In the afternoon it cleared, and I went on painting the gate, but the wind blew my sketch twice off the easel, so I had to give it up and ordered the carriage to return to Spalato. Two ruffianly looking youths clad in brown coats with hoods acted as coachman and footman. When we reached the octroi, they had to throw back their coats for inspection underneath; as it was raining and the hood was up, the douanier proceeded to examine the inside of the carriage, and found old Angelos and myself, at which he saluted respectfully and waved us on.
I found the family also anxious to visit Traù, and next morning we all returned by sea, so much the better for my gate! The drive is quite pretty, and it was a treat to see green once more. On the way I passed seven villages all called Castello something, as Castelvecchio, Castelnuovo, &c., relics of old feudal times, there being a castle in the centre of each village with houses all round it. I longed to visit each, but had no time.
The men’s costumes are very striking, blue trousers open at the back of the ankle to ten inches from the shoe—a string sandal—little brass hooks and eyes to fasten them when required, red sashes and tabs at the waist, the sash in which the usual weapon reposes, brown jacket with crimson velvet slashes and fringe ornamenting the front, piped with crimson all round, a waistcoat of red velvet with silver buttons, and the scarlet cap crowns all. The women look well in dark blue, with a red band round the bottom of the skirt, coloured handkerchiefs on their heads; some wore long blue coats piped with red and red bands embroidered down the sides, a sort of stocking-shoe embroidered in many colours and an apron of red and yellow.
The landlord at Traù was surprised and pleased to see me again for my frugal lunch of fried eggs, Parmesan cheese and radishes; the yacht had anchored so far out, I could not go back to it. I finished my work in hand, and then tried to draw the attention of someone on the yacht, but it was no use, so I had to hire a boat from shore.
It was twelve hours run from Spalato to Gravosa (the harbour of Ragusa). We came past the islands of Lesina, Lissa, Curzola, and Sabioncello, and down the Canale di Melita. We thought of calling at the town of Curzola, which is well worth a visit, but as it was blowing hard, we deemed it wiser to push on.
We reached Ragusa next morning after a rolling night, and anchored opposite the town; but there was such a roll on, I was sure that none but the best sailors would come to breakfast, so we moved into the port of Gravosa, two miles away.
Mr. T. and I walked to the town, he, poor man, politely carrying my satchel. On the way we passed many villas. The old town is entered by a charming old gate, called Porta Pille; old walls surround the town, which is also a fortress. Directly you enter the gate a quaint fountain meets your gaze, and many figures in costumes are grouped about it. We wandered on down the principal street of shops, in many of which were collections of curiosities, embroideries, bags, belts, swords, old inlaid mother-of-pearl stocked guns, &c., the belts of enormous weight were studded with agates, and were said to have been worn by the women. Narrow streets, with innumerable steps, branched off from the main street; several churches and two monasteries, the Franciscan with a charming old courtyard.
A Street in Ragusa