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.
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 Jäger 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 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]
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 façade 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 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 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 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 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
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 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 Ænea, 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
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, 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 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 façade 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 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 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 mediæval 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!