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 HARBOUR OF GRAVOSA.
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.
