CITY OF CATTARO—SIGNOR JACKSCHICH—STREETS AND PIAZZAS—WALKS AND
FORTIFICATIONS—PUBLIC WALK—CAFÉ AND GARDENS—SONOROUS STONE—A
MONTENEGRIN CHIEF—A HAPPY BEGGAR BOY.
Turning our backs now on that branch of the Fjord which leads to Risano,
we steamed due south in the direction of Cattaro. Nothing could exceed
the wild grandeur of this portion of the Gulf. The right hand shore was
now entirely in the shade, while the crags on the left being exposed
to the full glare of the afternoon sun showed a play of colours too
beautiful to describe. Had these cliffs been clothed with varied foliage
interspersed with the rocks, they would have formed a picture unequalled
in any other place on the globe.
It was six o'clock when we moored alongside the quay of Cattaro, one
of the most picturesque cities of the whole Adriatic, so I had plenty
of time to walk about and see the place as well as to make arrangements
for my advance into Montenegro on the following day, as I was anxious to
proceed at once to Cettigne, in order to be present at the festival of
St. Peter, during which a fair is held, to which congregate thousands,
not only from Montenegro, but from all the surrounding countries. Thanks,
however, to Persich Effendi, the Ottoman Consul at Ragusa, to whom I had
brought an introduction from the Ottoman Ambassador at Vienna, I found
everything already prepared for my trip. The agent of the Austrian Lloyd
at Cattaro, Signor Jackschich to whom I can never feel too much obliged,
had already procured for me a guide and two horses, thus saving me all
trouble, and allowing so much more time to look about me at Cattaro. As
soon as we had obtained _pratique_, the formality of which we carried
out regularly at every place we touched, though, in reality, it was a
farce, Signor Jackschich came on board, and having introduced himself
and told me what he had arranged, placed himself at my disposal for the
rest of the evening. We at once went on shore, and traversing the Mall,
which lies between the quays and the walls of the city, and which serves
as the promenade of the _Bocchesi_, we passed through the principal gate
of Cattaro, and entered the precincts of the fortifications.
Here, as in most other cities in Dalmatia, no horse, or vehicle of
any kind (except sedan chairs) is allowed to enter. The streets in
consequence are beautifully clean, and the piazza, which is paved in
squares of alternate coloured marble, is more like the floor of the
hall of an Italian palace than anything else. The streets are narrow, as
might have been surmised, but there are some very fine old houses, some
exquisite bits of art hidden away in nooks and corners which one would
have loved to sketch had there been time, half built up porticoes with
oleanders peeping over them, and bits of lovely hammered iron work of
the Renaissance period. But I had no time, so after making a rapid tour
through the little city, we came out on the promenade, as I was anxious
to have another view of Cattaro, from the outside, before it became too
dark.
My friend Paton does not render half justice to this city in his charming
book, "The Highlands and Islands of the Adriatic;" but he is so in love
with Ragusa—and, if truth must be told, so am I—that he has nothing to
say for Cattaro; it is true he saw it in Winter, when it must be a dismal
place. But Cattaro, for all that, deserves a visit, and anyone fond of
sketching will spend, with profit, several days in and about the place.
It is situated at the extreme end of the Fjord of that name, on a very
narrow ledge of land at the foot of the most precipitous cliffs facing
the west, up which it extends for a short space. It is surrounded by the
ancient Venetian walls, bastions and fortifications, and crowned by a
fort perched on the very summit of the rock, a thousand feet above the
city. Looking at it from below, it seems scarcely balanced on the cliff,
and one expects to see it come tumbling down every moment.
The fortifications of the town are connected by crenelated walls with
the fort itself on two sides, thus inclosing a considerable space on the
face of the mountain, something in the shape of a triangle, of which
the town would form the base, and the fort the apex, which is still
garrisoned, and many a harmless rusty old cannon can be seen peeping
through the embrasures. Having returned from the opposite side of the
water, where I had gone the better to see the fortifications, we took a
walk up and down the esplanade between the water and the walls, to look
at the _beau monde_ on their boulevard, and then adjourned to the café
on the same esplanade to have some ices _al fresco_, and make our final
arrangements for the following morning.
The public walk at Cattaro is very well laid out, and the most is
made of the very contracted space at command. Two rows of large trees
extend along the walls on each side of the gate, above which is to be
seen, as usual, the Lion of St. Mark. Not so natural, perhaps, as Edwin
Landseer's animals at the foot of Nelson's column; but, certainly, a
more dignified beast than the one with straight tail which until lately
kept watch and ward over Trafalgar Square from the top of Northumberland
House. At the northern end of the Mall is the café, and round about it
the grounds are laid out in gardens, where, under the shade of gigantic
oleanders and mulberry trees, little round tables, made of enormously
thick slabs, resting on short central pillars, for all the world like
Brobdingnagian mushrooms, are laid out and surrounded with stools for
the accommodation of all comers. The stone of which these round tables
are made is powerfully sonorous, and if lightly struck, even with one's
knuckles, gives out a beautiful soft tone. If cut into lengths and
properly poised, excellent rock harmoniums could be made of it.
Here I fell in again with the Russian Consul, who introduced me to one
of the finest specimens of men I ever saw, a Montenegrin chief, by name
Pero Pejovich, commandant of the Grahovo (pronounced Graho), who had
come from Risano in a boat, and was bound for Montenegro to be present
at the Feast. He was dressed in full gala Montenegrin costume, _plus_
the Risano jacket of crimson cloth without sleeves, thickly embroidered
with gold, and on it the medals and decorations he had gained in battle.
At another table were seated, also in full costume, two Montenegrin
ladies of a family who had been exiled for political causes, and who
were waiting at Cattaro in hopes of obtaining an amnesty which would
permit them to return to their homes.
The sun had set, and the short twilight had nearly merged into darkness;
the great heat of the day was now tempered by a delicious balmy feeling,
as the cooler air from the mountains came down to mingle with that of the
lower strata; the musical hum of the many voices, the exquisite Trebigne
tobacco in our cigarettes, the delicious coffee, all conspired to make
that evening one of the most delightful I ever passed. I got another
chair, and stretched my legs on it; the natives stared—no Oriental ever
thinks of stretching his legs—the acme of comfort for him is to tuck
them under him. I felt supremely happy, and expressed myself so.
"I could live here for ever," I said to Signor Jackschich.
"Nay," rejoined Pero Pejovich, "but wait till it rains, and you will
soon wish to run away from Cattaro. I have known it rain here for six
weeks without stopping for a moment."
At this juncture, the band of the Austrian regiment quartered here came
on the scene, with the same lamp arrangement I had seen at Pola, and
for upwards of an hour played the most delicious music to our intense
delight. The Consul now reminded me that we should have to start betimes
the following morning, if we wanted to avoid being roasted in the middle
of the day on the rocks of Montenegro. But the sense of enjoyment was
too great, and I could not bear to break the spell of the hour which I
was enjoying to the fullest. That I should have an excuse for delaying
a little longer, I began to talk in Italian to a little beggar boy who
had quietly been asking me for something the whole evening, not with
noisy importunate appeals, but by the eloquent look of about the finest
pair of eyes that ever were seen.
"Don't take any notice of the young ruffian," said Signor Jackschich,
"he is the plague of the town, and the worry of his father. He won't
work, and he is in every mischief that is going."
"But I don't tell lies—neither do I steal," retorted the bold young
brat, who could be no more than eight or nine. "It is too hot to work,
and as to going home to sleep _la dentro_," he said, pointing over his
shoulder with his thumb to the town, "when I can enjoy the cool nights
under these trees _al fresco_, I would rather not!"
He spoke excellent Italian, and his manner was dignified and self
possessed.
"_Diable!_" said Yonin, "_nous avons ici un philosophe!_"
"Can you speak German or French, little chap?" I said.
"No," he replied in Italian, "_non parlo che Illirico ed Italiano_."
I gave him coins to the amount of about a franc; but when he saw so
much money in the palm of his hand—an amount which, to his eyes, seemed
perfectly fabulous—his first impulse was to hold it out to me again,
thinking I was joking with him; but when I assured him it was _veramente
tutto per lui_, he cut three capers in the air, and rushed away to where
some other children were, to show his treasures and recount his good
fortune. Of all the subjects of the Emperor of Austria, in all his vast
dominions, I venture to say that the happiest on that night was that
little beggar brat in the secluded little city of Cattaro at the far
end of his empire in the extreme point of Dalmatia.