ISLAND OF LISSA—NAVAL BATTLES—A BRIDAL PARTY TAKEN ON
BOARD—LESINA—FORTRESS OF SAN NICOLO—THE LOGGIE—FORT
SPAGNUOLO—ISLAND OF CURZOLA—LA CHROMA—BEAUTIFUL SCENE—RICHARD
CŒUR DE LION—CATHEDRAL OF RAGUSA—EARTHQUAKE OF 1667—TERRIBLE
CONFLAGRATION—PRINCE MAXIMILIAN.
Early in the afternoon we left Spalato, and steaming away from the coast
we stood out to sea, making for Lissa, a large island of the Adriatic,
celebrated in the days of the first Napoleon for the stout sea fight in
which, on the 13th of March 1811, Captain Hoste, (afterwards Sir William
Hoste), with four ships mounting 156 guns, utterly defeated the French
fleet of twenty-seven sail, mounting 284, having on board 500 troops.
In 1808 we occupied Lissa, and having established free trade and other
institutions, the island improved so much under our administration that
in less than three years from the time we occupied it the population
had risen to 12,000 inhabitants (at present it has scarcely 5000).
The French were naturally sorely tried by the advantageous position we
occupied in front of their coast, and the very good use we made of our
opportunities of pushing our commerce in every direction. They determined
therefore on expelling us from Lissa and the Adriatic, as from the
smallness of our armament there they had no doubt as to their success.
Swiftly and silently they fitted out an expedition at Ancona, which
under the command of the brave Captain Dubourdieu arrived at Lissa on
the 13th March, 1811. It consisted of four 44 gun frigates, ten 32 gun
corvettes, one 16 gun brig, a schooner, ten gun-boats, and a xebeque,
in all 284 guns.
The British Squadron consisted of only four ships, the 'Amphion,'
'Active,' 'Cerberus,' and 'Volage,' mounting but 156 guns all told, but
it was commanded and manned by British seamen! the result could not be
doubted, and although Dubourdieu fought like a gallant sailor as he was,
the victory remained with us. Our losses were severe, and in a quiet
retired little nook, on the left hand as one enters the land-locked
harbour of Lissa, are buried those who fell in that engagement; while
on the right hand side is another burial place, where under a handsome
sepulchral monument lie the remains of those Austrians who fell in the
latest naval engagement at Lissa when a few years ago the Italian Navy,
the pet toy, an expensive one by the by, of King Victor Emmanuel, was
all but annihilated by the Austrians under Admiral Tegethoff.
At Lissa we remained a very short time, so short that I had not even time
to go ashore, though I should have very much liked to visit the burial
place of those brave English sailors who fell in the naval action of
1811. The business of the steamer, which seemed principally to consist
in shipping a bridal party, was soon concluded, and after a very short
stay we were again under full steam for Lesina, another island of the
same archipelago, but much smaller and closer in to the Dalmatian coast.
The bridal party we had taken on board consisted of the bride and
bridegroom, both very plain and very much, even tawdrily over-dressed in
Parisian costume, and with remarkably dirty hands and otherwise unwashed
appearance. A bishop with a couple of priests in attendance on his
reverence, and half-a-dozen relations and friends of the newly-married
couple, who seemed principally to study not to take any notice of each
other but went about making themselves generally agreeable.
The groom most kindly insisted on my smoking his cigars (and villainously
bad they were, but had I declined them he would have been awfully
offended) and drinking his maraschino, which fortunately was as good
as his cigars were bad, whilst the bride, luckily for me, persistently
avoided me, probably from fear of heretical contamination, and exclusively
devoted her attentions to the Bishop and his priests.
After a few hours steaming through the smoothest and bluest of seas, in
full view of the grand mountains of Dalmatia, in due time we arrived
at Lesina a little before sunset. This island is said to derive its
name from being somewhat shaped like an awl, in Italian _lesina_. It
is just a thin strip of land forty-two miles long, blunt at one end
(which represents the handle) and sharp at the other. I doubt, however,
the correctness of its etymology, and am inclined to think that its
present name is more probably derived from its ancient one of "Pharos
Insula," often reduced by elision into simply "Insula;" now the anagram
of "Insula" is "Lusina," a word much more in harmony with the genius
of the Italian language, and from Lusina to Lesina is but a shade. I
think I am fortified in this etymology by the fact of at least two other
instances in the Adriatic of this identical transposition of letters,
and the conversion of Insula to Lusina, in the names of two islands near
the Quarnero, named respectively Lussin Grande and Lussin Piccolo, which
are evidently the anagram of Insula Grande and Insula Piccola.
We arrived just in time to enjoy the effect of the setting sun upon
that rocky landscape and the exquisitely pretty town at the foot of the
mountain, and sufficiently early to be able to take a rapid sketch just
as the sun was beginning to sink behind the tower which rises to the
west of the town. The fort behind and above the town was still in full
sunlight, as was also the more distant fortress of San Nicolo, brought
forcibly into relief by a bank of dark purple clouds which were massed
behind it. Down below, close to the water's edge, lay the town bathed
in a flood of amber light, partly caused by the reflection of the golden
sunset beyond, and partly by the colouring of the town itself, the houses
of which are all painted with the warmest tints.
In the middle of the town, close to the water's edge, are the "Loggie"
or Portico, an elegant building, which in the olden times of Venetian
supremacy was used by the merchants as an exchange to transact business
in, as well as a hall of justice for the administration of the laws, and
at the back a room is still shown where criminals and suspected persons
underwent the question by torture.
Immediately behind and above the Loggie rises Fort Spagnuolo, built by
Charles V, connected with the town below by two long crenelated walls,
enclosing in front a considerable space planted thick with colossal aloes
(_Agave Americana_), which in case of assault would, in olden times,
have offered a very considerable impediment to the advance of troops.
The island of Lesina is barren, and its commerce very insignificant; it
grows, however, an immense quantity of rosemary, from which is distilled
a celebrated essential oil _Oleum Anthos_, and the _Aqua Regia_, or
rosemary water, which are both largely exported.
It was dark when we left; shaping our way for Curzola where we arrived
about midnight. My friend, the Capuchin, who sat chatting with me till we
arrived there, regretted I could not see it by daylight, as contrary to
the other islands, which are conspicuous for their barrenness, Curzola
is well wooded, and is celebrated for the size and magnificence of its
pine trees.
We did not make any long delay here, and were soon threading our course
again between the islands and the mainland in the direction of Ragusa,
but I know nothing about them. The Monk wished me good-night and went
to his cabin, when again I took my usual place on deck, and was soon
as comfortably asleep on that oaken plank as if I had been in the most
luxurious bed in England.
I was awakened from my night's sleep by my friend the Capuchin monk,
who had been my travelling companion all the way from Trieste.
"Get up, my lazy friend," said he, touching me with his foot. "We shall
soon be entering the port of Gravosa; and there," stretching, out his
arm towards the Dalmatian coast, "is the island of Lachroma, once the
property of the unfortunate Emperor Maximilian of Mexico, and in ancient
times a harbour of refuge to your great King Richard, Cœur-de-Lion."
Hard though my bed had been, for nothing but my doubled up old rug had
interposed between myself and the deck, I had slept profoundly, "_à
la belle étoile_," and far more comfortably than if I had condescended
to take my place in the dirty and stuffy _camerino_ down below, where
all the other passengers, including my friend the Capuchin and his
lay-brother, fearing bad smells, fleas, and other small game much less
than the delicious night-air of the balmy Adriatic, had carefully stowed
themselves away the previous night. I was up in an instant, and I shall
not easily forget the sight that greeted my eyes from the deck of the
little 'San Carlo.'
We were about three miles from the shore; the sun, though high above the
horizon, had not yet acquired sufficient force to destroy the freshness
of the morning breeze which delicately rippled the surface of the sea,
making it in the sunshine like a sheet of frosted gold, while in the
shade it was like liquid sapphire. On my left rose the wild, rocky
cliffs of Dalmatia, rendered still more desolate-looking by the almost
total absence of vegetation; while in front and on my right, stretching
away to the extreme verge of the horizon, were the sparkling waters of
the Adriatic, thickly studded with countless islets, to the nearest of
which, Lachroma, the Monk had drawn my attention.
"It is now many years," said the Capuchin, "since your great crusading
King found a refuge in that island."
"I was not aware that King Richard was shipwrecked here," said I. "I
knew that he met with a terrific storm in this sea on his return from
Palestine, but I always imagined he had been wrecked near the top of
the Adriatic, on the coast of Istria, in the neighbourhood of Aquileia."
"Yes," replied the Monk, "it is not generally known that it was on the
rocks of Lachroma that Cœur-de-Lion was cast away; and it is strange how
this error should have crept into history and held its ground and place
in every standard work, including your own invaluable Cyclopædias. But we
have ample proofs of the truth of what I am telling you, and documentary
evidence to establish the accuracy of my assertion; for your King,
in gratitude to Divine Providence for delivering him from shipwreck,
vowed to build a church in honour of the Blessed Virgin, on whatever
land he should first set foot, and having safely landed at Lachroma, he
proceeded to make good his vow by committing to the abbot and monks of
a Benedictine monastery, which already existed on the island, the task
of building this church, to defray the expenses of which the good King
devoted no less than 100,000 _nummi argentei_, which sum he borrowed
from his British lieges. But the Rettore of Ragusa (so the President
of that ancient Republic was styled), having heard of King Richard's
shipwreck opposite his city, went to visit him in state, with all the
magistrates and councillors of the Republic, and invited him to Ragusa,
where he was received with every demonstration of respect, and all the
hospitality and attention due to so distinguished a guest.
King Richard, pleased at the reception given him by the Republicans, and
charmed by the attractive graces of the Ragusan ladies, rested there for
some time; and then at the suggestion of these fair ones and the urgent
entreaties of the authorities, who promised to obtain a dispensation for
him from the Pope, he altered the terms of his donation, and founded in
Ragusa itself the church to the Blessed Virgin which he had originally
vowed on the island of Lachroma; on the condition, however, that the
Benedictine Abbot of Lachroma, assisted by the monks of his convent,
should have the privilege and the right to celebrate mass in this church
in Ragusa every year on the day of the feast of the Purification. The gift
of Richard Cœur-de-Lion having been further increased by donations from
the inhabitants, this votive church grew into that celebrated cathedral
which for so many years held the first rank among all the churches of
Illyria.[5] At last, however, came one fatal morning, the 6th of April,
1667, when Ragusa was all but annihilated by an earthquake. In a few
moments all the principal edifices in the town were laid low, including
the Cathedral of King Richard, and upwards of six thousand inhabitants,
more than one-fifth of the entire population were buried in the ruins.
There was not a family in the whole city which had not one or more to
mourn for. Several of my ancestors perished, and among others a lineal
ancestor of my mother, Simone Ghetaldi, then Rettore of the Republic;
he and several senators were assembled in the Council Chamber, and about
to receive the visit of a Dutch Embassy (which had stopped at Ragusa on
its way to Constantinople, to which court it was accredited) when they
were all engulphed; not one escaped, and it is supposed that at that spot
the earth must have opened and closed over them again. The Archbishop
barely escaped with his life by jumping out of a window as the floors
of his palace were giving way beneath him, and more than nine-tenths
of the clergy perished. We preserve in our family a manuscript which
gives an accurate account of this terrible catastrophe; as a youngster,
I was often made to copy it out, and I therefore know it almost off by
heart. It tells how the morning of the 6th of April, 1667, broke calm and
bright, and that the atmosphere was still and serene, without anything to
indicate the approaching danger, when suddenly, without any premonitory
sound, about two hours after sunrise, while most of the inhabitants were
still in their houses, or in the churches hearing early mass, the earth
shook so violently that in a few minutes the whole town was in ruins,
with the exception of the fortress, and a few other buildings, the walls
of which were enormously thick. In addition to the destruction caused
by falling houses, large rocks came toppling down, detached from the
mountain, which, as you see, apparently overhangs the city. This added
greatly to the terror and devastation. So far as we know there was but
_one shock_, and it lasted only a few seconds; but no where and at no
time was so much damage done thus instantaneously.
"Many harrowing scenes were recounted, but perhaps the most terrible of
all was that of a school of boys which was swallowed up beneath the ruins.
All the unfortunate lads perished, most of them by a miserable lingering
death, and for days their moans and cries for help and water could be
heard by their distracted friends, without the possibility of giving
them any relief. One would have thought this a sufficient visitation for
poor Ragusa, but calamities never come singly. A fire broke out on the
same day, and towards evening a strong wind arose and fanned the flames,
thus increasing the conflagration beyond the power of control. Night came
on, and the whole side of the mountains was illuminated by the flames of
the burning city. Then the wild mountaineers, the Morlacchi, came down
in swarms to pilfer and snatch whatever they could from the universal
wreck. The scenes then enacted defied all powers of description. The
fires were burning with exceptional brightness and fury, in consequence
of the conflagration having reached the stores of oil, tallow and tar
accumulated in the Arsenal and elsewhere. Groups of Morlacchi, undeterred
by the crumbling walls and the scorching rafters, could be seen flitting
about among ruins regardless of the danger! Occasionally some such group
having ventured too far, would disappear with a fearful scream into some
yawning gulf; while in another spot two parties of the same plunderers
might be seen in deadly conflict, fighting with their long straight
knives over their unlawful booty. It was a fearful night.
"But all this is ancient history; there is another tragic episode
connected with Lachroma. Another calamity is brought to our minds when
we look upon its shores. Poor Prince Maximilian!—alas! alas! he was a
good and kind man,—and that noble unfortunate Princess Charlotte! I had
the honour of being in their company more than once, both in Europe and
Mexico; they were so good, so affable, so happy, till in an evil hour
they allowed themselves to be led away by ambition. The Prince seemed
all along to have had a presentiment of evil. I was told by one who was
present, that nothing could be more melancholy than his departure from
Miramar, and the leave-taking when he was waited on by a deputation from
Trieste was the most painful scene he ever witnessed. The Prince was
completely overcome, and fairly broke down on this occasion. After his
assassination the island was sold, and now I hear it is for sale again."
The good old Monk was silent for a few minutes, and then gently putting
his hand on my shoulder, he said,
"You are English, _non è vero_? You are not American? I would not say
a hurtful word to mortal, but I cannot help thinking that the President
of the United States was nearly as much to blame as the Mexican savage
for the murder of Maximilian; one word from the United States' President
would have saved the Emperor's life."
"But what about the French Emperor?" I asked; "he who got the poor Prince
into the scrape, and then left him to get out of it as best he could?"
"Ah; true—true," repeated the Monk. "_e quell'altro birbaccione di
Bazaine_! Ah! Providence will overtake them all. But look, see how
beautiful Ragusa is, how picturesque! Although I am only a poor Capuchin
monk, I feel proud of my native city—_che mi son Raguséo_!" he exclaimed,
breaking out into his native Venetian dialect. "Though most of my life
has been spent far away in foreign missions, I still cling with fondness
to my native shores, and feel thankful, most thankful," he repeated,
bending his head, "that it has pleased His Holiness and our General to
order me back here again at last."