and if any shadows fall across the picture they are those of the brigand and the priest-inquisitor. Then comes the inevitable reaction. Those who visit Spain find that it is for them indeed _un pays de l’imprévu_. The former image in their mind soon perishes, and they cry out upon this “ciel insalubre,” this--
“pays endiablé; Nous y mangions, au lieu de farine de blé, Des rats et des souris et pour toutes ribotes Nous avons dévoré beaucoup de vieilles bottes.”
But, to judge from many books published about Spain, most European countries would seem to have entered into a league to look upon the Peninsula solely as a land of a poetical unreality, its inhabitants divided into inquisitors, monks, brigands, and conspirators, lending--
“the colour of romance To every trivial circumstance.”
A well-balanced and accurate account of the country is singularly rare. It is true that in some respects Spain has changed little since the sixteenth century, but, on the other hand, during the twentieth century, while she has been making laborious progress, foreign ideas of Spain have remained stationary, with the prejudices and fixed opinions of fifty years ago. No error or exaggeration concerning Spain is too ridiculous to be affirmed and readily believed, and those who take no thought to study the Peninsula in quiet days save as a land of vague romance, when trouble occurs are officious with wise criticisms and stern common-sense, based on ignorance. Quite recently the hysterical visions of prisoners tortured in Spanish dungeons, and of priestly cruelty and greed, might persuade one that Mr. Kipling’s “Little Foxes” was written not before, but after, the events of 1909 in Spain. One forgets that it is of Ethiopia, not Spain, that Mr. Lethabie Groombride, M.P., exclaims, “What callous oppression! The dark places of the earth are full of cruelty!” Like the natives of Ethiopia, the courteous Spaniards are “much pleased at your condescensions;” but they too have a sense of humour, and note with amusement the ignorance of nations which declare that Spain’s chief need is more education and culture.
For the traveller who wishes to explore the remote parts of Spain, and to escape from Spanish trains, the simplest method is to proceed on horseback. Walking and bicycling and motoring are possible in the North, and especially in the Basque Provinces, where the inns are good and the roads excellent. But in most parts of Spain they are practically impossible; the roads are too stony or too dusty even for walking, and, moreover, in fifty kilometres you may find hardly one inn. There remains the _diligencia_--_coche_, _tartana_, _diabla_, call it what you will--but a single experience of it will probably be sufficient. It rolls and lurches heavily to the loud, continuous shouting of the driver to his horses: _Caballo-allo-allo-allo_, _Mula-ula-ula-ula_. The traveller, if he has the misfortune to be in the interior, is beaten against the wooden sides, the windows rattle, the bells jingle, the vehicle sways slowly on its way, groaning and complaining of the breadth, as well as the length, of the road[47]--_nosotros tambien llegaremos, si Dios quiere_, as a driver said when passed by more rapid travellers, “if it is the will of Heaven.” Occasionally at a country railway station may be seen a boy who is a pillar of dust or mud. He is the _zagal_ of the _diligencia_, who runs by its side through dirt and mire, urging on the horses, or stands to rest on the step at the back. Sometimes the _diligencia_ descends into river-beds, usually dry; and after much rain it is apt to stay there, and darkness falls and the frogs croak mockingly, while more mules are fetched to help in the work of extrication. Often it proceeds by night, throwing strange, fantastic shadows in the narrow streets of sleeping villages. The driver must undergo not only extremes of heat and cold, but is often in danger of snowdrifts and swollen torrents and rocks from the hill-sides. A Navarrese innkeeper, an old soldier of Santa Cruz, introduced a driver of a _diligencia_ as “the bravest man of my acquaintance.” Spanish travellers accept all these discomforts with a marvellous, fatalistic resignation and equanimity; but even a pedestrian will go further and fare better in an afternoon than a traveller in _diligencia_ during a whole day. Still, as a unique experience, a _diligencia_ drive must be undertaken; and the driver is good company, sparing time from the loud praise and blame meted out to his mules to bestow pithy comments on the living and the dead--