RAGUSA
As She Is—The First Colony—The Fire of 1292—The Black
Death—Hungary Acquires the Place—Ragusa Establishes Her
Independence—Plague—Earthquake—Napoleon Takes Ragusa—The City
Ceded to Austria.
As does Venice in the north, so Ragusa in the south surpasses in lustre
all of those pearl-cities which dot the Dalmatian shores.
But you must be content, if you come by steamer, with merely a
long-distance glimpse of your “Enchanted City” for the time being,
because the steamer will put into Gravosa, a short two knots to the
north, where the waters of its magnificent harbour are of sufficient
depth for safe navigation, and where the docking facilities are of a
more recent vintage. The noisy little freighters of light draft which
ply up and down this Adriatic coast still make Ragusa a port of call,
however, and the _molo_ there is by no means a scene of inactivity.
The larger passenger steamers, however, after leaving Gravosa, do not
deign even to hesitate at Ragusa, but puff by indifferently as if such
a city never occupied space on the map, bound for Corfu and the Levant.
So here, at Gravosa, you will take a carriage and drive out through the
time-honoured sea-gate of the town, the blue Adriatic murmuring below
you on one side, and a continuous arbour of beauty bowing a floral
welcome to you on the other, the short distance to this dream-city of
Ragusa. Immense cacti grow in luxuriance from out the very walls of
stone that border the road; fig and olive trees clothe the neighbouring
hills in blankets of green velvet; rows of palmettos rear their scaly
trunks by the roadside and curl their broad leaves to hold the moisture
of the fallen dew.
On approaching nearer to Ragusa a greater profusion of semi-tropical
verdure lends a charming background to the numerous white-walled,
red-roofed villas which top the rocky shore line, while a modern hotel,
up to date in all its appointments, looks out from behind its gardens
over the battlements and fortresses of the old city. In the evening a
military band plays near the wall, which skirts the edge of one of the
cliffs just outside the city gates; crowds of care-free visitors occupy
seats at the near-by tables, listening to the music, drinking and
gazing out over the brilliant reflection of the moon upon the water,
while at their backs the splendid towers of the old fortifications
frown down upon the happy throng, as if in silent pleading for just a
little while in which to tell of the changes they have seen.
[Illustration: THE HARBOUR OF GRAVOSA.]
The ancient moat surrounding the walls, now magically transformed into
a garden filled with flowers of every conceivable shape and colour, is
the haven of artists; it is bridged by a permanent stone arch which
leads by winding passageways through the principal gate of the city,
the Porta Pille, into the Corso beyond. Above this massive gateway, in
a niche, is placed a small carved statue of the patron saint of Ragusa,
San Biagio. The Corso, within, is probably two hundred yards long, wide
and paved with stone. On either side it is bounded by shops, while at
the east and the west ends respectively stand the Custom House, through
which is the exit to the docks, and the Porta Pille. Just inside the
Porta Pille stands a magnificent fountain of huge proportions, built in
1435 by the famous Neapolitan architect, Onofrio di la Cava, who also,
in the same year, perfected the system still in use for conducting
fresh water to the city from the Gionchetto, eight miles distant, and
re-erected the palace which had been burnt down in 1432.
Opposite this fountain is the Franciscan church of Mala Brača, the
doorway of which, from the point of view of the architect, is worthy of
some study.
Behind the town to the north the barren slopes of Mount Sergius
interrupt the view inland. It may be interesting for our own
conservationists to note that at one time this mountain was so thickly
wooded that Ragusa was given the Illyric sobriquet of “Dubrovnik,” or
“The Woody,” but now not a tree nor a shrub can be seen upon its entire
sterile surface.
Off to the south lies the beautiful islet of La Croma. Tradition
says that Richard Cœur de Lion, while returning from the Crusades,
was threatened with shipwreck just off this island. While the storm
was raging at its height, in an attempt to court Divine Providence,
he declared he would build a church upon the spot where his caravel
happened to be beached if he and his crew be saved from the fury of
the elements. Scarcely had he finished his prayer when the ship thrust
its prow into the wooded shores of La Croma and here, to fulfil his
promise, he built a chapel.
The history of Ragusa reads like the romance it is, for it is doubtful
if any other city of Europe has been so tightly and tragically wound
around the finger of Fate.
[Illustration: RAGUSA,—MOUNT SERGIUS IN THE BACKGROUND.]
Many conflicting accounts of its founding have been published, but
the real history of Ragusa begins at the time of the victory of the
Venetians over the Narentines in the struggle for the supremacy of the
Adriatic. Policy compelled its citizens, descendants of the refugees
from the fallen Illyrian capitals who have been accredited with the
founding of Ragusa, to favour the Narentines, and with their fall
Ragusa came under the yoke of the Venetians.
The original city corresponded to the southern portion or modern
Ragusa, but later, the Romans absorbed a rival colony and included the
whole within the walls which stood, approximately, on the line of the
present fortifications.
In the year 1292 a series of periodical disasters commenced in Ragusa,
the blighting results of which no city of to-day could possibly sustain.
On August 16th of that year, while the little territory was being
pillaged by the Servians in alliance with the people of Cattaro, but a
few miles down the coast, a fire broke out and destroyed a greater part
of the city; at that time all the houses were built of wood gathered
from the forests of Mount Sergius, all except the Rector’s castle and
the churches. Fire was followed by famine and epidemic. Those of
the heart-sick population who survived were finally persuaded not to
abandon the city, public subscriptions were raised for the destitute
and a new town was built on the same site.
When the great plague, or “Black Death,” swept across Europe in 1348
eleven thousand souls were said to have perished within the walls of
Ragusa.
Exactly ten years later Ragusa, then included in the Dalmatian
territory belonging to Venice, was ceded to Hungary and the payments
of all tributes hitherto given to Venice were transferred with the
country. In return, Lewis of Hungary pledged himself to protect Ragusa
and to allow her to govern herself, as had Venice before him.
Under Hungarian protection Ragusa felt herself develop an extensive
power. In this she was abetted by Lewis himself, who interceded for
her with the Pope for permission to trade with the Turks. He even
allowed her to elect her own Count and tended her many other unheard of
privileges.
[Illustration: THE WALLS OF RAGUSA.]
In 1418 Dalmatia again passed into the hands of Venice. Then it
was that Ragusa revolted, and, three years later, she established
successfully an independence, which she enjoyed for almost four
hundred years. A steady commercial progress marked this period of
her history, and it only reached its climax after the fall of Venice
in 1797. As early as 1417 slave-dealing was forbidden in Ragusa and
adjudged by the assembly as “base, wicked and abominable.” A foundling
hospital was established in 1432, and in 1435 teachers were invited
from Italy to instruct in the public schools.
The little principality became the haven of many wealthy and noble
families from the Slavonic kingdoms in the interior, who had been
driven from their lands by the marauding Turks. But Ragusa, on the
other hand, made friends with the deceitful Mohammedans, traded with
them, and, at the same time, cannily strengthened her fortifications
against them. Ragusa made treaties of commerce with Spain in 1494, with
France in 1508 and with Egypt in 1510, which latter treaty smoothed the
sea for her along the course to the East Indies. Her “argosies” (the
word “argosy” means literally “a vessel of Ragusa”) were to be found
in every commercial port, and, at the time of the fall of Venice, her
mercantile marine had risen rapidly to more than four hundred sail.
But during this period of trade-building the misfortunes of Ragusa were
many.
Only by the loyalty and indomitable pluck of her sons was she able
to rise so many times from her dust and ashes, while the whole world
marvelled at such determination to outlive the destruction wrought by
nature and the elements.
In 1462 plague broke out among the inhabitants of the town and two
thousand people succumbed to its ravages. The same year a disastrous
fire destroyed the Rector’s palace and the arsenal.
May 17, 1520, was the date on which commenced a series of earthquake
shocks, which continued intermittently for twenty months. Many houses
were demolished and it became the custom of the people to place the
passover mark, I. H. S., above their doors as a devout entreaty for
Divine protection. Finally, the earthquakes ceased, but six years
later the germs of the plague were carried to Ragusa in the stuffs of
a trader from Ancona. The unfortunate merchant was dragged through the
streets and tortured by the infuriated, panic-stricken citizens, the
Senate fled to Gravosa, and only a small guard remained to quiet and to
ease the sufferings of the terrified inhabitants. For six long months
the pestilence raged within the walls and no less than twenty thousand
souls fell victims to its terrible havoc.
Then Turkey in the east, and Venice in the west, took advantage of
Ragusa’s weakness and preyed upon her, the Turks especially making the
most of her misfortunes for their own aggrandizement.
The plague re-appeared from time to time, and in 1580 and 1639 the town
was again visited by earthquakes.
But the historical bench-mark of Ragusa was the great seismic
disturbance of 1667. With this as the basis, the dates of all
subsequent or previous events of importance were calculated; even
to-day the people of the town will tell you that the church of San
Biagio was destroyed by fire “thirty-nine years after _the_ earthquake.”
Early in the morning of April 6th, 1667, this great disaster descended
without any warning upon the people of Ragusa. The earth seemed to roll
and vibrate under the internal pressure; immense fissures were cleft in
the surface and almost every house in the city was razed to the ground;
five thousand citizens, the Rector of the Republic included among them,
perished. The ruins took fire and the town was looted by hordes of
plunderers; even the treasures of the churches were carried away.
Because the Ragusans had made some armed resistance against the Turks,
many of whom were among the chief looters, the Sublime Porte demanded
an explanation. Nicola Bona and Marino Gozze were chosen as peace
commissioners to Turkey, but both were thrown into prison at Silistria.
Two others that followed suffered the same fate.
Although deluged with misfortunes Ragusa prospered, but her continued
prosperity was not watched without some jealousy on the part of the
powers of Europe. At the height of her ascendency, Russia and France
both grew hungry for her, and Russia, aided by the Montenegrins,
bombarded and sacked the city. In 1806 Napoleon took Ragusa, and eight
years later the combined efforts of England and Austria caused the
haughty, supercilious little principality to be annexed to Austria.
You will find such an exaggerated air of independence among the
Ragusans of to-day that you will little wonder that they held
themselves for four hundred years against the nations of Europe and
outlived the effects of their calamities.
I was talking with a native on the Corso one day and happened to ask
him, casually, what was the nature of the reception the people of
Ragusa tendered the Austrian Emperor upon the occasion of his visit a
short time before. He seemed offended that I even intimated that they
had given the Emperor a reception, and assured me that the Ragusans had
taken the matter of his visit as an occasion of no importance whatever.
But he hastened to tell me in detail of the demonstration planned for
the Crown Prince of Montenegro, who was expected soon to make a short
stay in the city.
Ragusa, as I have said, is the much favoured winter resort of the
Austrian and Hungarian aristocracy, and it would be difficult to
imagine a more delightful one. The climate is ideal. Although the
atmosphere is free from humidity the sun of a summer’s day is quite
hot—so hot, in fact, that you will be tempted to indulge in a
three-dollar white duck suit at one of the little shops along the Corso.
The evenings, however, are always agreeably cool. Then the band plays
in the “piazza,” on the top of the cliff, and the town awakens from
its apparent lethargy. From the docks the sardine fishermen, after
overhauling their tiny craft, put out to sea in the evening twilight,
to make their nightly catch among the bays and inlets of the rock-bound
coast. Beyond the bastiles and sea-fortresses the afterglow of the
brilliant sunset tinges La Croma in hues of purple and gold.
At night the soft breezes, redolent of the perfume of the garden below,
are wafted through the latticed windows; the band seems to play the
last number on the program with irresistible rhythm; the tuneful songs
of Austrian sailors, as they return to their ships in the harbour of
Gravosa after an evening of revelry, swell out upon the night air and
die away—and before you realize it the morning sunlight is streaming
through the Venetian window-shades, forming bars of gold that stretch
across the polished floor, while the sea glitters and dashes musically
against the bases of the cliffs just a little beyond your window.
Truly, Ragusa is the fairy city of the Adriatic.
[Illustration: THE SEA FORTS OF RAGUSA.]