Romantic sylvan scenery.--Patriarchal simplicity of
manners.--Krupena,--Sokol.--Its extraordinary position.--Wretched
town.--Alpine scenery.--Cool reception.--Valley of the Rogatschitza.
Words fail me to describe the beauty of the road from Tronosha to
Krupena. The heights and distances, without being alpine in reality,
were sufficiently so to an eye unpractised in measuring scenery of the
highest class; but in all the softer enchantments nature had revelled
in prodigality. The gloom of the oak forest was relieved and broken by
a hundred plantations of every variety of tree that the climate would
bear, and every hue, from the sombre evergreen to the early suspicions
of the yellow leaf of autumn. Even the tops of the mountains were
free from sterility, for they were capped with green as bright, with
trees as lofty, and with pasture as rich, as that of the valleys
below.
The people, too, were very different from the inhabitants of Belgrade,
where political intrigue, and want of the confidence which sincerity
inspires, paralyze social intercourse. But the men of the back-woods,
neither poor nor barbarous, delighted me by the patriarchal simplicity
of their manners, and the poetic originality of their language. Even
in gayer moments I seemed to witness the sweet comedy of nature, in
which man is ludicrous from his peculiarities, but "is not yet
ridiculous from the affectations and assumptions of artificial life."
Half-way to Krupena we reposed at a brook, where the carpets were laid
out and we smoked a pipe. A curious illustration occurred here of the
abundance of wood in Servia. A boy, after leading a horse into the
brook, tugged the halter and led the unwilling horse out of the stream
again. "Let him drink, let him drink his fill," said a woman; "if
everything else must be paid with gold, at least wood and water cost
nothing."
Mounting our horses again, we were met by six troopers bearing the
compliments of the captain of Krupena, who was awaiting us with
twenty-two or three irregular cavalry on an eminence. We both
dismounted and-went through the ceremony of public complimenting, both
evidently enjoying the fun; he the visit of an illustrious stranger,
and I the formality of a military reception. I perceived in a moment
that this captain, although a good fellow, was fond of a little fuss;
so I took him by the hand, made a turn across the grass, cast a
nonchalant look on his troop, and condescended to express my
approbation of their martial bearing. True it is that they were men of
rude and energetic aspect, very fairly mounted. After patronizing him
with a little further chat and compliment we remounted; and I
perceived Krupena at the distance of about a mile, in the middle of a
little plain surrounded by gardens; but the neighbouring hills were
here and there bare of vegetation.
Some of the troopers in front sang a sort of chorus, and now and then
a fellow to show off his horse, would ride _a la djereed_, and instead
of flinging a dart, would fire his pistols. Others joined us, and our
party was swelled to a considerable cavalcade as we entered the
village, where the peasants were drawn up in a row to receive me.
Their captain then led the way up the stairs of his house to a
chardak, or wooden balcony, on which was a table laid out with
flowers. The elders of the village now came separately, and had some
conversation: the priest on entering laid a melon on the table, a
usual method of showing civility in this part of the country. One of
the attendant crowd was a man from Montenegro, who said he was a
house-painter. He related that he was employed by Mahmoud Pasha, of
Zwornik, to paint one of the rooms in his house; when he had half
accomplished his task, the dispute about the domain of Little Zwornik
arose, on which he and his companion, a German, were thrown into
prison, being accused of being a Servian captain in disguise. They
were subsequently liberated, but shot at; the ball going through the
leg of the narrator. This is another instance of the intense hatred
the Servians and the Bosniac Moslems bear to each other. It must be
remarked, that the Christians, in relating a tale, usually make the
most of it.
The last dish of our dinner was a roast lamb, served on a large
circular wooden board, the head being split in twain, and laid on the
top of the pyramid of dismembered parts. We had another jovial
evening, in which the wine-cup was plied freely, but not to an
extravagant excess, and the usual toasts and speeches were drunk and
made. Even in returning to rest, I had not yet done with the pleasing
testimonies of welcome. On entering the bed-chamber, I found many
fresh and fragrant flowers inserted in the chinks of the wainscot.
Krupena was originally exclusively a Moslem town, and a part of the
old bazaar remains. The original inhabitants, who escaped the sword,
went either to Sokol or into Bosnia. The hodgia, or Moslem
schoolmaster, being on some business at Krupena, came in the morning
to see us. His dress was nearly all in white, and his legs bare from
the knee. He told me that the Vayvode of Sokol had a curious mental
malady. Having lately lost a son, a daughter, and a grandson, he could
no longer smoke, for when his servant entered with a pipe, he imagined
he saw his children burning in the tobacco.
During the whole day we toiled upwards, through woods and wilds of a
character more rocky than that of the previous day, and on attaining
the ridge of the Gutchevo range, I looked down with astonishment on
Sokol, which, though lying at our feet, was yet perched on a lone
fantastic crag, which exactly suited the description of the collector
of Shabatz,--"a city and castle built on the capital of a column of
rock." Beyond it was a range of mountains further in Bosnia; further
on, another outline, and then another, and another. I at once felt
that, as a tourist, I had broken fresh ground, that I was seeing
scenes of grandeur unknown to the English public. It was long since I
had sketched. I instinctively seized my book, but threw it away in
despair, and, yielding to the rapture of the moment, allowed my eyes
to mount step after step of this enchanted Alpine ladder.
We now, by a narrow, steep, and winding path cut on the face of a
precipice, descended to Sokol, and passing through a rotting wooden
bazaar, entered a wretched khan, and ascending a sort of staircase,
were shown into a room with dusty mustabahs; a greasy old cushion,
with the flock protruding through its cover, was laid down for me, but
I, with polite excuses, preferred the bare board to this odious
flea-hive. The more I declined the cushion, the more pressing became
the khan-keeper that I should carry away with me some reminiscence of
Sokol. Finding that his upholstery was not appreciated, the
khan-keeper went to the other end of the apartment, and began to make
a fire for coffee; for this being Ramadan time, all the fires were
out, and most of the people were asleep. Meanwhile the captain sent
for the Disdar Aga. I offered to go into the citadel, and pay him a
visit, but the captain said, "You have no idea how sensitive these
people are: even now they are forming all sorts of conjectures as to
the object of your visit; we must, therefore, take them quietly in
their own way, and do nothing to alarm them. In a few minutes the
Disdar Aga will be here; you can then judge, by the temper he is in,
of the length of your stay, and the extent to which you wish to carry
your curiosity."
I admitted that the captain was speaking sense, and waited patiently
till the Aga made his appearance.
Footsteps were heard on the staircase, and the Mutsellim entered,--a
Turk, about forty-five years of age, who looked cross, as most men are
when called from a sound sleep. His fez was round as a wool-bag, and
looked as if he had stuffed a shawl into it before putting it on, and
his face and eyes had something of the old Mongol or Tartar look. He
was accompanied by a Bosniac, who was very proud and insolent in his
demeanour. After the usual compliments, I said, "I have seen some
countries and cities, but no place so curious as Sokol. I left
Belgrade on a tour through the interior, not knowing of its existence.
Otherwise I would have asked letters of Hafiz Pasha to you: for,
intending to go to Nish, he gave me a letter to the Pasha there. But
the people of this country having advised me not to miss the wonder of
Servia, I have come, seduced by the account of its beauty, not
doubting of your good reception of strangers:" on which I took out the
letter of Hafiz Pasha, the direction of which he read, and then he
said, in a husky voice which became his cross look,--
"I do not understand your speech; if you have seen Belgrade, you must
find Sokol contemptible. As for your seeing the citadel, it is
impossible; for the key is with the Disdar Aga, and he is asleep, and
even if you were to get in, there is nothing to be seen."
After some further conversation, in the course of which I saw that it
would be better not to attempt "to catch the Tartar," I restricted
myself to taking a survey of the town. Continuing our walk in the same
direction as that by which we entered, we completed the threading of
the bazaar, which was truly abominable, and arrived at the gate of the
citadel, which was open; so that the story of the key and the
slumbers of the Disdar Aga was all fudge. I looked in, but did not
enter. There are no new works, and it is a castle such as those one
sees on the Rhine; but its extraordinary position renders it
impregnable in a country impracticable for artillery. Although
blockaded in the time of the Revolution, and the Moslem garrison
reduced to only seven men, it never was taken by the Servians;
although Belgrade, Ushitza, and all the other castles, had fallen into
their hands. Close to the castle is a mosque in wood, with a minaret
of wood, although the finest stone imaginable is in abundance all
around. The Mutsellim opened the door, and showed me the interior,
with blank walls and a faded carpet, opposite the Moharrem. He would
not allow me to go up the minaret, evidently afraid I would peep over
into the castle.
Retracing our steps I perceived a needle-shaped rock that overlooked
the abyss under the fortress, so taking off my boots, I scrambled up
and attained the pinnacle; but the view was so fearful, that, afraid
of getting dizzy, I turned to descend, but found it a much more
dangerous affair than the ascent; at length by the assistance of Paul
I got down to the Mutsellim, who was sitting impatiently on a piece of
rock, wondering at the unaccountable Englishman. I asked him what he
supposed to be the height of the rock on which the citadel was built,
above the level of the valley below.
"What do I know of engineering?" said he, taking me out of hearing: "I
confess I do not understand your object. I hear that on the road you
have been making inquiries as to the state of Bosnia: what interest
can England have in raising disturbances in that country?"
"The same interest that she has in producing political disorder in one
of the provinces of the moon. In some semi-barbarous provinces of
Hungary, people confound political geography with political intrigue.
In Aleppo, too, I recollect standing at the Bab-el-Nasr, attempting to
spell out an inscription recording its erection, and I was grossly
insulted and called a Mehendis (engineer); but you seem a man of more
sense and discernment."
"Well, you are evidently not a _chapkun_. There is nothing more to be
seen in Sokol. Had it not been Ramadan we should have treated you
better, be your intentions good or bad. I wish you a pleasant journey;
and if you wish to arrive at Liubovia before night-fall the sooner you
set out the better, for the roads are not safe after dark."
We now descended by paths like staircases cut in the rocks to the
valley below. Paul dismounted in a fright from his horse, and led her
down; but my long practice of riding in the Druse country had given me
an easy indifference to roads that would have appalled me before my
residence there. When we got a little way along the valley, I looked
back, and the view from below was, in a different style, as remarkable
as that from above. Sokol looked like a little castle of Edinburgh
placed in the clouds, and a precipice on the other side of the valley
presented a perpendicular stature of not less than five hundred feet.
A few hours' travelling through the narrow valley of the Bogatschitza
brought us to the bank of the Drina, where, leaving the up-heaved
monuments of a chaotic world, we bade adieu to the Tremendous, and
again saluted the Beautiful.