HUMBLE AND A WANDERER


Some years ago, I cannot say just how many, probably twelve or fourteen,
during the days when I led, or thought I led, a nomadic life, happening
to be in San Sebastian, I went to visit the Museum with the painter
Regoyos. After seeing everything, Soraluce, the director, indicated that
I was expected to inscribe my name in the visitor's register, and after
I had done so, he said:

"Place your titles beneath."

"Titles!" I exclaimed. "I have none."

"Then put down what you are. As you see, the others have done the same."

I looked at the book. True enough; there was one signature, So-and-So,
and beneath, "Chief of Administration of the Third Class and Knight of
Charles III"; another, Somebody Else, and beneath was written "Commander
of the Battalion of Isabella the Catholic, with the Cross of Maria
Cristina."

Then, perhaps slightly irritated at having neither titles nor honours
(burning with an anarchistic and Christian rancour, as Nietzsche would
have it), I jotted down a few casual words beneath my signature:

"Pio Baroja, a humble man and a wanderer."