CHAPTER
VIII.
ISLAND OF
LISSA—NAVAL BATTLES—A BRIDAL PARTY TAKEN ON BOARD—LESINA—FORTRESS
OF SAN NICOLO—THE LOGGIE—FORT SPAGNUOLO—ISLAND OF CURZOLA—LA
CHROMA—BEAUTIFUL SCENE—RICHARD COEUR DE LION—CATHEDRAL OF RAGUSA—EARTHQUAKE OF 1667—TERRIBLE CONFLAGRATION—PRINCE MAXIMILIAN.
ARLY in the afternoon we left
Spalato, and steaming away from the coast we stood out to sea, making for
Lissa, a large island of the Adriatic, celebrated in the days of the first
Napoleon for the stout sea fight in which, on the 13th of March 1811,
Captain Hoste, (afterwards Sir William Hoste), with four ships mounting
156 guns, utterly defeated the French fleet of twenty-seven sail, mounting
284, [Lissa, 108] having on board 500 troops. In 1808 we occupied Lissa, and having
established free trade and other institutions, the island improved so much
under our administration that in less than three years from the time we
occupied it the population had risen to 12,000 inhabitants (at present it
has scarcely 5000).
The French were naturally sorely tried by the advantageous position
we occupied in front of their coast, and the very good use we made of our
opportunities of pushing our commerce in every direction. They determined
therefore on expelling us from . Lissa and the Adriatic, as from the
smallness of our armament there they had no doubt as to their success.
Swiftly and silently they fitted out an expedition at Ancona, which under
the command of the brave Captain Dubourdieu arrived at Lissa on the 13th
March, 1811. It consisted of four 44 gun frigates, ten 32 gun corvettes,
one 16 gun brig, a schooner, ten gun-boats, and a xebeque, in all 284
guns.
The British Squadron consisted of only four ships, the 'Amphion,'
'Active,' 'Cerberus,' and 'Volage,' mounting but 156 guns all told, but
it [Lesina,
109]
was commanded and manned by British seamen! the result could not be
doubted, and although Dubourdieu fought like a gallant sailor as he was,
the victory remained with us. Our losses were severe, and in a quiet
retired little nook, on the left hand as one enters the land-locked
harbour of Lissa, are buried those who fell in that engagement; while on
the right hand side is another burial place, where under a handsome
sepulchral monument lie the remains of those Austrians who fell in the
latest naval engagement at Lissa when a few years ago the Italian Navy,
the pet toy, an expensive one by the by, of King Victor Emmanuel, was all
but annihilated by the Austrians under Admiral Tegethoff.
At Lissa we remained a very short time, so short that I had not even
time to go ashore, though I should have very much liked to visit the
burial place of those brave English sailors who fell in the naval action
of 1811. The business of the steamer, which seemed principally to consist
in shipping a bridal party, was soon concluded, and after a very short
stay we were again under full steam for Lesina, another island of the
same [A Bridal Party, 110] archipelago, but much smaller and closer in to the Dalmatian coast.
The bridal party we had taken on board consisted of the bride and
bridegroom, both very plain and very much, even tawdrily over-dressed in
Parisian costume, and with remarkably dirty hands and otherwise unwashed
appearance. A bishop with a couple of priests in attendance on his
reverence, and half-a-dozen relations and friends of the newly-married
couple, who seemed principally to study not to take any notice of each
other but went about making themselves generally agreeable.
The groom most kindly insisted on my smoking his cigars (and
villainously bad they were, but had I declined them he would have been
awfully offended) and drinking his maraschino, which fortunately was as
good as his cigars were bad, whilst the bride, luckily for me,
persistently avoided me, probably from fear of heretical contamination,
and exclusively devoted her attentions to the Bishop and his priests.
After a few hours steaming through the smoothest and bluest of seas, in
full view of the grand mountains [Etymology of Lesina, 111] of Dalmatia, in due time we arrived at Lesina a little before
sunset. This island is said to derive its name from being somewhat shaped
like an awl, in Italian lesina. It is just a thin strip of land
forty-two miles long, blunt at one end (which represents the handle) and
sharp at the other. I doubt, however, the correctness of its etymology,
and am inclined to think that its present name is more probably derived
from its ancient one of " Pharos Insula," often reduced by elision into
simply " Insula" now the anagram of " Insula" is " Lusina," a word much
more in harmony with the genius of the Italian language, and from Lusina
to Lesina is but a shade. I think I am fortified in this etymology by the
fact of at least two other instances in the Adriatic of this identical
transposition of letters, and the conversion of Insula to Lusina, in the
names of two islands near the Quarnero, named respectively
Lussin Grande
and
Lussin Piccolo, which are evidently the anagram of Insula Grande and
Insula Piccola.
We arrived just in time to enjoy the effect of the setting sun upon
that rocky landscape and the [The Loggie, 112] exquisitely pretty town at the foot of the mountain, and sufficiently
early to be able to take a rapid sketch just as the sun was beginning to
sink behind the tower which rises to the west of the town. The fort behind
and above the town was still in full sunlight, as was also the more
distant fortress of San Niccolo, brought forcibly into relief by a bank of
dark purple clouds which were massed behind it. Down below, close to the
water's edge, lay the town bathed in a flood of amber light, partly caused
by the reflection of the golden sunset beyond, and partly by the colouring
of the town itself, the houses of which are all painted with the warmest
tints.
In the middle of the town, close to the water's edge, are the "Loggie"
or Portico, an elegant building, which in the olden times of Venetian
supremacy was used by the merchants as an exchange to transact business
in, as well as a hall of justice for the administration of the laws, and
at the back a room is still shown where criminals and suspected persons
underwent the question t>y torture. Immediately behind and above the Loggie rises
[Gurzola,
113] Fort Spagnuolo, built by Charles V, connected with the town below by
two long crenelated walls, enclosing in front a considerable space planted
thick with colossal aloes (Agave Americana), which in case of
assault would, in olden times, have offered a very considerable impediment
to the advance of troops.
The island of Lesina is barren, and its commerce very insignificant;
it grows, however, an immense quantity of
rosemary, from which is
distilled a celebrated essential oil Oleum Anthos, and the Aqua
Regia, or rosemary water, which are both largely exported.
It was dark when we left; shaping our way for Curzola where we arrived
about midnight. My friend, the Capuchin, who sat chatting with me till we
arrived there, regretted I could not see it by daylight, as contrary to
the other islands, which are conspicuous for their barrenness, Curzola is
well wooded, and is celebrated for the size and magnificence of its
pine trees.
We did not make any long delay here, and were soon threading our course
again between the [Laehroma,
114] islands and the mainland in the direction of Ragusa, but I know nothing
about them. The Monk wished me good-night and went to his cabin, when
again I took my usual place on deck, and was soon as comfortably asleep on
that oaken plank as if I had been in the most luxurious bed in England.
I was awakened from my night's sleep by my friend the Capuchin monk,
who had been my travelling companion all the way from
Trieste.
"Get up, my lazy friend," said he, touching me with his foot. "We
shall soon be entering the port of Gravosa ; and there," stretching out
his arm towards the Dalmatian coast, "is the island of Laehroma, once the
property of the unfortunate Emperor Maximilian of Mexico, and in ancient
times a harbour of refuge to your great King Richard, Cœur-de-Lion."
Hard though my bed had been, for nothing but my doubled up old rug had
interposed between myself and the deck, I had slept profoundly, "a la
belle etoile" and far more comfortably than if I had condescended to
take my place in the dirty and stuffy camerino down below, where
all the other [Richard Cceur-de-Lion,
115]
passengers, including my friend the Capuchin and his lay-brother,
fearing bad smells, fleas, and other small game much less than the
delicious night-air of the balmy Adriatic, had carefully stowed themselves
away the previous night. I was up in an instant, and I shall not easily
forget the sight that greeted my eyes from the deck of the little 'San
Carlo'.
We were about three miles from the shore; the sun, though high above
the horizon, had not yet acquired sufficient force to destroy the
freshness of the morning breeze which delicately rippled the surface of
the sea, making it in the sunshine like a sheet of frosted gold, while in
the shade it was like liquid sapphire. On my left rose the wild, rocky
cliffs of Dalmatia, rendered still more desolate-looking by the almost
total absence of vegetation; while in front and on my right, stretching
away to the extreme verge of the horizon, were the sparkling waters of the
Adriatic, thickly studded with countless islets, to the nearest of which,
Laehroma, the Monk had drawn my attention.
"It is now many years," said the Capuchin, [Shipwreck of King
Richard, 116] "since your great crusading King found a refuge in that island."
"I was not aware that King Richard was shipwrecked here," said I. "I
knew that he met with a terrific storm in this sea on his return from
Palestine, but I always imagined he had been
wrecked near the top of the Adriatic, on the coast of Istria, in the
neighbourhood of
Aquileia."
"Yes," replied the Monk, "it is not generally known that it was on
the rocks of Lachroma that Cœr-de-Lion was cast away; and it is strange
how this error should have crept into history and held its ground and
place in every standard work, including your own invaluable Cyclopaedias.
But we have ample proofs of the truth of what I am telling you, and
documentary evidence to establish the accuracy of my assertion; for your
King, in gratitude to Divine Providence for delivering him from shipwreck,
vowed to build a church in honour of the Blessed Virgin, on whatever land
he should first set foot, and having safely landed at Lachroma, he
proceeded to make good his vow by committing to the abbot and monks of a
[His Reception at Ragusa, 117] Benedictine monastery, which already existed on the island, the task of
building this church, to defray the expenses of which the good King
devoted no less than 100,000 nummi argentei, which sum he borrowed
from his British lieges. But the Rettore cf Ragusa (so the President of
that ancient Republic was styled), having heard of King Richard's
shipwreck opposite his city, went to visit him in state, with all the
magistrates and councillors of the Republic, and invited him to Ragusa,
where he was received with every demonstration of respect, and all the
hospitality and attention due to so distinguished a guest.
King Richard, pleased at the reception given him by the Republicans,
and charmed by the attractive graces of the Ragusan ladies, rested there
for some time; and then at the suggestion of these fair ones and the
urgent entreaties of the authorities, who promised to obtain a
dispensation for him from the Pope, he altered the terms of his donation,
and founded in Ragusa itself the church to the Blessed Virgin which he had
originally vowed on the island of Lachroma; on the condition, however,
that the Benedictine Abbot of Lachroma, assisted by the
[Votive Church, 118] monks of his convent, should have the privilege and the right to
celebrate mass in this church in Ragusa every year on the day of the feast
of the Purification. The gift of Richard Cceur-de-Lion having been further
increased by donations from the inhabitants, this votive church grew into
that celebrated cathedral which for so many years held the first rank
among all the churches of Illyria. (1)
[Calamitous
Earthquake, 119] At last, however, came one fatal morning, the 6th of April, 1667, when
Ragusa was all but annihilated by an earthquake. In a few moments all the
principal edifices in the town were laid low, including the Cathedral of
King Richard, and upwards of six thousand inhabitants, more than one-fifth
of the entire population were buried in the ruins. There was not a family
in the whole city which had not one or more to mourn for. Several of my
ancestors perished, and among others a lineal ancestor of my mother,
Simone Ghetaldi, then Rettore of the Republic; he and several senators
were assembled in the Council Chamber, and about to receive the visit of a
Dutch Embassy (which had stopped at Ragusa on its way to Constantinople,
to which court it was accredited) when they were all en-gulphed; not one
escaped, and it is supposed that at that spot the earth must have opened
and closed over them again. The Archbishop barely escaped with his life by
jumping out of a window as the floors of his palace were giving way
beneath him, and more than nine-tenths of the clergy perished.
[Record of
the Catastrophe, 120]
We preserve in our family a manuscript which gives an accurate account
of this terrible catastrophe; as a youngster, I was often made to copy it
out, and I therefore know it almost off by heart. It tells how the morning
of the 6th of April, 1667, broke calm and bright, and that the atmosphere
was still and serene, without anything to indicate the approaching danger,
when suddenly, without any premonitory sound, about two hours after
sunrise, while most of the inhabitants were still in their houses, or in
the churches hearing early mass, the earth shook so violently that in a
few minutes the whole town was in ruins, with the exception of the
fortress, and a few other buildings, the walls of which were
enormously thick. In addition to the destruction caused by falling houses,
large rocks came toppling down, detached from the mountain, which, as you
see, apparently overhangs the city. This added greatly to the terror and
devastation. So far as we know there was but one shock, and it
lasted only a few seconds; but no where and at no time was so much
damage done thus instantaneously.
"Many harrowing scenes were recounted, but [Terrible Fire,
121]
perhaps the most terrible of all was that of a school of boys which was
swallowed up beneath the ruins. All the unfortunate lads perished, most of
them by a miserable lingering death, and for days their moans and cries
for help and water could be heard by their distracted friends, without the
possibility of giving them any relief. One would have thoiight this a
sufficient visitation for poor Ragusa, but calamities never come singly. A
fire broke out on the same day, and towards evening a strong wind arose
and fanned the flames, thus increasing the conflagration beyond the power
of control. Night came on, and the whole side of the mountains was
illuminated by the flames of the burning city. Then the wild mountaineers,
the Morlacchi, came down in swarms to pilfer and snatch whatever they
could from the universal wreck. The scenes then enacted defied all powers
of description. The fires were burning with exceptional brightness and
fury, in consequence of the conflagration having reached the stores of
oil, tallow and tar accumulated in the Arsenal and elsewhere. Groups of
Morlacchi, undeterred by the crumbling walls and the scorching rafters,
could be seen flitting about among ruins [Tragic Episode, 122] regardless of the danger! Occasionally some such group having ventured
too far, would disappear with a fearful scream into some yawning gulf;
while in another spot two parties of the same plunderers might be seen in
deadly conflict, fighting with their long straight knives over their
unlawful booty. It was a fearful night.
"But all this is ancient history; there is another tragic episode
connected with Lachroma. Another calamity is brought to our minds when we
look upon its shores. Poor Prince Maximilian!—alas! alas! he was a good
and kind man,—and that noble unfortunate Princess Charlotte! I had the
honour of being in their company more than once, both in Europe and
Mexico; they were so good, so affable, so happy, till in an evil hour they
allowed themselves to be led away by ambition. The Prince seemed all
along to have had a presentiment of evil. I was told by one who was
present, that nothing could be more melancholy than his departure from
Miramar, and the leave-taking when he was waited on by a deputation from
Trieste was the most painful scene he ever witnessed. The Prince was
completely overcome, and fairly broke [The Emperor Maximilian,
123] down on this occasion. After his assassination the island was sold, and
now I hear it is for sale again."
The good old Monk was silent for a few minutes, and then gently putting
his hand on my shoulder, he said, "You are English, non e vero? You are not American? I would not
say a hurtful word to mortal, but I cannot help thinking that the
President of the United States was nearly as much to blame as the Mexican,
savage for the murder of Maximilian; one word from the United States'
President would have saved the Emperor's life."
"But what about the French Emperor?" I asked; "he who got the poor
Prince into the scrape, and then left him to get out of it as best he
could?"
"Ah; true—true," repeated the Monk. "e quell'altro birbaccione di
Bazaine! Ah! Providence will overtake them all. But look, see how
beautiful Ragusa is, how picturesque! Although I am only a poor Capuchin
monk, I feel proud of my native city—che mi son Raguseo!" he
exclaimed, breaking [Patriotism of a
Monk, 124] out into his native Venetian dialect. "Though most of my life has been
spent far away in foreign missions, I still cling with fondness to my
native shores, and feel thankful, most thankful," he repeated, bending his
head, "that it has pleased His Holiness and our General to order me back
here again at last."
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