whither; they meander on for
half a mile and stop suddenly, or turn back, so that you are forced to
go in the direction you came. You may wander for hours, trying to find
some point that from the steeple appeared quite close. Sometimes you
think they are interminable.

IX

[Sidenote: The Bridge of Calahorra]

The bridge that the Moors built over the Guadalquivir straggles across
the water with easy arches. Somewhat dilapidated and very beautiful, it
has not the strenuous look of such things in England, and the mere sight
of it fills you with comfort. The clustered houses, with an added
softness from the light burning mellow on their roofs and on their white
walls, increase the happy impression that the world is not necessarily
hurried and toilful. And the town, separated from the river by no formal
embankment, lounges at the water's edge like a giant, prone on the grass
and lazy, stretching his limbs after the mid-day sleep.

There is no precipitation in such a place as Cordova; life is quite long
enough for all that it is really needful to do; to him who waits come
all things, and a little waiting more or less can be of no great
consequence. Let everything be taken very leisurely, for there is ample
time. Yet in other parts of Andalusia they say the Cordovese are the
greatest liars and the biggest thieves in Spain, which points to
considerable industry. The traveller, hearing this, will doubtless ask
what business has the pot to call the kettle black; and it is true that
the standard of veracity throughout the country is by no means high.
But this can scarcely be termed a vice, for the Andalusians see in it
nothing discreditable, and it can be proved as exactly as a proposition
of Euclid that vice and virtue are solely matters of opinion. In
Southern Spain bosom friends lie to one another with complete freedom;
no man would take his wife's word, but would believe only what he
thought true, and think no worse of her when he caught her fibbing.
Mendacity is a thing so perfectly understood that no one is abashed by
detection. In England most men equivocate and nearly all women, but they
are ashamed to be discovered; they blush and stammer and hesitate, or
fly into a passion; the wiser Spaniard laughs, shrugging his shoulders,
and utters a dozen rapid falsehoods to make up for the first. It is
always said that a good liar needs an excellent memory, but he wants
more qualities than that--unblushing countenance,