DEPARTURE FROM ZARA—SEBENICO—PLEASANT COMPANIONS—NOBLE HARBOUR—THE CATHEDRAL—CURIOUS ROOF—CORAL FISHERY—SPALATO—SALONA—DIOCLETIAN'S PALACE—MR. PATON'S DESCRIPTION OF IT—BEAUTIFUL SPECTACLE—THE PORTA FERREA—QUAINT DWELLINGS—AMBROSIAL TOBACCO.
AT about one o'clock p.m. we steamed away from Zara while we were at dinner, and at five p.m. reached Sebenico. Should I ever travel again in that part of the world, I think I should try to go from Zara to Sebenico by land in order to see the ruins of Asseria, which I learnt afterwards were well worth a visit; but the journey should in that case be undertaken earlier in the year, to avoid the oppressive heats. 80
The afternoon between leaving Zara and arriving at Sebenico passed quickly away, for I had the advantage of two most agreeable companions; one the capuchin monk, the other a charming young fellow, an officer in an Austrian J?ger regiment, Baron Heyd von Heydeg.
The Capuchin was a most interesting man, and we chatted many an hour together by moonlight on the deck, when every one else had gone to sleep, when I used to chaff him about the rules of his order, which forbid the smoking of tobacco, while they permit the use of snuff without any restriction. He used to take it most good-humouredly, and laughed as if his sides would split when I would refuse to take a pinch of his snuff unless he smoked one of my cigarettes. I verily think I should have brought him round at last, had he not been constantly under the surveillance, and in mortal "soggezione" of his lay brother.
Heyd was a different fellow altogether, but most agreeable. He was going to join his regiment, then quartered at Budua. We travelled together as far as Cattaro, and I met him subsequently 81 both at Cettigne and Budua, where I went expressly to pay him a visit.
The time sped swiftly and most agreeably in spite of the heat, and at five o'clock p.m. we steamed through the narrow tortuous opening, bordered by steep rocky sides, which leads into the bay, at the further end of which stands Sebenico. It is a noble harbour, and so deep that a frigate can lie alongside the quay. At the narrowest part of its entrance, the approach is defended by what a few years ago would have been considered a masterpiece of fortification, but which at present would offer too fair a target to our projectiles to afford any great protection against an enemy. It is still worth a visit, as its casemates are perhaps among the finest in the world. It was engineered and built in 1546, by the celebrated architect San Micheli. The entrance to the fortress is surmounted by the usual Venetian Lion with the following inscription:—
"Pax tibi Marce Evangelista meus."[4]
82
Having landed with Baron Heyd, who had been quartered there some time before, for cicerone, I proceeded to inspect the Duomo, or cathedral, the principal object of interest there. Some people are lost in admiration of this cathedral, I really could not see much about it to admire, and the two statues on its fa?ade representing Adam and Eve (they might as well be Gog and Magog) are simply detestable. But the roof of the cathedral is a curiosity in itself, and worth the journey. It is of its kind unique, and though it is said to be perfectly safe, and I suppose must be so, having continued so for so many years, still I could not help feeling a sense of insecurity as long as I was in the church, and enjoyed great relief when I finally came out of it.
This roof is simply a semi-cylinder made of enormous slabs of stone joined edge to edge, but so beautifully adapted and fitted one into the other that, without any other support save what they afford each other, they form the vault of this 83 cathedral. I trust they may never crack; but I, for one, could never say my prayers with comfort under such a roof.
Having taken a ramble through the streets, which were clean and contained many fine mansions, we went up to the fort on the hill behind the town, and which commands the whole place, where we passed a pleasant hour with the officers of the garrison.
My time being limited, I was unable to make an expedition from Sebenico, which under different circumstances I should certainly have undertaken, that is to the falls of the Kerka and the monastery above them. My friend, the Capuchin, who had travelled a good deal both in Europe and America, and had a good eye for the picturesque, told me they were well worth seeing; but like many other interesting spots down that coast, I must only hope to visit them at some future time.
At dusk we returned to the steamer, though we knew it would not leave till the following morning early, and we could have spent a most pleasant night on shore; but Sebenico shuts its 84 gates at sunset, and then till the following sunrise no one can come in or go out, and had we attempted it we should only have lost our passage.
Having partaken of an excellent supper, I returned to the deck, where, as was my wont, I sat down beside my friend the Capuchin, who always took a cup of coffee with me though he would not consent to smoke. We chatted till very late, when he went down to his camerino, and I settled myself on deck as usual for my night's sleep. It turned out awfully hot, as the steamer remained till break of day in the harbour of Sebenico, but what must it have been in the cabin?
At the very earliest dawn we left our moorings, and steamed out of the harbour by its well guarded entrance. Just outside we passed a group of small islands, among which is established a considerable coral fishery. The coral is not however of the finest quality, mostly of the common deep red kind, and is principally sold on the spot or at the fair of Sinigaglia in the Romagna on the opposite or Italian side of the Adriatic.
The dawn was just merging into daylight, when 85 we steamed out of that land-locked harbour. It had been stiflingly hot as long as we had lain still alongside the quay, but the moment we came out into the open sea, the
". . . . Aura messaggiera . . . .
Ad annunziar che se ne vien l'Aurora,"
came with a most refreshing breeze, so light, however, as not even to raise a "cat's paw" on the glassy waters, but still deliciously cool and invigorating.
The steward was not long manufacturing me a good cup of coffee, after which, having made myself comfortable in a capital arm-chair, I again went to sleep, not to awake until Giovanni summoned me again, "per far colazione."
In the course of the morning we reached Spalato, a beautiful and most interesting place, where an artist could with advantage spend many days. It was celebrated in ancient times for the gorgeous palace which the Emperor Diocletian built for himself after abdicating the Empire in 303 a.d., and the magnificent remains of which still form the glory of the present city. After a 86 reign of twenty years, "Diocletian executed his memorable resolution of abdicating the Empire," and acquired the glory of giving to the world the most remarkable, if not the first, example of a resignation which has not been very frequently imitated by succeeding monarchs. Withdrawing to Salona, he passed the last nine years of his life in seclusion—the building of a palace in the neighbourhood, and the superintendence of his garden, occupying his leisure hours. The satisfaction he derived from these pursuits is sufficiently proved by his well-known answer to Maximian, when urging him to re-assume the purple, "If I could show you the cabbages I have planted with my own hands at Salona, you would no longer urge me to relinquish the enjoyment of happiness for the pursuit of power."
This immense palace, which covered very nearly nine English acres of ground, was almost a perfect square terminating at the four corners by a quadrangular tower. Its faces were directed as nearly as possible to the four cardinal points—the southern side being pointed to the shore and facing the sea. It still exists in good preservation and forms a grand 87 object of attraction to the visitor entering the harbour. Two streets intersected each other at right angles nearly in the centre of it, which has lately been completely excavated and is now fully exposed to view.
The following description by the late Mr. Paton (author of "Highlands and Islands of the Adriatic," one of the most charming books ever printed) will convey to the reader a far clearer impression than anything I could pen; I therefore make no apology for inserting it here, and whoever should wish to go still deeper into the matter and learn all that is to be learned concerning this palace, I refer him to Mr. Adams' book "Spalato Restored," which is a perfectly exhaustive treatise on the subject.
"At the outset we are struck with the enormous extent of the palace, which is not less than nine acres and a half; so that even Constantine Porphyrogenitus speaks of it with admiration, as one of the greatest edifices then extant. In the time of Diocletian, his great retinue and a pretorian cohort could be lodged with convenience in it. Sixteen towers gave strength and elegance 88 to the edifice, of which the largest were those at the four corners. The back of the edifice looked to the north-east on the land-side, and there was the principal entrance, the Porta Aurea, or golden gate, which led to the Peristylium, a great court of granite columns; and the cross street which intersected the principal passage at right angles was terminated at each end by gates, the one the Porta Ferrea, or iron gate, the other the Porta ?nea, or gate of brass, which are so called to this day.
"This peristylium, or court of granite columns, was flanked by two temples; the greater of Jupiter, and the smaller of Esculapius; the former, a lofty octagon, was ascended by a stair of fifteen steps; an uneven number being generally found in the temples of the ancients, that, beginning to move with the right foot, they might, of course, place it first upon the uppermost step in order to enter the temple—a form which was accounted respectful in approaching the Deity. From the peristylium, or court of granite columns, the Roman entered the principal inhabited part of the palace; first was the porticus of Corinthian order, then the 89 circular dome-covered vestibulum, with the Lares and Penates; then the atrium, or quadrangular hall, ninety-eight by forty-five with its arms and trophies dedicated to ancestry; and last of all the crypto-porticus, or grand gallery, looking to the south-west, thus facing the sea, and forming a noble promenade of five hundred and fifteen feet in length, in which, during the heat of Summer or inclemency of Winter, the Emperor could take exercise. This crypto-porticus was the principal feature of the palace, and the well-known taste of Diocletian leads us to suppose that the choicest statuary and paintings of the Old World must have adorned its walls. The relics of Pompeii give some idea of the classic fancy in ornament, the harmonizing contrasts in colour, and the consummate skill in tessellation employed in the domestic architecture of the ancients; and if we relieve these splendours with the latest fascination in the unpretending forms of Greek statuary, how puny is the utmost magnificence of Versailles compared with the dwelling of the retired Roman!
"Such was the Palace of Diocletian; what now remains of the edifice? The shell or outer wall, 90 of which the best preserved part is the grand gallery facing the sea; for Spalato like its contemporary Baalbec being used as a fortification, the rough stone and mortar of the middle-age battlements surmount in many places the massive normal masonry of the Roman Empire.... Within the town, fragments of Roman architecture are scattered thickly enough, but so obscured and mingled with modern houses as to present a mass of confusion."
Did we stop short here, the reader might well imagine that beyond the shell, the walls which surrounded the palace, nothing has been preserved; such however is not the case, and I shall now endeavour to describe what I saw in Spalato the morning that I steamed into its harbour, when from the deck of my vessel I gazed on that sea studded all over with numberless boats spreading the most fantastic sails to the gentlest of breezes!
The prevailing form, if not the only one, was the lateen in all its varieties, most of the boats carrying but one. But such colours and such devices painted on them! things that would look simply outrageous at Cowes or Ryde, how lovely they 91 seemed there! Some were striped from above downwards with every colour of the rainbow, but only two colours to each sail and these always harmoniously contrasted; others of one uniform colour, with some fantastic ornament in sharp contrast in the middle; while some, all of one colour had at the topmost angle of the lateen a representation of the sun generally in burnished gold with its rays coming down a long way over the sail. The glittering golden sea, those fairy-looking boats gliding over it, the picturesque costumes of the sailors, the whole scene bathed in that golden light was a fit preparation for my introduction to the rare beauties of Spalato itself.
As we slowly approached the quay, there was ample time to admire the long fa?ade of Diocletian's Palace, with the tall and elegant campanile which rises inside it on the right, and the strong hexagonal machicolated tower on the left. The lofty steeple on the right, a very Giralda of elegance and airiness—the dungeon on the left a sturdy emblem of the iron-fisted middle ages.
After some customary formalities, during which I feasted my eyes on the picturesque groups that 92 crowded on the quay, permission was finally given to go ashore; when crossing as quickly as could be the narrow intervening space, I plunged through the Porta Ferrea into the vaulted passage which on this side gives entrance to the city of Spalato; and now commence the real difficulties of description, but having undertaken it I must only try, trusting to the kind forbearance of my readers.
This vaulted entrance is narrow, perhaps not twelve feet wide, but very lofty and formed of immense blocks of stone put together with wonderful accuracy. After following it a little way, it opens out into a spacious round hall rising up to a considerable height, this portion being unroofed; from it open out several streets, all running about here and there, crossing and recrossing each other as if in search of light and air. The dwellings in these streets are full of quaint artistic beauty; at one point one meets a massive wall of square-cut blocks dating from the days of Diocletian, against which, perhaps, is built up a modern house with wrought-iron balconies of the most delicate workmanship; further on, an outside staircase of rude stone steps, partly covered with a roof of 93 russet tiles, leads to a door some thirty feet above our heads, from which a flying buttress crosses over to an opening in an ancient wall beyond, where a modern habitation has been constructed in some medi?val donjon.
Each turn brings a new surprise, and so one passes on till one comes to the piazza, and this day being a festival, it swarmed with natives from all the surrounding campagne. The reader must now come with me to the café, where under a thick awning and surrounded by a screen of oleanders and orange-trees in full bloom, we shall take a granita di caffé (a water-ice flavoured with coffee), and study the moving panorama before us, whilst we slowly puff away a cigarette made with the ambrosial tobacco of Trebigna—a kind still unknown in London and in Paris!