THE VALE OF SOLLER.--CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE.--INTRODUCTION OF THE
TELEGRAPH.--SUPERSTITION OF THE PEASANTRY.--PRODUCTIONS OF THE
ISLAND.--THE ROAD.--GUARDIA CIVIL.--OBLIGING LANDLADY.--BRIDGE OF
LA MÀ.--BATTLE WITH THE TURKS.
The Vale of Soller, some thirty miles across the island, is the most
delightful excursion the tourist can make. As, of course, we had
resolved to visit it, behold us twisting round the sharp corners of
the narrow streets of Palma in an open carriage, drawn by a team of
four splendid mules at full gallop, with the driver's whip keeping
up a running fire, and the driver himself uttering volleys of yells,
while the people in the street flew right and left like parting waters,
and a crowd of yelping dogs pursued us. After rattling through an old
Moorish arch, and over a drawbridge, we dashed into the open country.
In a short time we came upon a region of gigantic olive-trees. Many
centuries must have fallen upon them, for they were grey and hoar.
Some of the great gnarled trunks, fifteen feet in circumference, were
twisted and tortured by wayward nature into a thousand weird and
uncouth shapes. These wonderful trees, old when the Moor ruled the
island, have outlived many a change in its history. Since their birth,
whole peoples have become dust, and dynasties have passed away. They
are relics of a younger world; and as twilight falls around them,
they loom with their long, lean arms and distorted trunks, gaunt and
ghastly, against the dull grey air, like an assembly of ancient ghosts.
From this scene we emerged into wide plains, green with sprouting corn,
and bordered by gigantic aloes. These plains yield three crops a year.
On jog the jingling mules, while the clouds of yellow dust whirl away
in the morning breeze. We pass pretty flat-roofed, Oriental-looking
houses, with coloured blinds and balconies, buried in groves of acacia
and prickly pear. We were saluted on our way by many a dark-eyed maid,
hooded in her gauzy capote, and with the one long plait of hair, or by
stalwart labourers as they walked briskly to their day's work.
There were other peasants working in the fields, dressed in long, loose
Turkish trousers and bright sash, their heads bound in gaudy kerchiefs,
who all paused from their labour to wave a greeting as we passed, and
to cry, "Tenga, Señores, tenga."[28] In character, these good people
are the reverse of their neighbours of Valencia or Catalonia. They are
so simple and honest, that crime in Majorca is a great exception; while
in Valencia it is dangerous to walk abroad after dark without some
weapon of defence, and that, of course, is useless against the assassin
who approaches from behind. In this homely isle one may wander about as
much as he pleases, in the alleys of the city or amidst the mountain
passes, secure and unmolested. There are few or no means of escape for
the criminal, and, therefore, his detection is certain, for the people
refuse him all shelter. Majorcans eagerly desire to maintain peace and
order in their island, and crime is, therefore, rendered a losing game.
The Majorcan peasants, however, are superstitious to a degree, and
densely ignorant. This may be accounted for by the fact that the mass
of the population consists of the labouring classes, and that they
are so completely isolated from the rest of mankind. To attempt,
therefore, to engraft upon their primitive minds any scientific or
artistic improvement is an unfruitful task. A few years ago a line of
telegraphic communication was attempted between Soller and Palma; but
as soon as the poles and wires were erected, they were in many places
destroyed, not from wilful malice, but from a fixed notion that the
telegraph was some diabolical invention of the Evil One, destined to
bring them to any amount of grief. It was in vain to expostulate or
explain. The wires were cut and cut again. However, upon the magnetic
principle being made known to the peasantry of the district, some more
enlightened than the rest wished to test its efficacy by positive
proof; and when they heard that messages might be sent along the wires,
they concluded that goods and chattels might be transported in the
same manner from place to place. Consequently, during the first week
after the telegraph had commenced operations, all sorts of things were
found hanging on the wires for a distance of nearly five miles--bundles
of clothes, pairs of knickerbockers, petticoats, baskets of edibles,
and even wigs. In fact, an _olla podrida_ of domestic articles, all
neatly ticketed and addressed, was found waving in the breeze. The
good peasantry, however, finding that the telegraph was longer in its
transmission of these articles to their destination than they had
anticipated, naturally concluded that the whole thing was a hoax and
a swindle on the part of the Government and Satan, and wreaked their
vengeance upon the unfortunate poles and wires by knocking them down.
We had approached to the foot of the mountain range we had hitherto
seen from afar, to which the road ascended by gradual inclines. The
higher we wound from the heat below, the sharper became the breeze.
On all sides Alpine vegetation spread around, perfuming the air with
a hundred odours. We pursued the zig-zags until we were enclosed by
a semicircle of enormous precipices and stupendous rocks, on whose
beetling brows the toppling fir-trees clung. We felt overwhelmed by
the sight of these stupendous masses, for it seemed as if a breath
would dislodge them, and hurl them down upon us. The road, escaping
for a time from the deep recesses of these adamantine walls, skirted
the level edge of a lofty precipice; and, on one occasion, we splashed
through a torrent which, a few feet on our left, fell in a wide arch
over the rocky margin, and rushed, silvering in the sunny air, far down
into the dark gulf beneath, while the roar of its waters echoed like
distant thunder amongst the hollows of the desolate mountains. Again
we ascended, and in proportion as we rose, the peaks seemed to rear
themselves above us. Then we dived into a vast enclosure of vertical
walls, in which we felt as if in a prison, deep and gloomy itself, but
from which we could see the bright vault of heaven above.
After an hour's climb in this sombre valley, we sat down for rest and
a _cigarillo_ on a way-side stone to await the coming of the mules
and carriage. As we looked back through the rocky pass by which we
had entered the gorge, we had a pleasant, though far distant, view of
light green slopes and wide spreading plains, shining brightly in the
yellow glow of day, and occasionally tinted with the grey hues of the
olive. Bounding these plains, in a long narrow line of dazzling light,
were the white walls of Palma; while beyond, its hue contrasting with
the transparent blue of the spotless sky, and flecked here and there
by the white sail of the feluccas, quivered the long high line of
the purple sea. Higher yet we ascend, over roads paved by the Moors
six hundred years ago. Leaving the carriage on the path below, we
scramble up through tangled shrubberies, through cactus, aloes, carob,
evergreen oak, and ancient olive. All around and over us are piled the
wild mountains, with forests of pine scaling to their very peaks, and
standing out like funeral plumes in dark, black fringes against the
radiant sky. We pass groups of strong sunburnt peasants, with a simple
goat-skin tied upon their backs for a garment. We perceive among them
timid girls, large-eyed and hooded, with streaming plaits of blue-black
or golden auburn hair, and old women, squatting on mules, with their
heads covered by the hat, or masculine head-gear, like that worn by the
women of Wales. Wider and wider, as we rise above the lower landscape,
spreads the glorious prospect behind us--wild rock, verdant slope,
sunny plains, streaked with the dusky olive, the long, white line of
the distant city, and the dark blue breast of the dreaming sea; until,
of a sudden, we pass over a dark rocky plateau, and the scene drops
quickly from view, like the dreams of boyhood, the bright yearnings of
youth, and all things of beauty which are born to fade,--
"Youth's fond dreams, like evening skies,
Are tinged with colours bright;
Their cloud-built walls and turrets rise
In lines of dazzling light.
But Time wears on with stealthy pace,
And robes of solemn grey,
And in the shadow of its face,
The glories fade away."
But a truce to moralising, or we shall never get on with the journey.
We pass over the rocky plateau, and everything behind us, as we begin
our descent, is totally eclipsed. In advance, deep and far below,
resting in the very lap of one vast chaos of wild and lofty mountains,
lies the white little town of Soller. Its scattered groups of toy-like
houses are gleaming from out the dark-green of orange groves and bowers
of citron. The long declines of the yellow road appear, from our
elevated position, to wind away into the distant foliage like golden
serpents. All around rise giant rocks, and enormous blocks, reft by the
lightning from their parent walls, hang threatening on the very verge
of lofty cliffs high above us; while the great azure circle cut out of
heaven by the vast coronet of peaks which, at a great altitude aloft,
sweeps round the scene, is clear and spotless, save where an eagle
poised on level wing is bathing in the balmy air. Down rattles the
calèche, and the four black mules jingle merrily on. Turn after turn is
made in the road, and rock and gorge assume wilder proportions, until
on a sudden the enormous peak of the Puig Mayor, the loftiest mountain
in Majorca, is seen towering upwards in gloomy majesty over the fair
scene below.
As we descended we breathed a warmer atmosphere, and at last found
ourselves in the fragrant valley of Soller, in the very heart of its
green and fruitful bosom, where the air was heavy with the odour of
the orange-flower, and the fig in profusion purpled on the tree. We
threaded lane after lane, shaded over with the deep green branches
which met overhead, the golden fruit hanging from them in festoons, and
temptingly inviting us to pluck them. The whole country around seemed
like a wide garden, in the midst of which waved palms and pampas-grass.
There was everywhere a richness of verdure, a profusion of life, which
showed the fecundity of nature in these Southern climes. The charm
of the scenery was much increased by the contrast between the savage
mountains, so bare and rocky, and the perfect paradise which nature in
her benigner moments had created in every valley.[29]
The village of Soller is a credit to the Spanish nation and to itself.
Spain and its towns are dirty and malodorous, sanitary laws being
generally neglected; but here, in this remote corner of her dominions,
lying unknown and buried in a deep mountain basin, and secluded from
the rest of the world, she possesses a beautiful little village,
remarkable for the cleanliness of its houses and people. At Soller, as
everywhere throughout the island, there is a decency of deportment, a
respect for law, a modesty and urbanity of demeanor which it is really
delightful to witness.
The interior of the little inn, or _posada_--which means literally a
place of repose--is washed and whitewashed, scrubbed and polished,
until it is as free from speck or stain as the far-famed Dutch villages
which are held up to the Great Unwashed at large as sanitary and
salutary examples. The little trestle bedsteads of white wood, with
their snowy sheets, in the little whitewashed bedrooms, seem in their
happy ignorance of the flea to put completely to the blush those foul
and noisome beds in Spanish inns in which the wearied traveller lies
down, not to find repose, but to offer himself a helpless victim
to myriads of enemies, who from every nook and cranny come forth,
thirsting for his blood.
The valley of Soller, only six miles in circumference, realizes
£25,000 per annum by the sale of its oranges and lemons, and £30,000
by its oil. The olive trees grow luxuriantly everywhere, and on
terraces cut out of the slopes of the mountains are nursed into the
highest perfection. The roads are in excellent condition, and so much
engineering skill has been displayed in their construction that the
transit of fruit over the mountains to the port of embarkation is a
comparatively easy matter. All the roads, the mountain passes, and
the island generally, are protected, although from the character of
the Majorcans the precaution is scarcely necessary, by a fine body
of police, called the _Guardia Civil_. They are a manly, robust body
of men, numbering eleven thousand, including those who are employed
on the entire eastern coast of the mainland, a comparatively small
number being required in the islands. In many parts of Spain proper,
brigandage exists to a considerable extent, and the whole force is
therefore ordered to parade their allotted districts with loaded
carbines. In Majorca their offices, as we have said, are little needed,
but on the mainland their interference is often requisite, and they
perform their arduous duties with all the rigour necessary for the
maintenance of law amongst the daring races who inhabit the mountains
and sea-coasts of Spain. If anyone who is discovered in the act of
setting the law at defiance refuses to surrender, he is shot down
without mercy. These intrepid men have often to maintain most unequal
struggles, and are, of course, held in great detestation amongst the
criminal classes, by whom they are frequently made victims to their
thirst for vengeance. Their uniform is picturesque, yet workmanlike,
consisting precisely of the costume of the popular Italian brigand
without his tawdry finery.
The great charm of the Majorcan population is that they are a distinct
island race, with a language almost of their own; and having lived for
centuries happily and contentedly as one family, they are docile and
orderly, and courteous to a degree to strangers. Steam has only been
introduced of late years, and up to the first arrival of _El Vapor_
they were comparatively cut off from all the world, its plots and
passions, and engrossed in their own quiet industrious pursuits.
Majorca is at present free from the plague of tourists. Scarcely a
stranger intrudes, beyond the city of Palma, into the recesses of its
woods, mountains, and villages. Consequently the charge for everything
is remarkably moderate, and on the occasion of our excursion to Soller
we had a capital dinner for five people,[30] including a sack of four
hundred oranges fresh from the boughs, for ten shillings, besides a
deal of stroking, and patting, and shaking of hands on the part of
the "fair, fat, and forty" landlady, her daughter, and mine host of
the Fonda de la Paz, upon our departure for the mountain pass of El
Barranco. The good landlady, who is also cook, we understood danced a
characteristic dance some twelve years ago before Lord L----e, on his
visit to Soller, like the daughter of Herodias before Herod. Being at
the time of our visit of sufficient dimensions to put up in the middle
of a room for an invalid to walk ten times round in the course of a
day, as a measurement for a term of gentle exercise, that lady very
properly abstained from repeating her Terpsichorean experiments upon
this occasion. Had she given way to her love of the graceful exercise,
she would have borne no very distant resemblance to a frisky elephant,
and might probably have broken through the floor of the apartment.
From the _mirador_, or pretty terrace on the top of the house, entwined
with vine-leaves and jasmine, and partly shaded with the fig and
various sweet-scented plants, a lovely view of well-nigh the entire
valley, with its mass of vegetable life, its wide orange groves, and
its waving palms, is obtained, while the fragrance of the orange flower
is wafted through every casement. The winter climate of the valley is
mild and delicious, as its tropical vegetation amply testifies; while
the heat in summer is never too intense, for an opening through the
heart of the mountains towards the north-west, through which a small
silver river flows to the sea, admits the freshening breeze.
From Soller we started on a beautiful walk to the port (El Puerto
de Soller), situated on the north-west coast. The road lay through
orange groves, and avenues of gigantic bamboos and enormous aloes,
the little river flowing swiftly on by our side. When we had advanced
some distance an old battered bridge appeared before us. This was the
bridge of La Má, where in the middle of the sixteenth century a fearful
struggle, accompanied with great slaughter, occurred between a host
of invading Turks and the gallant men of Soller. The inhabitants of
the little town, although greatly outnumbered, were nerved by the
energy of despair, and it was a question of "to do or die." They must
either conquer or leave their old men, their wives, their kindred, and
little ones to enemies who knew no mercy, but would certainly doom
them to dishonour, death, or slavery. Arming themselves, therefore,
hastily with whatever weapons they could collect, the little band of
six hundred[31] knelt down in the market-place and prayed fervently to
the God of the Christians to bless their arms. Then, committing their
families to the care of heaven, they marched to the attack. The Turkish
army, having landed at three o'clock in the morning, had imagined they
could take the town by surprise, while its inhabitants were sunk in
slumber; but their fleet had been previously seen in the offing by the
Majorcans from their watch-tower at the port, and signalled to the
Soller garrison. At the bridge of La Má the opposing forces met, and
the battle raged with equal ardour on both sides. In the midst of the
struggle a rumour reached the Christian troops that another band of
Turks had appeared near their town by a circuitous route, and were
slaughtering their families and firing their homes. This sad message
for a moment fell upon their hearts like a knell of despair, and for a
short time they were so dispirited that the Turks gained some temporary
advantage. At this critical moment the calm, quick wisdom of Juan
Angelats, the patriot leader, saw that upon one supreme effort depended
the issue of the day. Leaping upon a mound, with the banner of the
Red Cross of St. George waving in his hand, and in full sight of both
armies, with bare head and flaming eyes, he shouted, "Sons of Soller!
if we retire we are scattered and lost. Rally, rally! Our families are
in the hands of God. Charge for vengeance and Saint George, and let not
an infidel escape. Forward, in the name of the Holy Virgin!" With one
loud shout the gallant band rushed on with the impetuous speed of a
vast bolt discharged upon the foe. Nothing could withstand the violence
of their assault, and crossing the river over the heap of Turkish
dead, they spread death and destruction among the Mohammedan troops,
being resolved neither to ask nor to give quarter. Ysuf, the enemy's
leader, fell pierced through and through, and the falling ranks of the
infidels, dropping victims at every step in their retreat, fled in wild
disorder to their galleys; only one-fourth of the invaders eventually
landing at Algiers to attest the prowess of the Christian patriot.
Shortly after passing the bridge of La Má we arrived at the port of
Soller, formed by a little bay, at the entrance of which, on either
side, rise lofty rocks, covered with olive, and with patches of dwarf
oak, while occasional pines wave their sombre heads gloomily in the
breeze. It is a wild and desolate place, the only sound which is
heard being that of the blue waves as they dash ceaselessly on the
silent shore. A ruined Moorish tower rises up, stark and grey, on
the storm-battered rocks, like some melancholy spirit brooding over
recollections of the past. A few small fishing craft, which are all
that seek refuge here, sway to-and-fro, moored to the shore, beneath
some humble cottages overlooking the low wall of the little harbour.
The bay itself is to all intents fathomless, being the basin of an
extinct volcano, and there is consequently no anchorage for ships.
FOOTNOTES:
[28] The usual passing form of salutation in Majorca. It means "good
day," or "good night," or anything civil in fact.
[29] There may be some who will suspect this account of an almost
unknown but comparatively near island to be exaggerated. To such we
say, some day, instead of going to Geneva, go to Majorca.
[30] We were accompanied by Captain Graham, Her Majesty's Consul
at Palma; Captain Wood, R.N., and Mrs. Wood. To all of them we are
indebted for the greatest kindness and courtesy shown to us during our
stay in Majorca.
[31] Strange to say--the number of the gallant few who rode at
Balaclava.
[Illustration: [++] Decorative Image]