A Midsummer Drive Through the Pyrenees Part 3

The Queen of Spain, widow of Charles II, resided here from 1706 until 1738. Many stories are told of her good-heartedness and her lavish fondness for display. The Bayonnais were children still, and loved her for it. She, too, gave a festival and banquet,--in honor of some Spanish successes; "it lasted even till the next day among the people, and on board the vessels in the river; and the windows of every house were illuminated.... After the repast was finished," adds the grave record, "much to the satisfaction of all, a _panperruque_ was danced through the town. M. de Gibaudiere led the dance, holding the hand of the Mayor of Bayonne; the Marquis de Poyanne bringing up the rear; so that this dance rejoiced all the people, who on their side gave many demonstrations of joy."

The world has grown stiffer since, and Mayors and Marquises are no longer wont to caper about the streets of great cities in the sportive _abandon_ of a festival dance; in those days it seems not to have abated a jot of their serious dignity.

Bayonne is the key to all roads south and east. It has a superb citadel.

It has been a valuable military position, has withstood seventeen sieges in its day, and is still an important strategic point. Here were exciting times during the Peninsular war, when Wellington on his northward march from Spain found Bayonne in his way and undertook to capture it. More a fancy than a fact, however, is probably the tradition that the bayonet was invented in this locality and took its name from the city. The story of the Basque regiment running short of ammunition and being prompted by the exigency to insert their long-handled knives into the musket-muzzles, has since had grave doubts cast upon its veraciousness. This is most unfortunate, for it was a story which travelers delighted to honor.

VIII.

It is mid-afternoon as our breack clatters out again over the paved roadway of the bridge and we turn westward along the river for the return to Biarritz. A few vessels stand idly moored to the quays. The _Allees Marines_ are quiet and still; later they will be thronged. They are the favorite promenade of Bayonne, which thus holds here a species of daily "town-meeting" as the dusk comes on. At present we see merely a few old women bearing panniers toward the city, and rope-makers at work upon great streamers of hemp which stretch from tree to tree. Soon we turn off to the southward, and are on the main highway to Biarritz.

This highway sees a considerable traffic. Bayonne furnishes carts, Biarritz carriages. Omnibuses ply to and fro; market-barrows are drawn frequently past; burden-bearers and peasants are met or overtaken trudging contentedly on. The latter cheat both the omnibus and themselves, for the fare is but a trifle, and the road hot and sandy. It is abundantly shaded by trees, but we agree that it is far better enjoyed _en breach_ than on foot.

This is the road once famous for the _cacolet_. It must have been a pleasing and peculiar sight, in the years ago, to see the jolly d.u.c.h.ess of Berri and her fas.h.i.+onable companions sociably hobn.o.bbing with their peasant drivers _en cacolet_ in the pleasant summer afternoons.

CHAPTER IV.

SAINT JOHN OF LIGHT.

"_Guibelerat so'guin eta Hasperrenak ardura?_"

"As we pursue our mountain track, Shall we not sigh as we look back?"

--Basque Song.

The days pa.s.s happily by, at Biarritz. One quickly feels the charm of the place; it has its own delightfulness, apart from the season and its amus.e.m.e.nts. In the season, however, the amus.e.m.e.nts are not once allowed to flag. By half-past ten, fas.h.i.+on is astir and gathers toward the beach for the bathing hour; then parts to walk and drive, and afterward to lunch. It takes its siesta as does the nation its neighbor; meets once more for the afternoon hour on the sands, and at six drifts to the Casino, where children are soon dancing, little gla.s.ses clinking, and mild gambling games in full swing. The thought of dinner deepens with the dusk, but in the evening the tide sets again to the Casino, and a concert or a ball rounds up the day.

The scope of diversions is much the same as on the opposite edge of the Atlantic,--with due allowance for national types; but here there is perhaps more color to the scene. European watering-places are naturally cosmopolitan. Here at Biarritz, English society mingles with the French, and both are strongly reinforced from Spain. Only thirteen hours from Paris, or twenty-two, actual travel, from London, it is but one from the Spanish frontier and eighteen from Madrid. Memories of Orleans, Pavia and the Armada are canceled in the common pursuit of pleasure.

"Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies; The shouts are, France, Spain, Albion, Victory!"

There is besides a goodly sprinkling from other countries. A Russian n.o.bleman and his family are to arrive at our hotel to-morrow. The spot is not difficult of access for Italians. The Austrians have long appreciated it. And do we not const.i.tute at least a small contingent from across the ocean?

Not only visitors make up the parti-colored effect. There are all grades in Biarritz,--visitors and home-stayers, rich and poor,--

"From point and saucy ermine, down To the plain coif and rustic gown."

The natives have their peculiar air and customs, and the Basques are always picturesque. Spanish guitar-players vie with Neapolitan harpists, and both with the waves and the hum of talk. The lottery spirit shoots up here from its hot-bed in Spain. Small boys wander about the beach with long, cylindrical tin boxes painted a bright red and carried by a strap from the shoulder. The rim of the lid is marked off into numbered compartments, and in its centre is an upright teetotum with a bone projection; while the cylinder itself is filled with cones of crisp, flaky sweet-wafers, stacked one into another like cornucopias. The charge is one sou for a spin, and the figure opposite which the projecting bone-piece stops indicates the number of cones due the spinner. The figures vary from 2 to 30, and there are no blanks. Every one appears to patronize the contrivance, and you constantly hear the click of the teetotum along the beach. Though there are but two 30's in the circ.u.mference, each who spins fondly hopes to gain one, and thus the same spirit which supports Monte Carlo in splendor gives these boys a thriving trade.

II.

We spend an idle morning on the projecting point of bluff overlooking the coves and the fishermen's cabins. This promontory uplifts a signal-station, the _Atalaye_. Down at the left and rear, cutting inland, is the _Port Vieux_, where the second bathing pavilion stands; and, sending up their cries and shoutings to the heights, we

"see the children sport along the sh.o.r.e, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore."

The day is breezy and not too warm. We feel few ambitions. Has the dreamy spirit of the South come upon us so soon?

It will be a perfect spot for a picnic lunch.

We will imitate the _fete champetre_ of Charles and Catherine held on the isle of the Adour. The ladies give their sanction, and three of us are promptly appointed commissaries. We take the path down to the street, and find a promising little grocery-store. The madame bows a welcome.

"Can one obtain here of the bread?" we ask.

"Ah, no," deprecatingly, "that is only with the baker."

"A little of cheese, then? and some Albert biscuits? And a bottle or two of lemonade, and one of light wine?"

"But yes, without doubt; monsieur shall have these instantly;" and a bright-faced little girl proceeds to collect the supplies.

"Might one carry away the bottles, and afterward return them?" we venture.

Here the madame begins to appear suspicious. It is evidently an irregular purchase at best, and this request seems to make her a trifle frosty.

"A deposit should perhaps be necessary," we suggest; "how much is desired?"

Madame gives the subject a moment's thought. "Monsieur would have to leave at least four sous on each bottle," she finally declares.

"And could madame also lend us some small drinking-gla.s.ses, it may be, and a little corkscrew?"

The old lady is visibly hardening. She is clearly averse to mysteries.

We may be contrabandists, or political exiles, or any variety of refugee foreigners. She hesitates about the drinking-gla.s.ses; is not sure she _has_ a corkscrew. But another deposit is soothingly arranged for and paid, and the articles are found.

"And now could we ask to borrow a basket?--also on deposit."

But here the madame's obligingness quite deserts her. The refusal is flat. She has no basket which can possibly be spared.

It is, we see, plainly time that we should explain our mysterious selections. Confidingly we entrust her with the secret, and lay bare our unconventional plan. At the first she listens unmoved, but the idea of "pique-nique" is soon borne in upon her, and lets in a ray of light.

The frost thaws a trifle. "We are with friends," we say; "they are on the bluffs; they have desired to make a luncheon for once without the fork,--to eat their little breads in the open air, upon the rocks." Our listener nods, half doubtfully. Then we play our highest trump: "We are but on a visit to Biarritz; we have come from far away; we are Americans."

Instantly the barriers are down; madame is our firmest ally. "Run, elise, seek the large pannier for our friends! Is it that you are of the fair America?--_la belle Amerique._ Ah, but monsieur, why have you not said thus before? You should most charmingly have been supplied; are they not indeed always the friends of our country,--the Americans! You shall bring here the breads you buy at the bakery; we will add knives and plates and some fruit, and elise shall herself carry for you the full basket to the place of the pique-nique."

Verily the Stars and Stripes are words to conjure with! The picnic is a complete success. The De Medici fete is more than surpa.s.sed; even an attendant nymph, in the person of the rustic elise, is not wanting; the historical parallel is perfect.

In fact, the parallel finally carries itself too far. So small an affair even as this, it appears, cannot escape the hostility of "envious Fortune,"--the same who untimely cut off its lamented rival. A large, black cloud, coming up over us like a vengeful harpy, forebodes the invariable downpour, and grimly compels us to shorten the feast.

On Sunday, we attend the English service; Britain is sufficiently well represented at Biarritz to support one during both summer and winter.

The day is restful and calm, and we stroll out afterward along the beach and over to the deserted villa of the Empress, returning by the path on the bluff. The sound of trowels and hammers is in part stilled about the town, and the afternoon takes on a comfortingly peaceful tone in consequence. The English-speaking contingent keeps the day as quietly as may be; the Continental majority of course does not. In a few weeks, posters will adorn the Sat.u.r.day bulletins, announcing the next day's bull-fight in San Sebastian, over the border; and if Sunday is quiet at Biarritz in the season, it is simply because all the world spends the day at San Sebastian.

III.

But Spain and the Pyrenees lie before us, and we cannot tarry longer at Biarritz. We shall long feel the warm life of the fresh June days by the sea. The breack rolls again into the court-yard; we pay our devoirs to mine host and our dues to his minions, and once more we start, this time toward the south.