Small wonder that the townspeople love to stroll on their beautiful Muralla de Mar. It is probably the only portion of the ramparts that will survive the work of destruction now proceeding—for the doom of the fortifications is sealed. The last part they played in history was during the Spanish war of succession in 1715, when Palma hotly espoused the cause of the Austrian archduke and was reduced by General Aspheld with an army of 10,000 men. Modern science has rendered the old walls useless as a defence—modern hygiene considers them an undesirable barrier to fresh air.
And so they are to go.
For the last thirty years the work of pulling them down has proceeded with but occasional pauses from lack of funds. Already a wide breach has been made on the side next the sea; to the north a large section of the moat has been filled in and converted into a square with gardens; and workmen are now engaged in throwing down the eastern walls. The outer casing of masonry is being gradually stripped off and the vast earthworks shovelled into the moat. To the onlooker it seems as if ants had been set to remove a mountain as he watches one trolley-load of rubbish after another slide down to the glacis below without making the slightest perceptible difference.
Yet it is only a question of a few years before walls and moat alike shall have vanished. Gone will be the old entrance gates with their scutcheons and turrets and their deep archways of black shadow where lurks the douanier watching for his prey. Gone will be the bridges with their ceaseless stream of passengers plying to and from the town. Gone—alas! will be one of Palma’s most picturesque features.
A cheerful scene greets the eye of the stranger who starts out on a voyage of exploration the morning after his arrival at the Grand Hotel. Facing him, as he emerges into the street, is the Plaza del Mercádo, lying in the shadow of the old hexagonal tower of the church of San Nicolas, and flanked by the great balconied house of the Zafortéza family. If it happen to be a Saturday morning a busy throng is congregated on the square; the ground is strewn with displays of glass and crockery, of coarse green and brown pottery and graceful waterjars, while the sellers of young orange-trees, of toys and jewellery, of cheap rocking chairs and folding trestle bedsteads, vie with one another in attracting the attention of possible purchasers.
“The patio in some houses is merely a plain courtyard enclosed by whitewashed walls, with perhaps a clump of bananas growing in the centre.”
(page [14])