Gravosa

"Passing the broad mouth of the river Ombla, we ran into the harbor of Gravosa, whose fine modern quay is adorned with a magnificent plane-tree. We took a room at the Grand Hotel Petka, on the water front, and having learned we were in time to catch the boat for Cannoza were soon comfortably ensconsced in the glass enclosed section devoted to visitors. A spick and span little steamer makes the trip to Count Gozze's famous garden, in a region where the big plane-trees grow. In just an hour we stept ashore, and, climbing a steep hill, entered the noble Ragusan's beautiful domain, which is open to the public. It is a big bouquet of bloom. Walks lie between radiant flower-beds, while cherry, plum, date, orange, lemon, fig and olive trees make a horticultural paradise.

The plane-tree region is not far from Count Gozze's villa. Both the garden and the big trees are well worth seeing. It must be confessed that to Americans, who have seen the big red-woods, in Mariposa Grove, California, the plane-trees — huge as they undoubtedly are – are not so "perfectly wonderful!" It is claimed that one of the largest specimens measures forty feet in circumference, and that its branches cover a space of two hundred feet — but John drolly remarked, «Please show us that tree — we come from Missouri!».

Walking back along the Gravosa marina to our hotel, we came face to face with the oddest-looking woman. She wore a small, flat, white-cotton head-dress, which looked exactly like the ring on which I work embroidery. Her long coat was sleeveless and edged with braid. I caught a glimpse of a shabby black bodice laced up with yellow strings, worn over a coarse, once-white garment, which looked remarkably like a soiled nightgown. Her apron was woven in stripes like a variegated rag carpet and finished off with coarse cotton fringe. Her skirts were short, and didn't show below the coat and apron; but her grimy hosiery and huge feet in clumsy 'opankas' did. She was bent nearly double by the heavy sack she carried on her back. It was black with soot, and held in position by a hempen rope knotted over her breast. But no matter how heavy her load must have been, she had certainly not lost the power of her lungs. At every few steps she uttered a shrill, piercing cry which sounded like a steam siren. We found out that she was a Gravosan charcoal pedler, a sort of peripatetic coal-yard, which certainly gave all customers due notice of its proximity. There is a splendid field in Gravosa for good people who object to "unpleasant noises".

We were tired out when we reached the Petka, but found it far from a haven of rest. There was no "lift" and our room "mid dare ver' fin' look," was three stories up, and reached only by an endless staircase, with tiresome landings at every floor. On each landing was primly placed a table, flanked on each side by hideous, stiff-backed, puritanical-looking chairs. Notwithstanding the horrible green-glass vases with sadly faded, fly-blown paper-flowers, offending my sight on each table, I was so weary I would gladly have stopt to rest on any one of these uncomfortable-looking chairs. But John knew better than to let me; so I had to toil upward until we reached our room.

The view of the marina and the tranquil harbor was lovely. The water was the bluest of blue, and, on the opposite curving shore of the bay, the hills were clothed with groves of dark-green cypress, whose tall, slender spires extended from the shore to the very summit of the hill, while far beyond the misty forms of distant mountains melted into the cloudless blue sky, or merged into the limpid azure sea.

Having washed, and then reveled in the view to our heart's content, we were ready to make the downward journey, for we had had a busy day, and were ravenously hungry. Preferring to be served outdoors in the little vine-covered garden, in front of the Petka, we were conducted to the only vacant table by a profoundly self-important major-domo, who waved us to our little iron chairs with a lordly air, quite out of keeping with the wobbly table and the hills and hollows of the pebbled ground. «It is just like a German beer-garden», I whispered, when the austere gentleman had retired to a safe distance" (pp. 209-212).

"The garden was crowded with people. Natty, well-groomed Austrian officers, with dangling swords, gold braid, and brass buttons, were seen at many tables. There were so many men in uniform I made a count. There were seventeen in uniform and eleven without — and the eleven men without included all the waiters. There were a number of pretty Austrian girls, stylishly gowned, dining with the officers, fashionable-looking young ladies whose chic hats and modish costumes evidently were importations from Vienna or Paris. I found it most entertaining to watch the people and listen to the hubbub around us. I never tired of looking at passers-by on the marina, and at the charming view of the harbor, where a fine Austrian warship lay at anchor. But while I may forget, in time, all these things, I will always remember the dessert we had with that dinner at the Grand Hotel Petka in Gravosa.

Knowing that "Sprudel" was a German sweet-cake, and seeing the word among the blurred blue hieroglyphics on the menu handed him, John ordered a Sprudel for himself, while I preferred to try something with a name which looked as if it might be intended for watermelon. On being served, the Sprudel proved to be of huge proportions, so John proceeded to cut off a generous piece and put it on my plate. At the same moment our nostrils were assailed with a horrible odor. I saw John suddenly lean over and spear with his fork the portion of the delicacy he had given me, and quickly replace it on the dish. Calling a waiter, he ordered him to «take it away, quick!».

When the man with the sprudel was gone, the sickening odor gradually passed away. Then John confessed he had taken but one mouthful and found it to be «the most awful mixture he had ever tasted in his life». The sprudel had been sweet pie-crust, as he had known when ordering it, but the filling, instead of being the luscious fruit or tasty jam he expected, was — hot, boiled cabbage! Not having recognized the combination written in German chirography, it turned out that he had unconsciously ordered the Austrian titbit known as a "Kraut sprudel", and this time he got what he ordered!

When John had finished his after-dinner smoke, and I had drained the last drop of my delicious, black Turkish coffee, there was nothing to do. There were no sights to see, and nowhere to go in Gravosa. […]. Not realizing that we were sadly offending, by breaking all precedents, we walked up the marina and took the trolley-car for Ragusa, hoping to get at least a glimpse of the town before bedtime. I discovered afterward that it was horribly déclassé for American millionaires, as we were supposed to be, to ride in a car, instead of in one of the ramshackle old hacks they call a carriage. I noticed, at the time, that the officers who rode over to Ragusa with us in the car, eyed us curiously; but I prided myself it was because we talked English, and they could see we were not English — but Americans. They see very few Americans, and we were good to look at! That humble car ride was a treat. All the way to Ragusa we passed lovely villas, whose well-kept gardens were perfect bowers of bloom. I have seen many lovely oleander trees in Italy, but never in all my life anything more like a huge bouquet than the oleanders we passed on this ride. […].

One of the most palatial residences we passed we discovered was owned by a veritable American millionaire. It seems that twenty odd years ago a poor Dalmatian sailed away from Gravosa to make his fortune in America, the land of golden promise — as so many of his countrymen continue to do to-day. This emigrant was not only a hard-working, thrifty Dalmatian, but a lucky one as well. For he "struck oil", and some years afterward returned to his native land a millionaire. […]. It required three years to build the "palace". After he had taken possession, the poor man became homesick for America, as there was nothing here for him to do. Deserting his magnificent abode he sailed away again, lured by the lights and bustle of the Great White Way in dear old New York" (pp. 214-217).