figure of a young girl. Another chapel has a small square glass case
containing a representation of the Nativity that is peculiarly
interesting because of the purely local dress of certain of the
figures. The Virgin holding the Holy Child is seated in the centre.
At her right stands an elderly man, apparently meant for Joseph. It
was surely without humorous intent that the devotee who fashioned
his garments garbed him in the quaint old Majorcan dress of
abnormally wide blue breeches. After seeing Joseph's dress it is
not the least surprising to notice that two women who are less
important actors in the scene wear their hair in pigtails and the
native _rebozillos_.
From the hill-side that rises behind the church, where the prickly
pear grows in great profusion, one can enjoy a glorious panoramic
view of the coast.
For slightly longer excursions diligences leave Palma almost daily
for all sorts of out-of-the-way and wholly charming places, such as
Esporlas, Andraitx, Lluchmayor, Soller, Estallenchs, Calvia, and
Valldemosa. And if the traveller is wise and hastens to book the
front seat he will escape danger of death by compression, and be in
a position to enjoy a leisurely and comprehensive view of the
country.
It is well worth while, when intending to remain overnight at a
town, to arrange to arrive on the eve of the weekly market. For
market morning brings many quaint rural people flocking into town on
panniered mules or in odd ramshackle conveyances. Sunday is the
market at Pollensa, and there the traveller may see a profusion of
the old men of the zouave-like breeches. San Sellas and Binisalem
hold their markets on Sunday also. That of Manacor is on Monday.
Arta, Montuiri, Llubi, and Porreras hold market on Tuesday.
Wednesday is the day at Sineu, and Thursday at Inca, Muro, and
Andraitx. Lluchmayor has Friday, and the day of the week at Palma is
Saturday, when the country folk bring in the harvest of their fields
and hold a little market of their own in the Plaza del Mercado,
under the shadow of the high-towered Church of San Nicolas. Early in
May Soller holds a three days' _fiesta_, when a historic incident of
the landing and repulsion of a band of piratical Moors is enacted
with great spirit by the people of the town.
A hint that may prove useful to any one arriving at some remote
place where there is no _fonda_ is to ask to be directed to the
schoolmaster. He is certain to know Spanish, may be pleased to meet
a foreigner, and is sure to be able to recommend a lodging. It is
to the courteous schoolmaster of Santany that we were indebted for
this suggestion.
Failing the presence of a schoolmaster, the civil guard is a good
person to apply to. They are said to be a fine and absolutely
reliable class of men. An artist friend chancing at nightfall to
light upon a village where there was no inn, applied to the civil
guard, who not only gave him a room in his own house, but appeared
in the morning to offer the use of toilet appliances in the form of
a comb and a pot of pomade.
The Balearic Islands appear to offer a good field to the
entomologist. A friend who visited Majorca during February has given
me this list of the butterflies and moths that, even at that early
season, he saw in plenty, mostly within a few miles of Palma: Bath
White, Cabbage or Common White, Red Admiral, Painted Lady, Clouded
Yellow, Brimstone, Wall Brown, Holly Blue, Small Copper, Swallow
Tail, and the Humming-bird Hawk Moth.
As the spring advanced and the giant poppies I had sown in November
became a four-feet-high hedge, butterflies--strange, to me at least,
and very beautiful--fluttered into the little garden of the Casa
Tranquila, and probably not finding the poppies so luscious as their
brilliant appearance had led them to expect, speedily fluttered out
again. They did not make their home with us, as had the big locust
that, in the late autumn, I captured when he was feasting on a moth
in the shrubby field behind the convent. Bringing the prisoner home
in my handkerchief, I set him on a pink ivy-geranium that flourished
in one of the big green flower-pots on the veranda.
He seemed well content with his new quarters, for there he stayed
all winter, taking up his position first in the tall scented
verbena, and, when that lost its leaves, changing his perch to an
adjacent almond-tree, as though he knew that would be the first to
bloom.
Very early in the year he vanished, and we thought he had gone for
good. But just as the first pale blossoms were opening in the
almond groves he re-appeared, bringing with him the female of his
species, and together in connubial amity they shared his old home in
the almond-tree. When the pale rose-tinted blossoms had fallen, and
the grey-green velvet pods of the young almonds were emerging from
the crimson calyxes, the locust and his bride deserted us to seek a
wider pasturage.
Though we wandered far from beaten tracks, the sole trace of
reptiles encountered was an occasional discarded snakeskin. In Iviza
lovely green and golden lizards and highly-varnished toy frogs in
all "art" shades abounded, but we saw none of either in Majorca.
Our only insect pests were mosquitoes--who, probably recognizing an
alien and attractive flavour in our blood, were a disturbing
nocturnal influence until, with the aid of a few yards of mosquito
netting, we succeeded in frustrating their knavish tricks. Even by
day they were not invariably quiescent; but the mosquito is a
gentleman. He always gives warning before attacking an enemy, and
when we met in open combat, there was something of the joy of battle
in the defence. According to local report, the tenure of his days
should have ended with November; but it was not until a fall of the
temperature about the middle of January that our assailant withdrew
his battalions and left us in peace.
Though our visit was a winter one, the wild flowers were an
unfailing source of pleasure. The season was unusually dry, yet I
never took a country walk without finding some blossom that was new
to me.
When we arrived in October the rocky slopes about Porto Pi were
covered by a royal carpet of the purple autumnal crocus. The last of
the sea lavender was fading, but horned poppies and chicory were in
bloom. It was there, too, that in November we found the curiously
shaped brown and green wild arums that are known in America as
"Dutchmen's pipes," and locally referred to as _frares_, whose
acquaintance we afterwards made at Andraitx. In April, when we left
Majorca, pretty little white and lavender iris starred the ground
and rich purple mallows and golden mesembryanthemums covered the
rocks of Porto Pi.
The beautiful coast about Cas Catala had a herbage of its own. Tall
flowering heath, a persistently blooming plant with dark blue
buttons, and delicate yellow rock roses were, as the months slipped
past, succeeded by a fine display of cistus.
Throughout the whole time of our stay a constant succession of sweet
lavender blossomed on the grey-green bushes. Asphodel, too,
abounded. The first to open was the smaller species, with its rushy
foliage and slender spikes of bloom. In January the tall rods of the
poet's asphodel rose in such profusion that we were forced to give
it place as the typical island flower. Forced reluctantly, I
confess, for to some the odour of the tall asphodel, when growing in
quantity, is far from pleasant.
It was at Soller, that district of piquant contrasts, that we saw
the delicate greenhouse maidenhair-fern growing in masses with
English ivy along walls, or draping the moist sides of the water
runnels.
It was at Soller, too, that we first made the acquaintance of the
ten-inch-high daisy. There was little of the character of its Scots
relative, the "wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower," in this aspiring
plant. But the Balearic Islands have another form of the _Bellis
perennis_, a lavender daisy, that sustains the family reputation for
humility by cowering close to the soil.
The winter had been so dry that the flowers of early spring were
disappointing. I found a few purple anemones where I had expected to
see hundreds, and gleaned a handful or two of narcissus from the dry
bed of the torrent where I had hoped to gather baskets full.
But with the coming of the long-hoped-for rain the earth gave up her
secrets, and secrets worth knowing they proved themselves. There
were amazing orchids--little round-bellied flies, so life-like that
one half-expected to hear them buzz; or glorious travesties of
insects that never were, some with bodies of glittering metallic
blue daintily edged with brown fur, others with delicate wings of
rosy heliotrope.
It was odd to find garden pets--grape hyacinths, gladiolus,
iris--leading a gipsy life on those sunny slopes, and odder still to
discover begonias, or even _Nigella damascena_, camping out, as it
were. One felt inclined to demand to be told why they were shirking
their obvious duty of beautifying gloomy British gardens.
The following list of the rarer Balearic plants, given me by a noted
Scottish gardener, is specially interesting as showing the wide
range of the island flora: Anthyllis cytisoides, Astragalus
poterium, Cynoglossum pictum, Daphne vallaeoides, Delphinium pictum,
Digitalis dubia, Genista cineria, Hedysarum coronarium, Hedysarum
spinosissimum, Helianthemum serrae, Helianthemum salicifolium,
Helichrysum Lamarkii, Hippocrepis balearica, Hypericum balearicum,
Lavatera cretica, Lavatera minoricensis, Leucojum Hernandezii,
Linaria triphylla, Linaria fragilis, Lotus creticus, Melilotus
messanensis, Micromeria Rodriguezii, Micromeria filiformis, Ononis
crispa, Ononis breviflora, Ononis minutissima, Pastinaea lucida,
Phlomis italica, Polygala rupestris, Scutellaria Vigineuxii, Sencio
Rodriguezii, Sibthorpia africana, Silene rubella, Sonchus spinosus,
Vicia atropurpurea.
Perhaps it was because wild flowers bloomed all through the months
that the native children did not care to gather them, and that
indifference to natural blossoms prevailed in all classes of the
community. It seemed as though the Majorcans had not yet realized
the decorative value of flowers. One rarely saw cut flowers used on
the table or in the reception-rooms even of people on whose country
estates roses and violets blossomed all the year round. I never saw
flowers for sale in the big daily market, and the few clusters that
in spring the countryfolk brought in to the Saturday market would
scarcely have sufficed to trim one fashionable hat.
In February, when the rose-coloured blossoms of the cistus were
beginning to open on the uplands, the brown-cheeked shepherd boys
began to look for the young shoots of the wild asparagus, which they
made into little bunches for sale, bound round with broad asphodel
leaves fastened with long, sharp prickles.
Though a gourmet could hardly have taken exception to the flavour of
the asparagus thus gathered, he might have objected to the size, for
the shoots were seldom larger than that sold in London under the
mysterious name of "sprue." But the flavour was delicious, and when
one added the pleasure of gathering to the value when found, the
wild asparagus was worth its weight in gold. While the season lasted
we often brought in a bunch or two from our sunset strolls, and
these occasions were signalized by the appearance of asparagus
omelet at supper.
[Illustration: Sunday Morning at Iviza]
XXV
IVIZA--A FORGOTTEN ISLE
With regard to Iviza, the third in importance of the Balearic Isles,
even the usually omniscient Baedeker maintains a dignified reserve.
And indeed Iviza is so little visited that while the _Islena
Maritima Compania Mallorquina de Vapores_ convey passengers thither
from Majorca for fifteen pesetas first class, or eleven pesetas
second, they charge eighteen and thirteen pesetas respectively to
bring them back to Majorca, which looks as though they thought
voyagers might require to be cajoled into going to Iviza, but would
need no inducement to return.
From the records in existence one gathers that no relics of the
Stone Age have been discovered in Iviza, though traces left by many
dynasties prove that from very early times occupation of the lovely
and fertile isle was hotly contested. Chaldeans, Egyptians,
Phoenicians, Romans, Greeks, Vandals, Saracens, and Moors fought
for its possession, but since the Aragonese invasion of the
thirteenth century Iviza has belonged to Spain.
We had heard strange tales of the Ivizans--told, it must be
admitted, by people who avowedly had never set foot on the
island--grim stories of ferocity, of the crack of the ready pistol,
of the slash of the handy knife. We had also heard that these grim
islanders were invariably kind to strangers. Now we were on the way
to judge for ourselves.
While the departure of the Barcelona boat lures all Palma to the
mole, only a handful of spectators was assembled when, at noon on
the 8th of April, the _Lulio_ steamed westwards.
It was a fine day with a brisk head-wind. Like the high mountains
around Soller, the waves were white-crested, and for the first three
hours the voyage was a delight. As the _Lulio_ skirted the coast we
enjoyed identifying the places now familiar to us by land. The
little bays beyond Cas Catala, Ben Dinat among its woods, the
windmills above the town of Andraitx, and the long, high islet of
Dragonera.
As the heliotrope mountains of Majorca receded into the distance,
the brilliance faded. From warm azure the sea changed to purple,
from purple to grey, and the wind blew keenly against us. The
_Lulio_ is only some 600 tons, and there was little shelter on the
saloon deck, which is forward of the funnel. We felt inclined to
envy the Ivizan passengers, who, camped on the snug lower deck,
first ate strange messes, then after a brief but busy interlude of
regret, curled up on their bundles and went snugly to sleep.
With us there were half a dozen men and one lady. And when the
captain invited her to share the cover of the chart-house which
abutted on our promenade, I envied her also until, after the dubious
enjoyment of a few moments of splendid detachment from the common
herd, she revealed signs of inward discomfort and fled to seek a
less conspicuous position.
Before the land we had left was out of sight, two little clouds low
on the western horizon were recognized as outlying islets of the
Ivizan group. Then, as we gradually approached nearer, hills upon
hills, promontories, more islets, appeared; and still we steadily
steamed westwards. The sun sank in golds and greys behind the Ivizan
heights, and still we went on through the grey gloom, past a rocky,
indented coast on which we saw no sign of habitation.
Then, out of the darkness arose the vision of a town piled on an
eminence--a town of unexpected beauty, for from the tranquil waters
of the almost landlocked bay to the highest point it was sparkling
with lights. It was Iviza, the one important town of the main
island.
To the hoarse grating of her anchor chain the _Lulio_ swung to, and
through the darkness the vague outlines of rowing boats could be
seen approaching.
The young boatman who was the first to accost us secured our custom,
and we stepped down the accommodation-ladder into the swaying boat.
Half a dozen natives followed, carrying their belongings in big
cotton handkerchiefs, a form of Balearic travelling case that to me
always seemed peculiarly alluring, for when not in actual service,
the handkerchief-portmanteau could be folded and stowed in the
pocket; or even, did occasion require, be put to other uses.
The behaviour of the boatman who rows him ashore in a new
country serves the experienced traveller as symbol of the treatment
awaiting him in that country. Our boatman asked one real
each--twopence-halfpenny--as his fee, which was exactly the sum
required of the native passengers. And that served as our token of
Iviza. We would be treated with strict honesty--there was but one
price either for native or stranger.
The arrival of the steamer, whose departure from Palma had attracted
so little attention, was a matter of importance at Iviza. People
clustered on the pier, and the steps leading to the water's edge
were so densely crowded that it was difficult for those landing to
find foot-room.
A burly Ivizan took the luggage, and after a cursory custom's
inspection we reached the _fonda_, which was only a stone's-cast
away. The _fonda_, which appeared to be the only one in the town,
was delightfully situated on the harbour. The rooms allotted to us
were the best in the house. Two opened from the drawing-room and one
had a balcony overlooking the water. The inclusive charge was six
pesetas a day--about four shillings and sixpence of English money.
Supper was in process of serving. Going downstairs, we entered the
dining-room, to find one long table at which were seated about a
dozen men. Judging rashly by our Minorcan experience, we classified
them collectively as commercial travellers, and concluded that Iviza
must be a more important place than we had imagined, if it gave
employment to so many.
The meal, which revealed a lack of inspiration on the part of the
cook, was served by a solitary waiter. When it was over, we went out
and felt our way about the streets. The capital town of Iviza, which
is built on a high rock, faces the sea. It has no back, no other
side. The old town, which is surmounted by the Cathedral and the
castle, is entirely surrounded by a perfectly preserved Roman wall.
The newer portion of the town, which is built on land reclaimed from
the sea, lies just below the principal gate of the old city.
Passing the quaint circular fish market and the vacant market-place,
which consisted of a red-tiled and raftered shed, supported on white
pillars and surrounded by trees, we walked up the slope leading to
the great gate in the Roman wall that encircles the ancient town.
In a niche on either side of the opening stood a massive marble
figure. The heads were gone and certain other members had not
outlasted the ravages of the centuries, but enough still remained to
show the beauty of the workmanship. From the neck-socket of the
draped figure foliage was springing, and the statue of the legionary
had the scarce dignified effect of carrying a bundle of fodder, so
boldly had the weeds sprouted from under his right arm.
The streets within the old city walls were dark and steep and
twisted. In their secretive recesses something of the atmosphere of
the Middle Ages seemed still to linger.
The Ivizans go early to bed. The lights that illumed our landing had
already been extinguished, and finding our progress over these
tortuous steeps a protracted stumble, we groped our way back to the
_fonda_, resigned to leaving further exploration to the morrow.
We slept soundly. When our early coffee came we drank it on the
balcony as we watched two boys fishing from a boat in a shallow just
beneath our windows. The bait seemed to be shell-fish, and the boy
in the Carlist cap who held the rod was catching little wriggling
fish as quickly as he could re-cast his hook into the water.
Then for the first time we awoke to the picturesque charm of the
Ivizan's choice of material and love of colour in dress. The fishing
boy wore plush trousers of a lovely pinky-fawn shade. His
companion's were moss-green, and his waist scarf was scarlet. A crew
of fishermen, their garments a kaleidoscope of gay hues, were
breakfasting in their boat near. And along the beach beneath, a boy
clad in faded blue velvet was carrying in one hand a basket of
beautiful rose-coloured fish and dangling a hideously suggestive
octopus in the other.
Our good friend the padre, a presbitero of Palma Cathedral, had
kindly recommended us to his chosen friend, who was a beneficiado of
Iviza Cathedral. So our first walk, on the morning after our
arrival, led up the precipitous paths towards the superbly situated
old church.
Seen by daylight the streets were vaguely reminiscent of both Palma
and Mahon, without resembling either. While the whitewashed walls
recalled the austere cleanliness of the Minorcan capital, the
condition of the streets gave one the impression that the
inhabitants subsisted chiefly upon oranges. The plenitude of
balconies held more than a hint of Palma, though most of the Ivizan
balconies were heavily fashioned of wood; and from many the entire
family washing (which in Palma would be dried on the flat roof),
even to sheets, hung out to dry. The Ivizans showed both taste and
skill in floriculture. Quite a number of the balconies were prettily
decorated with pot plants, from cinerarias to peonies, in full
bloom.
The market was busy when we passed. Grave-looking women, with
wide-brimmed white hats perched rakishly a-top the handkerchief that
covered their heads, were selling oranges or vegetables. One, with a
row of moist water-jars balanced on either side of the furriest
donkey I ever saw, was plying the trade of water-carrier.
We reached the Cathedral during morning service, and we waited,
enjoying the music and the tuneful clamour of the great wheel of
bells that mingled so harmoniously with the sound of the organ, and
wondering in which of the officiating clergy we would discover the
friend of our friend. He also had been looking out for us, and as
we, along with two old men, were the entire congregation, he had no
difficulty in distinguishing us.
When Mass was over we met on the _mirador_ outside, and though by
force of nationality, religion, language, and training we ought to
have been poles asunder, from almost the first moment of our
acquaintance we recognised a congenial spirit in Don Pepe, as the
young choristers, who clustered round, affectionately called the
padre.
Under his care we re-entered the Cathedral, which, despite, or
perhaps because of belonging to no known school of architecture, is
very beautiful, the interior with its canopied Virgin having an
inspiring sense of light. Then, accompanied by the sacristan, a
grave man with a charming smile, we saw some of the treasures of the
church, climbed the tower to see the comprehensive view from the
top, and visited the adjacent castle, which is now used as a
military barracks.
While within the fortifications we were introduced to an especially
interesting specimen of the cunning traps prepared by the Romans for
their unwary invaders. From one portion of the castle, which is
perched high within the strong fortifications, we were guided
through a long, dark, shelving passage, down, down, down, until on
passing through a massive door we entered an alley, lit from above,
that ended abruptly in a four-feet-high portal deep set in the great
city wall, and from without partly secured by a bastion.
The ingenious plan of the ancient defenders had evidently been to
leave unguarded the inconspicuous door, and when the besiegers,
discovering it and imagining themselves in luck, had crept through
the secret door into the alley, to shower missiles on them from the
circular opening overhead. It was a shrewd device, but one hardly
calculated to endear the Romans to their enemies.
Leaving the heights, we walked down towards the church of Santo
Domingo, an antique building with curious red-tiled domes. The
priceless treasure of this old Dominican convent is an image of
Christ which for ages has been the object of great devotion. Until
the last century ships on leaving or entering the harbour of Iviza
were in the custom of saluting it with their flag and a shot from
their cannon.