Sebenico

"On the Baron Gautch, […] we reached Sebenico, our next stop, […]. John talked and talked, but I was entirely noncommittal except to complain of the sun and the heat; the rough roads and the dirt; the sore-eyed children and the slatternly women; and everything else I could think of as a cause for a new complaint. Without stopping to breathe, off again we started in the broiling sun. Up, up, up we labored, going through an endless chain of crooked, filthy lanes, roughly paved with cobblestones, and foul-smelling. Often, after a walk in the blazing sun, we reached a shaded place between the walls, only to find it so reeking with filth that we were glad to hurry on again into the sunshine. (I, myself, was feeling hateful, and so, naturally, all Sebenico was as disagreeable and ugly as I was.) I saw nothing but dirty, ragged children with sore eyes and blotchy faces; the women were untidy and disheveled, and sat around nursing babies and gossiping, with an utter disregard for their unkempt appearance. We noticed a number of women and girls who sat on stones along the wayside, embroidering, with eyes utterly unprotected from the blinding glare of the sun. They were making the tops of gorgeous Dalmatian caps, and several were at work upon the wonderful aprons they all apparently delight in, notwithstanding how hot and uncomfortable such heavy and stiff garments must be in a warm climate. […].

The road perpetually ascended and descended, until I thought we would never reach the top — but at last, utterly out of humor and disgusted with Sebenico and everything in it, we arrived at the fort called Sta. Anna. The view was magnificent — I had to shut my lips to keep from exclaiming with joy, it was so beautiful! Instead, I said nothing, but only complained how my feet hurt, and how the glare of the sun made my eyes ache! John asked if I didn't think the view worth the walk? But I ungraciously declared: "No view on earth would pay for such a disagreeable climb, through reeking lanes!" And the silly fellow thought I really meant it!

Sebenico stretched below us with its old, old harbor defended by hoary Fort St. Niccolo. Venice ruled here, when it was built, for over the gateway still stands a stone on which is seen a carving of St. Mark's lion. But we learned, later, it is not the original emblem — for the French under Napoleon threw that into the sea, when they were here in 1813. But later, the Austrian Government had a duplicate made of the carved stone which has reposed at the bottom of the harbor for exactly a century" (pp. 92-94).

"On our way down to the cathedral we passed through the most bewildering, but quaint and picturesque alleys, so crooked and narrow they strongly reminded us of the "calli" in our beloved Venice. Everywhere we saw charming reminders of the old Venetian domination, windows and doorways of exquisite Venetian Gothic and early Renaissance; houses, many of which still showed the heraldic designs of the noble families who once dwelt here, whose very names are now forgotten. Sebenico has an adorably quaint little Piazza del Duomo with a long, double-arcaded loggia built right against the hillside. Now, alas! the lower story has been converted into a café, and the upper story is used as a reading-room and social club. […].

The costumes of the Sebenzani (I think that is the way Jackson writes it) are less gorgeous than those seen in Zara. To tell the truth, the people we saw in the outskirts of the city wore very ordinary loose cotton blouses and checked aprons, while many we noticed, altho they were busily stitching gay caps and gaudy aprons for festa or Sunday wear, were clad in most slatternly Mother Hubbards. From their untidy, flip-floppy appearance they showed they wore no superfluous, garments, and, evidently, cared nothing for "a straight-front" effect.

But in the Piazza there were lots of people who, we saw at a glance, were of a better class, and all of them were at least decently clothed, which is more than I can say of the denizens of the squalid cottages on the heights in the vicinity of Sta. Anna. To-day, alas, there are no longer any patricians in Sebenico. All have passed away. Sebenico is a Croatian city and its people are dark and swarthy, resembling Spaniards in appearance, and in disposition as well, it is said, being quick-tempered and easily provoked to deeds of violence. Then, too, the population being of mixed blood, and many of them of Morlacchi extraction, they are almost uncivilized, and still bear some of the traits of those old pirates and freebooters from whom, I suppose, many are descended. The Morlaks here were particularly fierce and savage looking. They lacked the picturesqueness of those we had seen in Zara, and few, indeed, were adorned with the filigree silver buttons and ornaments, the gay jackets and blue trousers which made Zara's Piazza look like a stage-setting — reminding us of a scene in the "Bohemian Girl". The peasants were gaunt and scowling, half-savage looking bandits, with ragged black elf-locks straggling over their weatherbeaten faces, of whom we could readily believe the tales we heard.

It seems the Morlacchi still believe in witches, fairies and terrible vampires who return from the grave to sit upon helpless infants and suck their blood. We were told that to-day, among some of them, the old practise of girls being carried off by their suitors with their own consent (to «escape the attentions of undesired swains», as it is explained), is still of common occurrence. After a few weeks, or months, the couple return, and the belated ceremony is performed. It is just the new idea of "trial marriage" — which has been an old fact with these half-civilized people for centuries. They naturally treat women as inferiors, and never speak of a wife without apologizing. They dwell in miserable primitive huts, without any opening but the door; huts said to be always reeking with smoke and filled with vermin. If there is a bed, the man sleeps on it, while his wife sleeps on the floor. Or, it frequently happens that both sleep out of doors, lying on the ground, each wrapt in a coarse, homespun goat's-hair blanket. It is amusing to know that some of the Morlacchi still are terribly afraid of snakes, and believe in firing guns and ringing bells to scare off witches, and use conjuring to exorcise the "malefik" storm-demons.

The women have a queer custom of plaiting in a strip of white cloth with the strands of their hair, and wrapping the braid round and round on the tops of their heads, forming a kind of turban. Sometimes over this they place a "panno", or pad, with an end which dangles down their backs. All this is done with no thought of its becomingness. Poor souls, they are no better than the beasts of the field — and that is just what they really are, only they are the burden-bearers of the human family, as well. The headdress is designed to help them carry the enormous bundles they bear upon their heads. As a result of this combination of cloth and hair, we noticed the women grow horribly bald, even before they are gray. The Sebenico men wear the funniest kind of collar on their jackets. It is a border of wool, either red or black, like the crocheted tops we work on bedroom slippers, formed of loops of worsted. It is supposed to resemble lamb's wool, and to be ornamental! […].

Just as Zara and "maraschino", the liqueur made from the kernel of the wild-cherry — the drink which made Zara famous — are almost synonymous terms, so is Sebenico noted particularly for two of her products. The first is a very delicious fish, "dentili della corona" — so named on account of the mark like a crown upon its head – which is only caught in the harbor of Sebenico and its vicinity. The second and greater cause for the city's fame is the fact that here lived and labored her celebrated son, Giorgio Orsini, or George of Sebenico, as he is better known. […].

Of the famous cathedral associated with his name, […] I confess that neither John nor I know very much about "wagon-roofs" or shafts which the archeologists tell us are «Monoliths without entasis, resting on Attic bases with angle leaves, or toes». But even without a knowledge of its technical perfections we could agree with Dr. Neal, who declares the cathedral to be "the most striking and most Christian of all Dalmatian churches". Having been built entirely of marble and stone, it has withstood the centuries. It is built in the shape of a cross, and has Giorgio's famous Renaissance stone dome. But, unlike almost every other cathedral with a stone-vaulted ceiling, it has no outer roof of either timber, tiles, or lead" (pp. 99-105).