Mallorcans love tales of dragons. Legend has it that the hideous Cuca, for example, relished feasting on terrified Sollerics until doughty dragonslayer St George heard of the creature’s reign of terror, paid Sóller a visit and dispatched the fiend.
But when, in the 17th century, another terrifying monster threatened to gobble up residents of Palma, Saint George was nowhere to be seen. Step forward the hero and dragonslayer of the hour, Bartomeu Coc, the military governor of Alcudia.
The legend of the “Drac de na Coca,” or the Dragon of Palma, is a fascinating tale rooted in the history and folklore of the Balearic Islands. The people of Palma de Mallorca had long lived in fear of a mysterious creature that was said to lurk in the city’s sewers, and that emerged at night to prey on hapless townsfolk.
The creature’s reign of terror continued unabated until Bartomeu, who was in the city courting a young lady, decided to confront the beast. Bartomeu, a man of great courage and renowned for his skill with a sword, was determined to rid the city of this menace once and for all. He ventured into the dark, labyrinthine sewers armed only with his trusty blade and a burning torch to light his way.
As he navigated the dank and foul-smelling tunnels, Bartomeu could hear the distant roars and splashes of the creature, growing louder as he approached. Eventually, he came face to face with the fearsome Drac de na Coca. A very large, very angry crocodile. How it had come to be there is anyone’s guess, and perhaps a tale for another day.
Coc versus Croc
The beast, with its scaly hide and gnashing teeth, lunged at Bartomeu, who narrowly avoided its deadly jaws. A fierce battle ensued in the confined space of the gloomy sewer, with Bartomeu using his agility and deft swordsmanship to evade the creature’s attacks and strike back whenever he could.
After an intense and grueling fight, Bartomeu managed to deliver a fatal blow to the creature, piercing its heart with his sword. The beast let out a final, ear-splitting roar before collapsing, lifeless, into the murky waters of the sewer. Bartomeu emerged from the underground victorious, his reputation as a hero cemented.
And now it was time to cement his love for his sweetheart too. Bartomeu had the crocodile embalmed and gave it as a wedding present to his new bride. When Bartomeu died, his widow married Francesc Rosselló, with the taxidermized beast thus becoming the treasured, if gruesome, trophy of this noble family. For the next two centuries, every year on New Year’s Eve they took it out of its sturdy box and displayed it to awestruck crowds, who would gather outside their house. Finally, at the beginning of the 20th century, Francesc Rosselló Miralles decided to be rid of the curious heirloom after, it’s said, one of his maid’s died of fright when she opened the box. The dragon had claimed its final victim, and Rosselló donated it to the Diocesan Museum, now the Museum of Sacred Art, where it can be seen to this very day.
