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  THROUGH
  BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA
  WITH A PAINT BRUSH.

  PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY
  WILLIAM DRESSER AND SONS, DARLINGTON.


[Illustration: A Street in Saràjevo, Bosnia.]




  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.

[Illustration: Evening—Abbazia]

[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration: After a Storm—Abbazia.]

[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration: The Porta Marina, Sebenico.]

[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration: The Cathedral Porch, Traù.]

[Illustration]

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.

I found the family also anxious to visit Traù, and next morning we
all returned by sea, so much the better for my gate! The drive is
quite pretty, and it was a treat to see green once more. On the way I
passed seven villages all called Castello something, as Castelvecchio,
Castelnuovo, &c., relics of old feudal times, there being a castle in
the centre of each village with houses all round it. I longed to visit
each, but had no time.

The men’s costumes are very striking, blue trousers open at the back
of the ankle to ten inches from the shoe—a string sandal—little brass
hooks and eyes to fasten them when required, red sashes and tabs at
the waist, the sash in which the usual weapon reposes, brown jacket
with crimson velvet slashes and fringe ornamenting the front, piped
with crimson all round, a waistcoat of red velvet with silver buttons,
and the scarlet cap crowns all. The women look well in dark blue, with
a red band round the bottom of the skirt, coloured handkerchiefs on
their heads; some wore long blue coats piped with red and red bands
embroidered down the sides, a sort of stocking-shoe embroidered in many
colours and an apron of red and yellow.

The landlord at Traù was surprised and pleased to see me again for my
frugal lunch of fried eggs, Parmesan cheese and radishes; the yacht had
anchored so far out, I could not go back to it. I finished my work in
hand, and then tried to draw the attention of someone on the yacht, but
it was no use, so I had to hire a boat from shore.

It was twelve hours run from Spalato to Gravosa (the harbour of
Ragusa). We came past the islands of Lesina, Lissa, Curzola, and
Sabioncello, and down the Canale di Melita. We thought of calling at
the town of Curzola, which is well worth a visit, but as it was blowing
hard, we deemed it wiser to push on.

We reached Ragusa next morning after a rolling night, and anchored
opposite the town; but there was such a roll on, I was sure that none
but the best sailors would come to breakfast, so we moved into the port
of Gravosa, two miles away.

Mr. T. and I walked to the town, he, poor man, politely carrying my
satchel. On the way we passed many villas. The old town is entered by
a charming old gate, called Porta Pille; old walls surround the town,
which is also a fortress. Directly you enter the gate a quaint fountain
meets your gaze, and many figures in costumes are grouped about it. We
wandered on down the principal street of shops, in many of which were
collections of curiosities, embroideries, bags, belts, swords, old
inlaid mother-of-pearl stocked guns, &c., the belts of enormous weight
were studded with agates, and were said to have been worn by the women.
Narrow streets, with innumerable steps, branched off from the main
street; several churches and two monasteries, the Franciscan with a
charming old courtyard.

[Illustration: A Street in Ragusa]

[Illustration]

The Rector’s Palace had a fine portico; these were among the things we
saw, but I have no doubt that there were many others we did not see of
equal interest, as my attention was rivetted on one of the steep side
streets, bright with all kinds of coloured clothing strung across it.
I had hardly started work, when down came the rain in torrents. I
sent old Angelos off for a carriage while I took refuge in a doorway,
and I generously gave the old courier my umbrella as he had none. After
waiting a long time and getting in despair of his ever returning, I
suddenly heard his voice round a corner, so I ran. Why he took so long
was, that he had quite forgotten where he had left me!

Some of the others reached the quay at the same time as I did; the rain
coming down in sheets made it very difficult to get on board, and the
dingey was simply a large pool of water.

In the afternoon we went in the launch up the river of the Val d’
Ombra, as we were told it was a very nice excursion; the country was
very ugly, but the water at the fall seemed to bubble up from the
ground, coming through, not down the mountain, when it had disappeared
entirely for nineteen miles.

On April 20th we left Gravosa for Cattaro. There is not much to see
in the town there, but the market was most fascinating, peasants in
costume from all parts, Brda, or Montenegro, &c., &c. The Montenegrins
are a very good looking fine race. The women part the hair in the
middle, and wear enormously thick plaits of hair round the head, a
black shawl in cold weather for the married women and a little cap for
the girls, embroidered on the crown with I.H. (Nichola I.), a long
white sleeveless coat, a blue or red zouave of velvet, beautifully
embroidered in gold, ordinary skirt and apron, and shoes of calf skin
with string tops and straps, a sock with a border of red and blue
is worn over the stocking. The men wear the little round cap, the
sleeveless white coat, and red waistcoat embroidered in black and
silver buttons, wide, bright blue pantaloons, and a sash and leathern
pocket in which the revolver rests—these latter they always wear,
except on market days at Cattaro, where all firearms have to be left
behind. They (men and women) are splendid specimens of humanity,
every man a soldier and a gentleman, with a fine carriage and a most
dignified manner; they salute or bow, often both.

In the afternoon, Angelos and I started off in a carriage to drive to
Cettinje, the capital of Montenegro, where I stayed the night.

The road zig-zags up the mountain side all the way from Cattaro to
a Col, then zig-zags down on the other side to Cettinje, which lies
nestling at the foot of steep hills and at the end of a cultivated
valley. The road was in a state of repair, and was a mass of stones all
the way, which made the drive of seven hours very tiring. The scenery
is very grand and rugged, the mountains pinky grey in colour, with very
little green at the commencement of the ascent even, and these are
chiefly shrubs; then this green ends, and is entirely left behind, and
the mountains stand out in all their ruggedness, with an occasional
patch of snow still left by the road side at the end of April.

There is very little soil except in the valleys, and these are old lake
basins. Every bit of soil is used in cultivation. For miles and miles
there is nothing to be seen but rugged, jagged rock.

On our way we passed a few thatched cottages, and stopped to bait the
horses at the only village on the road, called Njegus, which is a
short distance over the frontier. In this village the house is shown
where Prince Nichola was born. While waiting here, I had a frugal meal
of eggs, bread and wine, and I made a sketch of a very fine looking
young man, much to his amusement and gratification, as he seemed quite
pleased with his appearance on paper. Several other good looking young
men came to criticise, some spoke a little Italian but most of
them Slav, I suppose, as they are the descendants of the old nobility
of the Servian Empire, who fled to the Black Mountains to escape
Turkish oppression, and who maintained their liberty and independence
against all comers for more than five centuries.

[Illustration: Montenegro.]

[Illustration]

A blind musician came to play while I was lunching, his instrument had
one string only, which is usual in this country; but it was as sweet
and melodious as though it had many strings.

The aspect of the scenery was much the same until we reached the Col,
but when there the view was grand in the extreme.

Range after range of rocky, jagged mountains, the lake of Scutari in
the dim distance and the Albanian mountains in snow behind, and a
pinky glow from the setting sun enhanced the view. Here we paused a
few moments, then began to descend to Cettinje, which we reached after
driving for some hours.

Before going further, I will say a little about Montenegro, which in
extent is about half the size of Wales. There are a few small towns
dotted about, the capital is Cettinje, and the only town I visited.
The seaport town is Dulcigno, on the Adriatic; the whole country is
very mountainous and there are several small lakes, the principal one
is Scutari, of which half belongs to Montenegro and the other half to
Albania.

If I had had time, I should have much liked to have driven to Lake
Scutari, but it would have taken a whole day to go there and back from
Cettinje, so I had to give it up. The Montenegrins are such delightful
people, that I believe you can go anywhere in their country and feel
perfectly safe, they are particularly hospitable to strangers. In the
time of war with Turkey, the Turkish women and children fled into
Montenegro, knowing they would be perfectly safe from insult of any
kind in the enemy’s territory.

There is but little farming land in Montenegro, the peasant is glad to
enclose the tiniest patch of fertile soil retained by the hollows in
the mountain sides.

The largest land proprietor is the owner of sixty acres, and other
freehold estates vary from two to twenty acres, and it is usually not
to the individual, but to the family that this ownership belongs.

The history of Montenegro from the earliest times to the Turkish War of
1877, is one of incessant wars and raids, throughout the whole of which
the country has preserved its independence, even when Turkish power was
spread over the whole of south-eastern Europe. The accession of the
present dynasty dates from 1687. Prince Nichola (the reigning Prince
and father of the Queen of Italy) conducted a successful war against
Turkey; he is a dramatist, and also introduced a new code of laws.

Bears and wolves are still to be found in the highest forests.

Cettinje has a population of about 1,300 people, the houses are
whitewashed, with red roofs. The whole town is very clean in appearance.

It has a broad main street, crossed by smaller streets. In the main
street are the houses of the foreign representatives. In the square
is the palace of the Prince Nichola, unpretentious in appearance and
only distinguishable by the guard in front of it. The Prince still
administers open-air justice before his palace, though lately the large
tree under which he sat has fallen, I believe.

[Illustration: Cettinje.]

Not far off is the palace of Prince Danilo, his son, the hall of
the senate being on the ground floor. The Ministry, the Court of
Justice, and the prison are adjacent, and opposite the Ministry is
the Monastery, in whose church the ancestors of the reigning house
are buried. Above the Monastery rises a round tower, which until
lately was adorned by Turkish skulls. Near the Monastery is the Museum
in which are many torn standards, arms, medals, etc., etc.

Montenegro has a standing army, in which every able-bodied man serves
for a term of four months at a time. The Montenegrins are as fine
soldiers as can be found, and the Prince takes the keenest interest in
his army and his people. Every morning he rides over to the square,
where his subjects await him bare-headed. He signs one to his side,
who, after kissing his hand, walks along by the side of his horse as
far as the barracks, the Prince meanwhile discussing and questioning
him as to his family affairs, or crops, &c. At the barracks the
Prince watches the drilling, chats with his officers, and inspects
the building, after which he will often visit the Law Courts and
superintend affairs.

His people reverence him, and look upon him as their father in more
than name.

I stayed at a comfortable hotel, and next morning Angelos and I
wandered about the streets, starting at 6 a.m. and visiting several
shops, as I was particularly anxious to buy one of the pretty costumes,
which are so becoming, and would make such a charming fancy dress; the
shoes were tiresome to get, as I did not fancy the calf-skin ones which
I was told I must soak to soften, these I scorned, and at last found a
very smart pair with leather soles and ornamented string tops.

As I had to get back to the yacht and wanted to do some sketching on
the way, and was tired of wandering about on foot, we started on our
return journey to Cattaro at 9-30, and it was with much regret that I
left these charming people and their country.

[Illustration: The Market Place, Cettinje.]

About half-way I paused to sketch, it was bitterly cold, and by the
time I had finished could hardly feel my fingers. The horses had
been taken out of the carriage and I had lunch to warm me up; it was
composed of eggs fried in rancid oil—very nasty! but the bread
was of excellent rye. The rest of our party passed us on their way to
Cettinje, which they intended to visit and return in the same day.
Soon the wind rose and came in gusts at every zig-zag going down the
mountain side; I did not envy the others who could not reach the yacht
again till ten o’clock. The evening was very stormy, we thought of
their terrible drive in the dark, and were on the look out all the
evening for them. About eight we saw two lights on the mountain slowly
descending, so we were sure it must be our travellers, who arrived safe
and sound about 10-30, very tired, and one driver was drunk, so those
in the carriage walked eight miles rather than drive. A stormy, wild
coast is this, warm in the valleys but bitterly cold in the mountains,
and a good deal of snow still at the end of April.

After Montenegro I decided to return once more to Ragusa—that fine
old fortress town—with Miss B., so we bade farewell to the yacht and
retraced our steps once more, and from there we travelled through
Herzegovina and Bosnia.

Here a new guide met me from Pola, strongly recommended by a friend of
ours there, and he proved a great success, by name Karabaich.

Miss B. and I found ourselves at a very comfortable hotel—The
Imperial—where we stayed a week in this delightful old town surrounded
by walls and fortresses.

[Illustration: The Fontana Onofrio, Ragusa.]

[Illustration]

Ragusa lies at the foot of Monte Serjio, and is built on its steep
slopes. Down to 1805 it was an independent republic, but was annexed
by Napoleon, and later in 1814 by Austria. We enter the town from
Gravosa by the Porta Pille, where in the niche over the gateway is the
statue of St. Biagio, the patron saint of the town, which is entirely
surrounded by enormously thick walls, on which it is permitted to
walk by an order from the commandant’s office; but we found greater
attractions. On passing through Porta Pille you enter the long wide
street called the Corso, and here on Sundays they run races, one of
which we saw, two men were running backwards and forwards for four
miles. The Corso extends from one end of the town to the other, and is
flanked by the principal shops and some of the Churches.

On the right, near the gate, is the large fountain called Onofrio,
which was built in 1473, and here many picturesque figures come to draw
water. To the left is the Franciscan Church, with its fine cloisters
and its Gothic portal. Rather lower down the street on the opposite
side is the Servian Church, at the east end of the Corso, in a square,
is the Church of St. Biagio. On the left is the custom house, formerly
the mint. This was built in the Venetian style, about 1520, and is
adorned with a statue of St. Biagio, it has also a handsome courtyard.
Near, is the clock tower and the guard house with an old fountain. Then
comes the Palazzo Comunale and the Museum. The Rector’s Palace with its
fine colonnade is most striking, and passing through the doorway is a
beautiful courtyard surrounded by pillars, and a noble marble staircase
possibly dating from the fifteenth century, but recently restored.

Walking further on you come to the Cathedral, built in the
seventeenth century. From here we pass on to the market place, which
has a beautiful old Venetian door; there one day I sketched under
difficulties, with a curious crowd and a tearing wind, which whirled
the dust round and round over me and my easel, in a very aggravating
manner.

Returning whence we came, we walked along to the clock tower, which we
passed under, and immediately to our left was the Dominican Monastery,
up several flights of steps.

My first day was spent in shopping and sight-seeing, the former
consisted of buying some of the beautiful gold embroideries. I found
what I think will make a beautiful dinner gown, the coat is embroidered
nearly all over with the most exquisite gold embroidery; this coat is
sleeveless, but belonging to it are sleeves which are also a mass of
embroidery, these are cut perfectly straight, so impossible to wear,
but I think they can be adapted by wearing them outside others and
allowed to fall loose. I also bought a gold embroidered man’s waistcoat
which makes a very smart trimming for a coat, or could be used for a
winter gown. I found some old silver pins for hats, and a quaint jug
which has a secret how to drink out of it without spilling the wine.
It is very old, the wine comes up the handle, round the top of the jug
to the lip, in which is a hole to drink, all the top of the jug is
perforated, so it is necessary to know the secret to avoid spilling
the wine. I added many other things to my collection and sent them on
to the yacht to be brought home. These shops are too fascinating for
words, there are so many things you can’t get at Liberty’s, wonderful
to relate. There are quantities of old firearms for sale, old guns with
inlaid stocks, pistols of all sizes and shapes, &c., &c. The place was
full of visitors speaking in German tongue, but we saw no English, or
even the ever present American. There are many old buildings worth
visiting, and the streets are very quaint and picturesque, also very
narrow, stretching up the hillsides; one wide long street down the
centre of the town, where the principal shops are to be found.

Friday and Saturday mornings I spent in painting the cloisters of the
Dominican Monastery, and I persuaded one of the young monks to pose for
me, sitting near the well. In the afternoon Miss B. and I walked about
the quaint old streets and saw many attractive bits for the brush, and
then had coffee at a café and sat on the terrace, but the wind was
cold, as we were not in the sun which is hot. Certainly the weather as
to the intense cold had somewhat improved, and we found it unnecessary
to wear so many coats and woolly things as before, which was a blessing.

The peasants were very picturesque, and there is a great variety of
costume both in men and women, some of course very shabby, and one
wonders how their rags hold together. All these towns are wonderfully
clean and about here all the people look clean, though they may be
very ragged. The monks at the monastery were very interested in my
work, and crowded on to the balcony above me, chattering like magpies.
Sunday, I went to high Mass, and in the afternoon took a carriage to
drive to San Giacomo, a disused monastery. Karabaich sat on the box
with my sketching materials. Carriages are horribly expensive, at
the rate of about two shillings a mile. Unfortunately we took it for
granted that we could get on to the terrace, and allowed the carriage
to go away with instructions to return in three hours. Alas! the doors
were all locked, and though we found out where the custodian lived, he
had gone to the town, so as it was not very far to walk to the Villa
Adrian, Karabaich and I decided to look at it on our way back on foot,
as we could not spend three hours doing nothing by the wayside. The
Villa Adrian is a pension, a charming situation with several terraces
down to the sea; all is quite new except some of the columns used in
the pergolas. I made various enquiries about the pension, but was not
pleased with the idea of always schinken (ham) for supper, and the
rooms I saw did not impress me favourably either. In ten years’ time
the garden will be lovely, no doubt, and in the summer when the leaves
are out it must now be quite nice.

The next day we went to the much talked of Island of Lacroma, to which
a small launch conveys you, and you pay the sum of two krones to go and
return, and another krone to the solitary Dominican monk who inhabits
the island. Lacroma used to belong to the Emperor Maximilian, and
then to Prince Rudolf, but it was then considered so unlucky that the
Emperor handed it over to the Dominicans. I asked the monk if he had
seen any ghosts, at which he was much amused. Part of the Monastery can
be wandered over, and the gardens would be charming if well planted
with flowers. These gardens, of which there are several, are surrounded
by high hedges, and box borders enough to delight any one. The rooms
of the monastery are bare, but over each bedroom door is a rhyme in
German, such as:—

  “Freund in der Droth
   Freund in der Todt
   Freund hintern Rücken
   Das sind drei starke Brücken,”

and another

  “Schweig und Meig
   Werk und Leid
   Jedes Ding hat seine Zeit.”

and so on over each door.

I saw many prints of Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, and other
Royalties, also several engravings of old English pictures by famous
artists. The island is itself covered with small fir and cypress trees,
and has many shady walks. We had some time to wait for the return
launch, and amused ourselves by sketching the monk; Miss B. took a
photo of him and promised him a copy. On our return the town was gay
with people of all nationalities and costumes to see a great race being
run down the principal street, by two men who ran for an hour and
a half without stopping. I sat at the café and sketched some of the
people.

After dinner there was nothing to be done or to see in the town, and as
the drawing-rooms soon became very stuffy, I went off to my room after
supper.

One afternoon while we were amusing ourselves by turning over, and
I am afraid purchasing, some of the fascinating goods in one of the
shops, we found a bridegroom making purchases for his bride elect,
who was attended by her mother and aunt as chaperones. Both bride
and bridegroom came from the Canali district, where the women wear
a very charming costume of bright colours. On the head is a little
red and gold embroidered cap, over it a white embroidered accordian
pleated handkerchief, embroidered vest and bolero, with tassels of
gold coloured silk on sleeves and bodice, a white apron with a deep
embroidered hem, probably a bright blue accordian pleated skirt with
a border of some other colour. About the bodice and waist are many
ribbons as ornament, and a sash of many colours round the waist. We saw
a good many so dressed on Easter Sunday in the town.

On April 4th we left Ragusa in drenching rain, which began the day
before and continued all the journey to Mostar, but was happily fine
after our arrival about 7-30. This is a journey of eight hours through
the mountains of rugged grey stone. The railway goes up a great
height and winds in and out of the hills, the view is more grand than
beautiful. The train stops at many little stations for the sole reason
of allowing the travellers to have drinks, we concluded, as at many
places we stayed ten minutes for apparently no reason except that we
saw the travellers flocking into a bar.

[Illustration: The Old Bridge, Mostar.]

[Illustration]

Herzegovina, since 1878, has been under the titular dominion of the
Turkish Sultan, but the administration of Austria-Hungary. It is
bounded on the north and east by Bosnia, south by Montenegro, and west
by Dalmatia, and only just touches the Adriatic at Sutterina. Some
districts, those of Niksich and Domitor, have been placed by the Treaty
of Berlin under the Government of the Prince of Montenegro.

The greater part of the population belong to the Greek Church. Then
come about 70,000 Mohamedans, some Roman Catholics, Jews, and Gipsies.
The Mahomedan population are those that strike the eye most, probably
because of the men’s picturesque dress, and the bazaars which one makes
a point of visiting.

The people live chiefly in hamlets, and there are only about five
towns; the capital of Herzegovina is Mostar.

Over the river Narenta, at Mostar, is a fine old Roman bridge which
connects two parts of the town.

The river Narenta is the principal river, and along its valley lies
the most cultivation, olives, mulberries, figs, melons, grapes, rice,
and maize are grown. In some places there are forests of beech and
pine. Many of the mountains reach to a height of 8,500 feet near the
Montenegrin frontier. There are many sheep and goats, out of the wool
of which the long white thick coats are made that you see hanging at
shop doors in the hamlets all the way to Mostar. There is a high road
from Seràjevo in Bosnia, through Herzegovina to the Adriatic.

We visited these parts in April, but it was far too early for comfort,
and I should not recommend anyone to attempt it before June.

Herzegovina seems to have changed hands many times within the last
400 years, at one time belonging to Hungary, and then to Bosnia, then
Turkey conquered it; earlier, too, the Venetians seemed to have a look
in. Of its history under the Turks there seems to be no particular
records. Feudalism, under Mahomedan guise continued to survive here.
The Spahis, begs, or agas, were mediæval lords who had apostatized to
Islam. They kept their ancestral castles, banners and title deeds, and
patents of nobility. They enacted feudal service from their serfs and
retainers. One of these Mahomedan nobles, Ali, Aga of Stolac, did such
good service for the Sultan in his struggle with the Bosnian magnates,
that he was made Vizier of Herzegovina, which was freed for a while
from Bosnian government. The reform of Sultan Mahmoud did not by any
means remove the grievances of the population of Herzegovina. The serfs
had now to satisfy the extortion of imperial excisement as well as from
their feudal lords. The begs and agas extorted from them forced labour
and a third of the produce; the central government levied a tithe,
which at the date of the outbreak had become an eighth. Three kinds
of cattle tax: the tax for exemption from military service levied
on every infant in arms, forced labour in the roads, forced loan of
horses, a heavy tax on grapes and tobacco, and a variety of lesser
taxes crushed the Christian peasants; but more galling still the manner
in which these taxes were extorted—the iniquitous assessment of tax
farmers and excisemen—and the brutal license of the Zaptiehs quartered
on recalcitrant villagers. All this caused the insurrection of 1875,
the villagers of Nevinsinge (which takes its name from a plateau near
Mostar) who were unable to bear the extortions and outrages committed
by the Zaptiehs and bashi-basouks, rose against their oppressors. The
insurrection spread rapidly through Herzegovina and on to Bosnia, and
for a year the Herzegovinians under their leaders held out against all
the forces of Turkey, and in two struggles in the gorge of Muratovizza
the Turks lost over 2,000 men. In July, 1876, principalities joined
in the struggle; the Russo-Turkish war followed, and by the treaty
of Berlin, the government of Herzegovina and Bosnia was confided to
Austria-Hungary, while Niksich and the country about Mount Dormitor
were detached from Herzegovina and annexed to Montenegro.

Curiously enough, that at this present time, when all the states around
are agitating, not one word comes in protest from either of these two
states, Herzegovina or Bosnia.

In July, 1878, the Austrian troops crossed the Herzegovinian frontier,
and this news roused the Mahomedan fanatics to a desperate effort.

On August 2nd the Mahomedans of Mostar, believing themselves betrayed
by the Turkish government, rose _en masse_, murdered the Turkish
governor and officials. The Austrians pressed forward, and crushing
some ineffectual efforts at resistance, entered Mostar on the 5th
August. Since the completion of the occupation, the government of the
province has been under the military governor at Saràjevo, controlled
by the Foreign Office at Vienna. The Sultan has, up to now, remained
the sovereign _de jure_, so that the present declaration of Austria is
not likely to involve any alteration of government from what has gone
on all these last thirty years.

At Mostar there is quite a comfortable hotel called Hotel Narenta, with
a Restaurant attached, where you can order what you like in the way
of food, without having to sit through a weary supper—which took an
hour at Ragusa,—and we found the cooking much better too. Two ladies
can travel alone in these parts quite well, if they can speak Italian
and German, and at the Hotels they all speak English. I have my guide,
Karabaich, who carries my sketching things and keeps off the crowd—all
of which is a convenience, but not a necessity so far.

Next day we wandered into the town, which was a mass of mud. It rained
at intervals, but we managed to see the old town with the Turkish
Bazaar, which consists of tiny shops; nothing much tempted us to buy,
though it was interesting to look at them. There are many little
Mosques dotted about with tiny minarets. It was too wet to sketch, so
memory must suffice. I thought of taking a drive, but the downpour
began after lunch. We wondered how much longer it would last!!

The stamps of Herzegovina are most fascinating with little views
on them, they can be had from the value of a quarter of a farthing
upwards, each stamp has a different view on it, and they are double
the size of an ordinary stamp, so take up a good deal of room on an
envelope.

Here we were much impressed by the women’s ungainly costume with their
hideous baggy trousers, generally of some black material, the whole
of the upper part of the body and head is swathed in the feridjeh,
and they waddle along very similar to ducks, the back view being most
laughable.

I have painted one in my view of the bridge of Mostar.

I made the excursion by carriage to the source of the Buna, about eight
miles from Mostar; happily it ceased raining and I was able to sketch
the source which wells up from the ground apparently, but is one of the
curious rivers of these countries which in an extraordinary way find
their way through a mountain. A windmill and mosque came picturesquely
into my foreground, and the rich deep blue of the water added to its
charm.

I was sorry we had such wretched weather at Mostar.

[Illustration: The Source of the Buna, near Mostar.]

[Illustration]

About seven o’clock next day the sun came out very kindly for our
journey to Saràjevo, the capital of Bosnia, and before leaving
Mostar we paid another visit to the town, into other streets; but the
picturesque ones are all Turkish. The better class women wear a most
curious feridjeh, with a bonnet attached to it very like an elongated
Quaker’s bonnet; no one can see under it, but they see out of a chink.
This domino is generally all black or dark blue. Many of the women wore
trousers under their skirts, the latter they tucked up very high to
keep them out of the mud.

Going along in the train we saw many curious houses and scenes. The
houses have all very deep roofs of wood and often the whole house
is wood, there are no proper chimneys, the smoke coming out at four
little windows in the roof. Ploughing was in full force, and six oxen
are often yoked to a plough driven by a woman in Turkish trousers and
sort of shawl over her head; sometimes the trousers were scarlet and
the shawl white, and sometimes the whole costume would be yellow. The
little girls and boys, looking after the flocks of sheep with beautiful
long white wool, were dressed in brown sort of riding breeches, the boy
wearing a fez and the girl a kerchief on the head, the only distinction
of sex.

[Illustration: A Street in Saràjevo.]

[Illustration]

Bosnia, the other state claimed by Austria, which is very mountainous,
is bounded on the south by Albania and Montenegro, east by Servia,
north and west by the Austrian dominions, and has an area of about
24,024 miles. A large proportion is forest land, and valuable as it
furnishes timber and fuel. Plums are largely grown and exported as
prunes; maize and wheat are the principal crops, but barley, oats,
hemp, rice, are grown; cattle, sheep and goats are plentiful, and
large droves of pigs are fed in the oak forests. The whole valley of
the Bosnia is said to be a coal bed, and copper is worked in several
places, also at Inatch is a very valuable cimmabar mine. Marble, too,
is found and there are saline springs. The principal exports are
timber, fruit, cattle, wool, lamb-skins, furs of wild animals, wax
and honey. Nearly all the trading is with Austria. Lately several
roads have been made that connect some of the principal towns. The
province is divided into seven Sandjaks. The people are Servians, but
principally Mahomedans, as is seen in passing many graveyards by the
side of the railway, sadly dilapidated spots, the gravestones of which
for men are composed of a column, crowned by a carved turban or fez,
generally toppling sideways over in a melancholy manner and leaning
towards another column. A large part of the south has an Albanian
population.

Mahomedanism is not only predominant, but often enforced; education is
very neglected, though there are a good many schools.

The population of Bosnia is about 1,592,000. The early inhabitants were
Illyrians, and for the first time they are mentioned in the history
was 34 B.C. In the Roman period, of which nothing remains, and at the
end of the fourth century, Roman sway was overcome by the invasion
of the Goths, then followed Croatians, then Servians. The south-west
part became Christian under Justinian (527-565) and the rest of it by
Servian apostles, Cyril and Methodius, about A.D. 880. From A.D. 940
and onwards, Bosnia was governed by elective princes or “bans,” who
afterwards became feudatories of the Hungarian kings.

In A.D. 1377, the ruling Ban assumed the title King Stephen Tvertko
I. In the reign of his eighth successor, Stephen Tomashewitch, Bosnia
was conquered by Sultan Mahommed II., this was in 1463. In 1528, the
banet of Jaice, and in 1592 the north-west part of Bosnia was taken by
Turkey, and became the chief theatre of long wars between Austria and
Turkey, which at length were ended by the peace of Sistova in 1791.
The oppressive Turk left very little peace, causing the Christians
to revolt repeatedly, particularly in 1850 and 1875; and in 1878, the
Treaty of Berlin handed Bosnia with Herzegovina over to the government
of Austria. A great deal has been done by way of improvements, such as
new roads connecting important towns, the railway, also good gendarmes
keep order.

I do not think the Bosnian is at all dissatisfied, in fact I understand
that at a large meeting at Saràjevo of the Servian Independent Party,
which consists chiefly of peasants, they decided to send a deputation
of sixty persons to thank the Emperor of Austria for the annexation of
Bosnia and Herzegovina, and to assure His Majesty of their loyalty.
One half of the deputation would consist of peasants, and the rest of
the clergy and townsmen. The propositions of Austria-Hungary being,
that the complete autonomy which would be introduced into Bosnia
and Herzegovina would be based on the three ruling elements of the
population, which must receive their proper representation in the Diet.
To ensure this free development of the country, as well as religious
peace, each of the three denominations would elect a certain number
of deputies, but no one would be obliged to elect a member of his own
persuasion. In addition to the Diet, district councils would also be
created. It is thought that these arrangements may be carried out in
the Spring.

The chief town, Saràjevo, is picturesque with its numerous minarets,
and there are nine bridges over its river, the Miljavka.

[Illustration: Turkish Shops, Saràjevo.]

[Illustration]

Sad to say we found ourselves very near the snow at Saràjevo, and from
the incessant rain the streets were ankle-deep in mud in the Bazaars.
We wandered out in the afternoon with our skirts not quite so high
as the trousered ladies, but still we were determined they should be
out of the mud. Of course sketching and photography were not to
be thought of, the only thing we could do was to patter along and
see as much of interest as possible. In the little shops copper was
being beaten into trays, jugs, ash-trays, coffee pots and cup holders,
also there were silver and enamel things for sale; I bought a couple
of silver hat-pins. I saw buckles, brooches, studs, earrings, &c.,
all made of silver in patterns or designs carried out on the article
for sale. There were quantities of shoemakers and saddlers all hard
at work. Stalls of sweet sellers who have a round table on which to
display their wares laid out in sections. The lemonade sellers and
coffee sellers carried their jugs and glasses, calling as they walked,
very like Cairo. People wore goloshes or pattens of wood, some of the
latter of which Miss B. was very anxious to purchase, but I rather
frightened her, saying she might fall on her nose as she was not used
to them, and no doubt they would be awkward to walk with at first, so
she refrained from buying a pair. We plodded along for some time, then
returned to a warm café, where we had delicious coffee with beaten up
cream, so grateful and warming!

The cold at Saràjevo was so great that I felt very tempted to go
straight to Budapest and give up my tour to Plitvice after all.

It is no pleasure to be even out of doors in this damp depressing
weather, but unfortunately the morning that was to decide me broke
forth into sunshine once more, and I decided to go on. No green was to
be seen on any bushes, and the rivers were all in flood; however, as I
had a guide on purpose for this trip, I wanted to go if possible.

My bedroom had such a depressing outlook that I asked to change it.
A tumbledown Turkish hotel was not elevating to spirits I found, and
beside that there seemed to be a general rubbish heap; in fact, I had
my doubts as to whether it was healthy, overlooking such a place.
Though it is always an effort to change rooms, I made up my mind it
must be done, and changed very much for the better, moving into quite a
new part of the hotel, which was very sweet and clean after what I had
just left.

The next day was a glorious warm one and my spirits rose again, so I
decided to go the original excursion to Jajce, and on. Miss B., who
did not like driving and roughing it, decided she would go direct
to Budapest, and home by Vienna, leaving me on Tuesday evening. The
journeys in these mountainous regions are very long and the trains
creep very slowly; each little journey in distance since we left Ragusa
has taken seven or eight hours, but the whole way is interesting.

Early, Karabaich and I wandered forth with my camera, and in hopes of
finding a place to sketch, which seemed hopeless in the Bazaars, as
the streets are very narrow, with crowds of people and ponies laden
with wood passing along; those laden with hay require the width of the
street to themselves, and woe betide the passer-by if he does not step
back into a doorway. After lunch we went out to sketch, and found a
quiet street which was also picturesque. Karabaich was busy keeping off
the crowd who had “spotted” me. The boys soon discovered something out
of the ordinary was going on, and the little girls were made to stand
back by the boys, I fancy, but I was too busy to pay much attention,
and finally got a most successful sketch with some Turkish ladies
flitting by in the picture; these I had to draw in very hurriedly,
as they, like all Easterns, consider it bad luck to have a portrait
taken, and many of the groups in the market rapidly dispersed when they
detected my camera.

[Illustration: The Market Place, Saràjevo.]

[Illustration]

The people one sees in these parts are remarkably plain, though many of
the men are tall and well made, and of fine physique. The Bosnian
costume is very ugly, the women wear enormously wide black trousers
down to their feet, these being so voluminous must be much in the way
in wet weather, and become very muddy and damp about the ankles. The
material used has every appearance of black sateen.

After a journey of seven hours from Saràjevo, Karabaich and I arrived
at Jajce. The railway winds in and out, and in and out of the
mountains. It was fine all day until I went out to paint the wonderful
waterfall. This is a charming old town, full of quaint wood roofed
houses and mosques, the minarets are even made of wood. There seem to
be many Turks living here, and in these parts I passed many dilapidated
graveyards on my way, and every village has a mosque or two. Many of
the women are veiled; it must be a horrid bore to have to go about so
muffled up, and what must it be in summer!

At Jajce in the old days, the Kings of Bosnia had their castle, and
the town was fortified and surrounded by walls; the ruins of walls
and castles still remain. Next morning was again wet and I did not go
out, finally we had a short shower, but after lunch it cleared. The
landlord asked me if I would like to visit a Turkish lady. Of course I
was delighted, and he accompanied me with Karabaich on the box, to a
village about seven miles off, where a friend of his would take me into
a Turkish house. We drove up to a “Theehütte” and were much refreshed
and warmed by some delicious coffee, then I sallied forth with the
landlady’s servant girl as interpreter, to call, as of course the
landlord from Jajce could not even approach the doorstep! I could only
speak German and the Turkish lady Bosnian, so without an interpreter
our conversation would have been very limited. It was the proper thing
to take presents with you, for the mother and children. I was at a
loss to know where the presents were to be got in that tiny village,
but the little maid took me to a shop, where we bought sweets for the
children and a piece of soap, scented strongly with pachouli, for the
lady. Armed with these we arrived on the doorstep. Into the house we
walked without knocking—no doubt we were expected—and climbed some
very steep stairs, went along a landing and entered a very comfortable
sitting-room, with a divan all round it. There were one or two chairs,
but the grandmother who came in to show some of her crotchet work,
squatted on her heels on the floor. One little girl with hair of a most
curious red came into the room. I heard afterwards it was dyed, and
certainly the colour was most unnatural and never seen in genuine red
hair. The grandmother wore a wig of this colour, and a tiny baby of one
year also had it. I asked about this of the tea house landlady, and
she told me they will dye a baby’s hair of even a month old. Several
little boys peeped at me through a crack in the door, but they would
not come in, so I gave the sweets to the girl, which she secreted
inside the cupboard bed in the room, and the mother tucked her soap
hurriedly away somewhere about her person. The room was very clean and
neat, with rugs on the floor, and a quantity of coloured stuffs piled
in one corner. A stove pipe came through the floor to warm it, but
also I saw a curious stove in the corner, which looked as though it
was ornamented with bottle ends in cement of some kind. The mother had
been very good-looking; she remarked on my teeth with envious eyes as
they were all there, and she had lost a good many of hers. The windows
of the house were latticed, except those looking on to the river,
where no one could see into the room. Mrs. Turk was very interested in
my wedding ring, which she proposed to keep as a souvenir, but
I expressed much regret that I could not part with it, as it was the
English custom to wear our wedding rings for the rest of our lives, and
my husband might be angry if I gave it away. No doubt she wondered what
I was doing travelling alone, but she did not ask me. After a cup of
Turkish coffee I left. I was really highly entertained by my visit.

[Illustration: Jaice.]

[Illustration]

The road runs along by the river which has cataracts and falls, and
little mills built of wood, standing over the water, these are reached
by a plank, and are used for grinding corn. We passed an inland lake on
the way, the Lake of Jesero.

In this part, it is the custom to kiss your hand—a performance I
particularly dislike, and I now carefully retain my gloves when I think
it may take place. It can’t be helped, and to draw it hurriedly away
would cause great offence.

Next morning was not very fine, but we started in a carriage about
7-30 to drive to Bajnaluka, a nine hours’ drive. On the way, where we
lunched and the horses rested, the landlord told me that this year the
wolves had come down as low as his house, but as he had no gun, he had
to wait till they chose to go away.

At Bajnaluka there is not much to see. Karabaich and I wandered about
and found a few Turkish shops and stalls. The people are hideously
ugly, clothed in quantities of rags, so they may be warm.

A train at 7 a.m. brought us to Novi (the end of the world we called
it). Here we were to find a carriage to take us to Plitvice, but the
only decent one refused to go, and the others were so falling to bits
I was sure we should never reach our destination, so I had reluctantly
to give up the expedition and go on to Vienna. Had we known what a
desolate spot Novi was, we should not have attempted to alight; but
unfortunately we could not get on till evening, as there was no train.
To anyone wishing to travel in these parts, I recommend them to wait
till June. At Agram I dismissed my guide, and so ends my trip through
these unfrequented parts.

One or two little remarks I must make before I close, one is on the
honesty of the people. My umbrella, which is a valuable one, not only
in keeping off the constant rain, but because it has a gold duck on the
stick, which I value very much, I suddenly missed one day at Saràjevo
while sketching; getting a sudden shock as to what had become of my
umbrella when I had been deep in my paint box, I appealed to Karabaich,
who had been keeping off a crowd of urchins. “It is all right, lady,”
he explained, in Italian, “I put it by that fence behind,” and sure
enough it was still there, though the fence was twenty yards behind me
and a large crowd in between. My luggage, too, was often left for ages
on a table in the waiting-room quite unguarded, it was all there on
our return. I am afraid I should not have such confidence in my native
land!

A word in praise, too, I must add of my guide Karabaich. Should any of
my readers want a guide, I can certainly recommend him as being most
attentive, of very nice appearance and manners, and thoroughly honest.
He is a native of Pola and is a pilot by trade, he also has a boat
trading in wine; his name and the town will always find him, as he is
well known there. He speaks German, Italian, and Slav, and possibly
other languages, but I did not require them.

[Illustration]