Traù

"Traü is an adorable little town. From the moment you see the Marina, with old Castel Camerlengo with its battlemented walls, you are charmed with it. Traü dates back so far, that many of the other ancient places seem to be almost modern, by comparison. […]. The melon-shaped peninsula no longer exists, having been cut through ages ago. So now Traü is on a little island joined to the mainland by a primitive wooden bridge. Just opposite the city is the adjacent island of Bua, which lies so close to its neighbor that our steamer docked in the middle of the stream between the two, and at the same time had a gangplank reaching out to each pier. […]. Like Rome, the city had seven gates, but of these only three now remain. The one close to the old fortress is called the Porta Marina. You can still see the ancient iron gates, hanging on their time-worn hinges, and over them the Lion of St. Mark continues to look down solemnly on the crowds below. This lion is famous. He differs from the ordinary specimen for, altho he has the regulation wings and book, his book is not inscribed, «Peace to thee my Saint Mark, the Evangelist», as we often see it. His book of the law is now closed. It was open once, and so remained until the day when Venice lost her dominion. Then, when the sun rose next morning, people saw with amazement that the proud lion had closed his book, and shut it has remained to this day. It was a great pity to have this story spoiled, by being informed that the gate was built at a time when Venice was at war, and that is the reason why the book is shown closed. […].

But the lovely Renaissance Porta St. Giovanni restored my good humor. It has a fine lion in an oblong panel over the arched gate, and on top is a life-sized statue of the good saint himself, holding his pastoral staff in one hand, his other raised in blessing. Below the figure, on each side of the gate, are two little lamps which burn perpetually in his honor. Most interesting of all is the little bush which has sprung up miraculously from between the stones at the feet of the lion, and almost hides him from view. Professor Eitelberger says the Morlacchi firmly believe the saint himself is responsible for the little cedar which has endured without soil for centuries, and that he has nourished and sustained it, «to hide from view the sign of the hated symbol of Venice». The color of the bush is always a sign of what the year is to be; for if it is fresh and green the harvest will be abundant, but if pale and yellow, the season will be poor for vineyards. My delight in the old gateway with its beneficent, wonder-working saint, the perpetually burning lamps and the bush-covered lion would have been great, only our exact friend of the Marina (who delighted in "facts") had taken the pains to inform us that the miraculously sustained little cedar was dead! He said it had died several years ago. «In May, 1906», to quote his words exactly" (pp. 117-121).

"Judging from his kindly figure, which looks down benignly from the top of the old gateway, and from statues of him all over the city, St. Giovanni is not only a wonder-working saint, but in life had a charming personality. He must have been a worthy bishop and a splendid man. No wonder the Traürini love him and reverence his memory.

It is often said that while «the duomo is the pride of Traü, its western portal is the glory of all Dalmatia». This most famous doorway is entered through a splendid porch, or narthex, which forms a magnificent vestibule, adding much to the superb dignity of the church. The portico is technically known as a Galileo porch, and is really most beautiful, but I would have admired it more if it had not so darkened the doorway, with all its wealth of detail. We found it almost impossible to get a good photograph in the subdued light under it. Outside there was the most radiant sunshine, but within, the portico was only somber twilight. No one need expect fully to appreciate the duomo's splendid door unless conversant with the whole Bible from "kiver to kiver". And they should have an acquaintance, too, with all the beasts, birds, and things, which came out of Noah's ark, if they desire to study understandingly its most diversified details. The ornate decoration of Antonio's door at Sebenico pales into insignificance before this wonderful specimen of fertile fancy.

On each side of the door are two lions on low pedestals, with Adam and Eve above them, as in Sebenico. These lions have manes like an Elizabethan ruff, and our first parents each stiffly hold their fig-leaves in place with their left hand, while Adam's right hand grasps his neck as if he had a sore throat, and Eve lays hers upon her heart, as if to say — like the leading lady in the melodrama — «Be still my heart». They really are so horribly medieval as to be funny. No sane person can doubt, after seeing them, that the human family has improved in appearance — provided these figures are a good likeness of our progenitors. But the rest of the door is really fine" (pp. 126-127).

"No matter how hurried one's inspection of the doorway has to be, no one should fail to notice particularly the queer scene showing the man cooking sausages. […]. I suppose it wasn't intended to be funny, but it is. No matter how tired or how weary you may be, I feel sure you will not be able to look at the man cooking sausages without a broad smile. I admit I laughed outright, in spite of the warning nudge John gave me, owing to the proximity of a number of pious Traürini. […]. What shall I say of the interior of the duomo? […]. As we stept within the great edifice, a profound solemnity seemed to envelop us — a solemnity and silence which we could feel. Unconsciously we spoke low, and trod softly. We were not conscious of the great stone arches which rose in majestic splendor far above us, nor of the long nave with its ponderous cross of lamps, which slowly swung to and fro, high above our heads. We did not see the magnificent baldacchino, with its lovely gabled roof, over the high altar; nor did we notice the intricately carved pulpit, and the double rows of old Venetian choir-stalls, altho they were right before us.

The sunny Piazza outside, with its noise and crowds, was forgotten. I no longer was an American sightseer, the very world had ceased to exist for me. My soul was touched by the sublime stillness, and the overpowering solemnity. A mist dimmed my eyes. I was silent. No longer conscious that I stood in the old cathedral at Traü, I only knew that this was the House of God — and that He was here! Humble and contrite I stole away to pray, as I had never prayed before. Thrilled with reverent awe, my eyes were blinded with tears, but I felt my soul uplifted with a great joy" (pp. 130-132).