the other day—indeed some months ago—i was in the company of two men who were talking together and were at cross-purposes. the one was an englishman acquainted with the catalonian tongue and rather proud of knowing it; the other was a citizen of the republic of andorra.

the first had the advantage of his fellow in world-wide travel, the reading of many newspapers and (beside his thorough knowledge of catalonian) a smattering of french, german, and american.

i was touched to see the care and deference and good-fellowship which the superior extended to the inferior in this colloquy.

i did not hear the beginning of it: it was the early middle part which i came in for; it was conducted loudly and with gestures upon[pg 243] the part of the andorran, good-humouredly but equally openly on the part of the englishman, who said:

"i grant you that life is very hard for some of our town dwellers in spite of the high wages they obtain."

to which the andorran answered: "there is nothing to grant, your grace, for i would not believe their life was hard; but i was puzzled by what you told me, for i could not make out how they earned so much money, and yet looked so extraordinary." the andorran showed by this that he had visited england.

at this the englishman smiled pleasantly enough and said: "do you think me extraordinary?"

the andorran was a little embarrassed. "no no," he said, "you do not understand the word i use. i do not mean extraordinary to see, i mean unhappy and lacking humanity."

the englishman smiled more genially still[pg 244] in his good wholesome beard, and said: "do i look to you like that?"

"no," said the andorran gravely, "nor does that gentleman whom you pointed out to me when we left france, your english patron, mr. bernstein i think ... you were both well-fed and well-clothed ... and what is more, i know nothing of what you earn. but in andorra we ask about this man and that man indifferently, and especially about the poorest, and when i asked you about the poorest in your towns you told me that there was not one of them who did not earn, when he was fully working, twenty-five pesetas a week. now with twenty-five pesetas a week! oh ...! why, i could live on five, and five weeks of twenty saved is a hundred pesetas; and with a hundred pesetas ...! oh, one can buy a great brood sow; or if one is minded for grandeur, the best coat in the world; or again, a little mule just foaled, which in two years, mind you, in two years" (and here he wagged his finger) "will be a great fine beast" (and[pg 245] here he extended his arms), "and the next year will carry a man over the hills and will sell for five hundred pesetas. yes it will!"

the englishman looked puzzled. "well," said he, leaning forward, ticking off on his fingers and becoming practical, "there's your pound a week."

the andorran nodded. he began ticking it off on his fingers also.

"now of course the man is not always in work."

"if he is lazy," said the andorran with angry eyes, "the neighbours shall see to that!"

"no," said the englishman, irritated, "you don't understand; he can't always find some one to give him work."

"but who gives work?" said the andorran. "work is not given." and then he laughed. "our trouble is to get the youngsters to do it!" and he laughed more loudly.

"you don't understand," repeated the englishman, pestered, "he can't work unless some one allows him to work for him."

[pg 246]

"pooh!" said the andorran, "he could cut down trees or dig, or get up into the hills."

"why," said the englishman with wondering eyes, "the perlice would have him then."

the andorran looked mournful: he had heard the name of something dangerous in this country. he thought it was a ghost that haunted lonely places and strangled men.

"well then," went on the englishman in a practical fashion, again ticking on his fingers, "let us say he can work three weeks out of the five."

"yes?" said the andorran, bewildered.

"he gets, let us say, three times a week's wage in the five weeks.... i don't mind, call it an average of twenty pesetas if you like, or even eighteen."

"what is an 'average'?" said the andorran, frowning.

"an average," said the englishman impatiently, "oh, an average is what he gets all lumped up."

"do you mean," said the andorran gravely,[pg 247] "that he gets eighteen pesetas every saturday?"

"no, no, no!" struck in the englishman. "twenty-five pesetas, as you call them, when he can get work, and nothing when he can't."

"good lord!" said the andorran, with wide eyes and crossing himself. "how does the poor fellow know whether perlice will not be at him again? it is enough to break a man's heart!"

"well, don't argue!" said the englishman, keen upon his tale. "he gets an average, anyhow, of eighteen pesetas, as you call them, a week. now you see, however wretched he is, five of those will go in rent, and if he is a decent man, seven."

the andorran was utterly at sea. "but if he is wretched, why should he pay, and if he is decent why should he pay still more?" he asked.

"why, damn it all!" said the englishman, exploding, "a man must live!"

"precisely," said the andorran rigidly, "that is why i am asking the question. he[pg 248] pays this tax, you say, five pesetas, if he is wretched and seven if he is decent. but a man may be decent although he is wretched, and who is so brutal as to ask a tax of the poor?"

"it isn't a tax," said the englishman. "he pays it for his house."

"but a man could buy a house," said the andorran, "with a few payments like that."

the englishman sighed. "do listen to my explanation. he's got to pay it anyhow."

"well," said the andorran, sighing in his turn, "you must have a wicked king. but, please god, he cannot spend it all on his pleasures."

"it isn't paid to the king, god bless him," said the englishman. "the man pays it to his landlord."

"and suppose he doesn't?" said the andorran defiantly.

"well, the perlice," began the englishman, and the andorran's face showed that he was afraid of occult powers.

[pg 249]

"so there, you see," went on the englishman, calculating along with rapid content, "he's only got thirteen."

the andorran was willing to stretch a point. "well," said he doubtfully, "i will grant him thirteen, and with thirteen pesetas a man can do well enough. his wife milks, and it does not cost much to put a little cotton on the child, and then, of course, if he is too poor to buy a bed, why there is his straw."

"straw's not decent, and we don't allow it," said the englishman firmly; "he doesn't buy a bed always; sometimes he rents it."

"i don't understand," said the andorran, "i don't understand."

there was a little pause during which neither of the two men looked at the other. the englishman went on good-naturedly and laboriously explaining:

"now let's come to bread."

"yes," said the andorran eagerly, "man lives by bread and wine."

"well," said the englishman, ignoring this[pg 250] interruption, "you see, bread for the lot of them would come to half that money."

"yes," said the andorran, nodding, "you are quite right. bread is a very serious thing." and he sighed.

"half of it," continued the englishman, "goes in bread. and then, of course, he has to get a little meat."

"certainly," said the andorran.

"bacon anyhow," the englishman went on, "and there's boots."

"oh, he could do without boots," said the andorran.

"no he can't," said the englishman, "they all have to have boots; and then you see, there's tea."

the andorran was interested in hearing about tea. "you englishmen are so fond of tea," he said, smiling. "i have noticed that you ask for tea. juan has tea to sell."

the englishman nodded genially. "i will buy some of him," he said.

"well, go on," said the andorran.

[pg 251]

"and there's a little baccy, of course"—and he gave the prices of both those articles. "they're a leetle more than you might think," continued the englishman, a little confused. "they're taxed, you see."

"taxed again?" said the andorran.

"yes," said the englishman rapidly, "not much; besides which, i haven't said anything was taxed yet: they pay about double on their tea and about four times on the value of the tobacco. but they don't feel it. oh, if they get regular work they're all right!"

"then," said the andorran, summing it all up, "they ought to do very well."

"yes, they ought," said the englishman, "but somehow they're not steady of themselves: they get pauperised."

"what is that?" said the andorran.

"why, they get to expect things for nothing."

"they think," said the andorran cheerfully, "that good things fall from the sky. i know that sort: we have them." he thought he had[pg 252] begun to understand, and just after he had said this we came to a village.

i must here tell you what i ought to have put at the beginning of these few lines, that i heard this conversation in andorra valley itself, while four of us, the andorran guide, the englishman, myself and an ironist were proceeding through the mountains, riding upon mules.

we had come to the village of encamps, and there we all got down to enter the inn. we had a meal together and paid, the four of us, exactly five shillings and threepence all together for wine and bread, cooked meat, plenty of vegetables, coffee, liqueurs and a cigar.

this was the end of the conversation in andorra: it was my business to return to england after the holiday to write an essay on a point in political economy, to which i did justice; but the conventions of academic writing prevented me from quoting in that essay this remarkable experience.