The mummified corpse is no longer publicly exhibited, and the coffin containing the remains has been removed to a recess behind and above the high altar, where it rests awaiting burial.

By special permission we were allowed to see the body of the monarch. The coffin, taken from the sarcophagus, had been placed on a stone bracket. An attendant, mounting a ladder that leant against the wall at the head of the coffin, slid back the lid. And in turn we climbed up and, bending over, peeped into the open coffin to see, through intervening gla.s.s--what? A royal robe of velvet and gold and ermine, the lace-trimmed sleeves crossed at the empty wrists, and above the neck of the garment a dark fleshless skull, with the brown skin tightened over it, closed eyes deep sunk in the sockets, and toothless jaws wide agape. A rose-pink velvet nightcap encased the shrunken head of the monarch who, six hundred years ago, reigned over Majorca.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Coffin of Jaime II in Palma Cathedral]

The reign of this second Jaime, which extended over a period of more than thirty years, would appear to have been an exceptionally placid one for these warlike days. We know that he brought from Spain cunning workmen who converted for his use the castle of the Moorish Amir, the Almudaina, into a royal palace, and there a code of Court etiquette was formulated and put into practice by the new monarch.

The wife of the Captain-General, who now occupies the old Moorish palace, a few nights before we saw the remains of the former tenant of the Almudaina, gave a reception in the form of a "tea-party"--the guests to arrive at ten o'clock, the tea to be served at midnight.

One wonders what the nature of King Jaime's Court functions were--at what hour his guests a.s.sembled, what the entertainment was, and when they dispersed.

The imposing marble sarcophagus in which in times past these remnants of royalty were entombed has been removed to a corner of the cloisters, where we saw it standing forlorn and forgotten.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Market Day at Pollensa]

XIV

POLLENSA

We had intended deferring our expedition to the neighbouring isle of Minorca till later in the season; until after the week or two of cold weather that we had been warned to expect in January had pa.s.sed. But as the opening days of the year went by in brilliant sunshine, and the temperature continued ideal, we felt tempted to delay no longer.

It was the Man's suggestion that we should make a roundabout tour of it, visiting first the old-world towns of Pollensa and Alcudia, then sailing from the port of Alcudia to Minorca and returning from Mahon direct to Palma.

So at daybreak on the 8th of January Bartolome appeared to drive us to the station.

The sun had risen, Bartolome was smiling, and the hills beyond Son Espanolet shone pink and heliotrope in the morning light as we drove along; yet there was a sharp little nip in the air, and the _consumeros_ were still shivering in their blankets, covered up to their noses and cowering over their braziers. Without these reminders we would have forgotten that it was the depth of winter in the Fortunate Isles.

At Palma station the customary small bustle heralded the departure of the morning train. The porter of the Grand Hotel was seeing off a French couple who were going to Manacor to visit the Dragon Caves.

Among the little company of natives with their fringed shawls and white muslin _rebozillos_ the French lady, who wore a smart flower-trimmed toque on her golden hair and costly furs on her shoulders, looked oddly out of place.

On this occasion the 7.40 train left with extreme punctuality, and its rate of progress, though slow, was steady. The only other pa.s.senger in our second-cla.s.s compartment was a swarthy man who wore a yachting cap, white shoes, and a striped blanket. He evidently felt cold, and as he sat curled up on the seat his appearance was a ludicrous combination of a member of the Royal Yacht Club and an Asiatic hospital patient who had risen to have his bed made.

He was journeying to Inca, apparently for the first time, and when he asked for information regarding the number of stations to be pa.s.sed before his destination was reached, it seemed reversing the natural order of things that we foreigners should be able to give it.

Nearly two months had pa.s.sed since we travelled over the line, and it was interesting to note the difference in the appearance of things. Then the rich red earth had been furrowed by the plough, or was in process of sowing. Now it was covered with long lines of st.u.r.dy beans, or with springing grain level and green as a tennis lawn.

The fig-trees and grape-vines were leafless now; but the evergreen carobs showed the tender shades of the new leaves at the tips of the well-covered branches. The olives wore their accustomed silver-grey, but the first pale blossoms of the year flecked the almond-trees with white.

We had taken _combinados_ tickets, and the second-cla.s.s fare--two pesetas thirty-five centimos--included the ten-mile coach drive from La Puebla to Pollensa.

When we alighted at the station two diligences were waiting, one for Pollensa, the other for Alcudia. Choosing the right one the Man and I got inside with six other folk--three young men, two young women, one old man, and a baby too young to count. The Boy went on the box, luggage was piled on the roof, and the horses set to work to drag their heavy load over the dry, newly mended road.

The Majorcan way of repairing a road is to put a layer of roughly broken stones over the worn bits, then to block the smooth places with chunks of rock, so that the unhappy travellers are perforce obliged to do the work of levelling by driving over the loose stones.

But though the way was rough and jolty there was no dust, and there were no mosquitoes; and our company, including the brand-new baby, was the soul of good nature. The young men and women chatted gaily together in the harsh Majorcan dialect; the old man evincing a friendly interest in the conversation, which difference of nationality unfortunately rendered unintelligible to us. Once or twice, when the subject under discussion appeared more than usually entertaining, the Man and I whispered to each other, as we had done before in similar circ.u.mstances, "If we could only understand what they are saying!"

Our progress was slow, owing partly to the roughness of the road, and partly, as the Boy later explained, to the fact that the driver, who was a very old man, fell asleep at intervals, and only awoke when the horses stopped.

Half-way to Pollensa we exchanged drivers with the coach that was on its way to La Puebla; and our new man being wide-awake, matters progressed more briskly. The Boy told us afterwards that, seen from his place on the box, the scenery had been glorious; but from the interior of the diligence it was impossible to gain more than a general impression of lovely wooded slopes, and of distant hills that seemed to draw nearer and nearer until, suddenly, while Pollensa seemed still a long way off, we found ourselves in a narrow lane lined with tall houses. In and out of the most tortuous streets imaginable the diligence twisted, then abruptly came to a standstill at no place in particular, and we realized that we had penetrated to the heart of Pollensa.

We had no idea where to go. All the information we had been able to gather about the Pollensa _fondas_--there were no so-called hotels--was that they were reputed to be bad. But when the coach stopped, and we had alighted, and were standing with our luggage on the cobble-stones, wondering in what direction to turn for a lodging, a young man, plump, clean-shaven, bare-headed, appearing from nowhere, begged breathlessly to recommend his _fonda_.

Following him through crooked ways we reached the hostelry, which was in a little square near the market-place. Mounting a steep stair, we entered a large lavishly windowed room furnished with many round tables and chairs. It had a little bar and looked to the square; behind it was a dining-room.

The Boy, who was our spokesman, following the expected procedure, inquired the terms per day.

"Six pesetas." Our host, following an equally expected procedure when arranging with foreigners, had quoted his top price.

"No," said the Boy, whom experience had taught wisdom. "Three pesetas; that is enough. Can you not do it for that?"

The landlord waved his hands. "That depends on what you have," he replied, quite reasonably. "Three pesetas--yes, if you will be content with soup and one other dish at dinner and at supper."

"And is the little breakfast included?"

"Yes, senor. Coffee and milk."

So it was decided. Three pesetas a day was to be the price. And it was with a feeling of keen curiosity as to what our host would provide for the money that we awaited the appearance of the first meal, which was to be served immediately. Senor Calafill at Andraitx had given us the perfection of French cookery, the best of wines, at three and a half pesetas. But his house was less pretentious, being a shop only and not a _fonda_.

Our hostess, a nice, bright little woman who wore her hair in a pigtail and the _rebozillo_, bustled in and began laying the marble-topped table with fresh napkins, good cutlery, rolls, a bottle of wine, and a syphon of soda-water. Then she added a dish of fruit, and running off to the kitchen returned with the soup--a good thick Majorcan soup, full of rice and sweet peppers and chopped meat. The second course was a large dish of fish served with fried potatoes. Then we had, as a fruit course, apples and mandarin oranges. The fare might not be lavish, but it was a.s.suredly all we required.

Our rooms, which were the best the house afforded, were small but clean, and during our stay proved quite free from mosquitoes.

When we discussed how we would spend the afternoon, the Boy and I hotly advocated walking to the port of Pollensa. A traveller from an inland town who had shared the box-seat of the diligence with the Boy had spoken enthusiastically of its beauty. His family was accustomed to spend the hot months there. The fishing, he said, was splendid, the fish being of much finer quality than those taken in the neighbouring bay of Alcudia.

"A salmonetta caught in the bay of Pollensa _is_ a salmonetta," he had declared emphatically.

The Man wisely objected to the expedition. The port, he reminded us, was seven kilometros (nearly five miles) away, and that was too far to go and return comfortably in the short winter afternoon. Besides, when we had come to see a curious old town, why not stay to look at it?

But from my bedroom window I had caught an enchanting glimpse of the port--a segment of blue water hemmed in by steep rocky mountains. It seemed so near that I flouted the idea of the five miles, and the afternoon being a glorious one we finally agreed to go.

As we pa.s.sed along an outlying street an old man, who stood outside his house superintending the drying of a great tray of macaroni, wished us "Good day."

In returning his greeting the Man added a remark on the beauty of the weather, which indeed to us seemed perfect.

"No. This weather is not good. It is bad," the old man said severely. "It is rain that is needed. The country suffers. No, senor. This weather is bad, not good."

The way was a relic of the Roman occupation: a splendid wide level road that, except for a curve where it left the town, stretched like a broad ruled line between us and the blue sea. It could not really be so far as seven kilometros, I a.s.sured my vigilant conscience, which was inclined to remonstrate. It looked no distance at all.

So we went on our wilful way, journeying gaily between the th.o.r.n.y hedges of aloes--one up among the rocks on the hill-side was in bloom--and beside the little farms that bordered either side of the road.

The road was long--quite five miles--but there was always something interesting at hand, and the enticing strip of blue water drew us onward. The hills on the opposite side of the bay had already caught the rays of the setting sun, and looked like a bit of some dream-world.

The port of Pollensa had a quaint semicircle of houses, divided in the middle by the road we had come, which ended only on the bit of wharf that ran out into the s.p.a.cious well-sheltered bay, where the British fleet had often found commodious anchorage. Save for a few local _falucas_ it was now empty.