By midday all will have been sold, and the market square given up to tall, cadaverous-looking dogs that saunter round the deserted stalls and pick up what fragments remain. Gaunt, listless, and apparently starving, these dogs of Palma attract the attention of every new-comer; and thanks to a fellow-guest at the Grand Hotel, our own interest in them was specially aroused. This Swiss scientist had come to Majorca to study the domestic animals of the island, and the result of his researches had proved a theory he had long held—that somewhere on the shores of the Mediterranean would be found descendants of the dogs of ancient Egypt.
This island breed, known locally as Iviza dogs—but dubbed by the unappreciative foreigner “degenerate greyhounds” and “pariahs”—can boast a longer pedigree than any dogs under the sun, for they are descended from the much-prized hunting dogs of the old Egyptians. Introduced ages ago by Greek or Phœnician colonists, they are now peculiar to the Balearics, where they are found in great numbers.
They are the size of a large greyhound, with smooth coats usually yellow and white. Nothing will fatten them: the pampered favourite of a great house is as lean as his scavenging confrère of the market-place, and, like him, he wears a look of melancholy weariness not unfitting an old, old race that has existed since the dawn of history. The chief characteristic of the breed is their long, pointed ears, which when pricked stand stiffly erect, and never droop as do those of the somewhat similar hounds imported from Algeria and Morocco. These ears, with the long, narrow muzzle, give the dogs a striking resemblance to the jackal-headed god Anubis of Egyptian sculpture.
They are mild, timid creatures, quite useless as watchdogs, but popular as pets, and—like their original ancestors—much valued for purposes of the chase. Landowners keep them for coursing hares and rabbits, of which they catch extraordinary quantities; and so devoted are the dogs to this sport that those belonging to peasants on large estates have frequently to be hobbled, and are seen wearing steel bracelets on their fore and hind leg, connected with a light chain.
Another interesting relic of a bygone race is seen in the survival in the Balearics—so our Swiss professor pointed out—of the Greek type of horse familiar to travellers who have seen the statues of Balbus—père et fils—in the Naples Museum. These animals are not very common, but here and there one comes across a horse differing utterly from the prevailing Andalusian type. Round and compact, often black in colour, and with stiff mane and tail, these horses have a remarkably arched crest and a slightly convex outline of nose—the profile of head and neck being represented rather by the segment of a circle than by the right angle formed at the apex of the skull by the lines of the slender Spanish horse.
Mules are largely used in the Balearics, Majorca being especially celebrated for its breed. They are big, handsome animals, unusually docile, owing to the gentle treatment they receive, and a good pair of carriage mules is more sought after and more valuable than is a pair of the best Continental horses. Nearly all the carriages of the Palma gentry are drawn by fast-trotting mules, and towards evening a perfect procession of galarétas wends its way westward along the sea road, each with its match pair of strong, sure-footed beasts that make nothing of the hills to be encountered.
Half an hour’s drive along this road brings one to the wooded knoll beyond Santa Catalina, on which stands the old castle of Bellver, a well-preserved thirteenth-century fortress, whose yellow walls rise above the surrounding pines, foursquare and stately. In olden days it was used as a residence by the Kings of Majorca—in later times it served as a state prison—and now it stands empty, the last use it was put to having been as an astronomical station for the English expedition which went out to Palma in 1905 to observe the solar eclipse. From the grounds round the castle a most lovely view of the town is obtained through the pine-trees, and it is amongst these woods that a new hotel is now being built, to be opened this year under the name of Hotel Victoria. It will be under the same management as the Grand Hotel in Palma, and being connected with the town by a service of trams it will no doubt prove extremely popular with visitors who prefer life amid country surroundings.
A mile or so beyond Bellver we come to the little harbour of Porto Pi, the mouth of the creek guarded by an old Moorish signal tower, now converted into a lighthouse, though still used for signalling purposes.
It is not till we get beyond Porto Pi that we reach the real country and find ourselves amongst olives and asphodel; and here the Spanish ladies descend from their carriages and stroll bareheaded along the road—the only form of exercise in which they indulge. The Majorcan roads are upon the whole very good, though dusty in dry weather; and they are kept in far better repair than one would be led to expect from watching the leisurely procedure of the Péon caminéro, who brings stones and earth upon the scene in small basketfuls, moistens them with a watering-pot, and stamps them in patiently with a small rammer. When, however, he has occasion to spread road metal in greater quantities he takes a high hand with the public, and procuring large boulders he arranges them on alternate sides of the road, so as to compel passing vehicles to drive over the fresh stone; he is considerate enough to remove these stumbling-blocks at nightfall, but it is a ludicrous sight to see a whole string of smart carriages twisting in and out of these obstacles as if in a driving competition, in obedience to the arbitrary behest of the road-maker.