Almissa

"[From the diary]. «Almissa is about sixteen miles from Spalato. It is a charming drive all the way. After passing through the hamlet of Postrana, our road ran close to the shore, until, coming around a sharp turn, we caught sight of Almissa on the opposite bank of a 'brimming river,' right at the very foot of magnificent, hoary crags, towering straight up into the air. On a sharp pinnacle of rock, seeming almost to hang over the city, is the lovely old castle of 'Mirabella.' Unfortunately, only one lone tower remains. We didn't attempt to visit it because the rocks are almost perpendicular, and we were frankly informed it wouldn't pay us for the fatigue and labor of the climb. The castle is now only an ordinary storehouse. But I feel sure the view from the top of that crag must be superb and well worth the climb, if only my poor feet would have let me attempt it».

«Almissa itself is the dearest, quaintest little town. It has any number of Venetian windows and doors. The church of St. Spirito has a big and homely campanile, so old and ugly it is actually picturesque. John declared it looked modern enough to him, for it reminded him of 'a brewery chimney' — but he didn't really mean it. (He was just thirsty, so, naturally, he thought of beer.) Near the church we found the Communal Palace, whose greatest distinction is its name. What I liked best about it was the lion of St. Mark carved on a big stone slab set into a wall. He has the regulation wings, halo, and book, but instead of his 'Peace to Thee My Mark, the Evangelist', which every self-respecting Venetian king of beasts is sure to have, his book is closed. I'm quite sure there is a story about why and when he shut it, but we met no one who could talk English. John is tired of trying to make people understand his French and German. He declares it is 'too much like work!' And it is — not only for him, but the poor Croatians. I almost die laughing to hear him; for he mixes up his French, Italian, German and English quite unconsciously, making an awful linguistic hodge-podge, which no one short of an expert in Volapuk could hope to digest».

«From Almissa the view is simply superb. The great cruel-looking crags soar straight up into the air in bold terraces of jagged rocks, with deeply cut ravines and horrible precipices; while below, the river Cettina goes rushing along past the town, until it whirls round a bend and is lost to sight in a tremendous rocky ravine which completely swallows it up. The country is so wild and picturesque it puts you in mind of Sicily. We were not a bit surprized to hear that once upon a time Almissa was the home of pirates. The duomo has a good western door, and there is a statue supposed to represent St. Michael stamping on prostrate Satan — but to me the figures were simply grotesque. What interested us more were some pieces of old plate, said to be part of the very spoils of the Almissan freebooters who made their homes here among the crags in the days of old»" (pp. 183-185).