The Sunny South: An Autumn in Spain and Majorca

by John William Clayton

However, some use is generally to be found in everything, and to a person who wishes to stretch a pair of new canvas shoes, that they may be easier on his feet, there is no surer mode than that of walking the deck in a gale of wind.

The sun rose upon us next day in a flood of warm and cloudless glory, and, as his rays chased away the last dark clouds of night in the west, we observed rising before us from the sea, though yet at some distance, the rugged coast of Majorca. Though we could not yet distinguish the wild scenery for which the island is remarkable,—that varied landscape of plain, rock, and gorge,—we could distinctly perceive the noble range of lofty mountains in the centre, invisible at their base, but with their white peaks piercing the high heavens. Steadily the ship cleaved its way through the tranquil sea, until, upon rounding a rocky headland, a distant city, of somewhat Eastern aspect, appeared, the most prominent object being a temple of great dimensions rising in the midst. We could also trace the white line of its stone ramparts; after which our eyes rested with pleasure on terraces of shining houses, and on tapering spires, all glittering in the sun, and reflected in the clear mirror beneath in lines of pointed light. This was Palma de Mallorca, capital of the Spanish province of Las Islas Baleares. Its white houses looked like a brood of white sea-birds sitting on the waters, while away in the distance beyond, cutting soft and clear against the sunny air, were the high jagged mountain range and highlands of Majorca.

As we gradually neared the land, we saw some beautiful villages nestling amidst green plantations, and villas crowning the heights of verdant slopes. On we glided, past the ruined walls of the ancient Roman, where, from tower to tower, great chains were fixed to protect the mouth of the harbour, and past crumbling forts, built by the warlike Moor. A few more turns of the clumsy paddles, and the ship is brought to her moorings in a pretty harbour, in which there appeared to be considerable activity, for it was filled with shipping of various nations. The city rose like an amphitheatre from the shore, and the hills behind it were clothed with an abundant growth of olive-trees.

We landed amongst a motley crowd of semi-Arabic sailors, donkey-boys, and soldiers. Fortunately for us, we had no acquaintance among several affectionate gentlemen waiting for their friends, upon whom they precipitated themselves with the most extravagant marks of affection as soon as they landed, kissing them all over their stubbly faces. We had to undergo, as usual, the process of luggage-searching, though not with the usual result, for we were found to have contravened the laws of the aduana. An ordinary Valencian knife, which we had bought to take home as a curiosity, being found in our trunk, we were taken for contrabandistas, and being immediately formed into a procession, headed by a man bearing the fatal corpus delicti, amidst a chorus of such exclamations as "Caramba, vamonos, vamonos!" were placed as prisoners between a couple of blood-thirsty looking aduaneros, and led off to the aduana, or custom-house. Here we were brought up before a severe-looking official, with, as usual, a cigarette in his mouth, from which the smoke was streaming out in clouds, as well as from his nostrils. This gentleman, whose voice was loud, and his manner quick and jerky, darted out several questions in Mallorquin, the meaning of which we but imperfectly understood. "Somos Inglés" suddenly, however, struck us as being a brilliant thing to say, and we said it, our friend at the same time making the rash linguistic attempt to add in Spanish, "Cuanto hay que pagar. Donde está el consul Inglés?"

We waited to see what result would follow these experiments. The official, with a severe aspect,—not assumed, for it was natural to him,—took out of his pocket a great knife, and began to pare his nails, after the accomplishment of which task he surveyed them with satisfaction, and turned to some other officials, whom he addressed. They conferred together in a knot in a corner of the room, all talking at once with the most wonderful velocity at the top of their voices. A sign was then made to us by the chief to be silent. At the same time, one of his myrmidons went out, and in half-an-hour returned with an order from the English Consul for our liberation. The same person also brought information from that gentleman which seemed greatly to calm their minds, inasmuch as it assured them that we were not, after all, dangerous conspirators come from England, that hot-bed of revolution, to commence an insurrection, and spread fire, death, and desolation throughout Her Catholic Majesty's provinces. We were then politely allowed to go about our business—a permission of which we immediately availed ourselves.

The first thing we did was to start in search of a fonda, with a couple of brown boys in red caps carrying our boxes. After passing along the strong-looking ramparts, and through one or two clean, picturesque streets, in which were some mosque-like buildings turned into barracks, we went under a ruined arch, through which, as in a frame, was seen a beautiful glimpse of distant plains and cloud-capped mountains. We then pulled up at a whitewashed building, which, we were informed, was an establishment entitled La Fonda de las Tres Palomas, so named after one of the peculiarities of Palma, and, indeed, of most towns of Oriental descent, viz., the pigeons which are seen everywhere whirling about in the air and walking in the streets, completely tame and unmolested.

The Hotel of the Three Pigeons, although tolerably clean, was lamentably deficient in matters of comfort. The bedrooms were simply whitewashed cells. A narrow bedstead, with a mattress stuffed with the leaves of Indian corn, one chair, and a little slender iron tripod, about three feet high, holding a diminutive basin, constituted the furniture. When the British mania for ablution occasionally overtook us, a pint of brown warm water was brought carefully in a coffee-pot, and poured slowly, as if it were molten gold, into the little basin; while the waiter waited to see what we should do with it, and how apply it for personal use. And well he might; for he seemed to be rather a stranger to the process himself. The saloon and reading-room of the hotel was the kitchen; and there the guests assisted at the cooking of their meals, which, however, was, perhaps, about the best thing they could do, as, upon one occasion, the chef, in his anxious desire to please, entirely lost his presence of mind, and was about to boil the woodcocks we had ordered for dinner. Why, at the fondas of Majorca, one should find the napkins which ought to be used at dinner placed on the washing-stand for the purposes of ablution, and the towels which should be upon the washing-stand placed on the plates at the dinner-table, will probably remain a mystery, of which it would be vain to seek for any explanation.

We spent a lively night or two in the Hotel of the Three Pigeons, occupying many weary hours in sharp combat with a very active and relentless enemy, the morning finding us covered with the marks of the fray. Any individual of a lethargic temperament, or troubled with slow circulation, to whom such stimulants as the bracing sea air, cold baths, rough towels, &c., are recommended, we should simply advise to pass two or three nights on one of these mattresses. The effect is electrifying, and can only be compared to a sort of intermittent galvanism; and as sleep is not generally found under such conditions, we have no doubt the mattresses in question would in America be called eye-openers, or slumber-worriers. However, when the patient has sufficiently undergone the stimulating process, he may arrest the galvanic action by simply supplying himself with a strong light and a piece of damp soap. He must remain for a few minutes perfectly still, until he perceives that his limbs are assuming a darker hue,—a hue dark with moving multitudes,—when he should apply the soap freely to them, continuing the application until the said soap becomes brown and speckly.

The city of Palma is of considerable dimensions, and contains a population of fifty-two thousand persons. Like all modern towns which rise over the ruins of the past, it is uneven and hilly, a peculiarity which adds much to the general picturesqueness of the street scenery. Built on a slope which rises immediately from the sea, and surrounded by the massive stone ramparts of Philip III., it occupies a strong position. The marks of decay, however, are now everywhere visible. The streets are silent, and the walls of palace and fortress are dropping piece-meal into ruin. Palma was built upon the site of an ancient Roman city of the same name—and its appellation may have been suggested by the palm-trees once abounding there, a few of which still rise gracefully here and there from the terraces and gardens.