Poshega.--The river Morava.--Arrival at Csatsak.--A Viennese
Doctor.--Project to ascend the Kopaunik.--Visit the Bishop.--Ancient
Cathedral Church.--Greek Mass.--Karanovatz.--Emigrant Priest.--Albania
Disorders.--Salt Mines.
On leaving Ushitza, the Natchalnik accompanied me with a cavalcade of
twenty or thirty Christians, a few miles out of the town. The
afternoon was beautiful; the road lay through hilly ground, and after
two hours' riding, we saw Poshega in the middle of a wide level plain;
after descending to which, we crossed the Scrapesh by an elegant
bridge of sixteen arches, and entering the village, put up at a
miserable khan, although Poshega is the embryo of a town symmetrically
and geometrically laid out. Twelve years ago a Turk wounded a Servian
in the streets of Ushitza, in a quarrel about some trifling matter.
The Servian pulled out a pistol, and shot the Turk dead on the spot.
Both nations seized their arms, and rushing out of the houses, a
bloody affray took place, several being left dead on the spot. The
Servians, feeling their numerical inferiority, now transplanted
themselves to the little hamlet of Poshega, which is in a finer plain
than that of Ushitza; but the colony does not appear to prosper, for
most of the Servians have since returned to Ushitza.
Poshega, from remnants of a nobler architecture, must have been a
Roman colony. At the new church a stone is built into the wall, having
the fragment of an inscription:--
A V I A. G E N T
I L F L A I I S P R
and various other stones are to be seen, one with a figure sculptured
on it.
Continuing our way down the rich valley of the Morava, which is here
several miles wide, and might contain ten times the present
population, we arrived at Csatsak, which proved to be as symmetrically
laid out as Poshega. Csatsak is old and new, but the old Turkish town
has disappeared, and the new Servian Csatsak is still a foetus. The
plan on which all these new places are constructed, is simple, and
consists of a circular or square market place, with bazaar shops in
the Turkish manner, and straight streets diverging from them. I put up
at the khan, and then went to the Natchalnik's house to deliver my
letter. Going through green lanes, we at length stopped at a high
wooden paling, over-topped with rose and other bushes. Entering, we
found ourselves on a smooth carpet of turf, and opposite a pretty
rural cottage, somewhat in the style of a citizen's villa in the
environs of London. The Natchalnik was not at home, but was gracefully
represented by his young wife, a fair specimen of the beauty of
Csatsak; and presently the Deputy and the Judge came to see us. A dark
complexioned, good-natured looking man, between thirty and forty, now
entered, with an European air, German trowsers and waistcoat, but a
Turkish riding cloak. "There comes the doctor," said the lady, and the
figure with the Turkish riding cloak thus announced himself:--
_Doctor_. "I' bin a' Wiener."
_Author_. "Gratulire: dass iss a' lustige Stadt."
_Doctor_. "Glaub'ns mir, lust'ger als Csatsak."
_Author_. "I' glaub's."
The Judge, a sedate, elderly, and slightly corpulent man, asked me
what route I had pursued, and intended to pursue. I informed him of
the particulars of my journey, and added that I intended to follow the
valley of the Morava to its confluence with the Danube. "The good
folks of Belgrade do not travel for their pleasure, and could give me
little information; therefore, I have chalked out my route from the
study of the map."
"You have gone out of your way to see Sokol," said he; "you may as
well extend your tour to Novibazaar, and the Kopaunik. You are fond of
maps: go to the peak of the Kopaunik, and you will see all Servia
rolled out before you from Bosnia to Bulgaria, and from the Balkan to
the Danube; not a map, or a copy, but the original."
"The temptation is irresistible.--My mind is made up to follow your
advice."
We now went in a body, and paid our visit to the Bishop of Csatsak,
who lives in the finest house in the place; a large well-built villa,
on a slight eminence within a grassy inclosure. The Bishop received us
in an open kiosk, on the first floor, fitted all round with cushions,
and commanding a fine view of the hills which inclose the plain of the
Morava. The thick woods and the precipitous rocks, which impart rugged
beauty to the valley of the Drina, are here unknown; the eye wanders
over a rich yellow champaign, to hills which were too distant to
present distinct details, but vaguely grey and beautiful in the
transparent atmosphere of a Servian early autumn.
The Bishop was a fine specimen of the Church militant,--a stout fiery
man of sixty, in full-furred robes, and a black velvet cap. His
energetic denunciations of the lawless appropriations of Milosh, had
for many years procured him the enmity of that remarkable individual;
but he was now in the full tide of popularity.
His questions referred principally to the state of parties in England,
and I could not help thinking that his philosophy must have been
something like that of the American parson in the quarantine at
Smyrna, who thought that fierce combats and contests were as necessary
to clear the moral atmosphere, as thunder and lightning to purify the
visible heavens. We now took leave of the Bishop, and went homewards,
for there had been several candidates for entertaining me; but I
decided for the jovial doctor, who lived in the house that was
formerly occupied by Jovan Obrenovitch, the youngest and favourite
brother of Milosh.
Next morning, as early as six o'clock, I was aroused by the
announcement that the Natchalnik had returned from the country, and
was waiting to see me. On rising, I found him to be a plain, simple
Servian of the old school; he informed me that this being a saint's
day, the Bishop would not commence mass until I was arrived. "What?"
thought I to myself, "does the Bishop think that these obstreperous
Britons are all of the Greek religion." The doctor thought that I
should not go; "for," said he, "whoever wishes to exercise the virtue
of patience may do so in a Greek mass or a Hungarian law-suit!" But
the Natchalnik decided for going; and I, always ready to conform to
the custom of the country, accompanied him.
The cathedral church was a most ancient edifice of Byzantine
architecture, which had been first a church, and then a mosque, and
then a church again. The honeycombs and stalactite ornaments in the
corners, as well as a marble stone in the floor, adorned with
geometrical arabesques, showed its services to Islamism. But the
pictures of the Crucifixion, and the figures of the priests, reminded
me that I was in a Christian temple.
The Bishop, in pontificalibus, was dressed in a crimson velvet and
white satin dress, embroidered in gold, which had cost £300 at Vienna;
and as he sat in his chair, with mitre on head, and crosier in hand,
looked, with his white bushy beard, an imposing representative of
spiritual authority. Sometimes he softened, and looked bland, as if
it would not have been beneath him to grant absolution to an emperor.
A priest was consecrated on the occasion; but the service was so long,
(full two hours and a half,) that I was fatigued with the endless
bowings and motions, and thought more than once of the benevolent wish
of the doctor, to see me preserved from a Greek mass and a Hungarian
law-suit; but the singing was good, simple, massive, and antique in
colouring. At the close of the service, thin wax tapers were presented
to the congregation, which each of them lighted. After which they
advanced and kissed the Cross and Gospels, which were covered with
most minute silver and gold filagree work.
The prolonged service had given me a good appetite; and when I
returned to the doctor, he smiled, and said, "I am sure you are ready
for your _cafe au lait_."
"I confess it was rather _langweilig_."
"Take my advice for the future, and steer clear of a Greek mass, or a
Hungarian law-suit."
We now went to take farewell of the Bishop, whom we found, as
yesterday, in the kiosk, with a fresh set of fur robes, and looking
as superb as ever, with a large and splendid ring on his forefinger.
"If you had not come during a fast," growled he, with as good-humoured
a smile as could be expected from so formidable a personage, "I would
have given you a dinner. The English, I know, fight well at sea; but I
do not know if they like salt fish."
A story is related of this Bishop, that on the occasion of some former
traveller rising to depart, he asked, "Are your pistols in good
order?" On the traveller answering in the affirmative, the Bishop
rejoined, "Well, now you may depart with my blessing!"
Csatsak, although the seat of a Bishop and a Natchalnik, is only a
village, and is insignificant when one thinks of the magnificent plain
in which it stands. At every step I made in this country I thought of
the noble field which it offers for a system of colonization congenial
to the feelings, and subservient to the interests of the present
occupants.
We now journeyed to Karanovatz, where we arrived after sunset, and
proceeded in the dark up a paved street, till we saw on our left a
_cafe_, with lights gleaming through the windows, and a crowd of
people, some inside, some outside, sipping their coffee. An
individual, who announced himself as the captain of Karanovatz,
stepped forward, accompanied by others, and conducted me to his house.
Scarcely had I sat down on his divan when two handmaidens entered, one
of them bearing a large basin in her hand.
"My guest," said the captain, "you must be fatigued with your ride.
This house is your's. Suppose yourself at home in the country beyond
the sea."
"What," said I, looking to the handmaidens, "supper already! You have
divined my arrival to a minute."
"Oh, no; we must put you at your ease before supper time; it is warm
water."
"Nothing can be more welcome to a traveller." So the handmaidens
advanced, and while one pulled off my socks, I lolling luxuriously on
the divan, and smoking my pipe, the other washed my feet with water,
tepid to a degree, and then dried them. With these agreeable
sensations still soothing me, coffee was brought by the lady of the
house, on a very pretty service; and I could not help admitting that
there was less roughing in Servian travel than I expected.
After supper, the pariah priest came in, a middle-aged man.
_Author_. "Do you remember the Turkish period at Karanovatz?"
_Priest_. "No; I came here only lately. My native place is Wuchitern,
on the borders of a large lake in the High Balkan; but, in common with
many of the Christian inhabitants, I was obliged to emigrate last
year."
_Author_. "For what reason?"
_Priest_. "A horde of Albanians, from fifteen to twenty thousand in
number, burst from the Pashalic of Scodra upon the peaceful
inhabitants of the Pashalic of Vrania, committing the greatest
horrors, burning down villages, and putting the inhabitants to the
torture, in order to get money, and dishonouring all the handsomest
women. The Porte sent a large force, disarmed the rascals, and sent
the leaders to the galleys; but I and my people find ourselves so
well here that we feel little temptation to return."
The grand exploit in the life of our host was a caravan journey to
Saloniki, where he had the satisfaction of seeing the sea, a
circumstance which distinguished him, not only from the good folks of
Karanovatz, but from most of his countrymen in general.
"People that live near the sea," said he, "get their salt cheap
enough; but that is not the case in Servia. When Baron Herder made his
exploration of the stones and mountains of Servia, he discovered salt
in abundance somewhere near the Kopaunik; but Milosh, who at that time
had the monopoly of the importation of Wallachian salt in his own
hands, begged him to keep the place secret, for fear his own profits
would suffer a diminution. Thus we must pay a large price for foreign
salt, when we have plenty of it at our own doors."[10]
Next day, we walked about Caranovatz. It is symmetrically built like
Csatsak, but better paved and cleaner.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 10: I have since heard that the Servian salt is to be
worked.]