The Argosy — page 223: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

206 Letters from Majorca. At half past eleven comes the second breakfast, in this Fonda de Mallorca, for which we go down to the dining-room. But our nerves by this time have gained tone, and we are able to support, how- ever much we may dislike, our food flavoured with tobacco smoke. To say the truth, it is not very general or overpowering. One or two men come in with lighted cigarettes, but they put them down when more substantial matter is given them to digest. Both at lunch and dinner, however, they do not scruple to return to the evil of their ways at the end of their banquet, no matter what stage your own may have reached. We live here better than we anticipated. We had heard that hotels in Palma were all bad; that civilisation was very far behind the age; that one had to rough it to a very great extent ; that food was insufficient, not good, badly dressed and uncomfortably served. As far as Palma is concerned, and the Fonda de Mallorca, this may, to a great extent, be contradicted. _ It cannot be denied that if Palma had a large and well organised hotel, appointed more like the hotels one is generally accustomed to —the pampered luxury, in short, to which I have just taken exception —its attractions would be increased, and more visitors would lighten it with their countenance. But though it is behind the age in this respect, it has made great strides in the last quarter of a century. Fifty years ago such a thing as an inn was said to be unknown in Majorca, and a visitor going there, found himself very much of a sojourner in a strange land, at the peril of dying for want of the common necessaries of life. This state of things has passed away, giving place to one which is not only tolerable, but to be enjoyed by all who are of a reason- able turn of mind. Our second breakfast generally begins with an omelette, dressed to perfection. If Majorca fails in cows and in supplies of milk and butter, fowls must certainly be abundant and excellent. The supply of eggs never fails, and there are many ways of serving them. Two substantial dishes follow the omelette, and not infrequently one of them is pork. On these occasions I am deprived of a part of my sustenance, whilst H. C., on the contrary, counts them as feast days, to be marked with a red letter. So gross a taste in a refined poet is a little surprising, but human nature, like the physical world, is given to contradictions. We have known a warm Christmas, and we have seen snow in harvest. In all matters concerning pork, I am as revolted as if I had been born a Hebrew of the Hebrews; and if I dared make a jeu-de-mot—a habit to be held in abomination—I would say that the only hog’s-head I appreciate is that which contains pure Bordeaux wine. No wonder that pork is frequently served in Palma, for I am told that pigs are one of the staple commodities of the island: one of COMMICOOOKS EO)