The Drina.--Liubovia.--Quarantine Station.--Derlatcha.--A Servian
beauty.--A lunatic priest.--Sorry quarters.--Murder by brigands.
The Save is the largest tributary of the Danube, and the Drina is the
largest tributary of the Save, but it is not navigable; no river
scenery, however, can possibly be prettier than that of the Drina; as
in the case of the Upper Danube from Linz to Vienna, the river winds
between precipitous banks tufted with wood, but it was tame after the
thrilling enchantments of Sokol. At one place a Roman causeway ran
along the river, and we were told that a Roman bridge crossed a
tributary of the Drina in this neighbourhood, which to this day bears
the name of Latinski Tiupria, or Latin bridge.
At Liubovia the hills receded, and the valley was about half a mile
wide, consisting of fine meadow land with thinly scattered oaks,
athwart which the evening sun poured its golden floods, suggesting
pleasing images of abundance without effort. This part of Servia is a
wilderness, if you will, so scant is it of inhabitants, so free from
any thing like inclosures, or fields, farms, labourers, gardens, or
gardeners; and yet it is, and looks a garden in one place, a trim
English lawn and park in another: you almost say to yourself, "The man
or house cannot be far off: what lovely and extensive grounds, where
can the hall or castle be hid?"[7]
Liubovia is the quarantine station on the high road from Belgrade to
Seraievo. A line of buildings, parlatorio, magazines, and
lodging-houses, faced the river. The director would fain have me pass
the night, but the captain of Derlatcha had received notice of our
advent, and we were obliged to push on, and rested only for coffee and
pipes. The director was a Servian from the Austrian side of the
Danube, and spoke German. He told me that three thousand individuals
per annum performed quarantine, passing from Bosnia to Sokol and
Belgrade, and that the principal imports Were hides, chestnuts, zinc,
and iron manufactures from the town of Seraievo. On the opposite bank
of the river was a wooden Bosniac guard-house.
Remounting our horses after sunset, we continued along the Drina, now
dubiously illuminated by the chill pallor of the rising moon, while
hill and dale resounded with the songs of our men. No sooner had one
finished an old metrical legend of the days of Stephan the powerful
and Lasar the good, than another began a lay of Kara Georg, the
"William Tell" of these mountains. Sometimes when we came to a good
echo the pistols were fired off; at one place the noise had aroused a
peasant, who came running across the grass to the road crying out, "O
good men, the night is advancing: go no further, but tarry with me:
the stranger will have a plain supper and a hard couch, but a hearty
welcome." We thanked him for his proffer, but held on.
At about ten o'clock we entered a thick dark wood, and after an ascent
of a quarter of an hour emerged upon a fine open lawn in front of a
large house with lights gleaming in the windows. The ripple of the
Drina was no longer audible, but we saw it at some distance below us,
like a cuirass of polished steel. As we entered the inclosure we found
the house in a bustle. The captain, a tall strong corpulent man of
about forty years of age, came forward and welcomed me.
"I almost despaired of your coming to-night," said he; "for on this
ticklish frontier it is always safer to terminate one's journey by
sunset. The rogues pass so easily from one side of the water to the
other, that it is difficult to clear the country of them."
He then led me into the house, and going through a passage, entered a
square room of larger dimensions than is usual in the rural parts of
Servia. A good Turkey carpet covered the upper part of the room, which
was fenced round by cushions placed against the wall, but not raised
above the level of the floor. The wall of the lower end of the room
had a row of strong wooden pegs, on which were hung the hereditary and
holyday clothes of the family, for males and females. Furs, velvets,
gold embroidery, and silver mounted Bosniac pistols, guns, and
carbines elaborately ornamented.
The captain, who appeared to be a plain, simple, and somewhat jolly
sort of man, now presented me to his wife, who came from the Austrian
aide of the Save, and spoke German. She seemed, and indeed was, a trim
methodical housewife, as the order of her domestic arrangements
clearly showed. Another female, whom I afterwards learned to be the
wife of an individual of the neighbourhood who was absent, attracted
my attention. Her age was about four and twenty, when the lines of
thinking begin to mingle with those of early youth. In fact, from her
tint I saw that she would soon be _passata_: her features too were by
no means classical or regular, and yet she had unquestionably some of
that super-human charm which Raphael sometimes infused into his female
figures, as in the St. Cecilia. As I repeated and prolonged my gaze,
I felt that I had seen no eyes in Belgrade like those of the beauty of
the Drina, who reminded me of the highest characteristic of
expression--"a spirit scarcely disguised enough in the flesh." The
presence of a traveller from an unknown country seemed to fill her
with delight; and her wonder was childish, as if I had come from some
distant constellation in the firmament.
Next day, the father of the captain made his appearance. The same old
man, whom I had met at Palesh, and who had asked me, "if the king of
my country lived in a strong castle?" We dined at mid-day by fine
weather, the windows of the principal apartments being thrown open, so
as to have the view of the valley, which was here nearly as wide as at
Liubovia, but with broken ground. For the first time since leaving
Belgrade we dined, not at an European table, but squatted round a
sofra, a foot high, in the Eastern manner, although we ate with knives
and forks. The cookery was excellent; a dish of stewed lamb being
worthy of any table in the world.
Our host, the captain, never having seen Ushitza, offered to
accompany me thither; so we started early in the afternoon, having the
Drina still on our right, and Bosniac villages, from time to time
visible, and pretty to look at, but I should hope somewhat cleaner
than Sokol. On arrival at Bashevitza the elders of the village stood
in a row to receive us close to the house of conciliation. I perceived
a mosque near this place, and asked if it was employed for any
purpose. "No," said the captain, "it is empty. The Turks prayed in it,
after their own fashion, to that God who is theirs and ours; and the
house of God should not be made a grain magazine, as in many other
Turkish villages scattered throughout Servia." At this place a number
of wild ducks were visible, perched on rocks in the Drina, but were
very shy; only once did one of our men get within shot, which missed;
his gun being an old Turkish one, like most of the arms in this
country, which are sometimes as dangerous to the marksman as to the
mark.
Towards evening we quitted the lovely Drina, which, a little higher
up, is no longer the boundary between Servia and Bosnia, being
entirely within the latter frontier, and entered the vale of
Rogatschitza, watered by a river of that name, which was crossed by an
ancient Servian bridge, with pointed arches of admirable proportions.
The village where we passed the night was newly settled, the main
street being covered with turf, a sign that few houses or traffic
exist here. The khan was a hovel; but while it was swept out, and
prepared for us, I sat down with the captain on a shopboard, in the
little bazaar, where coffee was served. A priest, with an emaciated
visage, sore eyes, and a distracted look, came up, and wished me good
evening, and began a lengthened tale of grievances. I asked the
khan-keeper who he was, and received for answer that he was a Greek
priest from Bosnia, who had hoarded some money, and had been squeezed
by the Moslem tyrant of his village, which drove him mad. Confused
ejaculations, mingled with sighs, fell from him, as if he supposed his
story to be universally known.
"Sit down, good man," said I, "and tell me your tale, for I am a
stranger, and never heard it before. Tell it me, beginning with the
beginning, and ending with the end."
"Bogami Gospody," said the priest, wiping the copious tears, "I was
once the happiest man in Bosnia; the sun never rose without my
thanking God for having given me so much peace and happiness: but Ali
Kiahya, where I lived, received information that I had money hid. One
day his Momkes took me before him. My appeals for mercy and justice
were useless. I was thrown down on my face, and received 617 strokes
on my soles, praying for courage to hold out. At the 618th stroke my
strength of mind and body failed, and I yielded up all my money, seven
hundred dollars, to preserve my life. For a whole year I drank not a
drop of wine, nothing but brandy, brandy, brandy."
Here the priest sobbed aloud. My heart was wrung, but I was in no
condition to assist him; so I bade him be of good cheer, and look on
his misfortune as a gloomy avenue to happier and brighter days.
We slept on hay, put under our carpets and pillows, this being the
first time since leaving Belgrade that we did not sleep in sheets. We
next day ascended the Rogatschitza river to its source, and then, by
a long ascent through pines and rocks, attained the parting of the
waters.[8]
Leaving the basin of the Drina, we descended to that of the Morava by
a steep road, until we came to beautifully rich meadows, which are
called the Ushitkza Luka, or meadows, which are to this day a
debatable ground for the Moslem inhabitants of Ushitza, and the
Servian villages in the neighbourhood. From here to Ushitza the road
is paved, but by whom we could not learn. The stones were not large
enough to warrant the belief of its being a Roman causeway, and it is
probably a relic of the Servian empire.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 7: On my return from Servia, I found that the author of
Eothen had recorded a similar impression derived from the Tartar
journey on the high road from Belgrade towards Constantinople: but the
remark is much more applicable to the sylvan beauty of the interior of
Servia.]
[Footnote 8: After seeing Ushitza, the captain, who accompanied me,
returned to his family, at Derlatcha, and, I lament to say, that at
this place he was attacked by the robbers, who, in summer, lurk in the
thick woods on the two frontiers. The captain galloped off, but his
two servants were killed on the spot.]