On board an Austrian Lloyd--Voyage to Spalato--The coast of Istria and
Dalmatia--Old Venetian cities--Our fellow-passengers--Pola--A Turkish
officer--The Morlaks--Why is England a triangle?--Sebenico--Arrival at
Spalato.
When I awoke, the sun was shining brightly through the skylight, and
the familiar thud of the screw told me we were under way. On mounting
to the deck, I found that we were to have a glorious day to enjoy the
scenery of the coast. There was not a cloud in the sky, and a fresh and
pleasant breeze was blowing off shore. As our vessel was to touch at
nearly every harbour of Istria and Dalmatia, we were never more than
one or two miles distant from some coast, either of the continent or of
the innumerable islands which stud the Eastern Adriatic from Fiume to
Cattaro.
Very few English tourists ever wander among these remote provinces of
the Austrian Empire, yet they are exceedingly easy of access, and
possibly no countries in Europe are so interesting.
The fine scenery, the picturesque costumes and manners of the
population, and above all, the remarkable Roman and Venetian
antiquities, render them well worthy of a visit. It is surprising
indeed that they are so little known.
The Austrian Lloyd steamers run up and down between Trieste and Corfu
three times a week, and are as clean and comfortable as any in the
world. Again, all countries under Austrian rule are perfectly secure,
banditti being entirely unknown. Of course, if any one ventures inland,
one must not expect to meet with all the luxuries of civilization;
indeed, it must be confessed that even the hotels in the chief
seaports, such as Cattaro, would seem rather rough to the sybarite. We
met with universal kindness and civility, and even honesty, throughout
Dalmatia, from the Austrian officers and officials, as well as from the
Sclav and Italian population. We found every one anxious to go out of
their way to point out to us the lions of the district. The tariff at
the hotels is very low, as it is, by the way, on the Austrian Lloyds,
where the two really excellent meals provided daily at one and eight,
cost one and one-and-a-half florins (paper) respectively. In short, one
lives luxuriously for about five shillings a day. The officers are
gentlemanly and well-educated men--Dalmatians or Italians, as a
rule--and very glad to fraternize with jovially-disposed English
passengers. One is almost sure to find one or more who speak English.
We took our tickets for Spalato, at which very interesting town we
determined to stay for a few days. This is but a two-hundred miles' run
from Trieste, but forty-two hours are spent in the passage. For though
very little merchandize is taken on board at the several ports touched
at, in order to pick up mails and passengers, a most unnecessary amount
of time is wasted in each. Of this of course we are not sorry. Now the
steamer would anchor off some picturesque little town, such as Pirano,
crowned by its ancient fortress--a relic of the great republic which
once ruled all this coast--and now bring up alongside the marble quay
of some ancient Roman city, such as Pola, with its gigantic
amphitheatre reflected on the purple Adriatic.
The scenery of the coast is very beautiful. The mountains are lofty
and fantastically serrated, and cleft into profound fissures and
chasms; while innumerable islands surround one on every side, so that
one seems to be sailing on a large lake rather than a sea. Each turn
round some jagged promontory reveals some new wonder, and there is not
a village that is not picturesque and antique, with Venetian fortress
or Byzantine church rising from the very water's edge. It is
impossible to say what colour the Adriatic is; it is certainly the
most chameleon-like of seas, and changes its hue quite irrespectively,
as far as I could see, of atmospheric influence, under a sunny sky
from deepest violet to most delicate turquoise, but ever beautiful.
However, after a time, there is something remarkably wearisome in this
coast; for though the mountains are grandly formed, they are almost
universally barren, the vegetation being scant and trees exceedingly
rare. The Venetians made the most of their possessions when they had
them, and destroyed the once magnificent forests of Illyria in a most
ruthless manner. Nearly all the timber for their fleets was procured
from these mountains.
The result is, that they are hopelessly bleak and barren, while the
country in many places presents for miles inland the appearance of a
stony desert. I do not think there is a region in Europe so wild and
desolate as the plains in the neighbourhood of Novegrad; however, I
believe that further inland, and so almost inaccessible, large and fine
forests abound.
The weather was mild enough now, in the latter end of September (80 deg.
Fahr. in the shade), but this is a frightfully hot and parched-up
country in the summer. The vegetation, where there is any, is
sub-tropical; the date-palm, the aloe, and the cactus, are seen
springing here and there from the rocks; citrons, pomegranates,
almonds, are cultivated in many parts of the Lowlands.
We steamed slowly on throughout the day, till the setting sun lit up
the high Dinanic Alps, which is a precipitous and unbroken line,
lowered in the background above the lesser maritime chains. The barren
precipices assumed the most lovely tints, in some places glowing like
molten iron, while the shadows toned down to a deep hazy purple. But
soon the sun had forsaken the loftiest peak, and the quick-coming
darkness reminded us that our supper was spread in the comfortable
cabin. The day had been a very enjoyable one, for the scenery and
inhabitants were alike new to us. Our deck passengers were lying about
in most picturesque groups. Here some Hungarian recruits devouring
their rations greedily; here some wild-looking Dalmatian Morlaks; here
a solemn Turkish merchant, puffing at his long pipe; Montenegrins,
Greeks, and an ugly-looking lot of felons, manacled and chained
together, completed the scene. We had touched at Pirano, Parenzo, and
Rovigno, in the morning. As our vessel brought up alongside the quay at
Pola, we were enabled to stretch our legs for an hour on shore. We
might have had two hours there had it not been for the extreme
deliberation and prudence with which the officers of these steamers
approach a quay.
The vociferations and evident anxiety of every one on board whenever
this operation had to be performed would lead one to suppose that it
required extraordinary delicacy and skill, and was attended with no
small risk. Our captain was evidently excessively pleased and proud
whenever he had safely accomplished this duty, and looked round with a
very self-satisfied and admire-me-if-you-please air as he wiped the
perspiration from his brow.
So deep was the water, and so unobstructed the harbour, that one would
have imagined it would have been easy to have steamed the vessel right
up to her berth, but that is not the way they do things here.
When we were about half-a-mile off the shore a boat was lowered, which
took out at a cable to a large buoy in the roads; then it was found
that the line attached to the cable was not long enough to reach the
buoy, so we had to steam a little nearer. When, after a good deal of
bungling, we succeeded in making fast our bow to this buoy, another
cable was taken from our stern to the quay; and, while the first was
being gradually slacked out, our donkey-engine slowly coiled up the
second cable and drew the vessel stern foremost to her berth.
However, with all these precautions, we did not make fast without some
accident. One of our passengers, an Austrian naval officer, who was
contemplating the proceedings through his eyeglass, got in the way of a
warp, when it tautened suddenly, caught him in the middle, and
projected him into the sea. Great excitement ensued, but he was soon
rescued by a soldier on the quay, who hooked him up with his bayonet.
We were accompanied on shore by a fellow-passenger whose acquaintance
we had made, a smart-looking young Turkish officer of gendarmerie. He
was an Albanian Christian, a native of Scutari, and had just returned
from a journey to Trieste. As this was the first time he had left his
native country, he was amazed and pleased at all he saw; but he had
evidently formed no high idea as to the moral character of the
Europeans. The amazing wickedness of the Triestines was a theme on
which he harped throughout the journey.
Pola is the head-quarters of the Austrian navy; there were three or
four of their finest vessels there at the time. We observed that the
proportion of officers and men to the number of ships was very great.
Our Turk came with us to visit the remains of the Roman amphitheatre,
one of the finest in Europe. The Romans he had never heard of, but had
been informed on good authority that the massive edifice before him had
been constructed in one day by the devil. We all had supper together on
board this evening, and had a most amusing conversation with our new
friend over our coffee and subsequent pipe and grog. He could speak and
write Turkish, French, Italian, Albanese, and Sclave.
We naturally wished to learn from him what sort of a country Albania
was, whether travelling was comparatively safe, and how we ought to set
to work.
"Albania is perfectly safe," he said; "safer than Trieste. There are no
banditti; you can walk alone from Scutari to Salonika, and be treated
as a friend by all, especially as you are an Englishman."
What our friend understood by "perfectly safe" was not exactly what a
timid tourist would understand by the term. On being questioned as to
the police system, he replied: "Well, it is not in an exceedingly happy
condition just now, for having received no pay or rations for fourteen
months, the gendarmes have struck work."
"And how do you get on without them?"
"Oh, just as well as with them; we Albanians do not require police; we
understand what is just, and can take the law into our own hands; the
police always were useless. In a wild country like ours, a criminal--a
murderer, for instance--can always escape them; he takes refuge in the
mountains, and the gendarmerie know better than to follow him there. If
we trusted to them, there would be no security for life or property;
but this is how we manage. If, for instance, a man murdered me and
fled, my family are bound to revenge my death; if they cannot find the
murderer himself, they kill one of his family."
"Does not this system lead to a good many lives being sacrificed over
one quarrel?"
"It acts well as a rule. But, as you say, it does lead to some
bloodshed. Just before I left Scutari a man shot another's pig, which
had strayed into his field; the owner of the pig immediately walked
over to the other man's house and blew his brains out, which he was
bound to do as a man of honour; then a relation of the slain man shot a
relation of the other behind his back as he strolled into the bazaar,
totally unaware of the existence of any quarrel between the families."
"Was that looked upon as fair play?"
"Everything is fair in our blood feuds. This very man was himself shot
a few days afterwards as he was coming out of a mosque, by the brother
of the man he had killed, who was waiting for him behind a wall.
Several others on both sides were killed in this pig dispute, till at
last the two families met and settled the matter amicably, and without
dishonour to either party, for it was shown that an equal amount of
damage had been inflicted on both families--ten men of one having been
slain; nine men, one woman, and a pig of the other."
Our friend told us that he himself had a blood feud on hand, and had to
keep a very sharp look out.
I noticed that his hand was bandaged, and inquired how he had hurt it.
"Oh," he said, "I scratched it with my sabre, and so poisoned it. I
have enemies at Scutari, and some months ago expected to be murdered
any day; but, determining to kill some of them first, when the time
came poisoned my sabre with a strong animal poison. I accidentally
scratched myself with it one day. Luckily the poison was nearly rubbed
off by that time, but as it was it very nearly took me out of this
world."
Many other little anecdotes we extracted from our friend, all
illustrative of the extreme security of Albania. Among other things we
were warned never to allow people to walk close behind us; not to pay
excessive attention to the lady portion of the population--that being
the most frightful crime that one can be guilty of in that country.
We played at dominoes, drank grog, and discoursed on various topics
till a late hour; then retired for the night, during which the old
vessel steadily steamed her eight knots an hour.
The Austrian Lloyd Company are bound, by their contract with the
Government, not to run their vessels at a higher speed; why, no one
could inform us.
On awakening the next morning we found ourselves moored to the quay of
the fine old town of Zara. We went on shore with our new friend, who,
by the way, was saluted by the Austrian officers and soldiers when they
observed his uniform--an honour which we afterwards found was rarely
paid him by his own men in Scutari, in the present discontented
condition of the half-starved Turkish soldiery. We had time to visit
the monuments of this interesting old Venetian fortress, the fine
churches, and the magnificent cathedral, built by Doge Dandolo.
The streets are narrow, sewerless, and malodorous; but would be the
delight of artists. The natives wear a particularly picturesque
costume, but are exceedingly dirty, and not prepossessing in features.
I had somehow or another formed an idea that as we advanced southwards
into the more uncivilized countries of Herzegovina, Montenegro, and
Albania, we should find that the population, as it became more and more
artistic in appearance, would at the same time become more and more
dirty and villanous-looking. Seeing how very nasty these Dalmatians
were, I expected to come across something very horrible indeed later
on. In this I must say that I was agreeably disappointed; for all these
reputedly barbarous races are far more intelligent, clean, and
handsome, than the dull and in every way objectionable Morlak of
Southern Austria, who much resembles his brother the Bulgarian.
One of the natives of this district writes thus of his countrymen:--
"For every article of necessity and comfort Dalmatia is dependent on
other countries. There is clay, but no potter; quartz, but no
glass-work; timber, but no carpenter; lime, but no kiln; coal, but no
mine; iron, but no furnace; rags (plenty of them), but no paper-mill."
These words, written some years ago, are almost true of the present
day. The wretched condition of the country is partly due to the regime
of the Venetians, who got what they could out of it, but did little for
the improvement of the people. The greater portion of the territory was
acquired by Austria from Venice in 1798.
But though the Government has established schools, and a university at
Zara, and done much in many ways to ameliorate the condition of things,
Dalmatia is still in a very backward condition. The natives look with
suspicion on, and are far from grateful for, the benefits they receive
from the State. The Austrians are cordially hated by both the Sclavs
and the Italians. These two latter, again, are very jealous of each
other. So great is the mutual dislike, that it is rare to find even two
fellow-townsmen of the different races on anything like friendly terms.
To a casual observer, at any rate, it seems that Austria has no very
secure footing in this country, and has effected a mere military
occupation of it.
The Government does its best to conciliate the people. They are lightly
taxed, and have been allowed to retain many important rights and
privileges.
The population has been disarmed by the Austrians, who are now carrying
out the same policy in the Herzegovina and Bosnia--their lately
acquired possessions.
Thus the Morlaks--who, like their neighbours in the Turkish provinces,
were wont to stalk about bristling with pistols and knives, even in the
towns--are now obliged to be contented with enormous red ginghams,
which have become quite a feature in the national costume.
Luckily for Austria, three-quarters of the population are Roman
Catholics, those of the Greek Church being the minority; thus Russian
intrigue, though it is carried on by numerous agents, does not effect
much harm among the Sclavs of these districts.
After having visited the many objects of interest in this old Venetian
city, and having tried and highly approved of the Rosoglio and
Maraschino, for the manufacture of which it is now celebrated, we
returned to our vessel, and were soon once more steaming down the
ever-changing coast to the southwards.
The sky was obscured by clouds and the wind was strong; but there was
little sea, for the islands were so frequent that we but rarely caught
a glimpse of the open Adriatic. The shores, both of continent and
island, were very stony and barren. There seemed to be no cultivation
or any sign of life for miles. I should say that there must be
thousands of uninhabited islands along this coast.
We had for some time been silently smoking our cigarettes on the
bridge, observing the desolate panorama as it swept by us, when our
Turk suddenly broke in with--
"Why do not you English, who are so strong, and take a part so often in
other people's quarrels, fight for yourselves and recover what
Buonaparte took from you."
I was obliged to confess that I did not quite understand to what he was
alluding.
"Ah, your countrymen never confess to a defeat. But tell me, is not
England a triangle in shape?"
"It is true."
"So I have been told. Now how long is it since she has been of that
form?"
Not being able to give any reply to this difficult query, he
enlightened my ignorance.
"I have been told that when Buonaparte made an alliance with the
Russians and the Italians, he beat England, and each of the three
powers took from her a slice--thus leaving her triangular in shape. Is
it not so?"
While he spoke he drew an imaginary diagram in the air with his sabre,
illustrative of this unfortunate episode in our history. Our friend was
utterly unaware that England was surrounded by the seas. His idea was
that our empire consisted of an extensive region bordering on Russia,
of which India was a province.
He was very anxious to learn if there were Sclavs in England; whether
Queen Victoria was a Sclav; whether the English did not assume a
blackish-brown complexion in the winter, in consequence of the
perpetual fog. I tried to enlighten him on some of these matters, but I
do not think he placed any credence in a word I said, though he was too
polite to exhibit his incredulity.
With the assistance of the donkey-engine we brought up alongside the
quay of Sebenico, and there remained for about half-an-hour. I find in
my diary this one note: "Sebenico does not smell nice." This was a
first impression.
On my return journey I visited this town, and well worthy of a visit it
is.
It is built on the slope of a steep mountain, and rises from the
water's edge in an amphitheatre of quaint old buildings, a colossal
Venetian fortress dominating all. The approach to it from the sea is
remarkable. A labyrinth of narrow channels between rocky islands
affords a difficult access to the shipping.
The Canale de St. Antonio--the one by which the steamer enters the
port--is in one place so shut in by the precipitous islands, that it
seems as if one could touch either side of it from the deck with
outstretched arm. The streets are narrow, dirty, and steep; but some of
the houses are very lofty and quaint, and all are impressed with the
solemn and grandiose character of the Venetian style.
We steamed on through the afternoon, which was wild and stormy. The
setting sun lit up the lofty and gloomy mountains of the Herzegovina,
which far away inland towered above the lesser intervening heights,
with a lurid light, while fierce gusts, driving black clouds before
them, swept down the ravines till they struck our vessel in violent
squalls which heeled her over, and sent the white spray hissing over
the small rocky islands which jutted out everywhere to leeward of us.
[Illustration: SPALATO.
_Page 26._]
At nine o'clock this evening we were alongside the quay of Spalato.
Bidding adieu to our friends on board, and promising our Turk to visit
him at Scutari, we threw our baggage into a small boat manned by some
ragged and noisy ruffians, whose language was so rapid and so horrible
in sound, that I could not but admire them for their evident ability to
understand each other, and inwardly formed a higher opinion of the
intellectual capacity of this branch of the Sclav race at any rate.