In the little enclosed yards in front of the fisher-houses men and girls were at work weaving from bright yellow strips of bamboo the tall, beehive-looking lobster-traps in local use. Behind the houses, on the left side of the bay, rose a precipitous hill. In front, between the houses and the water, was a line of fig-trees. Along towards the seaward point were some small charmingly situated summer residences.

When we turned our faces townwards the sun had already set; and though we walked smartly, the way that in the going had seemed short appeared to lengthen as the shadows crept over the hills and darkness encircled us.

Pollensa lies, a close huddle of old sun-dried houses, in a narrow curved valley between high mountains. Until you are close upon it, it is almost entirely hidden, and that was probably the intention with which it was originally planned. During the last mile or two of the return journey, when the shades had fallen and we went on and on without apparently getting any nearer our habitation, my opinion of the distance that divided the port from the town became considerably modified. Still, we were only pleasantly tired when the first of the town lights appeared, and we found our way to the _fonda_ through the twisted streets, past many well-lit barbers' shops where, in full view of the public gaze, men were being shaved or sitting in patient rows resignedly awaiting turns that, to judge from the large number of customers and the paucity of barbers, would necessarily be a long time in coming.

Supper was ready to serve, and the moment the meal was over I went upstairs to bed--to sleep soon and sweetly, in spite of the fact that conversation in the bar-room beneath sounded surprisingly distinct--about as loud, indeed, as though the owners of the voices were talking at my ear. Morning brought explanation of the phenomenon--one of the flooring tiles just at the head of the bed was missing, and through the gap thus left the noise of the unseen talkers entered the room as through a speaking-tube.

On the following morning, which was Sunday, the weekly market was held at Pollensa. Very early, while it was yet hardly light, the little bustle of street traffic awoke me, and, looking from the window, I got a misty view of panniered donkeys and of rustic conveyances which vague shadowy figures were unloading.

When we had breakfasted we went out and, within a few steps of our inn, found ourselves in the most picturesque market-place we had ever seen.

I do not know what may be the leading article of Pollensa market at other seasons, but on this January day the outstanding feature was cabbages--of tremendous proportions. Piled in heaps and hillocks on the ground, they fairly dominated the market. Other wares there were no doubt, but the things that impressed us were the number and size of these giant vegetables and a feeling of wonder as to where the people would come from to buy them. As the morning wore on, the mounds sensibly diminished in height; but at that early hour the stacks of cabbages towered so high that sometimes only the heads of the vendors were visible above them.

In the raised portion of the market-square women occupied the stone benches, their stock of home-grown fruits and of the finer vegetables exhibited in baskets before them.

It was the scarce time for grapes. The field-produce was long over, and only garden bunches were still to be had. But without any attempt at bargaining we bought two pounds of delicious grapes for sixpence-farthing, and large golden oranges were offered us at twopence a dozen.

The town was so full of strange and picturesque figures that every moment brought fresh entertainment. At the _feria_ into which we strayed at Inca we had thought ourselves lucky in seeing one old man attired in the curious _colsons en bufer_, as the voluminous zouave-like pantaloons of bright blue cotton are called. Here in Pollensa wearers of the delightfully odd old-world dress abounded.

And it seemed as though they took a special pride in the quaintness of their garb, so particular were they about the set of their neckties, so trim about the ankles, so careful as to the fit of the low black shoes that went so well with the costume.

The women of Pollensa, though less extraordinary of aspect, were also a pleasure to behold, for with scarcely an exception they wore the becoming native dress, and their heads were neatly covered with either the pretty white muslin head-dress or with handkerchiefs of gaily coloured silk.

It was somewhat disconcerting to realize, as we did quite suddenly, that it was really we who were the oddities, and that in the eyes of the crowd, at whom we were gazing so curiously, I was a ludicrous object because I wore a hat!

It was really quite an ordinary travelling-hat, but finding that the fact of a woman wearing a hat at all attracted undue attention from these unsophisticated folks, I hastened back to the _fonda_ and changed it for a chiffon scarf worn mantilla-fashion. That done, I found I could pa.s.s almost unnoticed.

Majorca boasts many picturesque old towns, but probably Pollensa is the most picturesque of all. It is a beautiful antique: a town made for the painter. Its warm golden-brown houses have baked in the hot southern sunshine until they seem ready to crumble to pieces. It is by no means a rich town. Most of the dwellings appeared to belong to the poorer cla.s.ses. As the Man said--"It is a city of slums--but what adorable slums!"

The streets were all turnings, and every turn brought a subject ready for the brush. Here was a grand old cross, there a curious fountain, yonder an ancient stone washing-trough. And round every corner, that market-morning, came the quaint old men in their broad-brimmed felt hats and baggy breeches, unconsciously adding the note of human interest that completed the pictures.

Pollensa is essentially a town of hills. Mountains closely girdle it round. To the Calvario, which is perched on a height in the midst of the town, one ascends by countless wide, low steps, the town ascending also. For on one side houses struggle half-way up the steep incline, while cactus plants, the edges of their thick, fleshy leaves heavily ruched by blood-red fruit, hedge the other. On the rocky slope beyond is a thick growth of _palmettos_, the dwarf palms whose inner stems the natives eat and from whose dried fronds baskets are made.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Main Street of Pollensa]

To the dwellers in these sky-parlours the broad steps play the part of an extra sitting-room. As we climbed slowly up that hot morning, we trod closely upon many domestic scenes, but none of the actors therein objected to the intrusion. Fathers were happily employing their Sunday leisure in nursing their babies; and mothers, with the requisites placed for all the world to see, were washing their children's faces, tying up their locks with ribbon, and performing other niceties of the toilet that usually take place in the sanct.i.ty of the home. One old woman, sitting full in the sun, was reciting her prayers in a loud voice. Her occupation, however, did not appear in the slightest to detract from her interest in the pa.s.sing of us _forasteros_.

The open doors of the little chapel that perched amidst its guardian cypresses on the summit spoke a wordless welcome; and we entered, to find ourselves in a beautiful sanctuary.

Above the altar was a very old carved tableau which represented Christ suspended on a heavy wooden cross, with Mary, kneeling, caressing His wounded feet. On the ceiling were various curious and evidently antique emblems of the Redemption.

On either side of the altar was a recess devoted to the display of votive offerings. Many of them were akin to those exhibited in other churches, though one case was filled with tiny flat silver figures--miniature men in trousers and tiny women in petticoats. But on the wall of the chamber to the right was an offering that aroused both our interest and our curiosity.

Suspended in a tall, narrow gla.s.s case, hung a pleat of dark brown hair, tied simply after the local fashion with a knot and ends of black ribbon. It was a pigtail such as was worn by most of the women in the town; but a pigtail of such unusual length and thickness that it might quite laudably have been the pride of its owner's heart.

Beneath was a card bearing the following inscription, written large in a fair, round hand:--

_Promesa de Francisca 30 Noviembre 1902 Pollensa._

Now who was Francisca? And why did she promise to cut off her beautiful hair? Was it to avert the fatal issue of some illness of her own? Or was it because her lover was ill, or in danger by land or sea? Or was Francisca merely afraid that he might prove faithless?

Whatever the nature of the terror Francisca dreaded, it was happily averted. The presence of the severed tresses a.s.sured us of that. But it was a particularly fine pigtail, and the sight of it tempted one to wonder what the feeling of Juan, or Pedro, or Miguel was when he first saw his sweetheart with closely cropped locks, and found that she had shorn off her glory for his sake. It is to be trusted that Francisca's hair was not her only beauty.

From the terraced slope of the Calvario one gets a magnificent view of the town. Looking down on the tiled roofs, all tawny-brown with the pa.s.sing of centuries, it is easy to realize the great age of Pollensa.

The city itself occupies but a circ.u.mscribed area, so narrow are the streets, so huddled together the houses. There is scarcely room for a green leaf to sprout between them. But where the town ends abruptly the real country begins, and in the parts that are not closely flanked by hills the ancient town is girdled by a belt of almond-trees. And all about it the fertile ground is cut up into small holdings, each with its little yellow-brown dwelling-house.

On every side, as far as the eye can reach, rise mountains, a glimpse of blue sea showing here and there between their rocky crags. Above one side of the town towers an isolated peak, from whose crest a magnificent panoramic view of half of the island of Majorca, and even a distant glimpse of Minorca, can be obtained.

A superbly situated building that was once the Convent of Nuestra Senora del Puig (Our Lady of the Peak) crowns the top of the height. It was so named because of a marvellous image of the Virgin discovered by the nuns who were in residence there. In olden days, when the building was in the possession of the Church, the Convent of Our Lady of the Peak supported an _hospederia_ for the shelter of pilgrims; and now that the holy sisterhood has removed to Palma, the authorities of Pollensa continue to uphold their hospitable custom, and every traveller who mounts the steep--rather a stiff climb, by the way--is welcome to free lodging with fire, oil, olives, and goat's cheese for three nights and days at the expense of the town.

As we looked from the Calvario where we were standing across the valley to the n.o.ble pile of the old convent, and thought how sublime the sunrises and sunsets would be, viewed from Our Lady of the Peak, I registered a vow to make a pilgrimage thither some day. The Man chose to be pleasantly sarcastic regarding the fulfilment of the intention. He cherishes a perhaps not altogether unfounded belief that I wish to revisit every place I have seen in Majorca. But we shall see....

As we pa.s.sed back through the market-square, the business of buying and selling was still in progress. In every quarter of the town, down back alleys, mounting up the steps towards the Calvario, in the farthest-out streets, we had met women carrying home the Brobdingnagian cabbages. Dinners were already cooking over the little fires of almond sh.e.l.ls, and the odour of boiling cabbage came from many earthenware cooking-pots, yet the piles seemed scarcely diminished.

The cattle-market--a matter of a score or two of piglings, half a dozen sheep, a few horses--was held in the square before our _fonda_, and while it lasted the interest of the wearers of the _colsons en bufer_ centred there, though, as far as we could judge from our balcony, they took no active part in the trafficking. They had all brown, weather-beaten, shrewd old faces, and all gave the impression of leading lives of extreme respectability. It was impossible to imagine any one of them falling foul of the law.

As the Boy said, "It would be a comic sight to see the old beggars flying from Justice in bags like these!"

Since our arrival on the previous noon, the personality of our landlord had greatly puzzled us. At first sight he had appeared youngish, stout, clean-shaven, and slightly surly in manner, and at intervals he still presented the same characteristics. But there were other times when he surprised us by seeming rather older, slightly greyer, and decidedly more gracious of bearing. The simple solution of the little mystery came when we chanced to see him in both aspects at once; and learned that we had two hosts--father and son--who, even when seen in company, so strongly resembled each other that we christened them the two Dromios.

In the afternoon we set off on the prowl, with the Town Hall--in which a native guide-book declared there was a collection of antique armour--as our objective.

The Town Hall, which in common with so many important Balearic buildings was originally a convent, occupies a commanding position at the head of a steep street. Reaching it, we found an open doorway, but no sign of any custodian.

We entered and wandered along empty pa.s.sages and up a great staircase so old that the stone steps were worn down, and the lower bal.u.s.trades had fallen quite away.

Still in quest of the collection of ancient armour, we had strayed as far as an upper and seemingly deserted corridor, our footsteps echoing loudly on the tiled floors. We were about to retrace our steps when a door at the end of the pa.s.sage opened, and a gentleman appeared.

To our gratification he accepted our explanation of the intrusion, and courteously invited us to enter his house to see the views from his windows; for as official telegraphist to the town, he occupied a handsome suite of rooms in the old building.

His wife, too, showed no surprise at having three outlandish foreigners thus rudely disturb her Sabbath peace. She received us most graciously, and, having invited us to be seated, entered into conversation with the Man.

"We were from England, then?"

"Yes, but for the winter we were resident at Palma."

"Palma. So we lived in Palma?" Before her husband's translation to Pollensa a few months earlier, the senora explained, they also had lived in Palma. "In what part of Palma did we reside?"

"Well, not exactly in the town--just beyond the walls, at Son Espanolet."

"At Son Espanolet!" The senora confessed to having had a summer residence in Son Espanolet.

"Our house is in the Calle de Mas--Number 23."

"In the Calle de Mas! Caramba! What a coincidence!" The senora's summer home had also been in the Calle de Mas--Number 26.

With this unexpected interest between us, we were soon all chatting away volubly, though, I fear, not always intelligibly. And when we bade the senora "Adios" to resume our quest, the senor kindly accompanied us.

With his aid we succeeded in unearthing an old woman who kept the keys that opened the treasures of the town.