liie, and look as if they would remain so for a considerable time yet.

I saw a grand match of court tennis between the champions of

two opposite parishes, two on each side. It is a game that calls

into play all the qualities of strength, agility, and lightning quickness of eye that a man can possess. It resembles rackets, only the balls are much larger, and each man, instead of a battle dore, has a wooden scoop strapped to his right hand, and with this he s2nds the heavy ball in with terrific force against the front wall. There are nets and lines along the ceiling and side walls, and, according as the ball gets within these, it is over or under, in or out. Such was the former game of kings and nobles, in the great old days when royalty was bound to prove its prc-wess, days which I fear are gone for ever.

Most of the ancient houses are gabled on the street-face, as in many other places, from Nuremberg to Amsterdam. But here the peculiarity is that the roofs, instead of being high-pitched, are of immense span, and spread paternally over the whole wide frontage of the dwellings; some roofs, more ambitious still, are not content without covering two entire houses under their wide embrace, like two faces uilder a hood. I can now uinderstand how the parisha

church was roofed, although probably wider than any cathedral in Christendom.

So conservative of ancient institutions is St. Jean de Luz that Cibourre, a mnere suburb on the other side of the river Nivelle, and perfectly connected by a bridge, preserves nevertheless its separate municipality, its separate mayor and corporation, &c., &c. Jlust as if Dublin north and south had opposition lord mayors and town councillors, and opposition debates, to fill the daily papers, and drivc quiet leople to seek for some halcyon peace west of the Shannon or north of the L]oyne. Crossing, over to this indepen dent munlicipality, I found a perfect alameda, lined with the ortho dox poplars, and leading straight to the coast. Here the view is of bluff headlands, Atlantic-washed, bare and defiant, fitting bulwarks ag,ainst the ocean, which breaks ever against them in



Notes of a Short TSeip to Spazn. 529

whitened spray. This walk is the favourite resort of Spanish hidalgoes, who come here during the recess of the Cortez, and recreate themselves planning the fusion of parties, and the upset of a ministry, while merely seeming to inhale the delicious breezes, or coolly whiffing their cigarettes. To them the change must indeed be delightful; I found the thermomneter here down to 67', and a complaint of constant rain; at Madrid the temperature

varied from 80 to 950, and the prayer was for a little moisture.

Thus does kind nature vary her gifts from place to place. * * 0

From St. Jean de Luz the railway to Bordeaux passes Biarritz, and Bayonne, then runs through the "pays des landes." Is your imagination of the latter that of a vast sandy plain, only held

together by a little bent grass, with a few flocks of hungry sheep seeking for pasturage on its scanty herbage ? Do you picture the gcuardians of these flocks striding about oIn stilts like giant spectres, to get an advantag,eous view of their stray ones from the vantage ground of their tall leg-appendages? Such had been nmy idea andI expectation, I tell you frankly; founded probably on some child hood stories, which were true in the prehistoric period, and until some recent date, when modern improvers remodelled the face of the land; foremost amnongst those improvers was Louis Napoleon.

At present the scene is of pine woods alternating with corn-crops;

and, for hundreds of yards, almost for miles, along the line, piles of timber, cut to the exact length for sleepers, and saturated with

some preparation of copper to make them almost everlasting, are spread, or rather built, in readiness for transport; those piles

represent the judicious thinning of the supposed barren waste; hence they will go to distant places, perhaps to England, which is

fast becoming tributary to all the world for most of its necessary

wants. Bordeaux, ancient capital of Guienne and Aquitaine, and for

three centuries a lBritish possession, is a town of straight and wide

streets, lofty and wealthy-looking houses; at least the drive from

the railway station to the quays passes through the modern quarters, which are as I describe. One sees the "place des quinconces,"

with its lofty pair of rostra4 columns, where formerly stood the

Bastille of the city-for Bordeaux had its supreme law courts, and

its Bastille, and a sort of servile parliament of its own, until near

the close of the last century. Its present boast is that it possesses the largest theatre and the finest bridge in France, and the grandest

line of quays in Europe; along these qunys ships from every lati



530 Notet of a Short Trip to Spain.

tude ride at anchor, and exchange the produce of every clime for the tempting vintage of Mledoc.

Can any one explain why, in a civilised land, a river, after

receiving a tributary, assumes a new name, which has no affinity either with itself, or its confluent ? . . . Yet here we have the

Garonne, enriched by the Dordogne, suddenly becoming the Gironde, and thus flowing, majestically into the sea, wide as the

]Danube, and with vineyards to the water's edge.

In or near the tongue of land formed by the two confluents was

fought, early in the eighth century, the famous battle between Eudes of Aquitaine, and the Moorish hosts led on by Abderrahman (the Emir, not the founder of the Caliphate of Cordova). On this

occasion Abderrahman gave Eudes such a beating that " God alone

could count the number of the slain; " then did the victor sack and plunder Bordeaux; and thence, foolhardy, he went on, till he

met more than his match in Charles lIIartel, whose sledge-hammer blows and generalship put an end for all time to any further Moorish invasion of France.

From the quays of Bordeaux I steamed down the river to

Pauillac, to be in readiness for the big steamer, hourly expected from the south. As regards the picturesque, I would place the

Gironde rather low; but as a navigable river, it ranks among the

grandest I have ever seen. The vineyards that stud or clothe the

hills add no feature of beauty or of grandeur, but each has a name

and a reputation more or less world-wide. One is Chateau Leoville; another is Chateau La Rose; a third is Chateau Margaux ; a

fourth is Chateau Lafitte; of course I only mention the well known names. The head of the French Rothschilds owns the

Lafitte vinevard, and some of his spare nectar recently went for the neat little item of five pounds sterling per bottle. The peculiarity about these Mledoc vineyards is that they vary so much

from one to another. You pass from the vintage, of the gods to a

stuff unfit for clowns, and next door it is a gravel that will scarcely

graze a goat; and yet the pebbly soil is all alike to the eye.

Pauillac itself, metropolitan centre of this juicy land, is not a

lively place to spend a night in; neither is the landscape, when you sally out in the morning, by any means exhilarating. Boardings

everywhere along the roadsides; those boardings armed at top with spikes, and nails, and uninviting broken glass. From inside you hear the ominous grumbling of mastiffs, perhaps the lineal descendants of those M:olossian bloodhounds that Virgil recom mended, as against the Basques of his day. What matters it to



.Note8 of a Short Trip to Spain. 631

your thirsty soul that the vineyard within may be worth a hundred or a thousand pounds an acre, or not worth a dollar ? To your

mortal eyes it is an enclosure, and nothing more. The negative part of this picture, if it be not all negative, is

that the thrifty people cannot afford themselves the luxury of a single blade of grass, even to feed a cow. How their infants fare

is a mystery, for milk is an imported luxury, brought by rail and

steamer from afar. When I asked for " cafe au lait " at breakfast,

the answer was: " Helas ! Monsieur, du lait! nous n'en avons plus.

Nous en avions deux lmrres ce matin-mais une famille Anglaise est

arrivee avec tant d'enfants-c'est tout fini-les enfants ont tout pris!" This, in the principal sea-side hotel of Pauillac, where grape-juice of any chateau can be had by the gallon! Truly the

vine is the cow of this district . . . And yet the precious vine-soil ends as abruptly as it began; pinewoods and heather almost flap against the vineyards of millionaires.

But all in due time the small tender rings its loud bell for

passengers; the big ship has been sighted, and is swinging round to the ebbing tide. So good-bye to Pauillac and Europe, and

three cheers for the sea.

Our ship is just completing a prosperous voyagre from the coasts of Peru and Chili, roulnd by the straits of Magellan, Montevideo, Rio, and Lisbon. At the latter port it was warned off under

penalty of quarantine, because it had touched at the previous one; but the Bordeaux officers, less apprehensive of yellow fever, allowed those who wished to land and rush off to Paris, which seems the focus and centre of gravitation for most part of mankind.

The crew consists of blue jackets, all natives of "Great Britain and Ireland," as Lord Miltown would say. No lasear sailors, with

turban, sash, and bare feet-no Nubian firemen, with heads like

cannon balls-no stewards from Goa, with Portuguese features, complexion and air-but British sailors all, and of the usual type,

weather-beaten and reliable -looking. The captain is an Ulster

man, and a gentleman all over-the young doctor is also an Irish

man- so are several of the crew. One was a porter of Trinity College; probably his bones are as safe here as among the under grads of Alma Mater. Another is a distinguished steeplechase rider on the Irish turf, only suspended for a couple of years for

too well obeying his employer's instructions and pulling his horse. Deprived for a time of the luxury of risking his neck over the

stiff banks of his native home, he consoles himself with the chances vOL. XfII., No. 148. 40



532 Note8 of a Short Tiip to Spain.

and excitement of a little life at sea, and makes a most excellent steward.

The passengers, for the most part, are men who left England years ago, with light hearts and lighter purses, and who have worked as people do who voluntarily undergo exile for wealth's sake. They are now returning more or less enriched, but also more or less dispirited, uncertain what real friends willlneet them, and what manner will be the greeting. Compared with the military and civil service men of the P. and 0. boats, they have, not exactly

a buccaneer look, but a hardened air, like men accustomed to carry

loaded revolvers, and ready to use them. Two of those who landed

at Pauillac wanted to fight a duel before reaching Lisbon, but the little incident was nipped in the bud. It is to be hoped the fates

did not throw them into the same hotel or railway-carriage on Gallic soil.

The vessel had steered through the straits of Magellan a few short weeks before, just when merciless winter was setting in there lamps all lighted before dinner-mufflers and overcoats in general

demand-stoves the sole centres of attraction. And now, after

that short interval, our way-worn passengers are rejoicing in the

glorious length of summer days, and have already had almost an

entire month of sunshine. Such is modern travelling. Amongst the contingent who joined at Bordeaux was the clergy

man of the English church at Pau, a fine old man, hale, hearty, and most intelligent, but by no means welcome to the sailors. Had

another of his cloth appeared, those enlightened mariners would have forecasted squalls, and all manner of evil fortune: when they

thoroughly ascertained that he was really single, they calmed down

and soon became reconciled to his genial presence. It was Sunday

evening, and, as night drew on, the old gentleman was asked to

preside at prayers in the saloon. A lovely hymn was sung, which

the second officer acxompanied on the piano; then the old man

spoke, delivering a brief address, not without thankful reference to the charming weather on this first night in the Bay of Biscay.

This I was afterwards told, for all had gone down, except your

friend, and I could hear the voice, but not the words. Then

another hymn was sung, the trained voices of the crew joining in

parts. To me, sjlitary pilgrim on the deserted deck, the strains

seemed surpassingly lovely, as true music ever does at sea. There

was much, of course, in the surroundings: the sun had gone down

behind a bank of ruby clouds, which seemed still on fire while the

sea and sky darkened, and a spefl of calm was on both, while we

mnde noiseless head-way through the phosphorescent waters.



Notes of a Short Trip to Spain. 533

The second day out was quite different from this; the sea was all flecked with foam, and heaving angrily, and the spray ran along its surface like dust. We hugged the monotonous French coast till Ushant was before us, then France faded in the distance.

On the morning of the third day, it was Cornwall, then Wales,

that was in view on one side, and dear old Wicklow on the other.

The " lizard," the "wolf," the "mouse," the "lamb" . . . such, as well as I. can remember, are the graceful names by which Jack

Tar has christened the southern landmarks of his island home. In the afternoon Snowdon and her satellite peaks presented them selves in ever-changing groups Then the vessel steered right under the cliffs of Holy Island, sanctified in former days by Celtic hermits, known now only through its packet-station of Holyhead. Great caves undermine the beetling precipices under the lighthouse of the " South Stack; " myriads of gulls keep swarming and flutter

ing in and out of these caves, and cawing their dull chant evermore.

One of these caves has been appropriately called "Parliament House " from the confusing shrieks of the birds that frequent it.

Those birds are all sacred, because, when thick weather makes lights unavailing, and fog-horn and fog-bell are equally drowned in the louder shout of the storm-wind, high in air they bravely bring to the mariner timely warning of the iron-bound coast he is

approaching. Rounding " Great Orme's Head," the journey's end is con

sidered accomplished; and accordingly the crew treat us to an amateur concert of Christy Minstrels, with bones and blackened faces, striped coats, grey hats and lengthened boots, all in perfect fashion, and perfectly done. By far the best performer was the es-steeplechase rider, who will probably be in the first flight at Punchestown next season, and will remember his two years of suspension merely as a cooling interlude in his chequered life.

For miles, as the brave ship works up the Mersey broadside on, the darkening coast is fringed with straight lines of light: they are like an illumination, and as such I accept them, to celebrate

my own joyous return. And now, to end these too lengthy notes: written for favoured

eyes, with a running pen; private when taken, and intended to

remain so for ever-if your eyes have followed them, I would ask

you to imagine that you have been for the time being as part of

the family circle; thereby will you sit disarmed as a critic . .

With this understanding I wish you farewell, and again would

say with the Spaniards: " VAYA USTE CON DI)os."



notes of a short trip to spain. part x: homeward

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