Part 1

THROUGH BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA WITH A PAINT BRUSH.

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM DRESSER AND SONS, DARLINGTON.

Through Bosnia and Herzegovina With a Paint Brush.

BY MRS. E. R. WHITWELL,

Author of “SPAIN AS WE FOUND IT,” and “THROUGH CORSICA WITH A PAINT BRUSH.”

DARLINGTON: WILLIAM DRESSER AND SONS,

LONDON: SIMPKIN MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT AND CO., LD.

Preface.

The following sketches and notes were originally intended as personal reminiscences of a very interesting and enjoyable holiday spent in a country somewhat out of the beaten track. But changes forecasted by the authoress having become actual fact, and the countries described assuming a prominent feature of recent international concern, it is hoped that the production of this little volume will prove of such interest as warrants its publication beyond the circle originally intended.

THE FRIARAGE, YARM-ON-TEES, _January, 1909_.

List of Illustrations.

FACING PAGE

A Street in Saràjevo Frontispiece

Evening—Abbazia 4

After a Storm—Abbazia 8

The Porta Marina, Sebenico 16

The Cathedral Porch, Traù 24

A Street in Ragusa 28

Montenegro 32

Cettinje 36

The Market Place, Cettinje 38

The Fontana Onofrio, Ragusa 40

The Old Bridge, Mostar 50

The Source of the Buna, near Mostar 58

A Street in Saràjevo 60

Turkish Shops, Saràjevo 64

The Market Place, Saràjevo 68

Jaice 72

Through BOSNIA & HERZEGOVINA with a Paint Brush.

Stirring times are these when the whole of Europe has to give its opinion, and I may say decision, as to whether Austria may snap up Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Bulgaria may assert her independence and style her princeling a Tzar, which seems crowing rather loud and savours of the bantam in the poultry yard! However, we shall see what happens in the near future; meanwhile I am thinking that a very interesting tour I made through these provinces with my paint brush, may be attractive to those who take an interest in other nations and other countries. Several books have already been written on Dalmatia, but I do not think any have been illustrated by the brush, and I have seen no books on Bosnia and Herzegovina, or that barren, wild country Montenegro, with its range after range of rocky, jagged mountains.

I have been twice in Dalmatia, the first time we sailed on our yacht _Vanadis_ from Venice, touching at Pola—a stormy passage of eight hours. At Pola itself there was not much for me to see beyond a fine Roman amphitheatre, two gates and two temples. It is the centre of the Austrian naval base, and was bristling with ironclads; our Captain elected to steam calmly in among them, but we had soon to make a retreat, piloted to the other side of the harbour by some Jack Tars, who were each presented with a cigar for the “entente cordiale” of the nations.

From Pola we went on to Abbazia, which is an Austrian invalid watering place and, sad to say, was full of consumptives. It is quite a pretty place, with a Casino, public gardens, and a wonderful artificial walk, a veritable sun trap for miles by the sea. On our arrival we found another yacht moored to the only buoy—there is no harbour, so we had to drop our anchor hoping for a fine night, which it was.

The next morning I went ashore to sketch, and the rest of the party went in the launch to Fiume, which had no attraction for me. A heavy thunderstorm that afternoon made the streets very wet, but we bravely struggled to a café and listened to the Hungarian band, at the same time drinking some excellent coffee with the milk nicely frothed up in a jug, and each person had his own little tray. The yacht which had secured the buoy the evening before, had taken its departure early in the morning, so we attached ourselves to it, and as the Captain remarked “possession was nine tenths of the law,” the other yacht had the privilege of taking turn in dropping her anchor for the night.

Some of the peasant women were very picturesque in costume, and wore a kind of ballet skirt, Hessian boots, and a red handkerchief tied round the head and floating at one side.

Though as I said before, I have twice been along the Dalmatian coast, I have not visited any of the most interesting islands, and my stay at the various towns has been far too short to please me, but it could not be avoided, I was at the mercy of a yacht, and in order to visit the principal towns in a country which possesses one small railway connecting two coast towns and one inland town, it was necessary to allow myself to be whirled along at the pleasure of others, who wanted not to linger brush in hand.

The history of Dalmatia dates, I think, from the year 180 B.C., when the tribe from which it takes its name declared their independence from Gentius, King of Illyria, and established a republic. In 156 B.C. the Dalmatians were attacked by the Romans and compelled to pay tribute, but it was not till the reign of Augustus that their country became a Roman province. Under Tiberius, Dalmatia was thoroughly Romanised, it gave to the world the Emperor Diocletian, who eventually retired to Salona, the new Dalmatian capital, where are still to be found the remains of his magnificence. It then fell into several successive hands, and in the seventh century it received the dominant element of its present population by the immigration of the Slavs invited by Heraclius.

In the ninth century the Croatian influence was high, and Croatian princes were recognised as kings of Dalmatia. In the tenth century Venice extended her power, which is still visible in the many beautiful buildings seen all along this coast. About the year 1018 the Doge took the title of Duke of Dalmatia. Venice and Croatia struggled hard for supremacy during the eleventh century, and in 1091 the Hungarians ousted the Croatians. The maritime cities of Zara, Traù, Spalato and Ragusa, had each their separate history, and attained much prosperity by commerce and industry. These towns sided with Venice and were at times under her control, until the treatment by that great republic disgusted them and they welcomed Louis of Hungary. Venetian authority was, however, once more asserted, but in 1797, Dalmatia became part of the Austrian dominions to which she has belonged ever since, with the exception of a Napoleonic period from 1805-1814. The Austrians were not popular, the feeling of the country being extremely hostile, and in 1869 an insurrection was put down by force of arms.

Water in Dalmatia is scarce, and the only rivers are the Krka and the Cettina. Outside the towns is very little vegetation; barley, wheat, maize, oats, rye, millet, beetroot, hemp and potatoes are all grown somewhere; coasting for miles and miles nothing is seen but pinky grey rock, and now and then a bush, though as you go further south vegetation becomes evident and vines are grown, the grapes producing a full, red wine which is much exported to Bordeaux; and olives, the oil of which is also exported.

About eighty-nine per cent of the natives belong to the Servian race and speak a Slavonic dialect, but there are a good many Italians; most of the natives understand Italian I found. The principal religion is Roman Catholic, there are also those who follow the Greek Church. The Roman Catholic Archbishop has his seat at Zara, and Spalato, Sebenico, Lesina and Cattaro are Bishoprics. Donkeys and goats abound, and there are some sheep. The peasant grinds his corn and weaves his clothes at home.

Lace making is a great industry amongst Dalmatian women, and there is a special school at Spalato where the most beautiful patterns taken from the Churches are copied. Sponges also are found near Sebenico. Anchovies and tunny fish are caught in large quantities and many other kinds of fish.

Zara we reached on April 14th, but here on this our first visit, we discovered no harbour, though next time we found the harbour was quite on the other side of the town. As we did not relish the idea of tossing about all night on the open sea, we decided only to stay a very short time just to visit the town and then push on to Zara Vecchia for the night.

The town looks very new from the sea, and appears to be composed of large white modern buildings with red roofs, one hotel, “The Bristol,” looked most imposing and new, but you must penetrate behind all this, where you will find the old town of Zara with its narrow streets, with many Roman and Venetian remains, of the former two large Corinthian columns still stand, one they say is where it was first erected. A plaque of stone or marble let into a wall, on which a most graceful figure of a dancing girl was carved, and there was also quite a museum of statues and other relics. The Duomo, with its beautiful façade, is distinctly Venetian, and the Lion of St. Marc watches at the gates of the town.

Zara, now, is specially celebrated for its mareschino, where are two manufacturies.

Our large party landing caused quite a flutter amongst the inhabitants, some of whom were most picturesque, the women with bright red and yellow aprons, white head shawls embroidered in many colours, blue skirts and red stockings. Some of the men in blue trousers, all rucked up the leg, red, gold-embroidered jackets were thrown over one shoulder, sashes were gleaming with knives, &c., tucked in, and a curious tiny red cap with a black tassel crowned all. This cap looks ridiculously small perched on the top of the head.

The country here is bare sandy rock, with a few shrubs dotted about, very barren all along the shore, and on a dull day would look very dreary no doubt, but with bright sunshine the sea is lovely, and the range of snow-capped mountains behind make a charming background. We did not land at Zara Vecchia, and were off at sunrise to Sebenico.

A lovely little spot is Sebenico, at the foot of those curious grey barren hills. We landed, and passed through a quaint doorway, with picturesque figures going to and fro, then went up a few steps to narrow streets—very narrow indeed, but clean, with many subjects for an artist, but alas! no time for me—only an hour or two, and what is that! We wandered about the streets and many appeals were made as to why I did not paint this and that—the questioners quite forgetting architectural subjects cannot be done in a minute, like the snapshot of a camera! After gazing at many fascinating bits, I decided to attempt an old carved door in a narrow street, and forthwith began, to be distracted very shortly by two funerals passing and re-passing, the mourners carrying each a guttering candle held at any angle and walking three abreast in the street five feet wide. My easel was once swept away by a boy, who, like most boys, did not look where he was going, luckily no damage was done and I settled to work again, to be three times disturbed, I having to flatten myself against the wall to let the mourners pass. I worked hard till dusk, then returned to the yacht.

I thought it a great pity we could not stay a few days at Sebenico, but on we rushed, and I must go too this time. I longed to stay and put all I saw on paper, of all this beautiful curious scenery, and at some future date, I hoped to be able to dawdle along this coast at my own sweet will.

One of our party bought a most curious knife from a very handsome native, who showed the purchaser its various uses—the knife was used to eat with, and shave with, &c., &c., the double pronged stiletto, which occupied the same sheath, was to dig into an enemy. This was about a foot long. These the natives carry tucked into their belts.

The Cathedral is very fine, Old Venetian, and had many fascinating corners for the artist.

After lunch we went up a serpentine gorge, so narrow, that every moment it seemed to come to an end. The sides were pinky-grey hills, barren except for a few shrubs, the whole colouring was most curious, the sea bright blue-green, contrasting with the rocky sides. A special pilot came on board for this cruise, and he nearly ran us into some rocks, not calculating how much room we took to turn the corners. When we arrived at the furthest limit that the yacht could go, we took to the launch, and approached the Falls of Krka, where the water comes down in tiers, very fine. Here electric light is being made. We walked up to a height for a view looking back, which was most extraordinary, the pinky-grey hills, with one long strip of winding emerald green water between.

My second visit to Sebenico was under more favourable circumstances, as I decided to leave the yacht and put up at the Hotel Krka with my courier.

La, La! the cold on this my second visit, but charmed am I to be here once more at this most fascinating little place, Sebenico, this time to stay a few days, but oh! the cold!! I have never felt anything like it in England, the north-east wind, the Bora (the wind of the dead) is blowing. I imagine it comes off the steppes of Russia, from its intense piercing coldness. The sun is nice and warm, if you can get out of the wind which rises very decidedly every afternoon. I landed from the yacht in the morning, escorted by my guide. An elaborate programme was made out, and it was intended we should travel through Herzegovina and Bosnia, visiting Jajce, Bajnaluka, Bihac (pronounced Beehatch), Novi, and Plitvice, where are wonderful lakes and cascades in continuation from one to the other. Part of the journey we carried out, but not all, as will be seen later on.

At Sebenico, they talk Italian and Slav; Italian made me quite happy as it enabled me to converse with the natives. The national costumes here are most fascinating, lovely brilliant colouring mixed in the women’s head-gear and shawls, and some of the _contadine_ that come in, with dark blue dresses striped with red, green and orange, and embroideries of every hue, are most striking. The men, too, dress very smartly, and finish off their costumes with very large silver buttons.

I took a room at the Hotel Krka; the rooms are quite nice, but the Restaurant rather dirty. The landlady wanted to ask me fourteen krones as pension—rather a lot for this out of the way place, but as I came off a yacht, I am, no doubt, expected to pay accordingly; however, I decided to take my room, and then have my meals à la carte, and by this means I exactly halved the pension terms. My first meal was composed of soup, veal, salad and cheese. I had not intended to have soup, as I ordered spagetti, which I naturally thought would be macaroni and tomato sauce, and was disgusted to find it the name of a soup. Wine was given free, and all the other customers seemed to drink it, but I found it horribly bitter, and to take off the taste I allowed myself a mareschino—the only part of my lunch I enjoyed! At night I had macaroni in pieces three-quarters of a yard long, these I found most difficult to negotiate, as when I twirled it round my fork, and was about to put it in my mouth, the whole thing flew off like a spring. I think it took me twenty minutes to tackle this dish.

The streets here are very quaint, as the town is built on the hill side, there are a great many steps. At the entrance to the town, near the Quay, is a beautiful gateway which I tried to draw, but the intense cold and wind soon sent me away. The Cathedral has fine doors east and north. My guide and I wandered about the town looking for paintable spots of which there are many, we went into the gardens where is a statue to Tommaseo (the author), and in a fountain I saw a fat goldfish who seemed to look at me out of the corner of his eye, in surprise at a stranger. There are many remains of old Venetian days, in old doorways and on beautiful carvings, and I came across a fine lion of St. Mark let into the wall of a building: very old columns, Roman, are used as corner stones to many of the houses. The streets are very narrow and the houses high. May here would be a charming month, but the end of March is far too early. My guide and I sat in the gardens for awhile in the sun, but the wind sent us indoors, it rose so high and the dust blew in clouds.

I told my guide to come early next morning if it was fine and warmer, but the piercing wind still prevailed, so we waited till nine, and I drew the pretty view from my window. I was longing to draw the gate which I had kept in view from my earlier trip down this coast and for which particular reason I came to Sebenico, however we had no luck, and again I could do nothing but wander in the streets. I saw some wonderful Easter offerings, chickens made of a sort of yellow bread, with two red paste eggs reposing in their breasts, one cock’s feather in the tail and another in the head.

I took a few photographs of the fruit market, but the non-picturesque people were very tiresome, coming immediately in front of my camera at the most critical moment. One man’s waistcoat was covered with embroidery and masses of silver buttons in clusters down the front and others at the sides; they were very handsome buttons, large, round, and filagreed, and others were flat. Those I have on my coat were a source of great interest, and as the natives talk Italian, they were a subject of much conversation between them and myself.

The bread market is very quaint, rows and rows of long loaves of bread, which my guide says is sold very cheap to the poor people. The vegetable market is close to the bread market, but vegetables are few just now; where anything green came from I was at a loss to know, as a fresh blade of grass even was nowhere to be seen, all is bare rock and thoroughly winterly in appearance.

On the second day I sallied forth to paint my gate at 12-30, so as to sit in the sun and avoid the crowd of natives who had gone to their mid-day meal, and luckily did not seem in any hurry to come out after it. On account of the cold I left early next day, instead of by the evening train. There are only two trains, so I decided to leave by the 7-20 a.m. I had hoped to be able to go to Knin, but we found it took too long for me to reach the yacht in time. Of course, as usual, we arrived ages too soon at the station. A small boy carried most of my luggage and my guide the rest. The station was about a mile from the hotel, there are no carriages in the town, so walking is compulsory. The train was already in the station, and I naturally wanted to get into it, but I was waved back by an official, and was told I must wait till the appointed time. At Petrovic we changed trains, and I had time to sketch one or two natives, the woman wore very thick dark blue cloth with stripes of red applique, and green and orange pipings and strappings, with patches of wool embroidery at intervals, and an apron of many colours, edged with a hair fringe; her head was covered by a white embroidered cotton kerchief. Also a fine old man made an imposing figure with his long brown coat, blue trousers hooked tightly at the ankle, his many coloured embroidered waistcoat and his silver buttons, and wide leather belt, in which were tucked weapons and pipes. He was smoking a long wooden pipe, holding the bowl in his hand, chatting to me while I was sketching him.

We came along the most arid country, all stones, but lots of vines were growing apparently out of the stones, as I could see hardly any soil about them; in some parts there was more soil, and on the hillsides patches of earth for vineyards. The railway winds in and out of the hills which are grey, and the only bit of colour to be seen was in the costumes of the peasants, which was an agreeable relief from the great monotony of stone. Men and women were very busy digging and attending to the vines. We passed Traù and Salona at some distance, at the latter are many Roman remains, which are beautifully situated over the bay. Salona was once the capital of Roman Dalmatia and had a naval harbour, its massive walls were washed by the sea in those days, but now it has receded far from the ruins. In the Roman Civil War, Salona adhered to Cæsar, and was besieged by Octavius, Pompey’s general. Much excavation is still going on, and the chief relics are removed to the Museum at Spalato. Diocletian had a beautiful palace overlooking this bay, which covered nine and a half acres in extent. Diocletian was born near Ragusa.

This little railway ends at Spalato, where we once more joined the yacht.

Spalato is picturesquely encircled by lofty hills and lies in a fertile region on a peninsula.

The town owes its name to a great palace (palatium) of Diocletian, within the precincts of which a great part of the old town is built. The palace formed a little world of its own, with temples, baths, &c., of which the principal remains are more or less built over, as for instance the Cathedral piazza, once the peristyle, has twelve Corinthian columns, some of which are built into the houses, while the south end is occupied by an imposing vestibule with four columns of red granite. This vestibule once led to the private state apartments and from it opens a Rotunda.

The Cathedral, a fine edifice, enclosed by a dilapidated colonnade (originally the Mausoleum of Diocletian) is now dedicated to the Virgin and St. Diomo. In the interior are eight columns, twenty-three feet high, bearing an ambulatory, on which stand eight columns which were once crowned by statues. Between these columns at the top is a frieze with hunting scenes, portraits, and various other figures. The pulpit and choir-stalls are also Romanesque: the columns of the former with their capitols are very fine. The Baptistery was supposed to have been the private temple of Diocletian, dedicated to Jupiter.

The Porta Aurea is on the north and is the palace gate facing the land. This gate is most imposing and impressive, no doubt because it has not been mixed up with modern buildings, so you get a clear view of it.

Happily for me while at Spalato something went wrong with the yacht’s boiler, this much refreshed me by its kindness, and I decided to take a little jaunt of my own to Traù, a town we had passed on our way, so to Traù I went, accompanied by the old courier Angelos. We chartered a carriage and drove to this dear little place with a lovely old Venetian Cathedral. At Spalato we had a thunderstorm, and the weather still looked threatening, so after seeing the sights of Traù, I settled down to work on the old Venetian gate of the town. I had only time to draw it that evening and hoped to return next day, as we had to stay the night at Traù, but alas! it rained hard all night, and I was wondering if I should rise at day-break or not, when I suddenly remembered the door and covered-in porch of the Cathedral. To this I started off in a downpour, but found I could sit comfortably inside the porch, and there old Angelos found me in due course, hard at work, and there I sat till lunch time.

In the afternoon it cleared, and I went on painting the gate, but the wind blew my sketch twice off the easel, so I had to give it up and ordered the carriage to return to Spalato. Two ruffianly looking youths clad in brown coats with hoods acted as coachman and footman. When we reached the _octroi_, they had to throw back their coats for inspection underneath; as it was raining and the hood was up, the douanier proceeded to examine the inside of the carriage, and found old Angelos and myself, at which he saluted respectfully and waved us on.