But though the voice of the herdsman might be unmelodious, it mingled harmoniously with the jangle of bells as his flock of pigs, goats, sheep, or a.s.ses moved slowly over the uplands under the fragrant almond-trees.

The air was sweet with perfume of the wild lavender that grew in profusion about the entrance to the caves. Not a soul was in sight.

It was with a quiet scorn of flesh-pots--even of those that contained sucking-pig--that, sitting in the sunshine, we lunched frugally off sandwiches, claret, and big yellow Muscat grapes.

We had left the Casa Tranquila with the understanding that the day was to be observed as a complete holiday. Yet when the cave revealed picturesque possibilities it would have surprised one unaccustomed to the devious ways of the Man and the Boy to have seen how well provided they chanced to be with working materials.

Leaving them busily sketching, I wandered about gathering the heads of sweet lavender. I had a newly born ambition to fill a cushion with the dried blossoms--an ambition that in England would have been extravagant, but one that in this gracious land was to be gained by a little charming labour. So with that feeling of absolute mental content and of physical well-being that seemed to characterize our Balearic days, I picked and picked and picked until the luncheon-basket was full to overflowing with the purple-grey flowers, and the subtle odour of sweet lavender encompa.s.sed me with a cloud of fragrance.

Even in these days of late December I had never taken a country walk without finding a fresh wild flower. To-day it was a rose-coloured cornflower, _cya.n.u.s_; and in addition, growing close to the caves, I came upon a fruit, or vegetable, that was quite new to me. The latter was splendidly decorative. Imagine a giant tomato plant erect and armed with aggressive p.r.i.c.kles, that bore a profusion of apples whose colour varied from green mottled with white in the unripe, to brilliant yellow in the mature. I found afterwards that it is known as the "Devil's tomato." Tufts of the pale pink heath flourished under the pines, and on the slopes about the fig-trees my favourite j.a.panese-like dwarf asphodel, whose white, starry blossoms were striped with chocolate, were out in profusion.

The far-off tinkle of bells that, to our now accustomed ears, ranked almost as a necessary accompaniment to the scenery, had gradually been drawing nearer; and soon the troop of donkeys again appeared, followed by their patient, kindly-faced herd. They were the only living things in sight, and as they moved slowly along they harmonized delightfully with the rustic surroundings.

Approaching nightfall drove us homewards, reluctant to end a day that had been full of intangible charm. The record of its doings, baldly set forth on paper, reveals a total lack of incident. The preceding Christmas Day, spent at a seaside hotel in laboriously enjoying the festivities of the season, we had almost forgotten.

These placid hours pa.s.sed quietly in this country of sweet smells, of gentle noises, of pure, soft air, we would always remember.

As we strolled towards Son Espanolet the setting sun seemed determined, in honour of the day, to give an extra glorious display of fireworks. And when the glow had faded from the mountains, leaving them purple velvet, a vivid rose flush that melted into the blue haze of the distance lingered long in the eastern sky. And just above was the nearly full moon, a globe of shining silver. There was no actual dusk, hardly any gloaming; for before the sun had sunk to rest the moon, her lamp brilliantly burning, was ready to do duty.

[Ill.u.s.tration: After the Feast of the Conquistador, Palma Cathedral]

XIII

THE FEAST OF THE CONQUISTADOR

It was the 31st of December, and the day was one of a long succession of calm summer-like days. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the air so warm that in the plantations beyond Son Espanolet sundry over-zealous almond-trees, deceived by the brilliance of the weather, were already bursting into premature bloom.

It was too fine to waste indoors the remaining hours of the year, and the gay little town was always interesting. So we walked towards Palma, and, after strolling down the mole and revelling in the colour and movement of the harbour, we ascended the long flight of steps leading to the ramparts, and, pa.s.sing the Almudaina, reached the Cathedral, whose grandeur and sacred beauty ever held a fresh fascination for us.

Entering by a side door, we judged from the presence of certain extra decorative trappings in front of the high altar that some special service was in prospect. People were already seated in the pews that filled the front portion of the nave. Finding places at a side, we waited, listening to the joyous strains of the grand organ.

Just before eleven o'clock the great doors of the Cathedral were thrown open, and the warm sunlight streamed into the sombre interior. Then, through the hush of expectancy that had fallen over the congregation, we heard the far-off beating of drums. Something was, looked for--was even now on its way--we knew not what; but we also waited, expectant.

Nearer the sound came, and nearer. From our side seats we could see the guard in front of the Almudaina saluting, then from the brilliant sunlight into the mysterious half-gloom of the Cathedral there pa.s.sed a quaint little procession, led by a drum-major gorgeous in scarlet and gold. Behind him, three and three, came the drummers, still--even within the sacred walls of the Cathedral--keeping up the _rat-a-plan_ with a vigour that seemed almost profane.

Half-way up the nave they turned aside and stood, rapidly plying their drum-sticks; while, preceded by two mace-bearers in robes of scarlet, their symbols of office over their shoulders, came in evening dress the Civil Governor and the Alcalde, followed by members of the Council. Behind, in uniform, came the Chiefs of Police.

When they were seated--the Civil Governor, as representing the King, being placed in a chair under an embroidered canopy, the others in a specially draped pew alongside--the service began. At one portion of the ceremony a priest with attendants mounted the pulpit, and in an eloquent address related the whole story of the conquest of Majorca by Jaime, the young King of Aragon, who on that very day six hundred and eighty years before had entered the city.

In picturesque language and in fine declamatory style he told how for many hundreds of years the lovely island had suffered under the oppression of the wicked and tyrannical Moors. How prosperity had rendered them only the more piratical and cruel, so that no Christian ship was safe from their a.s.saults. How, rendered yet bolder by success, they even raided the Catalan coast, sacking Barcelona, and killing its Count. How at length the indignation of the Spaniards roused them to take action; and the heads of the ecclesiastical, the military, and the royal sections meeting together, resolved to fit out a fleet, and to dispatch an expedition to wrest the island from the heathen. Under the handsome and daring young King of Aragon the fleet of over a hundred and forty vessels, containing an army thirty thousand strong, set sail. They left the Spanish coast on the 1st of September, 1229, but the Moors made so determined a resistance that it was the last day of the year before the hosts of King Jaime succeeded in entering the town.

As in duty bound, the orator ascribed mainly to the influence of the Church over the Catholic hearts of the people the success of the expedition that had freed the Christians from their oppressors.

The oration ended, service at the high altar proceeded, while at intervals gay, almost jocund, music burst forth from the grand organ. The lightsome strains were infectious. The Alcalde unconsciously beat time with his staff, and the fingers of the youngest representative of the munic.i.p.al government played an imaginary instrument in time to the music.

There was such a decidedly Gilbert-and-Sullivan suggestion about the sprightly air that one might be pardoned for expecting the chief ecclesiastical dignitary to advance singing--

"I am the Bishop of this Diocese"

or for antic.i.p.ating the attendant priests making hearty response--

"And a right good Bishop, too!"

Later in the proceedings the clergy formed into a procession, led by white-robed acolytes and choristers carrying crucifixes and lighted candles, and walked slowly round the Cathedral, chanting as they went; the Civil Governor, the Alcalde, and the other representatives of the Government bringing up the rear.

The impressive religious service ended, the drummers again fell into line, and the civic dignitaries, with the mace-bearers, marching to the sound of the drums, pa.s.sed out into the sunlit streets.

Following in their footsteps, we sped towards the Town Hall, in front of which, as we now gathered, the annual ceremony of saluting the flagstaff of King Jaime the Conquistador was to take place.

There a gay scene awaited us. Detachments of soldiers, their bands playing, lined the laurel-strewn s.p.a.ce before the building. All the balconies were full of spectators and the street was thronged with what appeared to be the entire juvenile population of Palma.

With the arrival of the Governor and his escort the ceremony was speedily completed. The flagstaff, which was heavily wreathed in laurel, was carried round. Arms having been presented, the historic trophy retired into carefully tended seclusion until another anniversary would again bring it into prominence. The military formed up, and to the sound of inspiriting music marched cheerily off. The feast of the Conquistador was over.

The origin of the custom we found reached back into bygone ages. For many centuries after King Jaime's death the people of Palma had an annual procession on the anniversary of the taking of the city, and walked through the streets with the banner under which their deliverer had fought so valiantly carried before them, while the entire populace prayed for the safety of his soul. The banner has long since rotted into dust. Now the staff alone is borne, and apart from the promenade inside the Cathedral there is no procession.

The inner chambers of the Cathedral guard a wealth of treasure, the collection of centuries, and an inestimable array of relics, which, through the courtesy of the church dignitaries, we had the privilege of seeing.

One morning about ten o'clock, when we entered the Cathedral from the sunlit streets, the faint blue mist of incense hung about the high altar, and the sound of chanting echoed through the aisles. At first sight the vast building appeared to be empty; but as our eyes became accustomed to the perpetual twilight that reigns under the great roof we became conscious of kneeling worshippers, dimly seen through the obscurity--a young lady, her mantilla-framed face bent over her rosary, an old man praying before one of the side chapels where a faint light was burning.

We were expected. Our friend the padre, a dignified figure clad in vestments of lace and fur, welcoming us with a silent shake of the hand, led us noiselessly along a side aisle.

As, pa.s.sing through a door that led behind the high altar, we caught a glimpse of the officiating clergy, it almost seemed as though we were behind the scenes at a theatre where some great life-drama was being enacted. There were the stately and imposing performers, the engrossed and scarcely visible audience.

Leaving us in charge of the brother priest who acts as custodian of the treasure, our sponsor returned to resume his part in the service. Preceding us through the sacristy, our new guide escorted us to an inner chamber where, in an impregnable safe built in the wall, the venerated sacred relics of the Cathedral are kept.

Carefully unlocking and throwing open the guardian doors, he revealed a cabinet draped with a crimson curtain. Slipping behind the drapery, he busied himself lighting candles. Then, reappearing, he drew aside the curtain, revealing the almost startling magnificence of the precious metal and rare pearls in which the relics are enshrined.

One object--that occupying the place of honour--was carefully enswathed. Bending low before it, the padre, with reverent hands, withdrew the covering, showing an exquisite cross of gold, inset with priceless gems and hung with strings of costly pearls. In the centre of the cross--faintly perceptible through its encas.e.m.e.nt of crystal--were some fragments of the true Cross. On certain occasions, such as the service on Good Friday afternoon, this relic is borne in procession round the Cathedral.

The custodian, who was an enthusiast happy in his appreciation of and delight in his mission, proceeded to show us more of the wondrous treasures of the old Cathedral. Among the things almost too sacred to mention were three thorns from Christ's crown of thorns, a piece of the purple cloth of His robe, a fragment of His swaddling band, and a portion of a garment worn by the Virgin Mary.

A bone, black and shrivelled with age, was from the finger of St.

Peter. And an extremely interesting relic--one so veritably antique that it is mentioned in the first inventory of the sacred trophies belonging to the Cathedral--is the tip of one of the arrows with which St. Sebastian, who is the patron saint of Palma, was killed.

Like all the other relics, this is carefully enclosed. Another relic of the saint is the bone of his fore-arm, which is enclosed in a case surmounted by a hand, on whose outstretched fingers are many costly rings, votive offerings presented in grat.i.tude by those who believe they have benefited by his intercession on their behalf.

Two magnificent crowns, those that on special occasions are worn by the effigies of the Virgin and the Holy Child, were also in that safe in company with other valuables too many to catalogue.

The Ma.s.s was still in progress. While we gazed from the face of the priest, which glowed with fervour, to the wondrous things he showed us with such tender veneration, came a sound of chanting, the music of boys' voices rising sweet and clear. There was still the first impression of having been admitted behind the scenes--an impression which the entrance of certain of the officiating clergy who came into the sacristy to change their vestments served to deepen.

Leaving an attendant to extinguish the lights and re-lock the great iron doors, the padre opened other cupboards and showed us a plethora of riches, valuable not only for the material but for the beauty and artistic skill of the workmanship. A crucifix bore an exquisitely carven ivory figure of the dead Christ, and in the hollow of the slender stem of a gold cup a craftsman of surprising ingenuity had contrived to mould a representation of the Last Supper, so minute in detail that it portrayed not only the table with the company seated around it but also the food that was placed before them. On the inner base of the vase, the executant of this triumph of the goldsmith's art had graven his name, which I forget, and his age, which at the date of the completion of this intricate and original piece of work was sixty-nine.

Our guide did not scamp his task. He appeared to take both pride and pleasure in it, and showed us everything, from the vestments, which were rigid with gold and embroidery, to the ma.s.sive silver candelabra worth nearly seven thousand pounds, that are so heavy that when they are moved into the body of the Cathedral for use during special services, it takes four men to carry the top, and six men the base, of each.

At three different dates, when long-continued drought had induced privation, this silver has been sold for the relief of the poor; and three times has it been bought back again, and restored to its place in the Cathedral.

Until recently the embalmed body of King Jaime II. (who died in his palace of the Almudaina just across the road from the princ.i.p.al entrance to the Cathedral), which rested in a marble sarcophagus in front of the high altar, was shown to the public on the 31st of December, the anniversary of the day on which his father, the Conquistador, freed Palma from the Moors.