other country the most presumptuous among us would have hesitated
before invading the garden of unknown owners. But we were in the
Fortunate Isles and the charm of their unconventionality influenced
us. Walking in, we found some conveniently placed stone seats under
the shade of a huge lemon-tree, and there we spread our feast of
lamb cutlets, potato omelets, cakes and fruit.
The house, of one corner of whose quaintly terraced garden we had
taken possession, appeared to be untenanted. Its windows were
closely shuttered, its stable empty; but soon from the highest
terrace an old head peeped at us. A little later it appeared on a
terrace lower, then nearer still, the attached body becoming
gradually more and more visible, until the owner appeared before us
in the person of an aged woman whose frivolously abbreviated
petticoats seemed incompatible with her sober face.
It was the caretaker, come not to warn us that we were intruding,
but to urge us to leave the place we had chosen for one where there
was a proper table and much water.
We resisted her enticements and she trotted off, her appearance a
ludicrous combination of propriety and indecorum, with her serious
face swathed in its black kerchief and her lavishly displayed light
drab ankles.
She did not quite abandon us, however; and when the men had gone off
to paint she returned, and was so evidently desirous that we would
not leave before seeing the marvels of the garden, that we consented
to allow her to show them.
And, indeed, the arrangement of the grounds revealed much ingenuity.
The spot where she would have had us eat was a stone-built
_mirador_, through a shallow cave, at whose back a mountain torrent
had been induced to flow. As she had promised, there was both "a
table" and "much water." In summer the suggestion of coolness
imparted by even a trickle of water would be charming. Then, with
the torrent rushing at breakneck speed, the effect was a little
overpowering and the noise positively deafening. Our chosen place
under the big lemon-tree might not be so extraordinary, but it had a
placid charm that soothed while it did not detract from the matter
in hand.
The nephew of our unconsciously serio-comic cicerone, in the person
of a one-eyed _calender_--I beg his pardon, gardener--joined us to
reveal fresh attractions of summer-house and rivulets, and of a
grotto where, amid a perfect cascade of maidenhair-fern, a graceful
statue of Our Lady of Lourdes was embowered. From every point the
view was lovely, but I defy anybody to find a spot about Deya that
does not afford a lovely prospect.
When we left the place our lady of the stockings, eager to do
something for the generous tip the Good Fairy had slipped into her
hand, insisted on carrying our hamper. And during the remainder of
our afternoon at Deya, whether we went up hill or down dale, amongst
the picturesque houses clustered on the church-crowned hill or
through the gardens that lined the side of the river, we seemed
always to be encountering her. Whether she was paying a round of
visits to display her coin, or bound on an exhaustive shopping
expedition to squander it, we did not know; but at every turn of the
road we seemed to see the twinkle of those drab ankles.
One of the many charms of Deya is the proximity of the sea, which
laves the foot of its valley. Another is its delicious irregularity.
I do not believe there are a half-dozen yards of straight road in
Deya. Every house has its own elevation, its individual bypaths.
Another and an invaluable charm to artists is the manageable quality
of its pictorial effects. The extensive grandeur of Miramar is
almost unpaintable, but Deya has a complete picture at every turn.
We saw many in the course of that afternoon stroll. Women washing,
men gathering oranges, a handsome woman in a petticoat of vivid
scarlet leading a recalcitrant black goat: all ready for
transference to canvas.
The hours flew past. Almost before we knew, dusk was falling and we
were on our way back to where the snow-capped Puig Mayor presides
over the wonderful Soller valley.
We had been a little apprehensive, expecting a repetition of the
somewhat hazardous morning journey. But the Good Fairy's appeal to
the chivalry of the Spaniard had borne immediate result. Every stone
had been laboriously removed from the path. So without hindrance we
rattled gaily down into the valley, where lights were already
twinkling through the dusk.
The final day of our visit to Soller brought yet another experience
of unusual interest. Our hostess had still another surprise in store
for us. We had viewed the high mountains from beneath, now we were
going to see them from the crest of one of their number.
Pepe took the reins in his skilled hands and guided the surefooted
mules, who, for this expedition, replaced the white horses, up a
perilous road that curved about the mountain-side, rising higher and
ever higher until we looked down over the many terraces of olives
into the valley that lay placidly basking in the afternoon sunshine.
Our ascent was necessarily very deliberate. As we wound slowly up we
passed neither dwelling nor human being; and those of us to whom the
way was new began to wonder why any road should have existed on so
lonely a height. Then when we had got so high that it seemed as
though an eaglet's aerie would be the most likely habitation, the
road ended on a flat plateau, and we found ourselves driving into
the outer courtyard of a farm-house so old and weather-beaten that
in appearance it resembled the rocks and crags that surrounded it.
We alighted unnoticed. Doves were flying overhead. A dog greeted our
advent with an interrogative growl; fowls clucked about unheeding.
Pepe, rolling himself up in a striped blanket, curled up on the box
to await the hour when it might be our pleasure to return. And we
walked on, wondering if we had left the everyday world behind in the
valley and had all unwittingly climbed to the palace of the sleeping
beauty.
A stone-cast from the house was a _mirador_ known to our
conductress. Securely seated therein, poised right on the edge of
the mountain-crest, we looked at the vast panorama. Crags rose high
about us. Behind and above us towered an unfamiliar side of the Puig
Mayor, its massive shoulders deep in drifted snow.
Far beneath, looking like some gaily coloured map when seen from
that height, lay the port of Soller with its lake-like harbour and
pigmy headlands. And northwards spread the far-reaching sea, whose
grandeur no altitude could dwarf.
The sensation of being above the world was gloriously exhilarating.
When a bird flew overhead we almost felt as though we too had
wings, and two lines from Davidson's _Ballad of a Nun_ kept running
through my mind:
"I am sister to the mountains now,
And sister to the sun and moon."
Leaving the _mirador_, we wandered happily about the plateau. Among
the grass a strange flower was blooming, and it seemed quite natural
that this amazing location should boast a flower of its own. It was
an orchid whose sugarloaf-shaped spike was covered with florets of
dull purple, close-packed after the manner of a grape hyacinth. In
many of the plants the flowers burst into a tuft at the top. It was
strange and not pretty, but curiously in keeping with its isolated
situation.
When we returned to the house Pepe, swathed in his blanket, was
still deep in the slumber of the man of tranquil mind: but the
mistress of the house was at hand. Approaching, she greeted us with
grave courtesy. She had the remains of much beauty. The soft bloom
of girlhood lingered on her matronly cheeks, and the retrospective
look of one accustomed to deep solitude was in her fine dark eyes.
On her invitation we entered the house, whose tall sides surrounded
an inner courtyard. One end of the big cool kitchen was partitioned
off with high-backed settles, and right on the middle of the floor
of the "cosy corner" thus formed a pile of logs was glowing. Looking
up, we saw that overhead the roof contracted until it became a wide
chimney, through which a glimpse of blue sky was visible. A gun hung
on the whitewashed wall, and on one of the seats which was thickly
spread with skins a shepherd lad was resting.
Returning to the _mirador_, we watched the sun sink in a golden
glory over the misty blue sea. Then, lamenting the inevitable close
of another perfect day, we drove back down the vagrant deviating
way, feeling as though we had for a brief space been translated to a
new and inspiring world.
It was with sincere regret that on the morning of Holy Thursday we
bade the Good Fairy farewell and, with Pepe again as charioteer,
started on our drive back by way of Deya, Miramar, and Valldemosa to
Palma, where we had an afternoon engagement.
The scenery of this coast road must rank with the finest in the
world, and on that March morning it was looking its loveliest. There
was no wind, and both sea and sky were of that deep warm azure that
makes so fitting a background to Balearic Island vistas.
On reaching the first houses of Deya, we stopped the carriage, and
alighting, climbed the easy ascent to the church. Halfway up the
slope a French artist was painting, filling in his canvas with a
delicate mosaic of heliotropes and pinks and purples.
He was enthusiastic about the pictorial quality of his surroundings.
"Deya," he declared, was "_un paradis pour les peintres_."
When we peeped into the church Mass was being celebrated, and from
the dusk of the interior the eyes of young communicants looked
gravely at us from under their white wreaths.
Amid the clustered houses halfway down the hill a quaint old
building proclaimed itself the Casa Consistorial. A worm-eaten stair
led to the town hall. The iron-barred door of the dungeon opened at
a touch, revealing its abandonment to the base uses of a
lumber-shed. As far as we could see, the sole person in charge of
the municipal chambers of Deya was a year-old infant who occupied a
low chair in the wide-roofed porch. He, however, maintained a
magisterial dignity of demeanour throughout our cursory inspection
of the premises.
As we left the valley the lofty crags and olive-clad slopes of
Miramar rose about us. Their appearance was already familiar, and it
was with a positive thrill of pleasure that we saw them again.
Across the smooth surface of the Mediterranean a liner was passing,
and we wondered what impression the passengers would get of the
island.
We reached the Hospederia to find that for the moment the solitude
that in November we had found so attractive had vanished. Evidently
some periodic household inspection was in process, for in the wide
doorway women sat mending house-linen, and children clinging to
their skirts glanced shyly at us.
Fernando was absent, but Netta remembered us, and brought a large
glass jug of the matchless Miramar water out to the _mirador_
overhanging the sea just beyond the house whither Pepe had already
carried our lunch.
Valldemosa was looking lovely in the fresh green beauty of spring,
when an hour later we drove through its steep streets. The terrace
gardens of the old Carthusian monastery were sweet with bud and
blossom; and on the road beneath, a couple of bearded brown-robed
Franciscan monks, treading softly on sandalled feet, gave us
greeting.
As we left the gorge whose precipitous sides rose high overhead, an
eagle, clearly outlined against the azure sky, gave the finishing
touch to the wild beauty of the spot.
After the soul-inspiring grandeur of the everlasting hills, the
plain, in spite of its luxuriant verdure, seemed tame; and even
Palma appeared almost uninteresting. But it must be admitted that we
were approaching it by the back way--by the kitchen entrance, so to
speak--and in strict justice Palma should be entered by the front
door, which is the port.
We had been invited to the palace of one of the noble Majorcan
families to witness the passing of the Holy Thursday procession, and
as we walked into Palma in the early evening, signs of preparation
for the ceremonial were in evidence. Strangely clad figures, looking
supernaturally tall in their long robes and high pointed hoods, were
advancing towards the city. And their odd garb and masked faces gave
them the appearance of beings strayed from out the dread days of the
Spanish Inquisition.
By the gate of Santa Catalina one of the masked men--his
face-covering thrown back--was having a heated argument with a
_consumero_ respecting a demand for payment of duty on the tall
candle he carried. And within the gates like figures were to be seen
all advancing towards some given point.
Outside the walls, where the buildings were comparatively new, the
weirdly garbed shapes had seemed anachronisms, with more than a hint
of the fancy dress carnival about them; but once within the walls of
the ancient city, its narrow streets and tall closely shuttered
dwellings made fitting setting for their mediaeval guise.
In the streets ladies wearing mantillas and the costumes of black
brocaded satin that they reserve for religious ceremonials were
hastening, rosaries in hand, from one church to another. It is the
custom to visit as many churches as possible on Holy Thursday. One
lady we knew told us she had entered twenty-two that day.
Just opposite the old palace on whose balconies we were placed was
one of the five churches through which the procession was to pass.
In the roadway beneath, people had already gathered in expectation
of its approach, and as we waited a sound of distant music,
monotonous, penetrating, reached us. Then the town drummers, led by
a small body of mounted civil guards (who defiled to a side and rode
on to await their exit from the farther door of the building)
appeared, and still vigorously plying their drum-sticks, marched
into the church.
Very few members of the clergy were to be seen. The participants in
the solemnity were almost entirely laymen. Representatives of many
municipal bodies took part in the procession. There were civic
authorities who carried a well-brushed silk hat in one of their
white-gloved hands and a lighted candle in the other: doctors,
members of the Red Cross Society, the town band, firemen, police,
boys from the orphanage, old men from the workhouse--all evidently
proudly conscious of the importance of their position.
[Illustration: Processionists of Holy Thursday]
At intervals a platform supporting one of the fine carved images
from the Cathedral was borne by. When the beautiful effigy of the
Crucified Christ from the Church of La Sangre--that exquisite statue
to whose flowing hair so many women have gloried to contribute their
tresses--was carried past, the expectant crowd fell upon its knees
before it.
To our untutored eyes a striking feature of the observance was the
long succession of masked penitents, who, bearing tall lighted
candles, walked in a double line. The hue of their robes varied from
almost bright blue to the more effective black and white. Some were
handsomely embroidered, others plain. Two of the men were laden with
chains; and one at least trod the cobble stones with naked feet, in
public fulfilment of a vow taken in a time of impending danger.
Most of the penitents held lace-edged handkerchiefs to protect the
candles from the warmth of their hands; but in spite of the
precaution certain of the candles already showed signs of softening.
Many of the processionists bore emblems of the Passion, and one
group as it entered the church broke into a mournful chant.
One of the observances of the function appeared to be the
distribution of sweets. It was curiously incongruous to see the
masked figures drop comfits into outstretched hands. We noted one
pause before a pretty pink-clad senorita, who with her _duena_ was
standing opposite our balcony, and signing to her to open the silver
chain-bag she held, he poured into it a great handful of sugared
almonds, to her blushing satisfaction.
The ceremony was imposing, touching, full of affecting suggestion;
but even as we looked we could not help regretting that night had
not fallen. Then the sight of a long sequence of quaint figures
bearing the tall lighted tapers through the sombre crooked streets
of the old town would have been much more impressive.
[Illustration: During the Carnival at Palma]
XXIII
OF FAIR WOMEN AND FINE WEATHER
The first thing that impresses the traveller regarding the
inhabitants of Majorca is the prevalence of good-looking young men
and of pretty and graceful young women. Legend tells that in
long-past days the people of Majorca were induced to make a treaty
with the Dey of Algiers, by whose terms they yearly paid him a
tribute of a hundred virgins, on condition that he restrained his
piratical hordes from molesting the island. One feels that the Dey
had an eye for beauty, for in these favoured isles to be handsome
seems to be the rule, not the exception.
While young the Majorcan women are charming after a peculiarly
feminine fashion. Compared with them French working women of the
same class are hard of feature and masculine and ungainly of form.
Their features are refined, their complexions clear, their feet
slender, their hands small, shapely, and well-cared for. When I
mentally compared the condition of their hands with those of the
rough toil-hardened hands of the women of the British working
classes, I wondered if the substitution of charcoal for coal and of
olive oil for grease in cooking could account for their better
preservation.
To rise to the admired standard of aristocratic Majorca a man should
look as though he had never done a day's work in his life. His hands
should be soft, his skin untanned. A youth who had been yachting
declared regretfully that on his return to Palma he was so brown
that none of the girls would look at him!
To judge from a letter written to the Palma paper, _La Almudaina_,
by a Majorcan on board an Italian liner bound for the Argentine, the
delicacy and fine modelling of Majorcan hands would seem to be
locally recognized and even gloried in.
"What a misfortune," lamented the Voyager, "that the
Italians have feet and hands so large, and fingers so
twisted. Oh, hands of my country, with slender fingers
and blushing nails, how my eyes feel home-sick to look
upon you!"
Women of all classes wear long skirts, which on being daintily held
up reveal natty petticoats; and all show a pleasing taste in
footgear. Boots are cheap in Majorca, and the servant maid or the
work-girl on their Sunday afternoon promenade on the Borne will wear
smart shoes of patent leather or high-heeled boots of cream-hued
kid.
Nothing more charming or more suitable for everyday wear than the
native head-dresses--a mantilla of black lace for the mistress, a
_rebozillo_ of white muslin for her maid--could possibly be devised.
While for gala occasions, such as a bull-fight, the white lace
blossom-bedecked mantilla is positively captivating. And one
sincerely regrets that, in Palma at least, the hat is gradually
making its way. The ladies who lead Palma fashion wear hats, and
where they lead others hasten to follow.
A positive thrill of excitement runs through fashionable Palma when
notice is received of the approaching visit of a milliner or
costumier from Paris or Madrid. The hotel where the private view of
the new season's styles is held is thronged with eager buyers. When
the cream of the stock has been secured, the enterprising adventurer
disposes of the skim milk to the second-rate local shops, and sets
sail with full pockets. The pity is that, with both the tradition
and the usage of so picturesque a national custom for guidance,
matrons who themselves rigidly adhere to the mantilla should,
doubtless from the best possible motives, condemn their young
daughters to wear hats.
Even at the best the prevalent mode in hats was ugly, and possibly
the choice in Palma was limited, but it must be admitted that in the
matter of hat selection their customary refinement of taste appeared
occasionally to have deserted the Palma mothers. It was sad to see
the nice modest face of a young girl overshadowed by a huge erection
of green or red felt that was trimmed with a wild scurry of
dishevelled plumage--a style of headgear that might not have looked
out of place in the Old Kent Road, but which looked hopelessly
incongruous over the grave expectant eyes of a young Majorcan lady.
Contrasted with the life of an English maiden, which is full of
varied employments and endless social entertainments, the existence
of a Majorcan young lady would appear to be needlessly lacking in
interests.
She does not ride, or shoot, or golf, or cycle, or play tennis or
croquet, or do gardening, or smoke cigarettes. She has little
concern with politics, and she is content to leave the care of the
poor to an efficient staff of clergy.
She has been carefully and thoroughly educated. She has probably had
a special governess to teach her English, another for French or
Italian. The private chaplain may have instructed her in Spanish,
and she probably has a good knowledge of classical music.
But, her course of study over, there seems little left for her to
do. In the morning she goes to Mass; later she performs miracles of
intricate embroidery. In the afternoon she drives out, in winter
always in a closed carriage, and nearly always in the same
direction, which is westwards towards Ben Dinat. Sometimes the
carriage stops, and the occupants, alighting, take a little
promenade; then, re-entering the carriage, drive back to the tall
old palace in some narrow street in the city. After Mass on Sundays
she strolls on the Borne; from four o'clock till sunset she may
promenade on the ramparts or on the mole. That is the substance of a
Palma girl's exercise, and everywhere she goes her footsteps are
carefully shadowed by those of her _duena_.
Private dances, musical evenings, afternoon "At Homes," private
theatricals, are almost unknown. There are plenty of house-parties,
especially in summer, when the family is living at one or other of
its country seats; but those gatherings are usually confined to
relatives. Then there are the infrequent bull-fights; and
occasionally a dance is given at the fashionable club, the _Circulo
Mallorquin_--a festivity that begins at four o'clock in the
afternoon and ends at eight o'clock in the evening.
Sometimes the wife of the Captain-General gives an evening
reception; or the rare function of a real ball sends a flutter
through the higher circles of the island. Then and then only does
the aristocratic Majorcan maiden permit her graceful shoulders to be
seen. Frequently, carefully chaperoned, she goes to a theatre, and
sits in the family box throughout the interminable waits between the
acts. At the Carnival, which occupies three afternoons in the week
preceding Lent, she can appear on a balcony or in a carriage on the
Borne; and even, such is the _abandon_ of that time of licence, go
to the extreme length of exchanging repartee in the form of confetti
or paper streamers with an admiring foe.
Yet already there are signs of the far-reaching influence of an
English queen. Certain of the noble families have young English
ladies to teach their language to their daughters, and the few
Majorcans we heard speaking English in Palma spoke it beautifully.
Nowadays a Majorcan lady is not ashamed to admit that she dislikes
bull-fights. A few years ago such an admission would have been
accounted the rankest heresy. And Palma residents say they can tell
the girls who have English governesses--they always walk so quickly!
And here I may say that any young English lady, of good family and
of the Roman Catholic religion, who is so adventurous as to journey
to Majorca to fill a post as companion or governess can do so with
the assurance of meeting with every possible consideration. She will
not get a large salary, for money has a higher value in Majorca than
in Britain, but she will be treated like a princess. I know of one
case where a Palma family, who had engaged an English governess,
went to the trouble and expense of having a bedroom specially
decorated and furnished for her, after a high-art chamber pictured
in the _Studio_, that the expected guest might feel more at home
than if her room had been fitted up in the native fashion.