AT SAN ANTONIO
It was Monday morning, and when the Man went out in search of a subject to sketch, I lured him along by my favourite watercourses.
The sun beat warmly on the limpid water, in which the swarms of little fish, looking like vivified marks of exclamation, were ceaselessly flashing about. And on the surface herbage countless glistening frogs, green, golden, bronze, and chocolate, were perched, like little kings, each on his floating throne. It was with lamentable lack of monarchical dignity that each in turn, as he got hint of our approach, took an agile header into the water and disappeared.
Going on past the tall whitewashed gates that seemed to have so scant reason for existence, we reached the San Antonio road, and there in the shadow of a wall at the side of a bean-field the Man sat down to paint.
Against the cloudless sky the Cathedral-crowned town rose grandly.
From where we sat the encircling ramparts appeared as complete and impregnable as they did in the time of the Roman occupation.
From our point of view, which afforded no glimpse of the newer houses sheltered close between the ancient gate and the harbour, the city looked much as it must have done in those bygone days when the ground on which the lower portion of the town is built was still lapped by the salt water of the bay.
While the Man painted I sat by, well content. The bean blossoms made sweet savour in our nostrils, and the gentle swish of falling water from the _noria_ in an adjacent field gave a refreshing suggestion of coolness. And as we sat near the roadside quaint figures pa.s.sed by in slow succession. Perched sideways on their panniered mules came broad-hatted women. The local convention that proscribes hats for Sunday female wear permits them on weekdays; and so, set jauntily on top of the sober handkerchief that covered the head, most of the peasant women wore a wide white hat, bound with black, and encircled with a black ribbon that hung in long ends behind--women whose grave sun-browned faces argued that the day for protecting the complexion was surely past.
Leaving the Man at work, I crossed to where in the raised _noria_, a dozen yards beyond the white highroad, a blindfold mule was patiently at work. All alone there by the creaking old Moorish well he was walking round and round the path, already worn to dust by the pa.s.sage of his willing feet.
But if one chanced to be born a mule and had to draw water for a living, a pleasanter place in which to carry out one"s vocation could hardly be imagined. For close about the stone-sided platform that surrounded the well grew two immense fig-trees and a large pomegranate; and for many months of the year the _noria_ must have been an oasis of leafy shade in the midst of sun-baked fields.
Even on that April day the fig leaves were unfolding, and the small green k.n.o.bs of the first crop of fruit had sprouted close under the foliage at the tips of the ash-grey branches. The big pomegranate-tree held its spreading branches over the mule-track, as though desirous of warding off the sun from the patient worker. On the delicate tracery of branches the leaves, that always seem too minute and finely fashioned to be in perfect accord with the heavy roseate fruit, were showing rich copper hues.
In humid spots about the stone bastions of the well moisture-loving maidenhair fern was clinging. As the shaft, slowly revolving, turned the wheel, the chain of wooden buckets emptied themselves with a musical tinkle of falling water into the wooden trough beneath, from which it flowed into a big square tank.
At first sight the enduring mule had seemed the only sentient being near, but a second glance revealed abounding life. The water in the reservoir was dotted with lively black ent.i.ties that proved to be tadpoles. On a decaying log sat a handsome frog with a panel of green, of so vivid a tint as to seem as though freshly enamelled, neatly let into his glistening brown back. Along the sandy bottom of the clear water a great warted toad moved sluggishly. Close in the shadow a dark trout was lurking. Within reach of my hand a golden lizard lazily sunned himself; and on the top of the wall rested a dragon-fly with a broken wing.
A swallow swooped overhead. Among the poppy-strewn barley gra.s.shoppers were chirping merrily. In the sunshine a newly-hatched swarm of insects gyrated, tentatively exercising their wings--all Nature seemed indolently happy. But still the patient mule trod on its way. Sometimes it paused a s.p.a.ce, and I rejoiced; but the moment the listening ears ceased to hear the trickle of the falling water the persevering beast had again started upon the monotonous circular tour.
It must have been a case of conscience, for n.o.body was at hand to see whether the task was accomplished or not; but still, with eyes blinded to the beauty around, the patient mule pursued the ceaseless round, until, ashamed of my own inactivity, I longed to loosen the halter, to take off the straw blinders that covered his eyes, and to turn him into the cornfields to eat his fill.
"What have you done with yourself?" asked the Man, as he closed his colour-box and prepared to return to the hotel for lunch; "I"m afraid you must have had a dull morning."
But when I would have explained to him how excellently well I had been entertained I found it difficult. So I said nothing, for, after all, what possible social community could one find in a blindfold old mule and a handful of saltant or fluttering creatures?
In the afternoon the padre came with us, and we drove right across the island to San Antonio, the town that ranks second in importance.
From Iviza diligences run to San Antonio, to Santa Eulalia, to San Carlos, San Jose, and San Juan, and the fare is fivepence. But Ivizan diligences are impossible things. We had seen them and shuddered, for they were merely rough carts with matted floors and close airless canvas covers. And any we had seen were so crammed that segments of squashed pa.s.sengers protruded from every opening.
To secure the services of a two-wheeled carriage, a horse, and a man for a complete day costs a douro (four shillings) in Iviza, and the charge for a half-day is the same.
The padre, Don Pepe, accompanied us, and in the care of a grave-faced Ivizan clad in a mourning suit of black ribbed velvet we set off, pausing at the hamlet of San Rafael to see the fine vista of the town from the plateau before the church.
I must confess that at first sight San Antonio was disappointing.
What we had expected I do not know. What we found was a whitewashed village set on a rocky slope by an enclosed bay. The situation was delightful; but after the grandly characteristic city of Iviza this zealously whitewashed town, in spite of its antiquity, seemed insignificant and _new_.
Antonio, the friend whom Don Pepe sought, was away on his "possession." So while a willing messenger sped to fetch him, we visited the church. The cura was absent, though his lace-trimmed vestments--which, like the town, were white as the driven snow--were hanging to dry within the precincts by the church porch.
The church of San Antonio shares the attractive informality which is the distinctive feature of Ivizan architecture. It was once a fortress of defence against the Moors. From the flat roof we had a magnificent survey of the country about, saw the bay, which, like all the water about the island, abounds in fish, and the lighthouse, to which Don Pepe promised to take us, and the rough track up the solid rock towards the _Cueva de Santa Ines_, into whose recesses Antonio was going to guide us.
We had left the church and were moving in the direction of the lighthouse, when the padre"s quick eyes noted a figure hastening towards us. The messenger had done his work. Antonio had returned.
The senor was in the prime of manhood and on the eve of marriage.
After our other sightseeing was done, we were promised a glimpse of his chosen one--or, to speak quite correctly, of the damsel who had selected him; for, as I have said before, in Iviza it is the lady who chooses.
On the sunny bank near the lighthouse we encountered an interesting and venerable trio--the Alcalde, the Captain of the Port, who wore earrings, and the cura of San Antonio. With them also our padre was a favourite. The cura urged us to return to the _curato_ and take coffee with him. But the afternoon was pa.s.sing and there was still much to see.
So we said good-bye and left them with something of envy in our hearts, to resume their dawdle among the white flowering asters and b.u.t.terflies, by the sh.o.r.es of the placid bay. Wherever their lives had been pa.s.sed, they seemed at length to have found anchorage in a spot remote from the storms and dissensions that agitate and perplex the world.
The men walked the mile to the cave. I drove, but many times during the short journey I realized that it would have been far less exertion to walk. The road lay over wickedly disposed rock, and when my hat was not b.u.t.ting the canvas sides of the trap it was violently colliding with that of the driver, who, though he bounced up and down on his seat, still managed to preserve his air of imperturbable calm.
The story of this subterranean chapel is a curious and interesting one. It is believed that in the early years following the conquest, before the fortress was converted into a church, the inner chamber of the cave was used as a temple where Ma.s.s and other religious services were held. Some time later--probably towards the end of the sixteenth century--a wooden image of the martyred Saint Ines was discovered in the cave, an image that, though it was several times removed to the Church of San Antonio, always mysteriously reappeared in the cave. This was ultimately accepted as a sign that the saint desired her image to remain in the cave, which then received her name.
On the anniversary of San Bartolome"s day--the very day on which the image had been discovered--in the height of a violent tempest, a foreign barque found safe harbourage in the bay of San Antonio. On board the distressed ship was a gentleman who had in his possession a beautiful painting of Santa Ines. In his extremity he made a definite bargain with the saint, vowing that, if through her intercession the whole ship"s company landed without scath, he would present her portrait to the church of the first port where they disembarked in safety.
It was on hearing of this miraculous intervention, and of the widespread notice it attracted, that the ecclesiastical authorities at Iviza gave permission for the little subterranean cavern to be used as a place of worship.
After that time, on the annual recurrence of San Bartolome"s day, people in great numbers journeyed from all parts of the island to the little town, and after attending Ma.s.s in the parish church went with the inhabitants of the town to the cave, near which they picnicked. Then, after having taken a draught of water from the holy well in the interior of the cave, they a.s.sembled outside and danced until sunset.
This quaint custom continued until 1865, when it was modified because the roof of the cave showed signs of collapse, and the natives of Iviza had a superst.i.tious belief that the impending catastrophe would occur on the day of the annual gathering. Since then the dance has been held in the town, but is only attended by those from a distance, as, since the scene of the festival has been changed, the girls of San Antonio refuse to take part in it.
When we had secured the key from a silent woman at the farm-house near by, we gained the mouth of the cave by treading unconventional paths--first walking in single file along the broad top of a stone wall, then treading across a tobacco patch, where, warmly sheltered by surrounding walls, the broad young leaves were growing strongly.
At the entrance to the cave Antonio and a companion who had joined him--we knew him only as "Charles, his friend"--lit candles, and close on each other"s heels we crept, doubled up and with stumbling feet, through the burrow-like pa.s.sage that led to the inner shrine.
Many changes must have taken place of late years, for the chapel was c.u.mbered with fallen refuse. The arch of the roof masonry and the hollow where the altar had stood could still be distinguished, otherwise there was little token left of the strange history of this underground place of devotion. As we crawled back towards the light and the outer air, Antonio pointed to where, at the bottom of a tortuous and shelving pa.s.sage, was situated the holy well.
The climax of our visit to the little white town was the promised introduction to the beloved of Antonio, whom we met in the house of her mother, in the street near the church.
Antonia could not have been more than twenty, if indeed she had quitted her teens, but in sobriety of dress and demureness of outer deportment she was a facsimile of her comely mother. It was only when you noticed that her full red lips had difficulty in refraining from curving into smiles, just as the dark hair so smoothly plastered down on either side of her rosy face seemed rebelliously determined to ripple into waves, that you realized that Antonia was overflowing with exuberant young life.
Antonio knew it, though. No disguise of decorous matronly garments or a.s.sumption of a demure manner could conceal from him Antonia"s real girlish charm. One could see that by the way his string-seated chair edged imperceptibly nearer hers, and by the ingenious manner in which, without seeming to do so, he yet managed to watch her every motion.
It was at this juncture that a happy thought occurred to the padre.
Would it be possible for the Man to do a sketch--just the smallest jotting--of Antonia, as a memento of the occasion?
"Of course it would," agreed the Man. "And of Antonio, too!"
At this the lips that Antonia had been trying so hard to keep prim broke apart in irrepressible giggles and her hand slipped up to see if her rebellious hair was smooth enough to do her credit. And Antonio straightened his shoulders and gave a furtive twist to the ends of his moustache.
The light was fading, and the chairs had to be placed--close enough together to satisfy even Antonio"s desires--near by the open door; just outside which a row of children had already secured front places to view the show.
The sketch was necessarily hurried, even perfunctory, but it gave immense satisfaction.
"Oh! Look at Antonio," Antonia gurgled joyously. "See his moustache!
Is it not fine?"
"It is like the moustache of an officer of _carabineros_," said Antonio, feeling it to see if it were actually more imposing than he had thought. "If I really look like that I ought to be a Minister of State; but--I prefer to be the husband of Antonia!"