THE PADRE ANSELMO—HIS LIFE AND LABOURS AMONG THE AMERICAN INDIANS—THE PIONEERS OF CIVILIZATION—AMERICAN INDIANS AND NEGROES—PADRE ANSELMO ON PROTESTANT AND CATHOLIC MISSIONS—NATIVE CHRISTIANS IN INDIA—POPE PIUS IX. ONCE A MISSIONARY—CARDINAL P—.—PORT OF GRAVOSA—RAGUSA.
I FELT an unusual degree of regret, thinking I should so soon lose the company of Padre Anselmo; we had come all the way together from Trieste, and had spent many pleasant hours in genial conversation, flavoured from time to time with spicy, sharp, but good-humoured polemics, during which the Padre never lost his temper, and I had not always the best of the argument.
He was a very remarkable man, of an ancientnoble Ragusan family, evidently pious, yet wonderfully large-minded. I shall always remember with pleasure the conversations we had together on the deck of the 'San Carlo,' by the bright Italian moonlight, on those deep, smooth waters of the Adriatic that sparkled with phosphorescence at every stroke of the paddle-wheel. He was aware I was a Protestant, and though he had been a missionary for many years he knew how to avoid polemics whenever it was fit. He had been in South America and in North America; in the plains of the Amazon and the Orinoco, and among the Sierras of Mexico.
I asked him about his success among the Indians, and after reflecting for a little he gave me a most interesting account of his life's labours among them. I carefully noted down each night in my diary, after we had parted, the principal headings of his narrative, and some day I may give to the public an account of the labours, trials, and sufferings of this good and conscientious monk.
In answer to my question as to the amount of success he had obtained during his long intercourse with American Indians, he said,
"There is a most extraordinary difference in intelligence between the different tribes, even among those living close together; some are wonderfully more intelligent than others, and, strange to say, I found them better the farther they were removed from the influence of civilization. A great deal might be made of them were it not for the evil influence of the traders who come among them—the most pernicious of whom I invariably found were those coming from the United States. These traders, pioneers of civilization—as they called themselves—were almost invariably men without any religion or principle; awful blasphemers, their oaths were too terrific! They generally consisted of the veriest scum and offscourings of commercial cities; they showed the poor savages the very worst examples, for fair trading was unknown to them, and lying, overreaching, and brow-beating were their chief characteristics, while of drunkenness and unblushing debauchery they were terrible examples. I was once asked by a chief why we came so far to teach them, and left our own people untaught."
Padre Anselmo also told me that some of thenatives had some idea of the Divinity, and were very teachable, not like the Negroes of the West Coast of Africa among whom he had laboured a short time. He contrasted the capabilities of both races, and shaking his head, added,
"I fear it will take hundreds of centuries of incessant teaching, and that more by example than by word of mouth, before any good will come from missions among the Negroes; they seem utterly incapable of understanding any of the attributes of God. They look upon him invariably as one to be feared, and propitiated by gifts and sacrifices, so that he may be induced, if possible, to do them no harm."
A chief came to him one night by stealth, "but not like Nicodemus," as the worthy Monk added; he brought various presents to the mission, some of considerable value, consisting of native rings of twisted gold. He whispered under his breath to the Monk,
"You white man know everything, and you say your God rules everything. Tell me where I can find him, that I may kill him! he is a bad god—hehas killed my favourite wife, and now I must kill him!"
The Negro was foaming at the mouth from impotent rage, and his fearful language, together with the rolling of his eyes and the contortions of his body, impressed the Monk at first with the idea that he was an impersonation of the Evil One. Yet this chief had till then been the most promising of all those natives on whom he had been wasting his time, his patience, and his doctrine. In vain the Missionary tried to reason with the demoniac chief; his words made no impression, and the savage, failing to discover from the Monk the whereabouts of the white man's God, returned to his village, where he burned his own national fetish, and then cut off the heads of half-a-dozen wretches, having first charged them with messages to be delivered to his wife in dead-man's-land!
One evening Padre Anselmo and I, after making ourselves snug on a pile of sacks near the binnacle, were talking about missionary work, when he spoke to me about our Protestantmissions, and asked me many questions concerning them.
"You work your missions differently from the way we do ours; you pay your missionaries well, and even allow them, I have been told, to trade at times, and to buy and sell and follow different callings. I have also heard that you send missionaries abroad without any particular regard to their capabilities, for instance as to their knowledge of the language of the country they are sent to. Now all our missionaries are strictly prepared for the country where they are intended to labour, and are not sent out until they have acquired a good knowledge of the language of that country. How do you find your system to work? Have you had much success in the East Indies during the hundred years you have had the opportunity of working in them?"
I imagined I could detect something of a smile playing about the corners of his mouth as he made these remarks, and just as I was about to reply, a scene came to my mind of which I had read or heard an account somewhere, of an English missionary addressing an Arab audience in Tangierthrough the medium of a Gibraltar Jew, for the missionary was utterly innocent of any language but his own London English, and my innate appreciation of the ridiculous so overcame my sense of what was proper and decorous that I laughed myself nearly into fits.[6]However,having recovered my equanimity, I replied, "I did not know very much about the matter; but I had always heard that, generally speaking, the native Christians were the greatest blackguards in India, the least objectionable being certainly the Goanese Catholics," at which the good old monk seemed highly pleased.
His ideas of missionary work were peculiar and interesting. "We should always," he said, "treatsavages and the utterly uneducated, whether at home or abroad, who are scarcely better than savages, like little children, like very little children in intelligence, yet endowed with the passions and vices of grown up men. One should therefore, if possible, never try to teach them things beyond their understanding, but make their practical civilization proceedpari passuwith their religious training—instilling morality before preaching doctrine and dogma, both teachings being backed up by unexceptionable example. "These are not my own ideas," added Padre Anselmo, "they are the precepts of the wonderful man who preceded me in the Amazon Mission, the present Pontiff, His Holiness Pope Pius IX., whose equal will never again occupy the chair of St. Peter."
"What! was the Pope ever a missionary?" I asked with astonishment. I knew he had been a soldier, and had been even assured that in his early days he was initiated a Freemason in a Lodge in Sicily; there was nothing very extraordinary in his having been a missionary, but I had never heard of it before, and was therefore taken by surprise.
"Indeed he was," replied Padre Anselmo, "and a very zealous and hard-working missionary, whose memory is reverenced to this day, among many a wild tribe on the banks of the Amazon."
Then we began to talk politics, that is to say I talked, the Monk only listened, till musingly I said, "I wonder who will succeed him in the Chair of St. Peter?"
"Whoever he may be," replied the Monk, "he will have a difficult task coming after such a man."
"Have you been lately at Rome?" said I.
"I was there two months ago," he replied.
"What then do you think of Cardinal P—? do you know him?"
The Monk fixed his eyes on me for a moment, as if he would have read my most inmost thoughts, and then speaking very slowly, said:
"That Sicilian Monk has long been aiming at the Tiara; he lives within himself, has no confidant, no intimate friend, has no talents, only plenty of doggedness,vorrebbe Papeggiare, but no, never will he occupy the Pontifical chair, never!"and the Monk, for a minute looked me full in the face.
We were now getting quite close to the town, which is built on the narrow strip of land that lies between the Adriatic and the Dalmatian mountains, that here rise up almost perpendicularly behind it. The morning mists were clearing off, and the hazy outlines of the towers and ramparts, the cupolas and steeples, together with the bright colouring of the sails of the felucas and trabaccoli gliding out of the harbour, threading their way through the many islands scattered outside it, formed a picture that might be realized by a painter but of which I will not attempt the description.
We were now fairly in the port of Gravosa, and the steamer was surrounded by native boats conveying eager candidates for the privilege of carrying ourselves and luggage to the shore. The real port is at Ragusa itself, sheltered and protected by the ancient bastions and towers of the city, but, though amply deep enough for its ancient galleys, and for those argosies (so named after this very city of Ragusa) which in ancient times monopolized withVenice the commerce of the world, it is not now large enough or deep enough to accommodate our modern practical, though inelegant fire-ships. It has consequently been abandoned for the port of Gravosa, which is not only large, safe, and commodious, but also exquisitely beautiful, though inconveniently distant, being nearly a mile from the city. An excellent road, however, originally made by the French and subsequently improved by the Austrians, communicates between the two places, and numerous small carriages drawn by one or two horses are constantly in readiness to convey for a trifle those who do not wish to walk to Ragusa.
The two monks and I were soon on shore, and there I reluctantly parted with them; they went on foot towards their convent, while I took a small one-horse carriage and started off to the city.
Away we went at full gallop skirting the harbour, till the rising ground at the end of the little valley compelled our lively little horse to a slower rate of progression. We soon however topped the hill, when we again came in view ofthe sea on our right hand, while on our left were numbers of villas peeping out through masses of oleanders and gigantic aloes, whose flower stems, like colossal candelabra, fifteen to twenty feet in height, gave a peculiarly exotic character to the scene. Many of these villas were in ruins, and others more or less damaged, still bearing evidence of the French occupation at the beginning of this century, and of their expulsion by the Russian and Montenegrin troops.
Ragusa was now fairly again in sight, and a noble city it is, and how picturesque! so far as its greatness is concerned, Ragusa is now but the shadow of what it was in bygone days. Its political importance has faded away—its commercial supremacy is a thing of the past; but its local beauty, its domes, its campaniles, its lofty cut-stone palaces, its churches and public buildings, its exquisitely clean streets, its balmy air, its azure sea and its pleasant society—all these are things real and of the present. But Ragusa is not a place to be described, it must be seen and studied to be appreciated. See it from the land, or from the sea—wander through its narrow, quaint, artistic streets, ramble round itswalls and ramparts, and you will find it from every point of view a most remarkable place.
This grand old city, into which neither horse nor carriage is ever allowed to enter, was founded about the beginning of the seventh century, not very long after the foundation of Venice. Both cities were Republics, rivals in commerce and in the arts, and their people were incessantly at war with one another. But though Venice, by degrees, was able to subdue and include in her grasp almost the entire Eastern coast of the Adriatic, she never succeeded, either by cajolery or brute force, in conquering the Ragusans, who maintained their freedom till 1806; when, after existing as an independent State for upwards of a thousand years, during which time it had remained as an advanced post of European civilization on the borders of wild Bosnia and fierce Albania, it fell with Venice, Genoa, and the other free communities of Europe which Napoleon I. wiped off the map of the world.
All down the coast of the Adriatic may be seen the winged Lion of St. Mark, wherever the encroaching ambition of the Venetians enabled themto establish themselves; but in Ragusa you will seek that grim Venetian effigy in vain. Ragusa never was conquered by her great rival!
The carrettella came spinning, at the rate of a hunt, down the hill, at the bottom of which is the entrance to Ragusa, and turning sharp round at a speed that threatened to upset us bag and baggage into the middle of the road, pulled up suddenly on the right, where a very primitive hotel offers the only prospect of refreshment to the chance traveller in those parts; though, for such as intend remaining some little time, good accommodation can be obtained within the city. The hotel is most picturesquely situated on the very edge of the sea, opposite to the fortifications "di mare," and has in front a considerable plantation of beautiful Paolonias, then in full blossom; on the opposite side is the café, where of a Summer's evening congregate the rank and fashion of Ragusa to enjoy their ices and lemonade, and listen to the excellent band of the Austrian regiment quartered there, and whatever gossip, scandalous or otherwise, that may be buzzing about. And very enjoyable it must be! fine climate, pleasant society, lovely scenery, easyaccess to the rest of Europe, either East or West, and cheap living—what more could be desired? I would not ask for more.
ATTRACTIONS OF DALMATIA—INTERESTING EXCURSION—ISLAND OF LACHROMA—CLIMATE—A. A. PATON, ESQ., FORMERLY CONSUL-GENERAL AT RAGUSA—AN ITALIAN DINNER—EPIDAURUS—THE CANAL OF CATTARO—TERRITORY OF RAGUSA—TOWER OF PERASTO AND FORT OF SANTA CROCE—STRANGELY BUILT CHURCH—A PALAZZO—SAN GIORGIO AND LA MADONNA—PICTURE ATTRIBUTED TO ST. LUKE.
IT has always been a source of much astonishment to me, seeing the facility with which these parts can be reached from Trieste, that so few of the ubiquitous English—indeed, I might say none of them,—ever visit them, or any of the other many beautiful and interesting localities which crowd the Eastern shores of the Adriatic. I really believethose countries are not visited because they are in a certain sense unknown. I trust, however, that some of my readers who may perchance be tired of those hackneyed tours which, year after year, are undertaken by the travelling multitudes, will try a venture some day in Dalmatia.
Starting from Trieste in one of the many coasting steamers which trade to Corfu, stopping at every place on the Eastern shores of the Adriatic from Capo d'Istria downwards, and making excursions from each into the interior, anyone fond of everything beautiful and picturesque, whether in nature or in art, would have the most delightful trip imaginable; and if getting out at Cattaro he will scale those wonderful mountains which seem ever on the point of toppling over on that devoted city, and penetrate into Montenegro, coming back to the Adriatic by the Lake of Scutari (or Skodra as itoughtto be called) in Northern Albania, he will have made an excursion in the heart of Europe, within seven days from London, and in the short space of five weeks, which for beauty of country, wildness of scenery, novelty of life, and magnificence of native costumes cannot be equalled fromSpain to the Caucasus, or from Norway to the Lebanon!
Having made my adieux to Mr. Paton, our Consul at Ragusa, to whom as well as to Persich Effendi, the Ottoman Consul, I was largely indebted for much kind advice, as well as for a personal introduction to Mr. Yonin, Russian Consul at Ragusa, who subsequently at Cattaro and at Cettigne proved a kind friend and most valuable and charming companion, I returned on board and was soon steering south again. We steamed quite close inland, and had an excellent view of the ancient fortifications of Ragusa and its old harbour, only frequented at present by the felucas and trabaccoli which carry on the coasting trade of the country.
We also passed close to the island of Lachroma. The Russian Consul, Mr. Yonin, told me it was for sale and would probably go cheap. I can't conceive a spot on earth where a man tired of the bustle of life and the feverish excitement and turmoil of cities could more delightfully spend the remainder of his days. There is a fairly good house on the island, which is itself beautifullywooded and laid-out. It is sufficiently near to Ragusa to enable one to obtain everything one could require from that city, it is right in the gangway of all the steamers going up and down the Adriatic, within five days of London, and with such a number of communications with the outer world that it would be seclusion only as long as one wished it to be so.
As to the climate, none more beautiful could be desired—sufficiently warm to grow figs, grapes, and oranges, yet daily tempered in Summer by the delicious sea-breeze of the Adriatic, which prevents the heat from ever being oppressive, while of Winter there is barely the name—the thermometer seldom going down to frost.
The sea teems with fish of the most delicious kinds, some of which are totally unknown among us; the dentale coronato, for instance, the true sardine, and the rosy mullet, the woodcock of the sea, which here grows to an immense size—while from the mainland one can always obtain at wonderfully low prices abundance of small mountain mutton, poultry, and game.
I never was in any place that took my fancy likeRagusa and Lachroma—so lovely, so picturesque, so secluded, and yet so accessible!
Since my return to England I have heard with deep regret of the loss we have sustained by the death of A. A. Paton, Esq., our Consul-General at Ragusa. The country has to regret in him an able and industrious servant, while literature has to mourn for one of its most gifted votaries, as his works on Egypt, Servia, and the Adriatic will amply attest; but only those who had the pleasure of his acquaintance can at all venture to measure the loss which his death must be in his own family circle!
Now the bell rings, and Giovanni bustles up and down the deck, intimating, "che'l pranzo ze pronto," so down we all plunged into the saloon, where a good dinner, as usual, welcomed us.
As the coast is uninteresting, besides which I don't want to go on deck at present, I may as well tell you of what our Italian dinner consisted. We first had an excellent Julienne soup, with abundance of grated Parmesan for such as appreciated it; next was served the "fritto," according to old Italian custom, which always enumerates thefollowing dishes, to succeed each other in an orthodox dinner:—minestra, fritto, lesso, umido, arrosto, dolce, frutta, and, when in season, slices of melon, or fresh figs, served up immediately after the soup, to be eaten with thin slices of raw ham or Bologna sausage. Figs being in season they were not wanting, so conforming to the usage of the country I ate some with raw Bologna sausage, and learnt fully to appreciate the strange compound, which I afterwards always indulged in whenever I had a chance.
Thefrittowas delicious (assuredly nowhere else can they fry as in Italy); it consisted ofzucchettineandfiori,i.e., young unexpanded gourd flowers and very young gourds not bigger thin an egg, cut in thin slices, dipped in the thinnest of batter and fried quite crisp and golden brown, and served dry without a particle of grease. Then came a dish ofgnocchi alla Milanese, a superb dish, but difficult to explain; imagine the ingredients of a colossalvol-au-vent à la financière, replete with livers, cocks' combs, unborn eggs, &c., &c., surrounded by a bastion of a peculiar preparation, made of maize-flour, and the whole bathed in tomato sauce andsprinkled right over with grated Parmesan, "proprio da far riavere i morti," as thechefexclaimed to me after dinner, when, handing him a cigar, I complimented him on hisgnocchi. Then came thearrostowhich consisted of veal and fowls, and after that a splendidpiatto dolceof stewed peaches in an artistic cage of caramel sugar, ornamented with strange devices of most delicious marzapane.
Having slowly worked our way through this sumptuous repast, we went on deck, where coffee was served with its usual accompaniment of Maraschino, both sweetened and unsweetened, together with the inevitable smoke, which contrary to reason, as one would think, is even more comforting in hot countries like the Levant, than it is in cold damp regions like Holland.
I have a dim recollection of the captain tapping me on the shoulder and telling me something about Ragusa Vecchia and Epidaurus as we were steaming down the coast; but I was in too dreamy a state to pay much attention to him at the time, and as I knew the coast was uninteresting, I told him to call me as soon as we should come in sightof the Bocche and Castelnuovo, and dozed away again.
I afterwards learnt that this Epidaurus, about which I was rather fretting for having refused to stir from my siesta to look at it, was really not worth seeing, though an ancient city, having been founded by a Greek colony somewhere about 700 yearsb.c., more or less; but all its antiquities had been removed long ago.
It was between three and four in the afternoon when I awoke of my own accord, thus anticipating the captain, who was just coming to tell me that we were about entering the canal of Cattaro, as it is called, but which to our ear is far better described by the name of Fjord of Cattaro. It is to all intents and purposes a Fjord, being an arm of the sea running up for eighteen miles into land, between high precipitous cliffs; and if there is not a glacier at the end of it, but only a quaint Dalmatian town with the most picturesque fort and fortifications in the world, it does not alter the character of the inlet.
The entrance to this Fjord, called "le Bocche di Cattaro," is guarded on the right by the Fort ofCastelnuovo, and on the left is bounded by a narrow strip of Turkish territory, a portion of Herzegovina, which here comes down to the Adriatic, separating the Circolo of Ragusa from that of Cattaro. By some strange political arrangement, or oversight more probably, another narrow strip of Turkish territory comes down to the Adriatic on the north of Ragusa, completely isolating that ancient Republic which finds itself thus entirely surrounded by Ottoman territory on three sides, while on the fourth it is bounded by the Adriatic.
The country about the entrance of the Bocche di Cattaro is fine, well wooded and planted with olive trees, through which can be seen numerous habitations, while many of the rugged heights are crowned with semi-fortified churches, which served as places of refuge to the women and children in troublous times.
Proceeding onwards, the scene varies and the trees lessen in numbers, though the landscape loses nothing of its beauty, as by the constant windings of the Fjord the changes are continuous and rapid, and the many villages built on the edge of the water, and sharply reflected in it,add one more charm to the picture. At one point the Fjord is barely half a mile across, when suddenly it expands into a lake of many miles in circumference, where all the navies of the world could lie in safety. But now the scene changes again and the Fjord becomes a narrow tortuous channel, bounded on either side by naked rocky cliffs. Like the rest of the coast of Dalmatia it is, however, very beautiful. About half way between Castelnuovo and Cattaro, the Fjord expands and divides right and left forming two bays, that of Risano to the left, and that of Cattaro to the right; while in front rise the almost perpendicular crags of Montenegro, at the foot of which, with barely room to build on, so near does the mountain come to the edge of the water, stands the town of Perasto with the ancient fort of Santa Croce just above it.
This place must have been of considerable importance within late years, still I never saw such a picture of poverty and desolation. The houses are not in ruins, but look dilapidated; the windows are broken in, the jalousies hanging by one hinge and in pieces, while in many places the roofs arestripped of their tiles. The position of Perasto cannot be surpassed; built on a promontory facing the west, it has the lake-like expansion of the Gulf of Cattaro in front and does not consequently labour under the disadvantage Cattaro suffers from, by having a chain of mountains in front of it to the westward, which deprive it of the sun in Winter before two o'clock in the afternoon. The style of the houses in Perasto shows that not long ago it could boast of an opulent population, which is further exemplified by the fortress built at the expense of the town—by its lofty steeple and by its churches. One in particular caught my eye from the steamer,it had no façade, not that it had fallen into ruin, neither had it been shaken down by an earthquake, but was built so; open to the weather with a half cupola something like one of those little roadside shrines dedicated to the Virgin which we meet with constantly in Italy and other Catholic countries, only on a very much larger scale.
I felt quite interested in Perasto, it looked so picturesque, so noble, so poor! One house especially struck my fancy, but the word housedoes not convey its appearance, it was what an Italian would call a palazzo. The entrance was evidently from a back street, while the side which faced the water consisted of aloggiaof many pilasters and arches, into which opened the rooms of the ground floor, while above it were tiers of large and handsome windows. In front of theloggiawas a paved terrace, from which a series of steps, the whole length of the house, led down to the water. It was uninhabited and in fact going rapidly to ruin! I fancied to myself what a little paradise one could make of it; I saw in my mind's eye a row of orange trees growing on that terrace, a yacht moored close into those steps, and life and bustle in those chambers where all was now silence and decay. What can have brought such desolation on Perasto? I asked several people but I could get no satisfactory answer! some blamed Austria, someil commercio; I suppose I could have bought the fee simple of that house in Perasto for a £10 note.
In front of Perasto are two small islands—San Giorgio and La Madonna. In the church of La Madonna is to be seen an ancient pictureof the Virgin, attributed as usual to the artistic efforts of the Evangelist Luke, who evidently, from what I have seen of his works of art in different places, was not possessed of much talent in that line. Tradition states that the picture was transported in 1452, by an unknown hand, from Negropont to this rock; and being seen amidst lighted candles by some fishermen, it was removed to the church of Perasto. The next night it returned to the island; and the same action having been repeated three times, it was presumed that the picture preferred remaining there; thus they built a church for it, which no doubt turned out a profitable speculation.
CITY OF CATTARO—SIGNOR JACKSCHICH—STREETS AND PIAZZAS—WALKS AND FORTIFICATIONS—PUBLIC WALK—CAFÉ AND GARDENS—SONOROUS STONE—A MONTENEGRIN CHIEF—A HAPPY BEGGAR BOY.
TURNING our backs now on that branch of the Fjord which leads to Risano, we steamed due south in the direction of Cattaro. Nothing could exceed the wild grandeur of this portion of the Gulf. The right hand shore was now entirely in the shade, while the crags on the left being exposed to the full glare of the afternoon sun showed a play of colours too beautiful to describe. Had these cliffs been clothed with varied foliage interspersed with the rocks, they would have formed a picture unequalled in any other place on the globe.
It was six o'clock when we moored alongside the quay of Cattaro, one of the most picturesque cities of the whole Adriatic, so I had plenty of time to walk about and see the place as well as to make arrangements for my advance into Montenegro on the following day, as I was anxious to proceed at once to Cettigne, in order to be present at the festival of St. Peter, during which a fair is held, to which congregate thousands, not only from Montenegro, but from all the surrounding countries. Thanks, however, to Persich Effendi, the Ottoman Consul at Ragusa, to whom I had brought an introduction from the Ottoman Ambassador at Vienna, I found everything already prepared for my trip. The agent of the Austrian Lloyd at Cattaro, Signor Jackschich to whom I can never feel too much obliged, had already procured for me a guide and two horses, thus saving me all trouble, and allowing so much more time to look about me at Cattaro. As soon as we had obtainedpratique, the formality of which we carried out regularly at every place we touched, though, in reality, it was a farce, Signor Jackschich came on board, and having introduced himself and told mewhat he had arranged, placed himself at my disposal for the rest of the evening. We at once went on shore, and traversing the Mall, which lies between the quays and the walls of the city, and which serves as the promenade of theBocchesi, we passed through the principal gate of Cattaro, and entered the precincts of the fortifications.
Here, as in most other cities in Dalmatia, no horse, or vehicle of any kind (except sedan chairs) is allowed to enter. The streets in consequence are beautifully clean, and the piazza, which is paved in squares of alternate coloured marble, is more like the floor of the hall of an Italian palace than anything else. The streets are narrow, as might have been surmised, but there are some very fine old houses, some exquisite bits of art hidden away in nooks and corners which one would have loved to sketch had there been time, half built up porticoes with oleanders peeping over them, and bits of lovely hammered iron work of the Renaissance period. But I had no time, so after making a rapid tour through the little city, we came out on the promenade, as I was anxious to have anotherview of Cattaro, from the outside, before it became too dark.
My friend Paton does not render half justice to this city in his charming book, "The Highlands and Islands of the Adriatic;" but he is so in love with Ragusa—and, if truth must be told, so am I—that he has nothing to say for Cattaro; it is true he saw it in Winter, when it must be a dismal place. But Cattaro, for all that, deserves a visit, and anyone fond of sketching will spend, with profit, several days in and about the place. It is situated at the extreme end of the Fjord of that name, on a very narrow ledge of land at the foot of the most precipitous cliffs facing the west, up which it extends for a short space. It is surrounded by the ancient Venetian walls, bastions and fortifications, and crowned by a fort perched on the very summit of the rock, a thousand feet above the city. Looking at it from below, it seems scarcely balanced on the cliff, and one expects to see it come tumbling down every moment.
The fortifications of the town are connected by crenelated walls with the fort itself on two sides,thus inclosing a considerable space on the face of the mountain, something in the shape of a triangle, of which the town would form the base, and the fort the apex, which is still garrisoned, and many a harmless rusty old cannon can be seen peeping through the embrasures. Having returned from the opposite side of the water, where I had gone the better to see the fortifications, we took a walk up and down the esplanade between the water and the walls, to look at thebeau mondeon their boulevard, and then adjourned to the café on the same esplanade to have some icesal fresco, and make our final arrangements for the following morning.
The public walk at Cattaro is very well laid out, and the most is made of the very contracted space at command. Two rows of large trees extend along the walls on each side of the gate, above which is to be seen, as usual, the Lion of St. Mark. Not so natural, perhaps, as Edwin Landseer's animals at the foot of Nelson's column; but, certainly, a more dignified beast than the one with straight tail which until lately kept watch and ward over Trafalgar Square from the top of NorthumberlandHouse. At the northern end of the Mall is the café, and round about it the grounds are laid out in gardens, where, under the shade of gigantic oleanders and mulberry trees, little round tables, made of enormously thick slabs, resting on short central pillars, for all the world like Brobdingnagian mushrooms, are laid out and surrounded with stools for the accommodation of all comers. The stone of which these round tables are made is powerfully sonorous, and if lightly struck, even with one's knuckles, gives out a beautiful soft tone. If cut into lengths and properly poised, excellent rock harmoniums could be made of it.
Here I fell in again with the Russian Consul, who introduced me to one of the finest specimens of men I ever saw, a Montenegrin chief, by name Pero Pejovich, commandant of the Grahovo (pronounced Graho), who had come from Risano in a boat, and was bound for Montenegro to be present at the Feast. He was dressed in full gala Montenegrin costume,plusthe Risano jacket of crimson cloth without sleeves, thickly embroidered with gold, and on it the medals and decorationshe had gained in battle. At another table were seated, also in full costume, two Montenegrin ladies of a family who had been exiled for political causes, and who were waiting at Cattaro in hopes of obtaining an amnesty which would permit them to return to their homes.
The sun had set, and the short twilight had nearly merged into darkness; the great heat of the day was now tempered by a delicious balmy feeling, as the cooler air from the mountains came down to mingle with that of the lower strata; the musical hum of the many voices, the exquisite Trebigne tobacco in our cigarettes, the delicious coffee, all conspired to make that evening one of the most delightful I ever passed. I got another chair, and stretched my legs on it; the natives stared—no Oriental ever thinks of stretching his legs—the acme of comfort for him is to tuck them under him. I felt supremely happy, and expressed myself so.
"I could live here for ever," I said to Signor Jackschich.
"Nay," rejoined Pero Pejovich, "but wait till it rains, and you will soon wish to run away fromCattaro. I have known it rain here for six weeks without stopping for a moment."
At this juncture, the band of the Austrian regiment quartered here came on the scene, with the same lamp arrangement I had seen at Pola, and for upwards of an hour played the most delicious music to our intense delight. The Consul now reminded me that we should have to start betimes the following morning, if we wanted to avoid being roasted in the middle of the day on the rocks of Montenegro. But the sense of enjoyment was too great, and I could not bear to break the spell of the hour which I was enjoying to the fullest. That I should have an excuse for delaying a little longer, I began to talk in Italian to a little beggar boy who had quietly been asking me for something the whole evening, not with noisy importunate appeals, but by the eloquent look of about the finest pair of eyes that ever were seen.
"Don't take any notice of the young ruffian," said Signor Jackschich, "he is the plague of the town, and the worry of his father. He won't work, and he is in every mischief that is going."
"But I don't tell lies—neither do I steal," retorted the bold young brat, who could be no more than eight or nine. "It is too hot to work, and as to going home to sleepla dentro," he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the town, "when I can enjoy the cool nights under these treesal fresco, I would rather not!"
He spoke excellent Italian, and his manner was dignified and self possessed.
"Diable!" said Yonin, "nous avons ici un philosophe!"
"Can you speak German or French, little chap?" I said.
"No," he replied in Italian, "non parlo che Illirico ed Italiano."
I gave him coins to the amount of about a franc; but when he saw so much money in the palm of his hand—an amount which, to his eyes, seemed perfectly fabulous—his first impulse was to hold it out to me again, thinking I was joking with him; but when I assured him it wasveramente tutto per lui, he cut three capers in the air, and rushed away to where some other children were, to show his treasures and recount his good fortune. Ofall the subjects of the Emperor of Austria, in all his vast dominions, I venture to say that the happiest on that night was that little beggar brat in the secluded little city of Cattaro at the far end of his empire in the extreme point of Dalmatia.