CHAPTER XIII

RAGUSA

As She Is—The First Colony—The Fire of 1292—The Black Death—Hungary Acquires the Place—Ragusa Establishes Her Independence—Plague—Earthquake—Napoleon Takes Ragusa—The City Ceded to Austria.

As does Venice in the north, so Ragusa in the south surpasses in lustre all of those pearl-cities which dot the Dalmatian shores.

But you must be content, if you come by steamer, with merely a long-distance glimpse of your “Enchanted City” for the time being, because the steamer will put into Gravosa, a short two knots to the north, where the waters of its magnificent harbour are of sufficient depth for safe navigation, and where the docking facilities are of a more recent vintage. The noisy little freighters of light draft which ply up and down this Adriatic coast still make Ragusa a port of call, however, and the _molo_ there is by no means a scene of inactivity. The larger passenger steamers, however, after leaving Gravosa, do not deign even to hesitate at Ragusa, but puff by indifferently as if such a city never occupied space on the map, bound for Corfu and the Levant.

So here, at Gravosa, you will take a carriage and drive out through the time-honoured sea-gate of the town, the blue Adriatic murmuring below you on one side, and a continuous arbour of beauty bowing a floral welcome to you on the other, the short distance to this dream-city of Ragusa. Immense cacti grow in luxuriance from out the very walls of stone that border the road; fig and olive trees clothe the neighbouring hills in blankets of green velvet; rows of palmettos rear their scaly trunks by the roadside and curl their broad leaves to hold the moisture of the fallen dew.

On approaching nearer to Ragusa a greater profusion of semi-tropical verdure lends a charming background to the numerous white-walled, red-roofed villas which top the rocky shore line, while a modern hotel, up to date in all its appointments, looks out from behind its gardens over the battlements and fortresses of the old city. In the evening a military band plays near the wall, which skirts the edge of one of the cliffs just outside the city gates; crowds of care-free visitors occupy seats at the near-by tables, listening to the music, drinking and gazing out over the brilliant reflection of the moon upon the water, while at their backs the splendid towers of the old fortifications frown down upon the happy throng, as if in silent pleading for just a little while in which to tell of the changes they have seen.

The ancient moat surrounding the walls, now magically transformed into a garden filled with flowers of every conceivable shape and colour, is the haven of artists; it is bridged by a permanent stone arch which leads by winding passageways through the principal gate of the city, the Porta Pille, into the Corso beyond. Above this massive gateway, in a niche, is placed a small carved statue of the patron saint of Ragusa, San Biagio. The Corso, within, is probably two hundred yards long, wide and paved with stone. On either side it is bounded by shops, while at the east and the west ends respectively stand the Custom House, through which is the exit to the docks, and the Porta Pille. Just inside the Porta Pille stands a magnificent fountain of huge proportions, built in 1435 by the famous Neapolitan architect, Onofrio di la Cava, who also, in the same year, perfected the system still in use for conducting fresh water to the city from the Gionchetto, eight miles distant, and re-erected the palace which had been burnt down in 1432.

Opposite this fountain is the Franciscan church of Mala Brača, the doorway of which, from the point of view of the architect, is worthy of some study.

Behind the town to the north the barren slopes of Mount Sergius interrupt the view inland. It may be interesting for our own conservationists to note that at one time this mountain was so thickly wooded that Ragusa was given the Illyric sobriquet of “Dubrovnik,” or “The Woody,” but now not a tree nor a shrub can be seen upon its entire sterile surface.

Off to the south lies the beautiful islet of La Croma. Tradition says that Richard Cœur de Lion, while returning from the Crusades, was threatened with shipwreck just off this island. While the storm was raging at its height, in an attempt to court Divine Providence, he declared he would build a church upon the spot where his caravel happened to be beached if he and his crew be saved from the fury of the elements. Scarcely had he finished his prayer when the ship thrust its prow into the wooded shores of La Croma and here, to fulfil his promise, he built a chapel.

The history of Ragusa reads like the romance it is, for it is doubtful if any other city of Europe has been so tightly and tragically wound around the finger of Fate.

Many conflicting accounts of its founding have been published, but the real history of Ragusa begins at the time of the victory of the Venetians over the Narentines in the struggle for the supremacy of the Adriatic. Policy compelled its citizens, descendants of the refugees from the fallen Illyrian capitals who have been accredited with the founding of Ragusa, to favour the Narentines, and with their fall Ragusa came under the yoke of the Venetians.

The original city corresponded to the southern portion or modern Ragusa, but later, the Romans absorbed a rival colony and included the whole within the walls which stood, approximately, on the line of the present fortifications.

In the year 1292 a series of periodical disasters commenced in Ragusa, the blighting results of which no city of to-day could possibly sustain.

On August 16th of that year, while the little territory was being pillaged by the Servians in alliance with the people of Cattaro, but a few miles down the coast, a fire broke out and destroyed a greater part of the city; at that time all the houses were built of wood gathered from the forests of Mount Sergius, all except the Rector’s castle and the churches. Fire was followed by famine and epidemic. Those of the heart-sick population who survived were finally persuaded not to abandon the city, public subscriptions were raised for the destitute and a new town was built on the same site.

When the great plague, or “Black Death,” swept across Europe in 1348 eleven thousand souls were said to have perished within the walls of Ragusa.

Exactly ten years later Ragusa, then included in the Dalmatian territory belonging to Venice, was ceded to Hungary and the payments of all tributes hitherto given to Venice were transferred with the country. In return, Lewis of Hungary pledged himself to protect Ragusa and to allow her to govern herself, as had Venice before him.

Under Hungarian protection Ragusa felt herself develop an extensive power. In this she was abetted by Lewis himself, who interceded for her with the Pope for permission to trade with the Turks. He even allowed her to elect her own Count and tended her many other unheard of privileges.

In 1418 Dalmatia again passed into the hands of Venice. Then it was that Ragusa revolted, and, three years later, she established successfully an independence, which she enjoyed for almost four hundred years. A steady commercial progress marked this period of her history, and it only reached its climax after the fall of Venice in 1797. As early as 1417 slave-dealing was forbidden in Ragusa and adjudged by the assembly as “base, wicked and abominable.” A foundling hospital was established in 1432, and in 1435 teachers were invited from Italy to instruct in the public schools.

The little principality became the haven of many wealthy and noble families from the Slavonic kingdoms in the interior, who had been driven from their lands by the marauding Turks. But Ragusa, on the other hand, made friends with the deceitful Mohammedans, traded with them, and, at the same time, cannily strengthened her fortifications against them. Ragusa made treaties of commerce with Spain in 1494, with France in 1508 and with Egypt in 1510, which latter treaty smoothed the sea for her along the course to the East Indies. Her “argosies” (the word “argosy” means literally “a vessel of Ragusa”) were to be found in every commercial port, and, at the time of the fall of Venice, her mercantile marine had risen rapidly to more than four hundred sail.

But during this period of trade-building the misfortunes of Ragusa were many.

Only by the loyalty and indomitable pluck of her sons was she able to rise so many times from her dust and ashes, while the whole world marvelled at such determination to outlive the destruction wrought by nature and the elements.

In 1462 plague broke out among the inhabitants of the town and two thousand people succumbed to its ravages. The same year a disastrous fire destroyed the Rector’s palace and the arsenal.

May 17, 1520, was the date on which commenced a series of earthquake shocks, which continued intermittently for twenty months. Many houses were demolished and it became the custom of the people to place the passover mark, I. H. S., above their doors as a devout entreaty for Divine protection. Finally, the earthquakes ceased, but six years later the germs of the plague were carried to Ragusa in the stuffs of a trader from Ancona. The unfortunate merchant was dragged through the streets and tortured by the infuriated, panic-stricken citizens, the Senate fled to Gravosa, and only a small guard remained to quiet and to ease the sufferings of the terrified inhabitants. For six long months the pestilence raged within the walls and no less than twenty thousand souls fell victims to its terrible havoc.

Then Turkey in the east, and Venice in the west, took advantage of Ragusa’s weakness and preyed upon her, the Turks especially making the most of her misfortunes for their own aggrandizement.

The plague re-appeared from time to time, and in 1580 and 1639 the town was again visited by earthquakes.

But the historical bench-mark of Ragusa was the great seismic disturbance of 1667. With this as the basis, the dates of all subsequent or previous events of importance were calculated; even to-day the people of the town will tell you that the church of San Biagio was destroyed by fire “thirty-nine years after _the_ earthquake.”

Early in the morning of April 6th, 1667, this great disaster descended without any warning upon the people of Ragusa. The earth seemed to roll and vibrate under the internal pressure; immense fissures were cleft in the surface and almost every house in the city was razed to the ground; five thousand citizens, the Rector of the Republic included among them, perished. The ruins took fire and the town was looted by hordes of plunderers; even the treasures of the churches were carried away.

Because the Ragusans had made some armed resistance against the Turks, many of whom were among the chief looters, the Sublime Porte demanded an explanation. Nicola Bona and Marino Gozze were chosen as peace commissioners to Turkey, but both were thrown into prison at Silistria. Two others that followed suffered the same fate.

Although deluged with misfortunes Ragusa prospered, but her continued prosperity was not watched without some jealousy on the part of the powers of Europe. At the height of her ascendency, Russia and France both grew hungry for her, and Russia, aided by the Montenegrins, bombarded and sacked the city. In 1806 Napoleon took Ragusa, and eight years later the combined efforts of England and Austria caused the haughty, supercilious little principality to be annexed to Austria.

You will find such an exaggerated air of independence among the Ragusans of to-day that you will little wonder that they held themselves for four hundred years against the nations of Europe and outlived the effects of their calamities.

I was talking with a native on the Corso one day and happened to ask him, casually, what was the nature of the reception the people of Ragusa tendered the Austrian Emperor upon the occasion of his visit a short time before. He seemed offended that I even intimated that they had given the Emperor a reception, and assured me that the Ragusans had taken the matter of his visit as an occasion of no importance whatever. But he hastened to tell me in detail of the demonstration planned for the Crown Prince of Montenegro, who was expected soon to make a short stay in the city.

Ragusa, as I have said, is the much favoured winter resort of the Austrian and Hungarian aristocracy, and it would be difficult to imagine a more delightful one. The climate is ideal. Although the atmosphere is free from humidity the sun of a summer’s day is quite hot—so hot, in fact, that you will be tempted to indulge in a three-dollar white duck suit at one of the little shops along the Corso.

The evenings, however, are always agreeably cool. Then the band plays in the “piazza,” on the top of the cliff, and the town awakens from its apparent lethargy. From the docks the sardine fishermen, after overhauling their tiny craft, put out to sea in the evening twilight, to make their nightly catch among the bays and inlets of the rock-bound coast. Beyond the bastiles and sea-fortresses the afterglow of the brilliant sunset tinges La Croma in hues of purple and gold.

At night the soft breezes, redolent of the perfume of the garden below, are wafted through the latticed windows; the band seems to play the last number on the program with irresistible rhythm; the tuneful songs of Austrian sailors, as they return to their ships in the harbour of Gravosa after an evening of revelry, swell out upon the night air and die away—and before you realize it the morning sunlight is streaming through the Venetian window-shades, forming bars of gold that stretch across the polished floor, while the sea glitters and dashes musically against the bases of the cliffs just a little beyond your window.

Truly, Ragusa is the fairy city of the Adriatic.