FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE HERZEGÓVINA.
Talismans and Phylacteries—Connection between the Geology
of Illyria and her Cabalistic Science—Roman Gems, and
Altar of Jove the Thunderer—Amulets against the Evil
Eye—On our Way again—The Gorge of the Želesnica—Pursued
by Armed Horseman—Sleep under a Haystack—Chryselephantine
Rock-sculpture—Wasting her Sweetness on the Desert Air!—Mt.
Trescovica—The Forest Scenery of Mt. Igman—Transformations
of the Herb Gentian—Reminiscences of the Karst—No Water!—A
Race against Night—Strange Bedfellows—A Bosnian-Herzegovinian
House—We encounter Bashi-Bazouks—Cross the Watershed
between the Black Sea and Adriatic—First Glimpse of the
Herzegovina—Signs of a Southern Sky—Coinica, the Runnymede
of the Old Bosnian Kingdom—Great Charter of King Stephen
Thomas—Our Host: the Untutored Savage—Absence of Nature’s
Gentlemen—Democratic Genius of Bosniacs and Southern
Sclaves—The Narenta and its treacherous Waters—Iron
Bridge—Entertained by Belgian Engineer—Murder of young
Christian by two armed Turks—Trepidation of our Host
and Preparations for Flight—Touching Instance of Filial
Affection!—A Village of Unveiled Mahometans—_Rhododactyls_:
Darwinianism refuted at last!—The Tragic Lay of the Golden
Knife—Magnificent Scenery of the Narenta Valley; Amethystine
Cliffs and Emerald Pools—A Land of Wild Figs and Pomegranates.
_Aug. 24th._—This being our last morning in Serajevo, we thought it
prudent, taking into account the troublousness of the times and the
perils that might beset our further pilgrimage, to have recourse to
those magic arts, in which the Moslems of this city show themselves
so proficient. To this end we have devoted the forenoon to ransacking
the shops of the silversmiths, who chiefly traffic in such wares, for
amulets, and stones of divers virtues; and, assuredly, if there be aught
in ‘mystic cabala and spells,’ we may consider ourselves secure from evil.
When the Turks knew for what we were looking, they brought out strange
caskets, and opened many a hidden drawer, that they might set before us
gems and talismans of antique form. And many of these turbaned sages who
had not such wares to impart for filthy lucre, yet, that they might hold
before us, as it were, a beacon wherewith to guide our footsteps in the
path of true philosophy, would display to us the rings and periapts that
they wore on their person, or would take out potent stones from their
wallets for our perusal. By this means we obtained much instruction
in the cabalistic science of these true believers. Much virtue lies,
it would appear, in the character of the stone itself, and a red
carnelian carried about the person, or set in a signet ring, is held
as potent an amulet as any. ’Twas a stone like this that the Princess
Badoura wore in a purse attached to her girdle. When the curiosity of
the luckless Camaralzaman prompted him to open this, he found therein
‘a red carnelian, engraven with unknown figures and characters.
“This carnelian,” says the prince to himself, “must have something
extraordinary in it, or my princess would not be at the trouble to carry
it with her.” And indeed it was Badoura’s talisman or a scheme of her
nativity drawn from the constellations of heaven, which the Queen of
China had given her daughter as a charm that would keep her from any harm
as long as she had it about her.’
Many of the stones were simply signets for rings, and derived their
virtue merely from their material—red carnelian or blood-stone. These
signets, however, not unfrequently were engraved with stars or a branch
of mystic import, besides the Arabic name of the bearer. The talismans,
pure and simple, are generally to be distinguished from simple seals
by the writing not being reversed. To obtain such stones was naturally
difficult, but I secured one, a red carnelian, engraved with the
cabalistic words ‘_Excellence belongs to God_,’ and another mysterious
charm—a blood-stone with monogrammatic spells which no Arabian scholar
has yet been able to decipher for me—arranged in a Solomon’s seal. Ami
Boué, who was struck with the number of charms used by the Mahometans of
these parts, notices among the inscriptions on them, ‘_the servant of
God_,’ ‘_I trust in God_.’ Many curious parallels might be cited among
the posies of old English rings.
It is interesting to notice the repute in which the blood-stone is held
here for these sigils and talismans. Those who are familiar with Gnostic
gems will remember how often this stone, as well as the carnelian,
appears engraved with the names of Iao, or Abrasax, or others of that
mysterious race of genii. I have myself seen several Gnostic gems of this
character from the Roman sites of the Illyrian coast land, and indeed
cannot refrain from hinting a suspicion that there may be something
more than a chance connection between the abundance of such charms in
ancient and in modern Illyria.[262] Those who recognize how much the
Mahometan Sclaves of Bosnia have preserved of their earlier Christian
superstitions will hardly think it improbable that part at least of their
wide-spread belief in the potency of such charms may be an inheritance
from Præ-Turkish times.
To answer such questions with confidence more evidence is needed. This,
however, is certain, that the present abundance of such charms in Bosnia
is partly due to geological causes, being favoured by the presence of
stones adapted for the manufacture, in some of the Illyrian valleys.
We saw many such stones vended on the bridges of Serajevo by itinerant
pedlars—an abundance of rudely cut carnelians, blood-stones, amethysts,
agates, and rock crystals—intended not only for sigils and amulets,
but also for purposes purely ornamental. It was the abundance of such
stones that made Illyria—as I hope to point out later on—the seat of a
regular manufacture of Roman gems. These seem to be found in considerable
abundance on all Roman sites in Illyria; and even in Serajevo, where
there are no remains of Roman habitation beyond a solitary votive
inscription to the Thunderer,[263] we noticed several classic gems
scattered among more modern talismans and signets. One which I succeeded
in purchasing is a masterpiece of ancient art. The stone is a sard of
a deep red colour, on which is engraved a faun holding an amphora on
his shoulder; the proportions are perfect, and the whole so exquisitely
engraved, that not a flaw in the execution can be detected even with the
aid of a strong magnifying-glass.
The Prince of the Isles of the children of Khaledan was not more troubled
when the bird of ill-omen snatched the blood-red carnelian of Badoura
from his grasp, than is a Bosniac who has lost or broken his talisman.
At Jablanica, in the valley of the Narenta, we heard of a Turk who a few
days before had broken his amulet-ring. The poor man’s terror was piteous
to see, and fearing that the injury to his charm portended that some
terrible misfortune would overtake him, or that at least his hours were
numbered, he immediately set out on a ten hours’ journey to Mostar, that
the injury might be repaired by cunning artificers.
Not that this belief in charms is by any means confined to the Moslems of
Bosnia. The Christians are equally given to it, and I saw some cabalistic
gems with crosses and inscriptions in Cyrillian characters. The sale of
amulets and charms, written on small slips of paper, is in fact a regular
source of income to the Franciscan monks of this country, so much so
that they no longer take the trouble to write their spells, but have
called in the invention of printing to aid the Black Art! ‘At the present
day,’ writes M. Yriarte, ‘it is no secret that the printing of these
little cards is a recognised branch of industry with certain typographic
establishments at Agram and Zara.’[264] The spells consist of verses of
Scripture disposed in the same cabalistic fashion as verses of the Koràn
among the native Mahometans; they are folded in the shape of a hat and
suspended in a small wallet round the neck of the rayah, who looks to
his purchase for protection against the Evil Eye and infernal spirits!
If the Franciscan monks take a leaf from the Koràn, the Moslems on their
part return the compliment; and it is not the least curious trace of
the lurking _penchant_ for the faith of their fathers betrayed by some
of the descendants of the Bosnian renegades, that at times Mahometans
have been known to send their amulets to the Franciscan monks that their
blessing might lend an additional potency to the charm.
Among the Mahometans here scrolls containing verses from the Koràn are a
very favourite amulet, and the modern Bosniacs show themselves as prone
as the Pharisees of old ‘to enlarge their phylacteries.’ Sometimes these
sacred excerpts are sewn into the dress, sometimes hung round the neck,
or attached to the arm. One of our Zaptiehs showed us his, enclosed in
a leathern case, in much the same manner as in a specimen which I have
seen from Egypt. This was fastened round the upper part of his arm—a
thoroughly Eastern mode of wearing amulets—if I may be allowed once
more to call in evidence Prince Camaralzaman, who, on recovering dear
Badoura’s carnelian, ‘having first kissed the talisman, wrapped it up in
a ribbon, and tied it carefully about his arm.’
But of periapts those that took our fancy most, and of which we took
care to lay in a goodly store for our own use, were certain necklaces
or amulets from which were suspended carnelian arrowheads. Of these
there was a regular traffic, and we saw large bunches of them hung up
for sale in the larger bezestan; on enquiring their use, the merchant
who sold them informed me that they were a most valuable and potent
charm against skin diseases—in an Oriental city not an unimportant
consideration—and insinuated, as a minor attraction, that if I wore them
I need never be afraid of warts. I have seen exactly similar charms in
Bulgaria, and others from Arabia, which are worn by the Arabs ‘as good
for the blood’—so that their cutaneous virtues are widely appreciated.
The Serajevan merchant said that they were imported from India—and,
indeed, the Ganges may almost be said to have flowed into the Save! But
the miniature arrowheads of these amulets command as high an interest
from their form as from their Indian origin; and the sanctity with which
superstition has invested what was once the everyday weapon of mankind,
is one of the many proofs of the antiquity of that Stone Age which
preceded the period when Bronze was the only metal known to mankind, and,
at a remoter distance, this blessed Age of Iron.
[Illustration: Arrowhead Charms.]
We heard of other charms suspended round horses’ necks, though I am not
in a position to describe any of these. But perhaps the most curious
amulets were those worn by children against the Evil Eye. Here are some
that we succeeded in carrying off. Figures 1, 2, 3, 4, are of lead,
severally representing a hare, a fish, a crested serpent, a tortoise.
No. 5 is the claw of an eagle or some kind of bird, and No. 7 the
horns of a stag beetle; both of these are mounted in tin sockets. No.
6 is a rude face carved in jet. These are fixed on the child’s fez, or
elsewhere about the person, and the object served is to avert the first
stroke, or as the Italians say the _Gettatura_ of the Cattiv’ Occhio;
this first stroke being alone considered fatal. It is for this reason
that the amulets against its malign influence are usually of bizarre
forms, in order to attract the _Gettatura_ to themselves. But the natural
objects—notably the animals, representations of which are used for this
purpose here—are extremely interesting, inasmuch as they very strongly
suggest a continuity with the amulets against the Evil Eye in use in
classic times. Thus, on ancient gems the eye is seen surrounded by a
lion, a hare, a dog, a scorpion, a stag and a serpent.[265] There is,
besides, a well-known class of Roman brooches in the form of fishes, the
animals mentioned above, and others, which may, one would think, with
great propriety be looked on as nothing but amulets of the same kind,
and many of which bear a striking resemblance to these Bosnian charms.
Nor is this superstition, any more than the others, at all confined to
the Mahometans of Bosnia; it is universal among the Serbs, who, it is
said,[266] find great deliverance from the evil effects of the Cattiv’
Occhio by touching iron or looking at blue objects, and the Franciscan
spells already described are chiefly directed against this same malign
influence.
[Illustration: Amulets Against the Evil Eye.]
Having now fortified ourselves to our satisfaction with these and
many talismans of virtue, and being supplied by our kind hosts at the
Consulate with a store of wheaten bread, Bologna sausages, and eke
Sicilian wine, we bade farewell to our friends at Serajevo, and set
forth on foot once more. It was our intention to make our way as best
we could to the Herzegovina over the wild ranges to the West, and, as
the best line of attack on our mountain citadels, made for the gorge of
the Želesnica over the foot of lower hills. About an hour from Serajevo
we passed the last trace of comparative civilization. This was a
brewery recently established by two Austrian settlers, with one of whom
we conversed whilst discussing a glass of very fair German beer. The
poor man was in a great state of trepidation. Only the day before his
brother brewer had made off for the Austrian frontier, taking with him
his family, and our host himself was preparing to follow his partner’s
example as soon as he could get his effects together. ‘It’s not the
Insurgents,’ he said, ‘that I’m afraid of—it’s only the Turks. You can’t
believe what cut-throats those Bashi-Bazouks are!’
This was hardly inspiriting for ourselves, nor did our prospects seem
more brilliant when, an hour or so afterwards, in a lonely part of the
Želesnica valley, to which we had now descended, we heard a hue and cry
behind us, and turning round saw a ferocious horseman armed to the teeth,
clattering after us on a gorgeously caparisoned steed. Our infantry
thereupon formed, and the cavalry halted a few paces off. Whereupon our
dragoon, who, from the sumptuousness of his arms, must have been a Beg
at least, roared out to us some commands, in which the insolence alone
was intelligible. Thereupon we continued our march, resolved to pay no
attention to the insults of the foe; but seeing that he hung about our
flanks, and that his general demeanour was becoming momentarily more
hostile, we made such an unmistakable sign that we had been sufficiently
honoured by his company that he thought better of the matter and beat a
retreat. There is one weapon which in Bosnia serves as efficiently for a
passport as the Bujuruldu of the Governor-General!
We were in a certain amount of anxiety lest the enemy should renew his
attack with reinforcements, but the valley grew wilder and the darkness
was rapidly closing in to hide our position. Further up the stream we
passed those two monuments, one with a crescent moon engraved upon it,
which have been already described—and the position was one which the
persecuted Bogomiles might well have chosen. Towards dusk the valley
widened out a bit, and we perceived a village a little higher up; but
not wishing to run the risk of letting our whereabouts be known, and
infinitely preferring the open canopy of heaven to the vermin-ridden
shelter of a Bosnian cabin, we sought out some other resting-place for
the night, and soon discovered eligible quarters among some haystacks in
a meadow by the side of the stream. These haystacks were of a peculiar
form, being composed of small sheaves of hay skewered on an upright pole,
but they afforded very welcome shelter from the night breeze; so that
after taking our tea and an evening meal of simple contrivance, we lay
down and slept sound enough till dawn.
_Aug. 25th._—We had breakfasted and were on our way again by half-past
four next morning, and the light of the rising sun revealed to us a most
beautiful cliff of rock, as it were of ivory veined with gold, rising
above our encampment. After passing the straggling village of Jablanica,
which we had seen the night before, the valley contracted, and we were
forced to climb along a rocky steep overlooking the torrent on the left.
The mountains on each side grew higher, wooded with small oaks, thorns,
and beeches, with here and there a brilliant Colossus of rock in the same
chryselephantine style; while the stream below, pent up in so precipitous
a gorge, naturally waxed more boisterous, and dashed from one emerald
pool to another, flaked with snow-white foam. But our steep quickly
became so impassable by reason of rocky bastions, that we were forced to
relinquish our design of following the water-course, and in preference
ascended the mountain whose flank we had been hitherto hugging. We made
our way upwards with difficulty through the tangled brushwood, and from
this summit descended once more through the stunted oaks, intending
to steer for a hilly ridge running south-west towards Mt. Bielastica.
Chancing, however, to hit on a path more or less in our direction, we
followed it, and found ourselves before long at a small Christian hamlet
consisting of two or three huts, each, as usual, in its paled enclosure.
Here we found some peasants—men in long white tunics, women with dress
and coiffure of Serbian fashion—all of whom were very friendly, and
hastened to satisfy our thirst with sour milk. One of the girls, in the
bloom of her age, was really beautiful. Both her hair and eyes, shaded
with eyebrows low and broad, were dark, and, in the refinement of her
features, the pale olive of her complexion, softly contrasting with
her raven tresses and sparkling sombreness of eye, there was a charm
almost Italian—had it not yet been eminently South-Sclavonic. She seemed
as amiable as she was lovely, and was evidently recognised as a belle
even in her small circle; for she alone, we noticed, was possessed of
ear-rings. Her comeliness was indeed the _beau idéal_ of Serbian fancy;
but I should hardly have drawn attention to it here, were not really
transcendent beauty so rarely seen among these uncultured South-Sclavonic
peoples, perhaps one might say, among the barbarous members of our
Aryan family generally. In a highly civilized society like our own, the
proportion of Peris—if I dare generalize—is greater; but, on the other
hand, if anyone wishes to find examples of the deepest human degradation,
he must search, not among the mountain homes of the oppressed rayahs of
Bosnia, but rather in the alleys of one of our great cities. With us the
gamut of beauty is greater.
But it is high time to take a fond farewell! so, leaving this flower of
the Bosnian highlands ‘to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the
desert air,’ we began ascending our ridge, and finding another path,
came, an hour or so further on, to a leafy canopy supported by four
poles, beneath which squatted two venerable Mahometans with sage and
hoary beards. We recognised the signs of a rustic _café_, and taking
our seats on a convenient grassy bank, refreshed ourselves with sundry
fragrant cupfuls, the while much delighting our ancient coffee-maker and
his fellow with an exhibition of English hunting-knives. We soon after
reached the summit of the ridge, and following it along a succession
of down-like lawns, gained, from its southern-most bluff just above
the Priesnica torrent, a fine mountain panorama, and in especial a
good view of the limestone precipices of Mt. Trescovica (which here
forms the boundary between Bosnia and Herzegovina), frowning over lower
forest-covered heights. So sharp was the contrast between the bold curves
and contortions of the light limestone rock and the softer contours and
verdant shades beneath, that one could fancy that the green undulations
of the Planinas round had at one point burst into foaming billows; and,
indeed, the mountain crest seemed to curl over as to imitate a breaking
wave,—but alas! how flat is the poetry of nature when reduced to black
and white by a prosaic pencil!
[Illustration: Mount Trescovica, from South-Eastern Spur of Mount Igman.]
We now wanted to make our way into the Narenta valley over the north-west
shoulder of Mt. Bielastica, but were turned out of our course by the deep
gorge of the Priesnica, and thought it best to ascend the south-eastern
promontory of a largish range known by the name of Mt. Igman—though
the title covers a multitude of peaks. The scenery now became more
beautiful than ever, though profoundly lonely, save here and there for a
beautiful black squirrel leaping from branch to branch, or a huge brown
vulture floating through the azure overhead. The steeps up which we now
made our way were covered with forest more varied in its composition
than those of Troghìr and Vučia. Beech, as there, was the predominant
tree; but oaks and thorns, dark firs and pines, glaucous ashes and
fountainous birches—often so happily blended and grouped as to transcend
the planter’s art—disputed the sole dominion of the queen of the forest.
The trees were perhaps hardly so large, as a rule, as those we had seen
in the mountains of more northern Bosnia, but we noticed one pine no less
than eighteen feet in circumference at a yard from the ground. Another
speciality of this forest-mountain was that the trees were not so thickly
crowded, and grew more freely. The sovereign beech has no need to gird
herself so closely, but can stretch out her queenly arms, and spread far
and wide her leafy flounces without fear of her robes being pressed and
crumpled by the crowd. Glades are here more frequent, and ever and anon a
charming lawny break would open a vista through the trees, and we caught
a glimpse of the distant ridge of Bielastica.
[Illustration: Mount Bielastica from slopes of Mt. Igman.]
We reached two summits of the mountain we were on, the first by our
aneroid 4,350 feet above sea-level, the second 4,560. About these
summits, which were less wooded than the lower regions, we found a
variety of flowers, recalling the flora of our chalk downs—the yellow
snapdragon, the scabious, white as well as mauve, and the heartsease,
though larger and of a richer purple, much as we remembered them on
our own Chilterns; and here, as there, the chalk-hill blue seemed the
commonest butterfly. But besides these we noticed rosy sweet-williams and
autumn crocus, with its double trinity of lilac petals—iris-like—a design
for a gothic window. On one summit, gained earlier in the day, we found
a curious bulbous plant with a tall stalk and drooping purple bells,
each curving down on a separate stem like a pigmy snake’s head;[267] and
some mountain lawns shone blue as the sky above, with a wondrous thistle
whose leaves as well as flowers were tinged on their upper surface with a
bright azure.
But what surprised me most, was to see the Solomon’s seal-like flower,
which we had noticed in all the Bosnian forests, bristle up erect
and stiff on the breezy mountain summit, after undergoing such a
transformation that I should not have known it for the same plant had
not I marked the gradual transition. It was now for the first time that
I identified the mysterious floral weeping-willow, which had delighted
us so often, with an old friend—the autumn gentian. As we descended
the mountain we watched the transition with astonishment. The flowers,
instead of circling the upright stem in a perfect coronal, crept to the
upper side of it as it gradually declined. The leaves and bells grew
larger—the stem as much as two feet long—till in the damper parts of
the forest the whole was once more transformed into what looked like
Solomon’s seal with tall azure cups stretching upwards from the back of
its drooping stem—a perfect emblem of hope in sorrow.
But a curious feature in the mountain formation began to make itself
painfully felt. There was no water. All the streams ran below ground.
Vale and mountain were alike pitted with those inverted-conical
hollows—the _Dolinas_, which we remembered in the limestone wilderness
of Carniola—that terrible Karst. These circular hollows are nothing but
swallow-holes, formed by the water in its passage to the caverns of its
underground course. And so it happened that we were forced to climb on,
hour after hour, through the mid-day heat of a Southern sun, without
discovering a drop to drink. Our intense thirst rendered us so desperate
that we willingly forsook our proper course to plunge into deep gorges in
the forlorn hope of finding water. But it was invariably to find that all
our labour had been wasted, and that we must climb upwards once more and
seek elsewhere. Three times we thought that we had succeeded, and as many
times we were disappointed; twice what we hoped to be drinkable turned
out to be a filthy pool, almost too bad for cattle; once, however,
we thought to have procured some from a shepherd whose temporary hut
had attracted our attention from a height above. The poor man went and
fetched us a bucket of liquid, but it was green slime! At last, about
four in the afternoon—after eight hours of hard struggle since the coffee
which we had quaffed at the roadside shed—almost fainting with drought
we found, in a moist part of a track that we had hit on, some mules’
footprints, in which some of the rainwater from the storm of the previous
day was still standing. This we eagerly sucked up through a hollow
hemlock stem; and, though the beaker was novel, were much refreshed.
But what with our frantic searches after water and vain attempts to find
a pass which exists nowhere but on the Major’s map, we had diverged very
seriously from our right direction; and, on reaching a mountain edge,
we discerned ourselves far out in our bearings, and far too much to the
north-east. Two thousand feet below us we descried an inhabited country,
and, delicious sight! a stream; and though night was closing in, and
both my brother and myself are subject to the inconvenience of being
night-blind, we resolved, if possible, to descend to this friendly valley
before darkness set in. It was a race against night; but we literally
bounded down, and striking on a shepherd’s path, were able to run the
rest of the way, and descended two thousand feet and were quenching all
the thirst of the day in the crystal stream, within half an hour from
the time when we reached the mountain edge. A peasant whom we here met
conducted us to a Han on the high road a little way off, and we found
ourselves under shelter exactly sixteen hours after our start in the
morning, during which time we had given ourselves hardly any rest.
[Illustration: Plan of Bosnian Han.]
_Aug. 26th._—Our Han was a miserable little hovel, consisting chiefly
of one room, which served at once for kitchen, squatting-room, and
bedchamber, in which we slept on a wooden daïs amongst a lot of ragged
Turks; but travellers must expect strange bed-fellows—and after all,
our chamber was comparatively flealess. We found that we were on the
high road which connects Sarajevo, with Mostar, the capital of the
Herzegovina, but on the wrong side of the pass, and about seven hours’
walk from Coinica, the first town in the duchy of St. Sava, and our this
day’s destination. We stopped on our way to refresh ourselves at a Han,
of which I give a plan and elevation, in order to convey an idea of the
ordinary cottage in this part of Bosnia: for the dwelling-houses are
like the inns, except that their entrance arch opens on to the yard and
not on to the road. The lower part is, as usual, reserved for horses and
cattle. Making your way through these stables you ascend a ladder in
the middle and emerge above on a central hall, at once guest-room and
kitchen, with a divan at one end round a bay window open to the air,
and the rafters above literally tarred by the smoke which rises from a
chimneyless hearth of flat stones. The external walls here are of stone—a
Herzegovinian characteristic.
We now ascended the pass which here forms the watershed between
the Black Sea and the Adriatic, and on our way met a party of
Bashi-Bazouks,—according to all accounts the most serious danger that
we were liable to meet with. They stopped us; but by great good fortune
there happened to be a regular officer with them who understood our pass,
and explaining its purport to the others, suffered us to pass on amidst
commendatory ejaculations of ‘_Dobro! dobro!_’—‘Good! good!’ This piece
of luck we attributed not only to the amulets on our person, but to the
herb _amulet_, or cyclamen, which bloomed in the crevices of the cliffs,
and a few of whose delicious flowers we had plucked, and with great
forethought carried with us. The summit of the pass was, according to our
observations, 3,080 feet above sea-level. Just here we had another slight
adventure, for entering what we took to be a new Han, we discovered on
reaching the upper storey that it was a Turkish watch-tower—one of the
block-houses hastily run up on the outbreak of the insurrection. The
soldiers, however, justly concluding that none but friends would plunge
thus boldly into their midst, showed themselves very friendly, and gave
us water, which we asked for, to drink. We met some other parties of
volunteers, but were not molested.
[Illustration: First Glimpse of the Herzegovina.]
As we descended the pass towards the valley of the Narenta, the scenery
became grand and beautiful. To the left rose the grey limestone
precipices of Bielastica, above the nearer forest-covered heights. The
base of the mountain forms a wooded slope; above this succeeds a barren
glacis of talus, and above this again tower the perpendicular walls of
the mountain-citadel itself (for it looks uncommonly like an ancient
fortress), with here and there magnificent bastions and even round-towers
of rock, relieving the rugged-level line of the citadel walls. To the
right of us rose another nearer wall of rock, along whose surface our
roadway had been hewn out, in places not without engineering skill.
This cliff was of a schistose formation, stained of the most brilliant
varieties of hue—rich browns of every shade, a golden orange and a rose
so deep and decided that we invoked the neighbouring cinnabar mines of
Creševo in order to account for it. In places, again, the rocky wall was
formed of sombre slate, but it too could take exquisite hues of lilac in
a favourable light, and as we descended lower into the valley the rocks
grew white as chalk. Below us was the deep gorge of a torrent, and
on its further side the strata were in places knotted and grained and
gnarled, like the roots of an old oak-tree.
[Illustration: View of Coinica.]
Now, at a turn of the road, opens our first glimpse of the ancient duchy
of St. Sava—or, as it is now more generally known, the Herzegovina—a
magnificent vista of rocky mountains rising beyond the yet unseen valley
of the Narenta, their dark blue shadows golden-fringed by the setting
sun. The trees become more southern in their character; here and there
are fine Spanish chestnuts; on a height to the right are the pines of
an Italian landscape; wild vine becomes plentiful once more; we pass a
Herzegovinian peasant in a peaked cap of Dalmatian character; and finally
come in sight of Coinica, the first Herzegovinian town, with mosque and
minaret reflected on the silvery waters of the Narenta; and behind, in a
glorious amphitheatre, those barren limestone peaks, which, stretching
away in unbroken chains to the Black Mountain on the south-east, form the
Switzerland of Turkey, and are ringing even now with the battle-cry of
freedom.
Across the river, and connecting the few houses on the Bosnian shore,
known as Neretva, with Coinica on the other, is stretched a fine stone
bridge, the finest we had seen in Bosnia, and indeed the only one that
we had seen outside the walls of the capital. This is one of the oldest
historic monuments in the country, and is said to have been the work of
Hralimir,[268] King of the Serbs, though it has doubtless been restored
by the Turks. Thus it is a living witness of the ancient connection
between Bosnia and Serbia, in its wider sense, with which the history of
Herzegovina, originally under Serbian princes, begins; and it forms a
fitting avenue of approach to Coinica itself, which is celebrated in the
history of the Bosnian kingdom as the scene of one of the few peaceful
events in that unhappy national story that have become memorable. Coinica
was in a certain sense the Runnymede of Bosnia. At the ‘Conventus’ or
diet of Coinica in 1446, Thomas, last lawful king of this country,
set his seal to a charter, which, though rather framed to protect
royalty and the feudal _régime_, was in this sense a popular measure,
that it was designed to check violence and abuses in days of anarchy,
and that it was presented to the king for signature by an assembly of
prelates and barons, who in a certain sense were representative. Its
preservation is due to monks of the order of St. Francis, one of whom
supplied a Latin copy of it to Farlato, who was thus able to insert
it in his ‘Illyricum Sacrum.’[269] As we are on the spot, and as this
is an unique constitutional memorial of the old Bosnian kingdom, and
illustrates amongst other things the relation in which the two countries
on whose borders we now are stood to one another in the days of Christian
government, I have ventured to subjoin a translation:—
We, Stephen Thomas, by the grace of God, King of Rascia,
Servia, of the Bosnians or Illyrians, of the parts of Primorie
of Dalmatia and of Croatia, commit to memory, by the authority
of these present, to all whom it may concern as hereinafter
ordained.
In an Assembly, holden by us in our land of Coinica,[270] and
in our Congregation General,[271] all our faithful vassals,
prelates, barons, Voivodes, and elders,[272] and all elected
nobles of all the counties of our realm treating of those
things which pertain to the peace and well-being of our realm:
these foresaid elders, amongst other praiseworthy ordinances,
set before us and presented certain articles hereinafter set
forth, humbly praying that we would think well to confirm the
articles aforesaid:—
_Firstly_—That the Manichæans[273] build no new church, nor
restore the old.
_Secondly_—That goods given to the Church be not taken away.
_Thirdly_—That if any one slay a man, let him by royal judgment
be cast into prison, and let his goods be divided into two
parts, one part to be forfeited to the king and one part to the
kinsmen of him slain.
_Fourthly_—That when the councillors, secretaries, Voivodes,
and counts of the royal court,[274] are chosen, they must
solemnly swear oath to the king.
_Fifthly_—That the Duke[275] of St. Sava be not lawful duke
unless he be chosen by the king of Rascia, Serbia, and
Illyricum. After election let him swear oath to the king’s
majesty. But if he presume to exercise office without taking
the oath, the king’s majesty shall punish him.
_Sixthly_—That incestuous and the corrupters of kinspeople be
punished.
_Seventhly_—That the betrayers of fenced cities[276] and of
their lords pay the penalties of their treason; and also the
utterers of false money.
To the perpetual memory and confirmation of which things we
have sanctioned the constitutions written in this Charta by the
setting on of our great seal: by the will and counsel of the
lords, prelates, Voivodes, and elders of the whole kingdom.
Given at Coinica, and written by the most reverend father in
Christ, lord Vladimir Vladmirović, bishop of Creševo and of the
Narentines, of the Greek rite, secretary of our court,[277]
and doctor of Greek letters and laws,[278] our beloved and
faithful, in the year of our Saviour 1446.
Here follow the names of the signataries. At the head the Papal
Nuncio, the Inquisitor-General, and Vicar of Bosnia. For the
Greek communion the Metropolitan of Dioclea, ‘patriarch of
our realm,’ a series of bishops and Minorite fathers, and the
Vladikas of the Greek rite. At the head of the lay vassals
is the respectable and magnificent Stépan, Duke of St. Sava,
with his sons; our dear brother the Ban of Jaycze, Radivoj
Vladmirović Count and Judge of our Court, Stépan Vlatković
our councillor and Ban of Ussora, John Covačić, Voivode of
our parts of Dalmatia, Peter Paulović, Voivode of Glasinac,
and master of our dish-bearers,[279] Paul Kubretić Voivode of
Zvornik and master of our cup-bearers, and ‘many other Voivodes
of our kingdom holding Voivodeships and honours.’
The cry is peace, and there is no peace! There is a pathos in these short
enactments—the voice of national despair sounding faintly down the avenue
of time.
The crops have already been trodden down beneath the troops of Turkish
horsemen. The foe is at the gates, and anarchy and treason reign within.
The discordant parties and turbulent nobles seem at length to realise
that Bosnia must unite or perish. For a moment the bans forget their
mutual feuds, and the bishops of both churches agree as brothers. Let the
murderer no longer be unpunished; let Holy Church no longer be robbed
with impunity; let the great barons of the land cease to disown their
fealty to their sovereign; let some restraint be put upon the corruption
of family life; let the coinage no longer suffer debasement. The Grand
Inquisitor himself sets his seal to an act by which the hated Bogomiles
are accorded comparative toleration. But it is all too late. Already the
national treason shows symptoms of beginning, and it is found necessary
to insert a special enactment against those betrayers of fenced cities.
The impending national catastrophe seems to overshadow this High Court of
Feudal Bosnia, just as even now in the still evening air the shadows of
yonder mountains are creeping over the mosques and minarets of Coinica,
and spreading a pall over the tents which the Turkish soldiery have
pitched on the Bosnian bank.
One cannot wonder that Coinica was chosen as the meeting-place of the
lords spiritual and temporal of Christian Bosnia. The situation on the
one pass which connects the heart of Bosnia and her present capital with
the duchy, and the magnificent bridge which here spans the Narenta,
make it the key to the Herzegovina; and even the Turks have shown
themselves so alive to its strategic importance that on the outbreak of
the insurrection one of the first cares of the government was to secure
the position by posting here a division of troops, whose tents we now
descried on a height above the Narenta, as—after a short and satisfactory
audience with the Kaïmakàm, whom we interviewed in a house which he was
building on the Bosnian shore—we crossed the bridge, and, entering
Coinica, find ourselves in the old duchy of St. Sava.
Here, after some difficulty, we have discovered a Han—or rather a loft
above a stable—and the attendance is certainly in keeping with the
place! We are waited on by a turbaned youth, who is a very good specimen
of the untutored savage, as he exists in Bosnia at the present day. He
comes into our room and gapes at us while we are eating; he takes up
our scrap of wheaten bread—a _bonne-bouche_ which we had brought with
us from Serajevo—and fingers it complacently. When we ask for water,
this child of nature snatches up the pitcher, and before handing it to
us takes a good pull at the spout himself! Since then he has stared at
us persistently, with interludes of spitting about the floor. We have
hinted in every possible way that he is _de trop_—but to hints our young
barbarian shows himself quite unapproachable—till at last all our respect
for the sanctity of a host fairly breaks down, and we rid ourselves of
our incubus by the magic word _Haiti_!
Nature’s gentlemen the Bosniacs certainly are not! There is not here
that surviving polish of an older civilization—that inheritance of
refinement which one traces amongst the Italian peasants, and which the
traveller meets with even among the Rouman shepherds of the Carpathian
wilds. The Bosniacs, on the contrary, show themselves grossly familiar
when not cowed into bearish reserve; they have not even sufficient tact
to perceive when their impertinence or obtrusive curiosity is annoying.
They show no delicacy about prying into our effects, and in this respect
are far behind the Wallacks and other uncivilized European populations
with whom I have come in contact. They never displayed gratitude for
any small largess that we bestowed on them, though they grabbed at it
with avidity; and their general ingratitude was confirmed by those who
have had more experience of the country. Amongst the Mahometan burghers
there certainly is a very considerable amount of politeness and a natural
dignity, due to the grand Oriental traditions with which their conversion
to Islâm has imbued them, to which I willingly pay homage. But among the
Christians, even of the highest social strata, the want of politeness and
that ungenerous vice of mean spirits—ingratitude—are simply astounding.
It has already been mentioned that when the new Serbian cathedral was
being built, the Russian government presented the Greek congregation of
Serajevo with a magnificent set of icons and other church furniture. This
costly gift was sent carriage free as far as Brood; but from this town
to Serajevo the cost of transport, amounting to at most a dozen or so
ducats, fell on the Christian merchants of Serajevo, who, on their own
showing, are the wealthiest part of the population of a large city. Will
it be believed?—instead of paying the money at once and with pleasure,
they entered a formal protest at the Russian Consulate against defraying
this trifling expense! The Russian Consul was profoundly disgusted.
But I should be guilty of passing a very shallow judgment on the
sometimes too obtrusive familiarity of these people if I did not point
out that it is but an unpleasant phase of what is really one of the
most valuable qualities preserved by the Bosnian people in the days of
bondage. It is part and parcel of a democratic habit of mind common to
the whole Serbian, and indeed the whole South-Sclavonic race. It is
the representative in conversation of those primitive social relations
which hold throughout all these lands within the common yard of the
house-community, and have survived alike the imported feudalism of the
Middle Ages, and the Turkish conquest. In these Illyrian lands I have
often been addressed as ‘_brat_,’ or brother, and the Bosniacs are known
to call the stranger ‘_shija_’—neighbour. I, who write this, happen
individually not to appreciate this ‘_égalitaire_’ spirit. I don’t choose
to be told by every barbarian I meet that he is a man and a brother. I
believe in the existence of inferior races, and would like to see them
exterminated. But these are personal mislikings, and it is easy to see
how valuable such a spirit of democracy may be amongst a people whose
self-respect has been degraded by centuries of oppression, and who in
many respects are only too prone to cower beneath the despot’s rod: for
one need not be enamoured of liberty coupled with equality and fraternity
not to perceive that, when the choice lies between it and tyranny,
freedom, even in such companionship, is to be infinitely preferred; and
a man must be either blind or a diplomatist not to perceive that in
the Sclavonic provinces of Turkey the choice ultimately lies between
despotism and a democracy almost socialistic.
_Aug. 27th._—There was nothing to see in Coinica except the bridge and
a mosque or two, so we were again on our way this morning, following
the road along the Narenta valley. The scenery much reminded us of
the valley of the Izonzo as you descend southwards across the Julian
Alps. The whiter and more barren rocks: the signs of a more southern
climate in the ripe grapes and what vegetation there was, as well as
in the intense heat of the sun over our heads: the houses, no longer
of wood, but of white stone,[280] almost tower-like, with high stone
stairs outside—recalled one after the other the metamorphoses which had
struck us on a former pilgrimage when emerging on the stifling valleys
of Gradisca from the Predil Pass. And assuredly the Narenta flowing
beside us was as emerald green in its transparency as ever those Sontian
pools which feasted Dante’s eyes when the guest of Pagano della Torre.
The Narenta in its upper course is very dangerous to bathe in, since
the current is not only very rapid, but has short cuts by underground
caverns which form whirlpools not easy to detect in the general
turmoil of the surface waters, but which are capable none the less of
occasionally sucking down into earth’s bowels some of the enormous trees
which are seen to float down this river. We, however, discovered a safe
and sheltered pool of this wonderful blue-emerald purity, in which we
disported ourselves while the soup of our mid-day meal was brewing on the
shore.
Towards evening, still following the road, we began to leave the Narenta
valley, and to cut off a great bend of its course by zigzagging over some
heights. Here we passed some sick and wounded Turks _en route_ from the
scene of war, and other soldiers with them, but our pass again stood us
in good stead. The heights above the road looked more desolate than any
we had seen, as the brushwood had been set on fire, apparently to prevent
the enemy from advancing unperceived and perhaps surprising a convoy, so
that, as we passed, volumes of smoke were rising above us from blackened
thickets. From the summit of this pass opened out a grand view of naked
mountain peaks. Rapidly descending we came once more upon the Narenta
at a point where a party of Turks, under the direction of a Belgian
engineer, were using their best endeavours to complete an iron bridge
across the river.
The Belgian engineer, who had been kindly told by consular agency to look
out for us, received us with open arms, and hospitably offered us the
shelter of his tent for the night. He told us, as a good illustration of
Turkish _laisser-aller_, that the bridge, which had been brought here at
a large expense from England, had lain for two years on the river bank
without being set up. At last the outbreak of the insurrection harshly
aroused the authorities to a sense of their negligence; and now the work
has to be pushed on with the greatest hurry imaginable, as the bridge is
becoming every day more indispensable for the transport of cannon and
other heavy munitions and supplies into the Herzegovina. The workmen
employed are only Mahometans, but there are some booths hard-by for
the sale of raki and provisions, kept by a small Christian colony. The
Belgian himself lodged at the Mahometan village of Jablanica, a little
further down the valley, whither we presently accompanied him to accept
of his hospitable shelter.
As we were walking towards this our engineer pointed to a part of a
maize-plot on the roadside to the right, where the maize was slightly
trodden down. ‘Do you see that?’ he asked; ‘perhaps you would like to
know how the maize got trodden down there?’
He then recounted to us the following narrative, which, coming from an
eye-witness, served to enlighten us considerably as to the amenities of
Turkish rule.
It must be prefaced that at the present time no one can go from one
village to another without being provided with a _teskeri_ or Turkish
pass, and that it was one of the functions of the Belgian engineer,
as head of the Road Commission, to examine and set his _visé_ on
the _teskeris_ of all who passed along this road. A few days ago a
young Herzegovinian Christian—a fine young fellow, according to the
Belgian—stopped at his tent and showed his pass, which proved to be
quite _en règle_, and was _visé’d_ by the engineer accordingly. He then
proceeded on his way with a light heart, but as he was passing by the
booths which I have mentioned near the bridge, two Turks—not officials
or soldiers of any kind, but armed nevertheless—came up and insolently
demanded to see his _teskeri_. This they had not a shadow of a right to
ask for; but the young fellow, knowing that in this country might is
right, did not hesitate to comply, and handed his _teskeri_ for their
examination. Thereupon the two Mahometans, who could not read a syllable,
swore that the whole thing was wrong, and seizing hold of the young rayah
began to drag him along, crying out to the Christians at the booths that
they were taking him off to the Road Commission.
But they had not proceeded far when they suddenly fell upon him, and
hauling him off into the maize where we had seen it trampled down,
butchered him with seven blows from their _handshars_, one of which half
cut through his neck. They then made off in broad daylight, making their
way through the Christians and others whom the young fellow’s cries were
bringing to the scene of the tragedy—not a soul daring to lay a hand on
the murderers, who were also Turks! The Belgian, who was in his tent,
had been also roused by a loud ‘_Homaum! homaum!_’ as he expressed the
cries, and coming out, found the young rayah, who had succeeded in
crawling to the road, past human assistance.
The Belgian at once sent for Zaptiehs to arrest the murderers; but by the
time these functionaries were on their way the birds were flown. At any
rate they never arrested them—but it is well known that Zaptiehs often
let felons escape on purpose, if they are true believers.
When I say that since this event the Belgian has been in a state of
painful agitation, I am but feebly expressing the state of mind in
which we found that unfortunate official. His colleague, an Italian,
has already made off—and the poor man himself has been exercising his
engineering sagacity in planning the nearest route over the mountains by
which to escape to the Dalmatian frontier. He had collected his effects,
and was ready to start at a moment’s notice. He thought he could reach
the border at the nearest point in ten hours. He was most afraid of
the Bosniac Mussulmans, and especially of the Bashi-Bazouks; and when
we suggested that he, being in the Turkish service, ought at least to
feel secure, he assured us that this was not sufficient to restrain the
fanaticism of the native Moslems, who regard the office of an engineer
with pious horror, and curse the new-fangled iron bridge whenever they
pass it, as the devil’s handiwork! His fears were so genuine that he
dared not walk as far as the bridge—just five minutes off—without an
escort of Zaptiehs!
The engineer’s funk, however, did not prevent him from providing us with
a most satisfactory repast, consisting of _pili_, eggs, and fried slices
of gourd, which are excellent. He told us that had it been earlier in the
summer it would not have been safe to sleep in his tent, as this spot,
as well as the whole Narenta valley, is infested in June with snakes
and scorpions. During that month the peasants dare not go about with
bare feet, as they like to do at other seasons; and indeed, though the
dangerous season has passed, we have noticed that the people about here
are more swathed as to their legs than ordinary Bosniacs.
_Aug. 28th._—This morning our Belgian, who was hardly reassured by the
news which we brought from Serajevo, has suddenly discovered that he has
a pressing engagement at Trieste—to meet his mother—and hands us a letter
to the Vali demanding ‘a temporary leave of absence’—his sole object of
course being to visit the old lady. We were much touched by this display
of filial affection.
The heat being again cruel, we secured the luxury of a horse to carry our
knapsacks to Mostar, the destination of our to-day’s trudge; and, while
waiting for the due equipment of our beast in the yard of our Mahometan
_Kiradjì_ or driver, we have leisure to observe a most curious phenomenon
in the costume of the female Moslems of this district. In every other
part of Bosnia and the Herzegovina the veil is _de rigueur_ with the
wives and mothers of the faithful. But here at Jablanica, and in this
part of the valley of the Narenta on both sides of the spot where the
little river Rama[281] debouches into it, the Mahometan women discard
their _yashmak_[282] with one accord, and not only show themselves
before strangers of the other sex bare-faced, but do not blush to hold
converse with them. It is true that even here they display on occasion
a certain shyness of male regards; and the Belgian warned us that, if
looked at too curiously, they did not confine themselves to a prudish
_Haiti!_ but were known to vindicate their modesty with a volley of
stones. We, however, were never saluted after this fashion, the fair
Mahometans contenting themselves at most with turning away their faces
from the passing Giaour.
But while waiting in our Kiradjì’s yard, we were treated with far greater
condescension by the womankind of his family. The yard itself was very
unlike the stockaded prison-court of our earlier Bosnian experiences.
Here, instead of the tall palisade which as a rule so effectively screens
the members of the harem from the public gaze, was simply a low stone
wall; and while we were contemplating the dwelling-house, built, like
the yard wall, of the rough limestone of the country, and admiring the
elegant ogival windows, out came an old Mahometan dame and two younger
women—the mother, we conjectured, and two daughters of the house—and
calmly took stock of us with faces unveiled, and without the slightest
sign of bashfulness. They smiled, and we smiled, and though our stock of
Bosniac was limited, we made ourselves intelligible to one another by
means of the universal language of signs, and in this fashion carried on
a very edifying conversation. As the old lady was particularly desirous
of trying on our spectacles, we hastened to gratify her wishes; and as
we were particularly anxious to see the carnelian and other rings of
virtue that adorned their fair fingers, they obligingly held out their
hands for our perusal. We were pleased to see the finger-nails of these
would-be _Houris_ stained with rosy henna—a fond reminiscence of the
wings, which, as every true-believer knows, Eve lost little by little
when driven forth beyond the gate of Paradise. Here, at last, we have
Darwin defeated on his own ground! Preposterous to suppose that these who
still show traces of the rainbow plumes wherewith their first angelic
fore-mother was wont to flutter—that these _Rhododactyls_—should be great
granddaughters of hirsute gibberers!
From the waistband of these dutiful daughters of Eve knives and keys
were suspended by a short string, on which were strung a variety of
quaint objects, which we were gracefully accorded permission to examine
more closely. They proved to be a selection of large beads of antique
fabric—some apparently Venetian, one certainly Roman; and intermixed with
these were the vertebræ of some small animal—possibly worn as amulets.
The clasp-knife itself, or _Britva_ as it is called, attached to this
chatelaine, is an interesting feature of the national costume of Serbian
women. These are sometimes of the most gorgeous workmanship, inlaid with
gold and mother-of-pearl, and are alluded to in the popular poetry.
Thus in the tragic poem entitled ‘The Stepsisters,’ which Sir John
Bowring has translated, Paul arouses the jealousy of his wife by
presenting his sister Jélitza with
A knife, in silver hafted,
And adorned with gold.
Thereupon Paul’s young wife resolves to ruin Jélitza. She slays her
husband’s black courser and his grey falcon, and accuses her stepsister
of the deeds. Jélitza, however, both times succeeds in persuading Paul of
her innocence, and Paul’s wife must resort to a yet blacker crime. One
fine evening she steals away her stepsister’s knife, and slays with it
her own and Paul’s baby. At early dawn she rouses her husband, tearing
her cheeks, and shrieking in his ear,
Evil is the love thou bear’st thy sister,
And thy gifts to her are more than wasted:
She has stabbed our infant in the cradle!
Paul rushes to his sister’s chamber ‘like one possessed by madness;’
finds ‘the golden knife beneath her pillow.’ ‘It was damp with
blood—’twas red and gory!’ Poor Jélitza, protesting in vain her
innocence, is tied by her infuriated brother to the tails of four wild
horses.
But where’er a drop of blood fell from her
There a flower sprang up—a fragrant flow’ret—
Where her body fell when dead and mangled,
There a church arose from out the desert.
Meanwhile a curse lay on the murderess—
Little time was spent, ere fatal sickness
Fell upon Paul’s youthful wife—the sickness
Nine long years lay on her—heavy sickness!
’Midst her bones the matted dog-grass sprouted,
And amidst it nestled angry serpents.
Which, though hidden, drank her eye-light’s brightness.
In vain she seeks to shrive herself in her sister’s church. A mysterious
voice arrests her at the portal, and warns her from the spot, ‘for
this church can neither heal nor save thee.’ In her agony she implores
her husband to bind _her_ too ‘to the wild steeds’ tails, and drive
them—drive them to th’ immeasurable desert!’ Paul listens to her
entreaties, and binding her to the wild steeds’ tails, ‘drove them forth
across the mighty desert.’ But—
Wheresoe’er a drop of blood fell from her,
There sprang up the rankest thorns and nettles;
Where her body fell, when dead, the waters
Rushed and formed a lake both still and stagnant.
O’er the lake there swam a small black courser:
By his side a golden cradle floated:
On the cradle sat a young grey falcon:
In the cradle, slumbering, lay an infant:
On its throat the white hand of its mother:
And that hand a golden knife was holding.
The knives, however, of our friendly family were not of such costly
material, the crescent-shaped handle being simply of horn studded with
brass bosses. Of other ornaments they displayed on their girdle the usual
twin circular brooches, and on their hair an array of gilt coins. Their
dress in many respects much resembled that of the rayah women, for they
wore the two characteristic aprons; their heads were coiffed with the
same light kerchiefs; and one woman whom we met on the road had this
head-dress arranged with a flowing white tassel gracefully depending
at the side, in the same fashion as the Latin Christian maiden of the
Possávina, whose portrait has already been given.[283] But further
description of our unveiled Mahometans is needless, as their complaisance
was such that they allowed me even to sketch them.
But, one naturally asks, how came these Moslem dames and maidens to go
about unveiled in this single district of a country where the injunctions
of the Koràn in this respect are usually carried out to the letter? I do
not think that anyone who surveys the naked rocks that tower above this
part of the Narenta valley—who marks the dearth of pasture for cattle,
and who realizes how little land there is for cultivation even beside
the streams—can be long in doubt as to the true cause of this omission.
Here there is a lawgiver more exacting of obedience than the Prophet
himself. Amidst this limestone wilderness Nature reigns supreme, and will
be obeyed. A voice that cannot be mistaken bids women as well as men go
forth to their work and to their labour until the evening. All hands are
needed to stave off starvation, and it is essential to the women that
they should have the free use of eyes and limbs to aid their brothers,
husbands, and fathers. The struggle for existence is too hard to admit of
any of the combatants cumbering themselves with the impedimenta of any
ceremonial law whatsoever. ’Tis the pitiless clutch of hunger that has
dragged even the Moslem women from the seclusion of the harem; and they
have cast away their veils and swaddling-clothes that they may glean a
bare subsistence in the desert!
[Illustration: Unveiled Mahometan Women at Jablanica.]
Perhaps the absence of veils may be partly due to the influence of the
surrounding population, which is mainly Christian. In any case it would
probably be more accurate to say that the Mahometans of this district
were incapacitated by their surroundings from ever taking the veil of
Islâm, rather than that they threw it off after assuming it; and to
look on their present costume rather as an old Bosnian relic which
has survived their renegation of Christianity. But this does not make
the assertion less true, that the inexorable code of Nature has here
over-ridden the Koràn.
But we are once more on our way, and as we descend the Narenta valley,
about an hour from Jablanica, the mountains close in upon us and scenery
of the most stupendous character engrosses our attention. The view at
this point is recognised as the most magnificent in the whole of Bosnia.
The road itself[284] is hewn out along the face of a precipice, and the
magnesian-limestone and dolomitic cliffs on either side of the gorge
rise in places three thousand feet[285] sheer above the Narenta, which,
chafing and foaming, hurries passionately through the narrow mountain
portal below. The whole was seen at a time of day when everything looks
most fresh and lovely, lit up with the slanting rays of the rising sun,
throwing into alto relievo the vast rock-sculptures of Nature, and
glorifying her heroic forms. Above, peak after peak of topaz stood out
against the pale azure of this cloudless Southern sky; but no intrusive
shaft of gold—even from a Phœbean quiver—could penetrate the twilight of
the gorge itself. Here all was softened into a pervading lilac, veined
with an intenser purple by infinite striations of strata, till the bare
mountain-walls—bathed in this floating light—seemed to be hewn out of
amethystine agate, and afforded the most exquisite contrasts to the
liquid emerald of the river below. The cliffs along whose surface we were
now making our way were veiled in darker shadow, snow-white against which
expanded a living fan of feathery spray from a stream that gushed forth
in full volume, and of glacier coolness, from a cavern in the rock.
We crossed over to the left steep of the river by an iron bridge—another
English importation—and for many hours were still threading this wondrous
pass. We had indeed passed the _Iron Gates_ of the Narenta, but there
was still much to admire in the scenery. The high mountains continued,
though they ceased to frown abruptly over the river. Lean naked giants
they were: ribbed skeletons, thinly clad with stunted foliage, though
in places still yellow with dwarf laburnum shrubs. The rocks were
perpetually starting up into castles and towers, sometimes a quaint
mediæval castle suggesting a background of Albert Dürer, but oftener more
Roman in their architecture; towers, square and round, which from the
narrow horizontal laminations of the rocks reproduced with surprising
exactness the appearance of ruined masonry, and rugged lines of ancient
brickwork that called up visions of the time-scarred walls of Anderida.
About these ruins of an older world clustered, in place of ivy, the
tender sprays of wild vine laden with unripe beads, or here and there
a beautiful bind-weed with capacious chalices of pink, as large as
Convolvulus major.
As we descended further down the pass, the rocks assumed a glaring
chalky whiteness—rather painful to the eyes—but like most things in
nature, not without redeeming effects peculiar to itself. Perhaps, too,
it was artistically right that everything around should become barer and
plainer, that nothing might distract the eye from enjoying the marvellous
beauties of the river. This was always the same liquid emerald, mottled
with snow-white foam, and shading off into it, as when the gem, it
imitated so well, freezes into its quartzite roots. Now and again the
river would plunge into a deep circling pool—forming a dark blue-emerald
eye, which paling off among the golden pebbles of the shallows, looked
like nothing but some gorgeous peacock’s plume modulating its rainbow
colours in the breeze.
Everything around us began to betoken a more Southern climate—the heat
was almost tropical, and a lurid haze covered the whole face of the
land. On the rocks grew pink cyclamen and a beautiful purple salvia;
amongst the trees were Spanish chestnuts and wild figs, and nearer
Mostar fine rosy pomegranates, which look like quinces blushing at their
monstrosity, and grow on a shrub that reminded us of a homely privet. In
the gardens of the few stone cots we saw are delicious ripe grapes and
golden figs, and we began to understand why it is that the Herzegovinian
contemptuously calls his Bosnian brothers _Slivari_, ‘munchers of plums!’