The only other church worthy of mention at Palma is that of San Francisco de Asis, remarkably like the cathedral for the span of its nave and for the tomb of the famous Raymond Lull, Mallorca’s most illustrious son. This famous philosopher was born in 1235 and is said to have been converted from evil courses in his youth by finding that his mistress was devoured by cancer—such reasons for a change of life being frequent in the Middle Ages. He imagined himself called upon to overthrow the religion of Mohammed not by the old methods, but by a “great art” of logic which he devised. Like some liberal Catholics of later days, he held that the dogmas of his Church could and should be demonstrated by reason, and not by mere exhortations to believe. To combat Islam he rightly considered necessary that missionaries should understand the language of their adversaries. His exertions induced the Pope to found one or two chairs of Arabic and Syriac, and his philosophy, strange to say, met with no censure from ecclesiastical authorities. Lull was credited with immense and preternatural wisdom by his generation, and was popularly believed to have discovered the Philosopher’s Stone. He undertook several journeys to Northern Africa in his zeal for souls, and on the last of these visits received such severe injuries from a Moslem mob that he succumbed on board ship within sight of his native isle (1315).
A picture of his funeral may be seen at the Town Hall, which is a rather imposing Renaissance building adorned by one of those heavy projecting eaves, carved and once painted, that one sees at Granada. Another house that should be noticed is the Casa Bonapart, said to have been founded by an ancestor of the Imperial family in 1411.
In the suburbs of Palma is the fine old castle of Bellver, founded by the last King of Mallorca. It is composed of a vast keep, strengthened by bastions and surrounded by a moat. Connected with this stronghold by a bridge of two tiers is the massive Torre del Homenage. The castle has received many distinguished and involuntary guests. Here was confined Jovellanas, the able Minister of Carlos IV., and here was shot General Lacy for conspiring against the tyrant Fernando VII. Arago the Astronomer took refuge here, when the mob, suspecting that he was signalling to the French when he was simply making observations, sought his life.
Seven miles from Palma is Raxa, the seat of the Conde de Montenegro, who has an exceedingly valuable collection of antiquities. Here may be seen a curious chart of the world, drawn in 1439, according to the instructions of Amerigo Vespucci. It is partly obliterated by the ink spilt over it when it was being spread out for examination by George Sand.
That gifted Frenchwoman slayed at the suppressed Carthusian monastery of Valldemosa, and there she wrote the romance “Spiridion,” at which Mr. Titmarsh poked his fun. It is a beautiful, decayed old place, once a royal palace, and decorated with frescoes illustrating its history.
We again come to the traces of Raymond Lull at Miramar, the beautiful seat of the Archduke Ludwig Salvator, who kindly placed a hospice at the disposal of travellers. This was originally the college established by the philosopher for the study of Oriental tongues. The ill-fated Maximilian of Mexico borrowed the name of his palace near Triente from this enchanting spot.
In addition to the capital, Mallorca contains three or four towns of importance, such as Manacor, Alcudia, and Pollensa, but these present few features of interest. The scenery in the vale of Soller is radiant and smiling, the soil being of amazing fertility, such as the Barranco and Gorch Blau, or Blue Gorge. Between Pollensa and Soller in the heart of the hills is the sanctuary of Our Lady of Lluch, the origin of which is accounted for by a legend similar to that of Lourdes. To accommodate the pilgrims who flocked to the spot, a hospice was built, which in course of time was converted into a school of religious music. Here as at Miramar every stranger can have three days’ free lodging, including fire, light, and the indispensable oil and olives.
On the other side of the island are the caves of Anta, rivalling those of Han and Adelsberg. “The most fantastic part of this subterranean region,” says Mr. Vuillier, “goes by the significant name of L’Infierno. It is a nightmare in stone. Tongues of petrified flame seem to lick the walls. An enormous lion squats in one corner, staring at unhewn tombs overhung by rigid cypresses. Strange forms of antediluvian monsters lurk half-seen in the obscurity. Many of the stalactites when rapped sharply with a stick emit musical notes, some like the vibration of a harp-string, others like the deep resonance of a church bell. These are in an immense hall as vast as a cathedral nave.... In silence and darkness, the forces of nature have for centuries been hewing and shaping an architecture more sublime than ever was conceived in the wildest dream of the Gothic craftsman.”
Menorca, the second largest of the islands, is bare and bleak and flat round the coast, though at one point in the interior it rises to a height of nearly 6000 feet. Here and there are picturesque spots, notably the Barranco of Algendar; but speaking generally the island is the Holland of the Mediterranean. Cleanliness, well-being, industry and good conduct are the characteristics of the inhabitants, who live farther outside the world of romance even than most Latin people. We flatter ourselves of course that they learned their good qualities from our ancestors, when they ruled the island, and certainly there are frequent reminders of our influence to be traced in the daily life of Menorca. “Ashes to Ashes,” though seldom heard now, was in Ford’s time an oath or exclamation often on the lips of the natives, and children use English words when playing marbles, a game that we taught them among other perhaps less useful arts. We sent to the island a Governor Kasie, who made roads and built market-halls, and did all that a worthy and unimaginative English gentleman might feel it is his duty to do in such a position; but the natives do not sigh once more to be under our dominion, as they are sometimes polite enough to tell English folk they do, and a Spanish writer actually refers to our paternal government as the Babylonish captivity.
Puerto Mahon was founded, as we have said, by the Carthaginians, and was appropriately enough occupied by us, the Carthaginians of later days. Its harbour is one of the best in the Mediterranean, and is very strongly fortified. Except for the forts, the town contains no public monuments of interest. The streets are very clean and rather quiet, and you remark the absence of the running water in the gutters characteristic of so many European towns. The streets are well paved, often with tombstones from the English cemetery; the dustman goes his rounds as he does in London, and many of the houses have English windows. The domestic life is held in high honour at Mahon, and the chief occupation and delight of the women is cleaning their houses. “It is an amusing spectacle” says M. Vuillier, “to see them armed with brooms of dwarf palm and immense pails of lime-water, gossiping along the walls from early morning, while they scrub and wash as if their lives depended upon it, fastening their brooms to long poles the better to reach the higher parts of the wall. Should a death occur in a house the walls are not whitened for a week, a fortnight or even a month, according to the closeness of the relationship or the degree of grief felt for the deceased. In rare cases the walls are not touched for six months.” The traveller comments on the absence of the tribe of unwelcome bedfellows, so persistent in their attentions in other parts of Spain.