THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



297 



work irrigating. Their footgear is usually 

 the rope-soled alpargatax. Some wear 

 a wide sash, but the crowd-color is chiefly 

 furnished by the velveteens, which, chosen 

 for their wear-resisting qualities, have 

 with age and patches taken on almost 

 Turneresque hues. Now and then one 

 sees the scarlet Catalan cap, which folds 

 longitudinally of the head and falls over 

 one eye in the fashion once beloved of 

 sea adventurers. Only on Sundays and 

 fete days do the girls don the short skirt 

 and low shoes of the artist's peasant. 

 For the most part the skirt is short for 

 utilitarian reasons, and all beauty of line 

 is destroyed by their clumsy shoes. 



SMUGGLERS REAPING A GOLDEN HARVEST 



Doubtless Andorra smuggles at the 

 best of times. That is the conclusion I 

 reached, at least, from the perfect open- 

 ness with which every one discussed the 

 free-trade proclivities of the Andorrans. 

 One might have thought they were talk- 

 ing of the spring plowing or the price of 

 lambs. And yet Andorran secretiveness 

 has become a proverb in the hills. "Tell 

 a thing to an Andorran and it is lost," is 

 one form of this saying. Nowadays, 

 with the neighbor France in the market 

 for everything that Andorra can furnish, 

 and too busy fighting to watch her dou- 

 anes very carefully, the men of Andorra 

 are reaping a golden harvest. Scandal- 

 ous rumor has it that the Spanish fron- 

 tier guards look with a certain compla- 

 cency on the illegal traffic. 



"I have a cousin who is a frontier 

 guard," a man in Barcelona told me. 

 "He says that if the war lasts another 

 year he will retire. At ten dollars a mule, 

 he is already rich." 



The situation of this quaint little sur- 

 vival of lost ages favors this form of 

 activity. The Republic of Andorra meas- 

 ures about 25 miles in one direction by 

 20 miles in the other, and is located right 

 on the crest of the Pyrenees. It is as 

 though the little State were a wedge 

 driven in and dividing France and Spain 

 at this point. Charlemagne gave the An- 

 dorrans a certain measure of freedom 

 because of their services in the field. 

 They streamed down out of their hills 

 and helped Louis the Debonair fight 

 the Moors, with whom, however, they 



had a very lively quarrel of their own. 

 For that he gave them a franchise. 



"IT IS A POLITICAL CURIOSITY" 



Napoleon looked the little State over. 



"It is a political curiosity," said he. 

 "It must be preserved." 



Andorra has maintained itself as a po- 

 litical entity for more years than has any 

 other republic in the world. The tiny 

 State of San Marino, in Italy, vies with 

 it in point of diminutiveness, but Andorra 

 was hoary with age when San Marino 

 was born. 



It is not worth fighting for, and it 

 makes no trouble that a few policemen 

 would not quell. Nevertheless it is a 

 real State. 



Andorrans pay almost no taxes at all. 

 Each year a small tribute must be paid to 

 the Prince Bishop of Urgel and to the 

 Republic of France, and a levy is made 

 on the incomes of the Andorrans for the 

 purpose. There are almost no other costs 

 attached to the operation of the republic. 

 Each of the six cantons in which the 

 little State is divided elects annually four 

 councilors, and the 24 select one of their 

 number for president. They are paid a 

 few sous each when they attend a meet- 

 ing of the council. Their horses are fed 

 by the State and they have their meals. 

 Now and then the hall of the council 

 needs a new slate on the roof. The an- 

 nual budget stops there. 



The carrier's cart left Seo d'Urgel 

 when it was just light enough in the 

 morning for me to see that my neighbors 

 were all peasant women on their way to 

 St. Julian de Toria, the first Andorran 

 village one reaches and a famous resort 

 of smugglers. Not so long ago a mere 

 mule track connected Seo with the cap- 

 ital, but now a fairly good road follows 

 the winding course of the torrent of the 

 Valira. Coffee is not to be had out of 

 hours at a provincial Spanish inn, and we 

 were more than sharp set when the 

 carter turned us out at St. Julian and 

 made us walk up a grade the mules could 

 not negotiate with a full load. 



A PETE DAY IN ST. JULIAN 



It was a fete day in St. Julian, it ap- 

 peared. A stand in the public square, 

 which was a mere bulbous enlargement 

 of the cart road, had been decked with 



