(_With a Conversation-Book_)
[Illustration]
_Cannes._--Read that the weather is dismal and cloudy in England.
Shall stay in the sunny South a little longer. Cannes is a charming
place. But might as well see something different. Where to go? Consult
map. Good idea. Spain. Consult time-tables. Easiest thing in the
world. Tarascon to Barcelona. What is there to see in Barcelona?
Nuts probably. Also Spanish manners and customs, dark eyes, fans,
_mantillas_, and so forth. Shall certainly go, after a few days. Good
idea to learn a few words of Spanish. Must be very easy. Italian
and French mixed, with some Latin added. Amiable Frenchman in hotel
supports this view. He says, airily, "_Vous quittez Paris dans le
'sleeping,' vous achetez des journaux espagnols à Irun, et, arrivé à
Madrid vous parlez espagnol._" Cannot hope to rival that linguistic
feat, but may be able to learn a few phrases between Cannes and
Barcelona. Buy a conversation-book in French and Spanish.
_Port Bou._--Across the frontier. Custom-house station. Now is the
time to begin Spanish. Have read some of that conversation-book on the
way. Begin to doubt its utility. Usual sort of thing. "Has thy brother
bought a boot-jack?" "I wish these six volumes of Molière's plays to
be bound in half calf." And so forth. This one is the same, only in
French.
Custom-house officer, in beautiful uniform and bright green gloves,
very strict in his examination of my luggage. The green gloves travel
all over my property, and bring out a small cardboard box. Triumphant
expression on official's face. He has caught me. Open box, and show
him it contains a few white ties. His face now shows only doubt
and amazement. Cannot explain to him verbally. Evidently useless
to mention the binding of Molière's plays. The green gloves beckon
another custom-house officer, also wearing bright green gloves.
Together they examine my harmless white ties. It seems to me the
green gloved hands are held up in pious horror. Try them in French, in
Italian, in English. No good. Should perhaps tip them in Spanish. But
why waste _pesetas?_ So refrain. They shake their heads still more
suspiciously. The only thing remaining for me to do is to ask if the
brother of one of them has bought a boot-jack. Does not seem very
appropriate, but, if said politely, might imply that I wish to change
the subject. Am just about to begin the note of interrogation upside
down, which gives such an uncanny air to a Spanish question, when they
cease looking at my ties, and I pass on.
_Barcelona._--Shall have no difficulty here. Have been told that
French is spoken everywhere. If not, then English or Italian. Everyone
in the hotel speaks French. To the bank. Manager speaks English
beautifully. Buy some cigarettes. Old woman in the shop speaks
Italian. Shall get on capitally. Need not trouble to carry the
conversation-book in my pocket.
In the evening to the opera. Walk out between the acts, seeing
Spaniards also walking out, and enter a café. Order coffee. Waiter
brings a huge glass of water, and a cup, filled to the brim with
sugar, on which the _verseur_ is about to pour my drink. Stop him.
Explain in French that I take no sugar. The two, and another waiter,
stand round me, with dazed faces. By Jove, they speak only Spanish!
Wish I had the conversation-book. But should probably have found
something like "_Nous ne voulons pas faire une excursion en mer, parce
qu'il fait trop de vent_," or "_Ces bottines sont un peu étroites,
veuillez les élargir_." No good trying talking. Turn out eight or ten
lumps of sugar, and so get my coffee. Then return to the opera. Four
polite officials at the entrance gaze wonderingly at the counterfoil
of my ticket, which I concluded served for readmission, no pass ticket
being offered. Ask each one, in turn, if he speaks French. He does
not. Oh for the conversation-book! If only I could say "_Tous les
tableaux dans le Salon Carré du Louvre sont des chefs-d'[oe]uvre_," or
"_Est-ce que mademoiselle votre s[oe]ur joue du piano?_" I should have
shown myself to be an individual with innocent and refined tastes,
and not a socialist or a brigand. The second phrase would have been
singularly appropriate in the opera house. Alas, I cannot! So address
them in French, with bows and smiles. And they respond in Spanish,
evidently with great courtesy, also with bows and smiles, and let me
pass in, probably because they cannot make me understand that I
ought to stop out. For the future I must carry that conversation-book
everywhere.
[Illustration: OVERHEARD NEAR BERGEN
_Norwegian Host_ (_whose English is not perfect--to British tourist_).
"What that I tell you, sarr, it is quite true. Nansen killed his last
dog to save the others!"]
[Illustration: (THE IDEAL) THE MERRY SWISS BOY (THE REAL)]
[Illustration: (THE IDEAL) THE MERRY SWISS GIRL (THE REAL)]