The
Anglo-Saxons have always been a nomadic, acquisitive race. Starting off
in the lower Volga basin, they began their long westward drive by first
taking in a large chunk of the north German plain. (The tribe’s name
deriving from an emblematic tool/weapon - the sahsa dagger.)
Invited by the Romans to garrison Britain, they were soon parcelling up
the territory they were supposed to be defending with the Angles, some
northern kinsmen whose name appears to be related to a more pacific tool
- the fishing-rod. They were first dubbed Anglo Saxons by early
Medieval chroniclers in order to distinguish them their more sedentary
continental brethren, the Antiqui Saxons. After a thousand years
or so of apparent dormancy - in fact spent consolidating their control
over the British Isles and making a serious bid for France - they
suddenly returned to form in 1620 in the unlikely guise of the Pilgrim
Fathers, assimilating over the following three centuries a respectable
proportion of the total global land-mass. Whenever a territory was
irrevocably lost (such as the thirteen American colonies (1783) or Eire
(1920)), another far larger one would immediately be acquired by way of
compensation (i.e. Australia (1788) and Tanganyika (1920)). The result
was the largest and most far-flung empire our planet has ever known. But
one tiny Mediterranean rock managed to hold out, has never in
fact been held at any stage by an official Anglo-Saxon army. It is
hardly necessary to give the name of this plucky little republic, but I
shall anyway. It is called Ibiza-Eivissa.
One
of the first recorded Anglo-Saxons to arrive on Ibiza-Eivissa was a
woman, albeit one with a surname originally from Lombardy. It is
unlikely that any of the natives realised the long-term significance of
this encounter, nor the staggering number of Margaret d’Este’s
compatriots who would follow in her tracks - nowhere outside the British
Isles has ever seen such a concentrated gathering of them. The month was
April, the year 1906, and the timing immaculate, since Alfonso XIII of
Spain was betrothed to Princess Victoria Eugenia of Battenberg, niece of
the reigning British monarch, Edward VII:
The forthcoming marriage [May 21st] was
the topic of the day, and all classes were equally delighted with the
match. As compatriots of their future Queen we therefore met with an
unusually favourable reception, and though I am sure none of the
peasants had the remotest idea where England was situated we found a
great bond of union to consist in the fact that both we and they lived
on an island. Many were the questions we had to answer - Did one reach
England before getting to America? Was England far from London? One man
left his plough to come and tell us that he liked the English very much,
which was a little surprising when one considered that till that moment
he had probably never set eyes on any one of our nationality. We heard
subsequently, however, that some years ago an Englishman hailing from
Birmingham had stayed in the island, and though, to our host’s surprise,
we could not supply the unknown traveller’s name, we were shown an
unmistakable proof of his visit in the form of an English book - the
only existing specimen in Iviza.
Margaret d’Este, With a Camera in Majorca, p.
131-2
Although it had been sixteen years since the visit of Gaston Vuillier,
there can be little doubt that Margaret was familiar with his book,
The Forgotten Isles (see our previous Weekly Editions 061, 063 and
065). The subject of her Through Corsica with a Camera (1905) was
standard Vuillier territory, while her second travelogue, With a
Camera in Majorca (1907) also covered a key portion of the
Frenchman’s bailiwick. The original title of his masterpiece is even
alluded to in the opening sentence:
In the spring of 1906 we found ourselves with three
months to devote to foreign travel, and after some deliberation we
decided to spend them in exploring those “Iles oubliées” of the
Mediterranean-Majorca, Minorca and Iviza-and in ascertaining for
ourselves whether they were worth visiting and what were the
possibilities of a stay there.
[p. 2]
Obviously the English edition of Vuillier, as we saw in an earlier
article, left plenty of room for doubt. The ‘we’ is not a regal
affectation, but rather a reference to Mrs R.M. King, the shadowy
companion who had by then assumed total control of the expeditionary
camera. She had accompanied Mrs d’Este three years earlier in Corsica
(sharing with the author title-page credit for the snaps), and was to do
so again in the Canaries a couple of years later. The third and last
trip, incidentally, gave birth to In the Canaries with a Camera,
(1909). It seems that, having once established their respective spheres
of artistic prerogative, the two remained lasting friends. Before
examining the Balearic volume, what was the reception of the first
(Corsican) travelogue like?
“The reviewer is tempted at almost every page to
quote, so full of description is this charming book, but space forbids .
. . . ” (Daily Chronicle)
“An unusually well-written and well-illustrated
book.” (Northern Whig)
“The authoress has given us some delightful pen
sketches of the scenery, delicate little vignettes of local colour, and
strongly sketched-in characters of the natives, and the illustrations
are decidedly enticing.” (Photographic News)
“The book is one of the brightest of recent travel
volumes. Mrs King’s photography is a worthy contribution to the work,
and is worth studying by would-be picture makers, for its good placing
of masses within the space, and for the strong yet not harsh way in
which bold patches of deep shadow are placed against broad expanses of
light.” (Photogram)
Leaving aside Photogram’s technical advice – as timely today as
ever – one gets the distinct impression that our subject had a winning
way with words. I have quoted so fully from these reviews because they
apply equally to her book on the Balearics. Part III, ‘On Iviza’
consists of twenty-one pages of beautifully-wrought prose, ten
carefully-composed sepia plates and ten captions of aching gentility.
“It is fête-day, and the Ivizan peasants are all en grande tenue
. . .” ; “Very Corot-like is the landscape, with Santa Eulália
crowning a small eminence by the seashore.” Not just from
another age, but from another planet. But Margaret’s first impressions,
it has to be said, were far from promising:
It was pitch dark and raining hard. Some fishermen in
glistening oilskins were unloading tunny from a bobbing, lateen-sailed
felucca alongside, and we could hear the thuds of the stiff, heavy fish
being thrown on board. The dim light of a lantern fell upon a party of
broad-hatted peasants collected on the wet deck, who one by one were
vanishing over the ship’s side and dropping into a cockleshell of a boat
that pranced about below.
[p. 122]
When
the clouds clear the following morning the pair gamely set off to
explore the mysterious island beyond the fonda’s front door.
After the standard tour of Dalt Vila, they set off in a “small and
fragile conveyance” for San Antonio. It is Easter Sunday, and the
flower-spangled countryside is given a final touch by the colourful
parties of country folk encountered upon the road:
Whole families are coming to the town or walking back
to their villages - bouquets of bright colour, purple, blue, yellow,
pink, green, and red - quaint figures, such as one dimly remembers
having met with in bygone days on nursery plates, and having accepted as
truthful representations of that romantic race - the foreign peasant.
Here they all were as large as life.
[p. 10]
An
Edwardian lady to her fingertips, Mrs d’Este is able to do full justice
to local dress and coiffure. We are shown details which differ
significantly from the present-day costume on display at local
celebrations: the shoes “resemble Moorish slippers, being turned up in a
point at the toe”; the men wear “velveteen trousers of peacock-blue,
brown, or purpose cut tight at the knee and spreading at the foot, like
those of our costers or sailors” and a “broad-brimmed felt hat with
ribbons hanging down behind.” Should anyone remain in doubt, Mrs King’s
photographs are on hand to provide a clinching testimony.
Bearing in mind that this visit only lasted thirty-six hours, it is
astonishing how much the doughty pioneers crammed in at a time when
getting round the island was a slow and arduous business. The following
morning the two raced over to Santa Eulalia (“the little horse trotting
fifteen miles an hour on the flat, and straining every nerve to raise
his average”) and in the afternoon took in the Salinas. En passant
they are shown the newly-discovered Phoenician necropolis at Puig des
Molins, which is given nearly three whole pages. Two recent finds are
mentioned which do not appear to have made their way into the official
collections…
That very day the workmen had unearthed a pretty
ram’s head with curling horns, of fragile white earthenware, which our
friend showed us. He also had in his possession what I should suppose to
be the most valuable find yet made - an engraved scarab of dark green
hæmatite, comprising on its tiny surface the figure of a man on
horseback with a spear in his hand and a dog by his side, the whole cut
with the delicacy of the finest intaglio. No inscriptions have as yet
come to light, but as each tomb is opened the hope revives that it may
prove to be in an unrifled condition and contain something that may
throw a fresh light upon the burial customs of a long-vanished people.
[p. 138]
Present-day custodians of the local patrimony might like to track down
Margaret d’Este’s heirs as the local guide, “not content with having
done the honours of his native island, insisted upon our accepting some
charming Phœnician relics as souvenirs of our stay.” Those were indeed
the days. They returned to Palma with fond memories of the undiscovered
paradise and blissfully unaware of what destiny had in store for it:
The little island that had before been only a name to
us was now a very definite memory of pleasant days spent in the open
air, of friendly and picturesque natives, of sunshine and charming
scenery - while even our unpropitious landing had turned out to be a
blessing in disguise, in acquainting us with the resident whose kindness
contributed so largely to the pleasant recollections which we shall
always retain of our stay in Iviza.
[p. 141]
In a
fortnight’s time we shall be back with a look at another
highly-cultivated Edwardian couple, this time from the misty Scottish
glens. As is common knowledge, the Celts have always been the
Anglo-Saxons’ leading partners in conquest.
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