[Ill.u.s.tration: _The Pyrenees were in sight_ _Page 112_

Copyright by Underwood & Underwood]

Leaving our car in the garage and our sympathy with the unfortunate chauffeur, we went in to give appreciative attention to a well-served menu. So long as we remained in France we never failed to order sardines. There is a certain quality and delicacy about the flavor of the French sardine which one misses outside of that country. Coffee was served outside, under the trees in front of the hotel, where we could watch the life of the road. St. Gaudens is on the main highway pa.s.sing through the Pyrenees to Cannes and Nice on the Riviera. It is also the central market for the fine cattle of the Pyrenees, and for their sale and distribution to other parts of France and the outside world. We could see them swaying lazily along the road, big, powerful creatures with wide horns and glossy skin.

Descending from St. Gaudens into the plain, we shot along the highway to Montrejeau, where there was a steep ascent through this bizarre little town, very Italian looking with its arcaded streets, red roofs, and brightly painted shutters. Then the moors of a high plateau swept by us until we darted downward and curved for several miles through a beautiful wooded valley.

One of the front tires was evidently in trouble. It was our first puncture in more than thirteen hundred miles of motoring, not a bad record when one considers the frequency of such accidents on European roads, where the hobnails of peasants lie in ambush at every turn. We halted by the side of the road, to put on a fresh tire, refusing many offers of a.s.sistance from pa.s.sing cars.

An unusual reception awaited us near Tournay. The whole barnyard family had taken the road for their private promenade. There were a couple of mules, some goats, half a dozen geese, and a large white bull. He was a savage looking brute as he stood facing us and angrily pawing the ground. It did not add to our composure when a gaunt collie, awakened by the noise, came snarling up to the car. At this eventful moment, the engine stopped running. No one of us was in a hurry to alight and "crank up." The barnyard clamor would have rivaled the well-known symphony of the Edison Phonograph Company of New York and Paris. At last a peasant appeared. He whistled to the dog and succeeded in driving the bull to one side, so that we could edge by to less dangerous scenes.

The standard of living in these mountain communities is not high. We saw one farmhouse where the goats moved in and out as if very much at home and on the same social footing as their peasant owners. A mile farther on, we were spectators at a dance which the peasants were giving along the roadside. There was an orchestra of two violins and a cornet, enthroned upon a wooden platform brightly decorated with flags and flowers. A dozen couples were dancing up and down the road. Wooden shoes were all the style. This unique ballroom floor impressed us as being rather dusty. Steepsided valleys yawned in quick succession. There were views of the snowy Pyrenees. On the side of a mountain we caught a moment's glimpse of Tarbes in the plain.

The Grand Hotel Moderne was a happy surprise. The elevator actually worked, and the running hot and cold water was a boon delightful to find after these dusty mountain roads. Tarbes is chiefly interesting for its great horse-breeding industry. Barere, the regicide, described by Macaulay as coming "nearer than any person mentioned in history or fiction, whether man or devil, to the idea of consummate and universal depravity," was born here in 1755. Tourist traffic has found Tarbes to be a convenient stopping place on the through route from Biarritz on the Atlantic to the winter resorts of the Mediterranean sh.o.r.es, and also a natural center for excursions to the Pyrenees. We remained in Tarbes an extra day to make the trip to Lourdes, the tragic Mecca for increasing thousands of Catholic pilgrims.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Ice peaks of the Pyrenees_

Copyright by Underwood & Underwood]

A short half-hour's ride and then Lourdes, without doubt one of the most dismal and melancholy places in the world. We are certain that nothing would ever draw us there again. For many, the trip is a pilgrimage of faith; others go from curiosity; but for so many suffering thousands the miraculous spring at Lourdes is the goal of anxious hopes. They gather from all parts of France, from England, Scotland, and Ireland, and even from distant parts of Europe. Last year there were over six hundred thousand visitors. Around us, on that afternoon, we saw the sick and the dying. Some were hobbling along on crutches, others walking helplessly with sightless eyes. Many were being carried on stretchers, and there were sights that we would rather not mention. It seemed as if all the diseases to which mortal humanity is heir were represented in that pathetic throng. The following newspaper account describes the pilgrimage which left Paris in August, 1913:

"The great Austerlitz Railway station in Paris presented a strange and terrible scene--and above all, a distressingly pitiful one--yesterday afternoon, when the annual pilgrimage to Lourdes set forth on the long journey to the little Pyrenean village. During last night thirty-three special long trains converged on Lourdes from every quarter of France.

Every train ran slowly because of the many sick people on board. And this morning all the trains will reach their destination and will discharge their pilgrims at the station near the shrine.

"From two to four o'clock, the greater part of the Austerlitz station was given up entirely to the pilgrims. The railway servants withdrew, and their places were taken by hundreds of saintly faced Little Sisters of the a.s.sumption, and brave men of all ages and all ranks in life, all wearing the broad armlet that denoted their self-sacrificing service to the sick and helpless. One by one, on stretchers, in bath chairs, over a thousand suffering people, men and women of all ages, youths and little children, entered the great hall of the station.

"Each, as he or she is brought in, is laid upon a bench transformed into an ambulance, to await the departure of the train. A silence that is almost oppressive falls upon the usually noisy station; people speak in whispers, and move with silent feet.

"Then the train--the long white train for the _grands malades_--moves softly in to the platform, and each poor human parcel is gently convoyed to its allotted place. Eventually, the long task is over, and then came the last moving ceremony. The Cardinal Archbishop of Paris pa.s.sed slowly down the train and blessed the sick within it. A moment after, without a whistle or a sound, the long white train moved out.

"Eight other equally long trains followed, the last bearing at the rear the Red Cross flag."

We watched the procession forming to move toward the sacred miraculous spring, such a sad procession,--the halt, the maimed, and the blind, who had come, many of them, thousands of miles to bathe in the icy waters and be healed. Attendants pa.s.sed us, carrying a sick man on a stretcher; the eyes were closed, the features white and fixed. We saw a mother clasping a sick child; she also joined the slow, pitiful procession.

Where will you find such a picture of human suffering! It was all like the incurable ward of a vast open-air hospital.

The fame of Lourdes dates back to 1858, when a little village girl, fourteen years old, named Bernadette Soubirons, said that she had seen and talked with the Virgin. This happened several times. Each time the Virgin is said to have commanded the child to tell others, and to have a church built above the spring, since its waters were to have miraculous powers of healing. Crowds went with her to the grotto, but she was the only one who saw anything. The Bishop of Tarbes believed in her visions.

The fact that the child was "diseased, asthmatic, and underfed," and also that "she was not particularly intelligent," did not make any difference. Pope Pius X issued a Bull of endors.e.m.e.nt. A basilica was built above the grotto, and from that time the thousands kept coming in increasing numbers every year.

We noticed that not all of the visitors to Lourdes had come on a pilgrimage of faith. Everywhere one sees signs with large letters warning against pickpockets. The evidence of business enterprise was also unmistakable. There were large hotels; one long street was devoted to bazaars for selling pious mementos; the windows of many shops contained tin cans of all sizes for sale, these to be filled with Lourdes water. The many advertis.e.m.e.nts of Lourdes lozenges, made from Lourdes water, and the women dressed in black, sitting at the gates of the garden and selling wax candles, all helped to give the place an atmosphere of commercial enterprise.

CHAPTER VIII

TARBES TO BIARRITZ

From Tarbes the road climbed a high hill above the city and then flung its marvelous coils through the mountains to Pau, that fashionable English resort where the Pyrenees can be seen marshaling their peaks in such grandeur. The country around Pau looked very English. There were neat villages with high-pitched roofs, spreading trees, and a feeling of repose in the scenery very characteristic of the large English estate.

With almost fantastic suddenness, the landscape changed. Peasant houses showed traces of Spanish influence. We saw no horses; plows and country carts were drawn by bullocks. Such fine looking cattle of the Pyrenees, hundreds of them! It seemed at least every few minutes that a new drove crowded in confusion down the road or across it, and made it very difficult for us to get through. There were many bulls. One hears so many exciting tales about the savage bulls of the Pyrenees that we were prepared for an attack at almost any time.

If any one would like to make sure of having an eventful experience, we suggest that he motor through the Pyrenees in a red car. Other motor cars kept the dust clouds flying. At one railway crossing we counted ten automobiles waiting for the bar to be lifted.

A score of hungry motorists were lunching in the village inn of Orthez when we arrived. One of them, a Frenchman, told us by all means to see the curious fortified bridge that crosses the Gave in this village.

"_C'est tres curieux. C'est quelque chose a voir!_" The ruin, with the high stone tower in the middle of the bridge, is a thrilling relic of the religious wars. One can see the tower window through which the unfortunate priests and friars were forced by the Protestants to leap into the rapid stream. Those who breasted the strong current were killed as they climbed out on the banks.

Bayonne was calling us. Our speedometer registered the kilometers so quickly that there were fully two hours of daylight to spare when we crossed the long bridge over the Adour in search of the Grand Hotel. One street led us astray, and then another, until we were in the suburbs before discovering our mistake. It was a fortunate mistake, for we were here favored with a view of the fortifications of Bayonne and the ivy-covered ruin of Marrac, the chateau where Napoleon met the Spanish king Ferdinand and compelled him to renounce the throne in favor of his brother Joseph. It is one of the strange turnings of history that the same city where Joseph was proclaimed King of Spain should have witnessed, six years later, the downfall of his hopes.

Our return search was more successful. We found the Grand Hotel, and then were half sorry that we had found it. The hotel was crowded, the only _chambre_ placed at our disposal not large enough for two people.

An extra cot had been put in to meet the emergency. The room was gloomy, and opened on a stuffy little court. Many repairs were under way, so that the appearance of the hotel was far from being at its best. Had it not been raining heavily we would have gone on to Biarritz; but the torrents were descending. For one night we submitted to the inevitable and to the inconvenience of our cramped quarters. On descending, we noticed other tourists still arriving. Possibly these new victims were stowed away in the elevator or in the garage.

Our stay in Bayonne was, under the circ.u.mstances, not long, but long enough for us to become acquainted with the _jambon delicieux_ and the _bonbons_ for which the city is so well known. After paying our _compte_, including a garage charge of two francs,--the first which we had paid since leaving Chambery,--we covered the few remaining kilometers to Biarritz, stopping _en route_ to pick up ten liters of gasoline in order to avoid the more extravagant prices of that playground for Europe's royalty and aristocracy. The choicest feature of our rooms at the Hotel Victoria was the splendid outlook upon the Atlantic and its ever-changing panorama of sky and sea. The Spanish season was in full swing. There is always a season in the golden curve of Biarritz's sunny sands. The Spanish invasion during the hot summer months is followed by that of the French, when Parisian beauties promenade in all the voluptuous array of costly toilettes. For a couple of months, Paris ceases to be the proud capital of French animation and gayety. During the winter, the place takes on the appearance of an English colony; and the Russian royal family has made spring a fashionable time for the invasion from that country.

The charm of Biarritz is irresistible. It is easy to see why Napoleon III made it the seat of his summer court and built the Villa Eugenie, which has since become the Hotel du Palais. If one searched the whole coast line of Europe, it would be hard to find a spot so rich in natural beauty. The sea has such wide horizons; no matter how calm the weather, the snowy surges are always rolling on the Grande Plage. Other smaller beaches alternate with rugged, rocky promontories. The coast line is very irregular, full of arcades, caverns, and grottoes. At sunset, when the wind falls and the air is clear, the coast of Spain appears, the mountains respond to the western glow, and the low cadence of the waves makes the scene too wonderful for words.

We always looked forward to the morning plunge into the cool breakers.

Eleven o'clock was the popular hour. Then the Plage was covered with brilliant tent umbrellas. There were the shouts of the bathers as the green, foaming combers swept over them. The beach was a kaleidoscope of color and animation. Dark-eyed _senoritas_, carrying brightly colored parasols and robed in the latest and most original French toilettes, walked along the sh.o.r.e. The Spanish women are very fond of dress, and especially of anything that comes from Paris. Often the breeze would sweep aside their veils of black silk, and show their powder-whitened faces. French girls, daintily gowned and with complexions just as "artistic," were busy with delicate embroidery. There were Basque nursemaids whose somber black-and-white checkerboard costumes contrasted with the latest styles from the gay metropolis. All types were there, from the portly German who adjusted his monocle before wading into the frothy brine, to the contemplative Englishman who smoked his pipe while watching the animated scenes around him. Where will one find a more cosmopolitan glimpse of fashionable Europe in the enjoyment of a summer holiday! After the plunge comes the drying off on the warm sands, or the walk, barefooted and in bathrobe, along the Plage; then lunch in the casino restaurant above the sea, while an Italian orchestra plays music that one likes to hear by the ocean. For our _ta.s.se de cafe_ we would choose one of the cafes along the crowded avenue Bellevue. What a display of wealth and fine motor cars!

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The Grande Plage at Biarritz_

Copyright by Underwood & Underwood]

On one of these occasions we saw the young King of Spain stop his Spanish car before one of the stores. He was bareheaded, and was driving his own car. One of his officers sat with him. The king is a keen sportsman, and motoring is one of his favorite diversions. Under the reign of this popular and aggressive young monarch there ought to be great progress in the improvement of the Spanish roads and in the opening of Spain's scenic wealth to the tourist world. Toward the close of the afternoon every one went to the beautiful casino to enjoy the concert and _une ta.s.se de the_, and then later in the evening to watch the brilliant spectacle of dress and gayety.

The interesting places around Biarritz are part of its attraction. If we had stayed there for months, there could have been an excursion for each day. Placed beside the ocean, at the foot of the Pyrenees, close to the Spanish frontier and amid the fascinating Basque country where the people have retained all their primitive ways and quaint dress, Biarritz makes an ideal center for one-day trips. The excursion which we enjoyed most was to the Spanish resort of San Sebastian, a modern seaside town where the king and queen pa.s.s the summer in their splendid Villa Miramar.

CHAPTER IX

A DAY IN SPAIN

There is always a thrill about motoring for the first time in a new country. We had long looked forward to crossing the Spanish frontier and visiting the summer capital of King Alfonso XIII. It was a ride of about thirty miles, far too short for one of the most interesting sweeps of country to be found anywhere in Europe.

There was plenty of variety. This Basque country, forming a triangular corner of northern Spain and reaching over into France, is full of it.

The people speak a dialect which is as much a puzzle to Spanish as to French. Until less than half a century ago, they had retained their independence. Proud of their history, and claiming to be the oldest race in Europe, they still cling to their language and hold to their ancient customs, their dances, songs, and pastoral plays. In this region of valleys and mountains we were always within sight or sound of the sea, the road approaching a smooth, white beach washed with foam, or sinking into a quiet valley drowsy with the faint monotone of the waves.

A few miles before reaching Spain is the old seaside town of St.

Jean-de-Luz, once the winter headquarters of Wellington and now buried in the shade of its venerable trees. The life in this little village of only four thousand people was not always so simple as it is now. Louis XIV was a frequent visitor, with his courtiers. One can see the chateau where the "Grand Monarque" lodged at the time of his marriage to the Infanta Marie Therese of Spain on June 9, 1660. Another page from this gorgeous period is the church of St. Jean Baptiste, where the ceremony took place. Following the Basque custom, the upper galleries are reserved for the men, while the area below is reserved for the women.

On reaching the Franco-Spanish frontier village of Behobie a French officer appeared and, after he had entered the necessary details in his book, allowed us to cross the bridge over the Bida.s.soa River into Spain.

This part of the town is called Behobeia. It is a unique arrangement, this administration of what is practically one and the same town by two different countries. Yet the difference between Behobie and Behobeia is as great as the difference between France and Spain. The houses across the river began to display the most lively colors. It would have been hard to say whether browns, pinks, blues, or greens predominated. Some of the people wore blue shoes. Red caps were the style for cab drivers.

Of course we looked around for some of our "castles in Spain," but saw instead the Spanish customhouse. An official came out, modestly arrayed in more than Solomon's glory. He wore red trousers, yellow hose, and blue shoes, and looked as though in more prosperous days he might have been a _matador_. We had forgotten to bring along a fluent supply of Spanish. The oversight caused us no inconvenience. French is sufficient to carry one through any matter of official red tape.

One hears many reports about the difficulty of pa.s.sing the Spanish customhouse, the severity of the examination, of the long delays. At our hotel in Biarritz they told us that the only safe way would be to pay eight francs to a private company on the French side of the frontier, and that with the _pa.s.savant_ so obtained, together with our _triptyque_, we would not only secure prompt service but also make this company responsible for our safety while in Spain. So much solicitude made us wonder just what percentage of our eight francs would be received by this hotel proprietor, so we decided to cross the frontier without the much advised _pa.s.savant_.

These warnings proved to be exaggerated. The delay was not greater than it would have been in France or Germany. The _douaniers_ were, nevertheless, keenly alert to prevent the smuggling of motor supplies for purposes of sale in Spain. These articles are much more expensive in Spain than elsewhere in Europe. The number of our tires was noted, so that the officials could make sure that we carried the same number of tires out of the country. Another arrangement, new to us, was the method of ascertaining how much the gasoline duty would be. The amount of gasoline in the tank was calculated by depth only and not by capacity.