Spalato

“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, and the magnificent remains of which still form the glory of the present city” (p. 85).

”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. […].

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; […]. After following it [this vaulted entrance] 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. […]. 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!

Sitting down cross-legged on the very oldest and dirtiest of rugs, and just outside our fragrant hedge of oleander, is to be seen an old Jew, the finest type of a Shylock that could be imagined; with ample, heavy, flowing beard, aquiline nose with sharp cut nostril, and deep-set piercing eyes shadowed by an ample turban. He has before him, on his rug, a collection of arms, pistols of the old approved Turkish form and yataghans of every price, from the common horn-handled weapon in a wooden sheath to the jewel-hilted Kharjar in a sheath of repoussé silver. Around is a motley group of countrymen, all talking at the top of their voices in their several languages, whilst examining and praising or depreciating the weapons there for sale, […]. There were Morlacchi from the neighbouring mountains with full blue Turkish trowsers fast to the knee; gold embroidered crimson jackets without sleeves, and gaiters to match; the whole finished off by an immense Albanian scarf of many colours wound round the waist, holding a perfect armoury of weapons in the front. On the head most of them wore a small red fez, others wore a turban, but it was not put on like the Jews, they did not seem au fait in settling it; but whatever head-gear they adopted they all were decorated with a tail - a genuine plaited tail coming down their backs with such luxuriance that it might have been the envy of any Celestial. I could not bring myself to like it - though report says that the Morlacchi are wonderfully attached to their tails, and cherish and pet them somewhat in the manner of our old tars in the days of Collingwood and Nelson.

There were Turks from the Herzegovina, ill-looking, badly-clad, scowling Mussulmans, who would willingly have earned ten paras by sending a Christian to his latter home, but still gorgeous in their tatters and vermin. There were Christian Albanians with their white fustanellas, high aquiline nose, glittering eyes, and false smile, in dress somewhat similar to the Morlacchi, but wearing a smaller fez with a long blue eyes tassel. Conspicuous above them all was a Risanese from the Gulf of Cattaro, in full Montenegrin costume; but with a green instead of the white characteristic coat, all overladen about the breast and shoulders with plates of solid gold of considerable thickness, […]. Mingled with the men were several women - some very good-looking - with golden-brown hair and dark eyes and eyelashes; their hair in plaits, not hanging but coiled round their heads, which were further adorned with Turkish piastres and other coins. The dress is a mixture of red, white, and blue artistically combined, with coral and coins twisted round their necks.

The noise of this Babel of tongues was deafening, and the scene not to be described. One wretched, tattered old man, but armed to the teeth like the rest, long tried to persuade me to buy a hank of onions, and would not be gainsaid when told by one of the waiters of the café that I was a traveller and did not require onions; what better or more portable provisions could I carry with me in my travels than onions? Said he.

Having finished my granita, I again started to explore the city; this time under the guidance of a most obliging gentleman, well versed in the antiquities of the place, […]. We first went outside the city to inspect the grand Porta Aurea. […]. It is still most beautiful and grand. What must it have been before the eight columns which decorated its front were taken away to adorn some modern church? From the Porta Aurea, we again got into the city, proceeding straight to the court of the vestibule of the Palace, where all that is best worth seeing in Spalato is collected together” (pp. 90-98).

”The majority of the inhabitants of Spalato are Roman Catholics, with an admixture of Greeks and a good number of Jews, who wear the turban and the Oriental costume, and are principally descended from those who were expelled from Spain in 1493. For many centuries they were subjected to the same indignities as in other Christian countries, and compelled to inhabit the Ghetto where they used to be locked up at night; but such practices have long been abolished in Dalmatia, and the Jews of Spalato have enjoyed for many years the same privileges as the other citizens of that place” (p. 104).