are defacing the Castillo. Tomorrow, they will manage somehow to spoil
the sea, the sky, and the air.

As for the spirit of the city, it is lamentable. There is no interest in
science, art, literature, history, politics, or anything else. All that
the inhabitants think about are the King, the Queen Regent, yachts, bull
fights, and the latest fashions in trousers.

San Sebastian is a conglomeration of parvenus and upstarts from
Pamplona, Saragossa, Valladolid, Chile and Chuquisaca, who are anxious
to show themselves off. Some do this by walking alongside of the King,
or by taking coffee with a famous bull-fighter, or by bowing to some
aristocrat. The young men of San Sebastian are among the most worthless
in Spain. I have always looked upon them as _infra_ human.

As for the ladies, many of them might be taken for princesses in summer,
but their winter tertulias are on a level with a porter's lodge where
they play _julepe_. It is a card game, but the word means dose, and
Madame Recamier would have fainted at the mention of it.

When I observe these parvenus' attempts to shine, I think to myself:
"The ostentation of the freshman year at college. How unfortunate that
some of us have moved on to the doctorate!"

No one reads in San Sebastian. They run over the society news, and then
drop the paper for fear their brains will begin to smoke.

This city, imagining itself to be so cultivated, although it really is a
new town, is under the domination of a few Jesuit fathers, who, like
most of the present days sons of Loyola, are coarse, heavy and wholly