■■i m ^k^ kk^ ^>iZi isi^ Ct Tj &k6l n ri ;■ Tj i^i^i v^ rj ^i^ ^k^i SoTORING -— IN THE BALKANS ALONG THE HIGHWAYS OF DAI^MATIA MONTENEGRO THE HERZEGOVINA AND BOSNIA IS§i m £>i^ 1^ ^-^ FRANCES KINSLEY HUTCHINSON MOTORING IN THE BALKANS By Mrs. Hutchinson OUR COUNTRY HOME: How We Transformed a Wisconsin Wilderness. With over loo illustrations. Second edition. Small quarto, boxed, net $2.00. A. C. McClurg & Co. Publishers MOTORING IN THE BALKANS ALONG THE HIGHWAYS OF DALMATIA, MONTENEGRO, THE HERZEGOVINA AND BOSNIA BY FRANCES KINSLEY HUTCHINSON Author of "Our Country Home" WITH MAP AND OVER ONE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR CHICAGO A. C. McCLURG & CO. 1909 Copyright A. C. McCLURG & CO. igoq Published September i8, igoq Qrt)t lafcrsiTit ^xtn R. R. DONNELLEY ft SONS COMPANY CHICAGO T5R \S Ea fly IHnttfrr A. m. IC. THE INDEFATIGABLE TRAVELER, THE WELL INFORMED SIGHT-SEER, THE ENTHUSIASTIC MOTORIST EVEN AT THE AGE OF EIGHTY, THIS RECORD IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 57S056 r rnDito* CONTENTS CHAPTEB PAGE I. Plans and Preliminaries .... • 17 II. Trieste to Abbazia • 27 III. Abbazia to Zengg • 38 IV. Zengg to Gospic — Over the Vratnik Pass 47 V. Entering Dalmatia — Gospic to Zara 58 VI. Zara 66 VII. ScARDONA — Falls of Krka — Sebenico 79 VIII. Sebenico via Trau to Spalato . 95 IX. Spalato 105 X. Salona — Clissa — Source of the Jadro 1x6 XI. Spalato to Metkovic 123 XII. Metkovic to Ragusa 137 XIII. Ragusa 145 XIV. Ragusa — Lacroma — Lapad 155 XV. Ragusa 164 XVI. Ragusa to Zelenika 175 XVII. Zelenika 183 XVIII. Entering Montenegro .... 189 XIX. Cetinje 201 XX. Back into Dalmatia 211 XXI. Entering the Herzegovina — Ragusa to Gacko via Trebinje 222 XXII. Gacko to Mostar — Source of the Buna . 232 XXIII. MOSTAR 242 XXIV. Mostar to Sarajevo 251 XXV. Ilidze to Jajce via Travnik 264 XXVI. Jajce 276 XXVII. Jajce to Banjaluka — On to Bosnisch-Novi 285 XXVIII. Leaving Bosnia — Plitvica Lakes 295 XXIX. To Agram and Marburg .... 306 XXX. Marburg — Gratz — The Semmering . 317 Index 327 ILLUSTRATIONS H. R. H. Prince Nicola I. Returning from Church, Cetinjk Cargo-boats from Chioggia .... The Canal Grande, Trieste .... The Royal Park of Mirauar, near Trieste The Mail Carrier's Horse, near Pasjak . A Native of Arbe at Abbazia .... The Water Bucket of These Slavic Countries . The Hotel at Crkvenica ..... Young Women Working in Quarry near Crkvenica In The Market-place, Zara .... The Baskets are Beautiful in Zara The Riva Vecchia, Zara A Typical Costume, Scardona .... A Brilliant Crowd, Scardona .... The Ferry across the Krka .... In the Market-place, Sebenico The Rows of Heads on the Cathedral Apse, Sebenico The Pleasant-looking Lions at the Cathedral Door, Sf The Stony Road to Trau Such Tiny CapsI The Little Kid Diocletian's Palace, Main Fagade, Spalato Corridors Converted into Streets, Spalato . Marketing in Spalato ...... Fortress of Clissa, near Spalato .... Countrywomen in Metkovic With What Splendid Freedom She Walks! (Ragusa) The Green Omnibus to Gravosa .... The Porta Pile, Ragusa The Strips of Streets, Ragusa .... A Typical Shop on the Stradone, Ragusa Herzegovinian Women Shopping in Ragusa The Old Harbor, Porto Casson, Ragusa. PiERO the Gull, Ragusa ...... A Dalmatian Funeral, Ragusa The Moat Converted into a Park, Ragusa The Hotel Square on the First of May, Ragusa . The Hotel at Zelenika Tilted Rock Strata at Zelenika .... Frontispiece 22 22 23 30 31 31 40 41 68 68 69 84 85 85 90 91 91 100 100 lOI 108 109 118 119 124 125 146 146 147 147 156 157 166 167 176 177 184 185 IX ILLUSTRATIONS — CONTINUED Trebinje Crossing the Bocche ......... That Queer, Gigantic, Angular Writing on the Face of the Mountain "Individual" Harbors on the Shores of the Bocche Bocche di Cattaro from Grotto of Krst\c The Road to Montenegro The Hotel at Njegus, Montenegro Cetinje from the Hotel Window .... H. R. H. Prince Nicola I., the Ruler of Montenegro H. R. H. Princess Milena, Consort of Prince Nicola I The Struka .... Montenegrin Officers The Royal Palace, Cetinje The Prince's Escort, Cetinje . The Government Barge . At Castelnuovo The Younger Generation are Adopting European Clothes The Crowd at Bilee A Picturesque Couple, Bilek .... They Disappear down the Long Road . The Garage at Gacko Source of the Buna The Bridge at Mostar Herzegovinian Catholics, Mostar . After Service at the Franciscan Church, Mostar The Men are Equally Picturesque, Mostar . Gorge of the Narenta ..... An Interesting Group in the Narenta Valley Herzegovinian Children, near Jablanica. One of the Fates! (On the Ivan Pass) . Wooden Spindles in the Museum, Sarajevo . The Prenj Alp A View in Sarajevo An Unexpected Meeting, Yoxjng Turkish Girls, Sarajevo The Hotel at Ilidze .... A Typical Country Mosque, near Gromeljak The Painted Mosque, Travnik A Butterfly of a Maiden, Travnik . Tombs of the Viziers, Travnik The Fountain by the Tombs, Travnik . The Ancient Poplar, near Travnik The Bogomile Gravestone A Christian Family of Bosnia . A Christian Farmhouse in Bosnia The Tiny Mills of Jajce The Pliva above the Fall 193 193 194 19s 198 199 199 204 205 206 207 2X2 218 219 224 225 228 228 229 238 239 248 249 249 252 253 253 258 258 259 260 261 268 269 269 270 271 271 272 272 273 273 276 276 ILLUSTRATIONS — CONTINUED The Gate of Jajce from the Outside 277 The SAiiE Gate from the Inside 277 Turkish Women out for Their Weekly Promenade, Jajce . 278 A Modern Shop at Jajce 279 At the Entrance to the Franciscan Church, Jajce . .280 In the Market-place after the Service, Jajce .... 283 The Beaded and Embroidered Coats in Jajce . . . 2S1 Brave in Sc/jilet and Gold 282 With Coin Necklaces and Head-dresses 283 A Bosnian Couple, Jajce 283 Peasants at Luncheon, Jajce 286 Turkish Children, Jajce 2S7 Jajce to Banjaluka, up the Urbas Valley 288 The Conscription at Banjaluka 2S9 The Orange Vender, Banjaluka 290 A Sheepskin Coat, Banjaluka 291 A North Bosnian Costume, near Banjaluka 29a The Cap in the Back 293 The Cap in the Front 293 In the Una Valley 296 A Ruined Castle above the Una 297 The Plitvica Lakes from our Windows 300 One of the Plitvica Falls 3°^ Peasants near Karlovac 3^° A Bosnian Mill 3^° The Church of St. Mark, Agram 3" The Market-place, Agram 3^2 Croatian Countrywomen 3^2 A Croatian Peasant 3*3 The Ilica, Agram 3^8 A Croatian Harness 3^8 The Procession at Marburg 3^9 The Market-place, Gratz 322 At the Semmeiong 323 Zl ITINERARY AND TABLE OF DISTANCES 1908 DATE K. MILES TOWN POP. HOTEL April 9 Trieste 183,000 Hotel de Ville II 74.2 46.3 Abbazia 16,000 Grand Hotel Stefani IS Crkvenica* Therapia Palace IS 839 52-4 Zengg Hotel Zagreb 16 Gospic* SVRATISTE LiKA 16 206.3 129. Zara 13,000 Hotel Bristol 20 Scardona* Restaurant Buljan 20 101.5 635 Sebenico 10,000 Hotel de la Ville 31 Trau 3.500 31 73-3 45-3 Spalato 20,000 Grand Hotel Belle- VUE 33 Salona 1,700 33 Clissa 1,200 SS Metkovic * 1,700 Hotel Austria 25 239.6 149-7 Ragusa 8,400 Imperial May I 513 32. Zelenika Pension Zum Grunen Strand 2 67.9 42.4 Cetinje 3,000 Grand 4 119. 2 74-5 Ragusa 8,400 7 Treblvje* 5,000 Hotel Naglic 7 107. 67. Gacko " Mehopija 8 91-3 57- MOSTAR 14,400 " Narenta II Jablanica * " Jablanica II 125- 78. Ilidze " Hungakia 13 13. 7-5 Sarajevo 41,000 " Europe 14 Travnik* 6,300 " Travnik 14 149 93-6 Jajce 4,000 Grand i8 72.8 45-5 Banjaluka 15,000 BOSNA 19 Novi* 3.500 Novi 19 157-9 98.6 Bihac 6,000 Centrale 20 38.9 24-3 Plitvica Lakes Vereins Hotel 22 Karlstadt* 6,000 Stadt Fiume 22 149 I 93-2 Agram 61,000 Grand 24 CiLLI* 6,700 Erzherzoo Johann 24 I75-I 109.4 Marburg 26,000 i( i< 25 Gratz* 138,000 Elephant 25 176.8 no. 9 SEifMERINO P.\MHANS 26 loi .5 2372.6 K. 63-5 1483.5 mi Vienna 1,675,000 Grand 48 days es 36 towns * Luncheon. MOTORING IN THE BALKANS MOTORING IN THE BALKANS CHAPTER I PLANS AND PRELIMINARIES "TTQW would you like to go to Dalmatia this year?" quietly asked the Leader one rainy evening in early Autumn, as we were planning our Winter migration. "Dal- matia," he said, but other lands beside were in his mind,— Montenegro, the Herzegovina, Bosnia, Croatia. He appar- ently did not see our startled countenances nor hear our explosive comments. "Dalmatia!" "In an automobile?" ''Can we?" Thus in varying pitches the trio simultaneously an- swered. "Why not?" was the reply. "It is certainly not so far away nor so difficult to reach." But to me it seemed almost another planet. Dalmatia! What strange magic in the name ! How remote and Asiatic it sounded ! What visions of mountain fastnesses and land- locked harbors, of curious buildings and primitive peoples, danced before my excited fancy! 17 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS "You know that narrow strip of country on the other side of the Adriatic, across from Italy!" I came back to a consciousness of my surroundings and the expatiating voice of the Leader at the same moment. "It has been a favorite coast for yachtsmen during the last century. Zara, the most northern city, is about the same distance from Trieste as Rimini is — " "Yes, by sea," interrupted the Cautious One, "but the roads, — are they passable ? Has any one ever tried them ? " For the spirit of the pioneer is strangely absent from our small group and some of the comforts of this life have become necessities. "Are there any road maps?" questioned the Enthusiast incredulously. "I believe that there are some government maps to be had, and the Italian Touring Club has also published a map of the northern portion of Dalmatia. I am going to send over for them. It is difhcult to get any information about the roads, but as there are few railroads the highways should be in so much the better condition. We shall have to in- vestigate as we go along, making all possible inquiries from place to place ; — if for any reason we find ourselves blocked we can always turn back. April and May are the desirable months, I hear, as earlier there is too much snow on the mountain passes, while later in the year it gets very hot." The uncertainty of the journey promised to add to our interest. " But how do we get into Dalmatia ? Where do we start from?" queried the Enthusiast, always desirous of details. z8 PLANS AND PRELIMINARIES "Well," answered the Leader of the expedition, "we shall probably go from Paris via Nice, Rapallo, and Spezia; Pisa, Siena, and Rome ; Temi, Foligno, Urbino, and Rimini ; Ravenna, Padua, Treviso, Udine, and Trieste ; but I cannot recommend that as the shortest route!" The Enthusiast was following with her finger on a large map of Europe. She reserved her comments, but her looks spoke volumes. "Trieste, of course, is the natural starting-point," went on the indefatigable Leader, "but if we cross in January we must find a good climate during February and March. The Riviera — " But there was a chorus of disapproval. "Oh, no! not the Riviera. It 's far too crowded, too dusty, too gay!" "If I should show you a quiet spot on a green hillside," composedly proceeded the Leader, " a small hotel in a beautiful garden, an apartment where the sun floods every room all day long, a cuisine both varied and tempting, would the mere fact of its being on the Riviera dissuade you from at least trying such a place ?" We protested our unbelief, but meekly consented to a trial. So it happened that in due time we went down to Cimiez on the hills above that too-famous winter resort of Nice and spent three never-to-be-forgotten weeks exploring the winding river valleys, hunting up neglected and half- ruined monasteries, discovering (?) splendid gorges and many a hill-crowned city, along those smooth and shady highways which make the land of France dear to the heart of the motor lover. It was almost as difficult to persuade 19 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS us to leave as it had been to induce us to try this bit of Paradise, but the days were flying and Dalmatia loomed before us. We had by this time secured large maps with curiously forbidding names printed upon them; "Crkvenica, Otocac, Mali Halan, Benkovac, Metkovic, Krka"; — should we ever be able to pronounce them? Would they ever become famihar and easy? We were reading Mrs. Hohlbach's charming book on Dalmatia, and also a French translation of a German "Guide to Dalmatia" by Petermann. This last book gave us a few rules on the pronunciation of the Serbo-Croatian language with a glossary of the most impor- tant words that a traveller might need. When we learned that in pronouncing the Slavic names it is only necessary to remember four rules, we no longer felt so helpless: j is pronounced like y: c without accent like ts: c with accent like tch: the vowels the same as in Italian. We were in- formed that in the large towns Italian or German would be readily understood and at most of the hotels English could be relied upon, but in the hamlets of the interior and on the road only Slavic is used. Of our delectable journeyings from the sunny Riviera over the mountains to Spezia and across the plain to Pisa; of our glance at the famous Delia Robbias of Empoli; of our brief stops at Siena and Viterbo; this is not the place to speak. Even Rome, which served this time as a mere pied-a-terre for many a day's excursion, I dare not begin upon. Of Cori and Ninfa and Segni, of Palestrina and San Cosimato, of the nearer Tivoli and the Alban Hills, my PLANS AND PRELIMINARIES enthusiastic descriptions must wait ; for Dalmatia is nearer than ever and the time has come for us to start. Up by the fortress of Civita Castellana, with a look at the Cascades of Terni, we pass Nocera, Gualdo Tadino, and Cagh, cross the Apennines and stop at Urbino, Pesaro, and Rimini, having followed the old Via Emilia almost the en- tire distance from Rome. Proceeding via Ravenna, Rovigo, and Padua; Treviso, Udine, and Aquileia; at last, on the ninth of April, we look down from Obcina upon the great seaport of Trieste. The combination of old customs and traditions with much that is extremely modern makes this city of Austria a delight to the tourist. We knew from our faithful Baedeker that our hotel here stood upon the quay, but no guide-book could prepare one for the fascinating picture which the win- dow revealed as we entered our apartment. Black-hulled steamers from Palermo, from Dalmatia, from France, Eng- land, and even from America, lay at anchor on the glittering sea, while bright-hued Venetian boats unloaded their queer cargoes at the near embankment. I leaned in ecstasy upon the window-sill thoughtfully provided with cushions for tired elbows, and watched the changing scene. Freighters arrived and trim passenger boats, their masts and yards so much more picturesque than the huge funnels of the modern steamer. A ferry from Capodistria came jauntily to the dock and unloaded her passengers, who walked ashore with brisk, business-like, almost American alertness, apparently heedless of the rare and beautiful sight presented by this hill-encircled city, brilliant with the brief sunshine of the 21 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS early Spring. From the distance a big liner signalled with flying colors, calling a tiny tug that slowly guided the monster to her berth amidst the moving craft. But no steamer, big or little, can compare in picturesque- ness or in grace with the gayly colored cargo-boats from Chioggia, their orange and brown sails patched in vary- ing tones, their stripes of green or red or blue around the clumsy hulls, their big round eyes and slanting yards, their billowy sails, spread to the soft south wind or hanging limp against the mast or draped in wonderful folds to dry. The morning light only strengthened our pleasing impres- sions. From a market-boat at an adjacent quay, marched a long procession of women with baskets on their heads. In the distance appeared a sailing vessel, her shining can- vas turned to silver in the glowing sun. A forest of masts and funnels extended on either side of my vantage post; but my particular interest lay in the doings of the fasci- nating port shut in by the Molo San Carlo and the more prosaically named Number Four. One boat was loading telegraph poles, one large stone slabs, several had a pen- chant for bricks, and even sand was not disdained. Two men were carrying hand-barrows of sand from the ship's hold to a pile some twenty feet away. I wondered why they did not put it at once into the queer-shaped wicker wagons, which stood near, waiting to receive it; but I suppose that belongs to another class of labor! The waiting oxen, crouched in quiet contemplation of this busy scene, reminded me of their appearance in the criches or presepi, those rep- resentations of the Nativity so dear to the hearts of Italy. CARdo-HO.VrS KROM CHIOC.C^.IA CANAL cmANDE, TRIES IK PLANS AND PRELIMINARIES A gray coasting steamer with a beautiful green water- line poked its sharp nose deftly between the larger craft in the crowded waters, and ran alertly alongside the quay, bear- ing an interesting group of humanity. " It must be mar- ket day," I thought, and seizing my kodak, I plunged into the busy throng. It was market day, and the market was beside a wonderful canal lined with gayly painted ships. The heaps of oranges and lemons repeated the colors of the sails, and country folk in full short skirts, with shawl and knitted scarf, completed the picture. A trio of brilliantly costumed men flashed by me from the quay. ' * Dalmatians ! ' ' I heard, as I turned to follow them. They looked so big and fierce that I dared not "snap" them openly. Their wide leathern belts were stuffed with what seemed to be weapons of war; I say "seemed to be," for I afterwards learned that those vast and commodious pouches were not allowed to carry anything more dangerous than smoking utensils. Certainly to the superficial observer the array was no less intimidating. A quaint old lady stepped into the market-place looking as if she had come out of a picture frame. Her dark blue skirt had no gores taken from its gathered fulness, her black velvet cape was trimmed with a deep netted fringe, over which was draped a black necker- chief brocaded with green flowers, and on her head she wore a black kerchief whose large magenta peonies outshone the blossoms of every booth. I started to follow her when — "Do you realize that it is breakfast time?" asked a familiar voice at my elbow; "and that we are going to see Trieste to-day, — and Miramar?" 23 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS Of course wc climbed up the steep, none-too-sweet- smelling streets of the old city to the "Arco di Ricardo," whose huge blocks of stone told its Roman origin. "Why Ricardo?" asked the tireless seeker after infor- mation. "After Richard Coeur de Lion, who, according to tradition, was imprisoned here on his return from Pales- tine." I always accept traditions absolutely, — it makes his- tory so much more interesting and the personages seem so much more like real people. So it was easy to imagine that picturesque hero of mediaeval history languishing behind barred and narrow windows, catching an occasional glimpse of the blue Adriatic which half in playfulness one night had cast him away upon Lacroma's rocks. What an impression his personality must have made upon these people that they rededicated to him this half-hidden remnant of a Roman triumphal arch! There are museums in Trieste containing antiquities and modern treasures, but the chief charm of the city lies in her out-of-doors, and here we wandered through narrow lanes and stone-paved courts, by busy streets and sunny squares, watching the people at their work and play. We climbed the steep paved way to the cathedral at the castle walls. The present church was evolved in the fourteenth century by combining three sixth century edifices built on the site of a Roman temple. The tombstones in the fagade, and also some of the inscriptions in the squatty belfry, were exceedingly curious. From the terrace the view over the 24 PLANS AND PRELIMINARIES city and the sea, through flowering peach orchards, was enchanting in color and outHne. About five miles to the northwest of Trieste, close to the sea, is the royal Chateau of Miramar, situated in a beau- tiful park which is freely thrown open to the public. Im- agine a garden of flowers and vines and shrubs ; of fountains and pools and pergolas; of trees and hedges; of stone benches and statuary, — but no grass. It is wonderfully beautiful. At the time of our visit the wistaria was just ready to blossom, and when its purple tassels fall through the open lattice of the encircling arbors the effect must be magical. The laurustinus starred the copses, the genista was beginning to shine in yellow glory. Hyacinths and for- get-me-nots, tulips, jonquils, and calceolarias in the box- edged formal garden were brilliant and effective. Black swans swimming lazily back and forth in this cool retreat begged us for tidbits. On a small esplanade half-way up the cliff, four or five baby cannon pointed seaward, and beneath the pines the view was exquisite, either towards the castle or over the blue Adriatic. I thought of Maximilian and his pleasure in making this splendid estate from the stony hillside. I wondered whether in the stormy stress of his life in the new world his heart did not sometimes ache with longing for the quiet of this beautiful home; and a picture of the desolate field at Queretaro, where he was shot, came forcibly to my mind. In turning away, I almost touched a little bird which looked up fearlessly, and, in no way disturbed by our pres- 25 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS ence or our movements, hopped unconcernedly about with a touching trustfulness in the human being which spoke volumes for the constant stream of visitors drifting through this royal domain. This beautiful confidence was the more noticeable in contrast with Italy, where every bird, big or little, is so much " game " for the ardent sportsman. 26 CHAPTER IT TRIESTE TO ABBAZIA "\X7E had looked forward to Trieste as the place where we could doubtless obtain definite information in regard to the roads and conveniences of motor travelling in Dalma- tia. Here at its door we should probably find better maps, more guide-books, and possibly some friendly soul who had made the trip. We did learn that there were about twenty- five automobiles owned in the city and that within the last fortnight four motor cars had preceded us into Dalmatia. This was encouraging. Perhaps, however, it might as well be stated here that we never saw any of these adventurous tourists in all our wanderings, and heard of only one of them that penetrated as far south as Zelenika. Here, after one glance at the " ferry " across the Bocche di Cattaro, he shipped his car back to Trieste by steamer and took the next boat himself. Trieste is so purely a seaport, that she seems to scorn any acquaintance with inland communication, and no road maps of any kind of Istria or Croatia, of Dalmatia or Montenegro, of the Herzegovina or Bosnia were to be found. Doubtless this will be remedied as the demand increases; for the western Balkan Provinces are sure to become, in the near future, the happy hunting grounds of the motorist. But at the bookshops, the bankers', the hotels, they looked upon us at this time as half-demented folk to attempt a tour in Dalmatia 27 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS by automobile instead of keeping to the well-known and tried means of locomotion — the steam-boat. It had been the secretly cherished desire of our Leader to preface our Dalmatian joumeyings with a bit of the old peninsula of Istria. Could anything be more beguiling than the descriptions of Pirano surrounded by olive groves above the bay, or Capodistria's cathedral and Palazzo Pubblico; or Parenzo with its sixth century church, or Rovigno with its high-lying campanile, and above all Pola, with its famous Amphitheatre and Roman Temple '' erected in B. C. 19, its frieze still in excellent preservation " ! But upon this jour- ney authorities were unanimously agreed. "By steamer if you will, by rail if you must, but not by automobile. The roads are so dreadful that most motorists have turned back." Mud and stones, narrow ways and steep heights, short turns and frightened peasantry, — everything bad and nothing good was said of it! While not believing all this we re- luctantly decided, in view of the long journey before us, to leave this somewhat uncertain expedition until another time. " Suppose we stop at Abbazia for a few days before plunging into the darkness of Dalmatia?" quizzically asked the Leader, knowing that a comfortable hotel between the mountains and the sea delighted the heart of his companion. 'Tt is but a short detour from our road." "With a garden, too, the guide-book says," she added joyously. So leaving the gay city of Trieste, we climbed the heights above it, enjoying delightful views over Muggia and Istria and the deep blue bays of the Adriatic. Up and down the 28 TRIESTE TO ABBAZIA rolling surface of the high plateau we bowled, and at each new mountain range one of us would exclaim: ''Is that Dalmatia?" But a negative nod was all that we received from the figure on the front seat busily engaged in watching the new roads and changing scenes. Women in groups were walking briskly along the highway, a huge basket of market- ing lightly poised on each sleek head, big milk cans slung over their shoulders, and a broad smile of sympathetic enjoyment on their heavy features as they slowly turned and watched us. "What have they in their hands?" asked Madame Content. "Every one has the same thing." "It is an olive branch," answered the Enthusiast quietly. "To-morrow is Palm Sunday." What a desolate country! Only an occasional farm- house, or here and there a copse of pines breaks the monotony of the rock-covered plain. On our left the Gran Kapella range of Croatian mountains are covered with snow; but here there is no sign of water, neither river, brook, nor well, except an occasional muddy reservoir by the side of the road. Dotted among the rocks, at irregular intervals, are curious crater-like pits of varying sizes, into which the rain has washed the alluvial soil; and wherever these moist hollows occur the grass grows vividly green, in sharp relief to the dreary grayness of the landscape. These oases in the desert are the only possible places where crops can be raised. Later on, the road climbs high hills and winds through small hamlets whose names are generally conspicuously posted in two languages. At Castelnuovo there is actually 29 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS an inn, — "Narodni Dom." We note it carefully in case of accident and here we first see some of the pretty native cos- tumes. A sky-blue, knee-length full skirt trimmed with a broad white band, white blouse and stockings, sandals, a red cap, and fichu form a combination both patriotic and gay! The names of the villages become more Slavic, — Hrusica, Racice, Pasjak, and before we reach Pasjak, just below the top of the pass a gorgeous panorama unfolds itself of moun- tains and islands and sea. Did Theodoric, king of the Ostrogoths, look down from this height, when with an army of two hundred thousand men, their families and goods, he marched from Moesia for the conquest of Italy in 489 A. D. ? Was it across this very region that in the sixth century the Lombards swept when led by Alboin they poured down mur- derous hordes over the cliffs upon the Roman city of Ter- geste? Surely over that snowy mountain range the Slavs and Avars advanced in that singular "wandering of the tribes" of the seventh century. But my thoughts were brought back to the present with a jerk, — for, turning a sudden corner, we met a mail-carrier's cart. His horse plunged and snorted with terror at sight of our car. Of course we stopped and the men rushed to the rescue, but by this time the horse had jumped over the stone wall and was drawn back on his haunches by the cart which remained partially in the road. Fortunately the post-man held onto the reins with all his might and in time the terrified animal was pacified. We looked at one another in dismay and wondered whether all the horses in Dalmatia were going to behave like this one! 30 A xAinr: oi' ariu-; at aubazia THE water liUCKET OF THESE SEAVIC C<)UXTKH':S TRIESTE TO ABBAZIA Over the summit of the pass we bowled and at Sapjane coasted down again ; but a short distance beyond began an- other pass. In the fifteenth century when the Venetians and Counts of Gorizia attempted to divert the commerce of the interior to their own ports of Muggia and Pirano, the Triestini rose in their wrath and fortified these very passes in a struggle to keep by force their commercial privileges. Now the road is maintained in good condition for artillery and leads through forests of young oaks into Croatia. A girl, with a mountain basket on her back, passed us. Then a group of women in native costumes. This time the skirts were black with a red band and short enough to show the white skirts below; the black sleeveless jacket trimmed with red opened over a white blouse made with full sleeves. The whole had a charming effect. Near Spincici, sixty-eight kilometers from Trieste, we stopped again for the view. Far below us, the rock-girt island of Cherso extended its narrow length; to the right the houses of Abbazia lay white against the sea; and Monte Maggiore, its summit tipped with snow, rose in graceful long lines, — seeming to hold the little village in its protecting arms. The coast beyond jutted into the water in a series of projecting points, small islands detached themselves in the scattering haze, and in the Canale di Farasina a ship under full sail cast exquisite reflections on the glassy sea. At Castua we left the highway, which went on to Fiume, and began the descent to Abbazia. The island of Veglia came in sight as we passed the extensive stone quarries of Preluka. Then we wound down bend after bend of the stony road, 31 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS very narrow and very steep. At short distances diagonal gullies were placed to carry off the water. Later we were to learn that this senseless and very uncomfortable arrangement is a favorite method with Croatian roadmakers. The hill- sides were clothed with pine forests and in sheltered corners peach-trees were bursting into blossom. As we swung into the long street of Abbazia, the horse chestnuts lining it tossed flowery bells upon us, and the sails of the fishing boats in the harbor nodded a bright welcome. How beautiful! What richness of coloring! What pictures at every turn ! So this is Abbazia! There is a charming shore walk built against the crags and sheltered by twisted pines leading to Icici and Ika, which tempted us forth that day after the showers. The Croatian Alps loomed mysteriously out of the early twi- light, and far in the distance, faintly outlined in the gray, rose the rocky islets of the Dalmatian coast. How fear- less the birds were! The Italian storno whose acquaint- ance I had made in a villa near Rome sang his sweet song close by us, and my Miramar jewel fluttered down from the tangle to pick up a tidbit in the path. Another day we took a walk up into the hills, where all the paths are marked in different colors, with guide-posts at the puzzling corners and distances measured by time! "Zu den Kaiser Franz Josef's Anlagen, 5 min." On the Jurasevo Ulica the blue lobelia and the low pinkish mint pushed their bright flowers from under the thick barberry bushes, big chestnuts towered above the evergreen laurel, the elms on the southern slope of the hill were painting it a 32 TRIESTE TO ABBAZIA delicate green, the spiky smilax looked delicate and sensitive until you touched its sharp and unyielding leaves. And by the way, this plant does make the finest, most picturesque brooms, quite as effective as our own more conventional pat- tern. The method is so simple, too. Tie the bush on the end of a pole and, behold! it is ready for use. "These paths are well made," commented the Enthusi- ast. "Even after the heavy rains of last night they are per- fectly dry." About five feet wide, of fine, well-packed gravel, they wind by easy grades along the flowery hillsides and at each new viewpoint a comfortable bench invites to rest. "Look at those peasants coming up the hill," cried the Enthusiast a moment later; " they are really in costume. Do you suppose they would care if I kodaked them?" "The poor things! " exclaimed Madame Content. " Can it be coal they are carrying on their backs?" Coal it was, in cumbersome flat wooden barrels, strapped on their backs! And these women, their skirts tucked up, were actually laughing and chatting as they mounted the steep ascent, bent nearly double beneath their loads. To such an extent can habit harden one ! On the promenade of this fashionable watering place, a portly peasant attracted much attention by her orange stock- ings thrown into strong relief by her full, dark blue skirt reaching barely to the knee. The pale blue, tight-fitting basque came down six inches below her waist, making a frill over the hips, — thus accentuating their already dispropor- tionate size ; around her neck lay a wide frill of white netting, and her head was covered with a scarlet turban, one end of 33 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS which hung in a flat wide sash to her waist. She was truly a gorgeous sight and the fashion plates paled before her. About five miles beyond Abbazia is another winter resort, Lovrana, — less fashionable, perhaps, than her frivolous neighbor but with pretty villas by the sea and charming walks on the hillsides. Her tiny harbor was alive with color and movement. The sails swayed in the gentle breezes and the fishermen seemed to have leisure to spin endless yarns as they sat on the sand and mended their brown nets. We fol- lowed a band of wandering musicians to watch the street children dance in an abandon of joyous passion to the deep notes of an old trombone. In this diversion, at least, all nations join in sympathy and racial difficulties are momen- tarily forgotten. I think it must have been a native from the island of Arbe whom we met one morning walking rapidly down the main street in Abbazia, carrying somebody's carefully pre- pared dinner. Her long, red-figured apron trimmed with white lace almost covered her dark skirt and reached just below her knee. Black shoes and stockings protected her liberal proportions, and her bright blue figured basque, with tight-fitting sleeves, added the proper amount of color to her costume. She had chosen a black velvet fringed kerchief for her head, with but a narrow border of those gay brocaded flowers so dear to the heart of the mountaineer. How soft, yet brilliant were her large dark eyes! With what splendid freedom she walked! Truly one sacrifices something to be civilized ! Perhaps it was this train of thought which prompted the 34 TRIESTE TO ABBAZIA Gentle Lady, one cloudy morning, to exclaim unexpectedly, "I am terribly tired of 'Tag'-ing people!" We laughed, but we sympathized with her; — for there did seem, to our Western ideas, a plethora of politeness. The elevator boy takes off his cap and makes an elaborate bow when we arrive at our floor, breaking into '^Guten Tag,^' no matter how many times a day we ride up and down. A maid disappear- ing around a corner in the corridor docs not forget to send an explosive '^Guten Tag'^ echoing down the long expanse. The waiter who passes you, the porter busy at his desk, the errand boy at his manifold duties, never fails to ^'Guten Tag.'" It is all very well if we might accept and ignore it, but this is impossible. It would be the height of rudeness not to respond. Fortunately a plain '* Tag^^ uttered explo- sively satisfies the demands of etiquette, and if on; enter- ing or leaving a shop, I forget the magic formula, a gentle poke from Madame Content never fails to bring it forth. "What a queer-shaped under part that desk chair has!" the Enthusiast exclaimed casually one day, as from the sofa where she was lounging she contemplated the Gentle Lady, busy at her diary. "Yes?" remarked the latter absently. "What do you suppose it is for?" continued the Persis- tent One. "See — that other one at the dressing table is just Hke it! Why, they're all alike! Perhaps they were made that way to kneel upon if used for a church service." The Enthusiast was thinking aloud. "They hardly project enough for that," remarked the Gentle Lady, turning around to inspect hers more closely. 35 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS ''Well, perhaps they were meant for foot-rests if the floor is draughty. They are certainly not pretty. They look just like bootjacks." ''Bootjacks! Of course." The Gentle Lady was by this time fully interested. "That is just what they are. I used to find those queer mediaeval articles in my room in Germany, I remember." "Why, yes, they must be for the army officers who all wear boots. It is quite a sensible idea to have every chair a bootjack!" "Do you suppose we shall ever have to order our break- fast in Slavic?" asked the Enthusiast anxiously. "It's pretty long." "How does it sound ?" quizzically demanded the Leader. " Rather odd. Of course I make it as simple as possible. ' Coffee with milk, bread and butter, one egg boiled four minutes. Kafa sa miljeko, hljeb i maslo, jedan jaje rovita cetiri niinut.^ " I finished amid peals of laughter and the commiserating glances of my companions. "I do hope you will have a chance to use that carefully prepared sentence," encouraged the Leader, "but I would not waste time learning any more." "Oh, just one more," insisted the Enthusiast. "I feel sure I may want to ask the name of a village or a flower some- where, and really it 's such a neat phrase. ' Kako se zove ova selo?' Say it fast and it sounds quite Italian except the first word." We are amused, now, when we think of our elaborate 36 TRIESTE TO ABBAZIA preparations, our forebodings, our doubts and our fears. I must confess that these were confined to the feminine camp, — the other side was far too sensible for misgivings, and only filled with pleasurable expectation in contemplating our journey into the wilds of Dalmatia. 37 CHAPTER III ABBAZIA TO ZENGG TT was at Abbazia that we bade a long farewell to our big trunks and sent them to await us in Vienna. For thenceforth the baggage of our entire party was to be limited to such as we could stow away on the automobile. Our car was of 28/32 H. P. with a double phaeton body and a Cape cart hood and carried ninety litres of gasoline in the tank with two extra tins of twelve litres each strapped on the side. In Trieste the Leader had made arrangements to have tires forwarded by parcel-post to any point on re- ceipt of a telegram, so we took only three extra ones with us. Two good-sized trunks were strapped on behind, the hat- box slipped within the tires, and the night things packed in a huge sack which was placed in the tonneau. Dressed in cloth suits and waterproofs we started off amid discouraging reports about roads, after heavy rains, but with immense determination and a large stock of enthu- siasm. How lovely was the view back over Abbazia, the bay and the islands streaked with sunlight as we climbed the hill that windy morning on the first stage of our journey toward Dalmatia! The air was mild; but the roads, sticky after the rains, degenerated into deep holes at Fiume. Bumping and splashing through seas of mud and water, sometimes in dangerous proximity to great vans loaded with coal or stone or hogsheads of wine, we labored 38 ABBAZIA TO ZENGG by the wharves and soon rolled smoothly over the pavement of stone slabs before the government building and park. A ruined castle on a height beyond Fiume presented an effec- tive picture, but we were looking, more or less openly, for guide-posts. Oh! in the distance one is seen. We apn proach : ''UDragU4K." We search the maps in vain for "Dragu" or any similar name; perhaps it is too small a place to be mentioned, perhaps it has another name entirely in Hungarian, for no two words could be more dissimilar than Fiume and Rjeka, — yet they are one and the same city. This diffi- culty of having at least two distinct names for each town, we soon discovered, was universal in this Balkan region. The only way is to know them both. "We have seen, now, the one seaport of Hungary,'* remarked the Leader, " and should soon be in Croatia." Even as he spoke we crossed the ravine where flows the stream which has always been the boundary of the Croatian kingdom. Passing under the railroad which connects Fiume with Agram, we climb a steep grade, thankful that the road is dry. The lilacs are budding, and the April morning seems •"^uite like our own springtime. Another guide-post, but this time without a directing finger! "USasakaK." As this is a suburb of Fiume, " u " evidently means ''to." We mount a fearful grade and go down one equally vertical into Draga. The hawthorn hedges are in blossom and in 39 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS this sheltered valley vines are trained on the sunny slopes. The road resembles nothing so much as a scenic railway with its steep ups and downs. There is no attempt at grad- ing but the track is fairly worn. Fruit-trees are in blossom, plums and almonds, cherries and peaches. A little chap herding sheep by the wayside, terrified at sight of us, forgets his precious charges and rushes into a cave to hide his face until we have passed. Near ''U Bakar 3 K." we stop for the lovely view over the Bay of Buccari. It is like an inland sea, surrounded by high hills cultivated in terraces to the top, amidst which nestle the clustered houses of Meja and Dol- mali. A steamer with rippling wake slips noiselessly toward the town of Bakar, or Baccari, which, crowned by its church spire, rises in soft rose tints from the water's edge. At the foot of the long descent the Hotel Jadran on the quay seems so neat and inviting that we are tempted to alight. Indeed, the whole town is conspicuously well-kept and we look back across the water many times to its attractive situation upon the sheltering slopes. ''Kraljevica" says the next guide-post, but our maps scorn these high-sounding syllables. A small boy by the roadside points straight ahead in response to our raised eye- brows and gesticulations; but an approaching teamster differs from him and insists on the other cross-road. They speak only Croatian, but their meaning is unmistakable, and we discover, later on, that both are right, as the two roads soon become one. On a commanding point where the Bay of Buccari joins the sea, stands a square mediaeval castle built by the Frangi- 40 THE IKITEI. XV CRKNENTCA ABBAZIA TO ZENGG pani. Porto Re is the name of the settlement and so well protected is its harbor that Napoleon had intended to estab- lish an arsenal here. Now, however, the castle has been modernized, painted yellow, and is used by the Society of Jesuits. High above it we obtain a splendid panorama of blue mountains above azure water. The roads arc dry and hard and in due time we come to Kraljevica, a common- place collection of scattered houses. Continuing our journey, the canal of Maltempo, separat- ing the rocky gray plateau of the island of Veglia from the mainland, soon appears below us, and, beyond, fjord-Hke basins ghsten, ships look like toys upon the water, and the guide-posts begin to be marked "Crkvenica." Past Suriki and Smokovo and Klanfari we descend, midst fruit and grain farms, pastures and olive groves, down and ever down toward the rippling sea. It is nearly noon when we stop before the big Therapia Palace Hotel on the outskirt of Crkvenica. Here it is really warm. The sun pours down upon the long pier, the bath houses, the avenue of kiri-trees along the beach, the music pavilion, and the newly laid out gardens of the hotel. Although this is a favorite resort of the Croatians, there were not many people in the house. We had an excellent luncheon and were interested in noting the difference in customs between this and other lands. For instance, it looked a trifle odd to us, — provincial as we are, perhaps, — to see prim, elderly, very proper-looking ladies enjoying their after-dinner cigarette ; even the clergyman's wife join- ing them, quite unconscious of the commotion she was 41 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS creating in the minds of those "singular Americans." From beneath the lowered awnings, we looked upon the fishing- smacks drifting lazily on the wide Morlacca, a scattering village outlining the near shore, and a passing steamer going across to Veglia. It was all very quiet and restful. Three hours can do wonders for tired senses and we renewed our journey with zest. "Gasoline? Why certainly, — up the Vinodol. I will go with you," the porter insisted, " and show you the way." What a charming little valley we ran into, this one of Vinodol! A dancing stream, a rustic bridge, overhanging oaks, young elms in winged blossom, and people so gay, so friendly! Imagine women being gay when carrying baskets of rocks from a quarry to a wagon! Imagine being on good terms with hfe on thirty-two cents a day! Imagine women who really seem to enjoy the making of roads! One balanced a heavy table on her head as she climbed the hill. A tiny child of five running beside her already had her bun- dle strapped upon her back, in imitation of her elders. Here at the mill where we bought the gasoline, we found that the overseer had been in America; he had worked in the mines of West Virginia and Pennsylvania, he said. Now he was home again, very much looked up to, evidently, as a travelled personage. Returning to the village of Crkvenica, we paused to see the picturesque water front. The stone embankment with its many iron rings for mooring was a dehght to watch. Row-boats and sail-boats, fishing-boats and market-boats, 42 ABBAZIA TO ZENGG ferry-boats and even an occasional steam-boat, made enough color to run the gamut of the spectroscope. Speeding onwards over an ancient five-arched bridge, past a castle of the Frangipani, we catch wonderful effects of light as the sun touches the sea, the valley, and the moun- tain peaks with slender, swiftly moving fingers. Our route follows the water, although high above it, and we look down on fishermen in small boats and on shore, drawing in a huge seine with its wooden floats. Is it tunny fishing? They pause to look up with flashing smiles as we fly by. We climb by a steep ascent over a neck of land, and on the other side, far below us, appears the tiny harbor of Novi. How favor- ably this ravishing drive compares with the famous Cornice ! Opalescent mountains reflect the scurrying clouds. At their base lies the town of Novi in shades of mellow brown, roofs and walls one blended whole; — an occasional blue or green door, delicately distinct, only emphasizing the general tone. Up from the water's edge, in long flights of steps, rise all the city streets. The women rub their eyes and blink in startled wonder as we sweep by them. The road is firm and dry, if somewhat narrow, and it is remarkable that not a wagon have we passed to-day. But what need of wagons or animals to draw them when the women are such beasts of burden? We meet one ''happy pair," — she staggering under an enormous load of fagots, he carrying the axe ! Still following the convolutions of the coast, we climb to the Karst again. The Karst has been defined as " a coun- try covered with loose splintered rocks which the land 'grows' faster than they can be picked off it, although the 43 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS great heaps that divide field from field cover more ground than they leave exposed for cultivation." How precious one square mile of this dreary waste would be, transported to the stoneless prairies of America where the occasional gravel pit proves a gold-mine to its discoverer and the only road-dressing procurable is from the banks of streams and lakes! However, in Croatia the Karst fails to be appreciated — there is too much of it. Between barren boulders the sheep search industriously for food; a bit of genista hangs out its yellow banner from beneath a projecting crag; there is not a tree in sight, — only sage-brush and the endless ruin of the jagged rocks. Suddenly below us shines a deep inlet of the sea, and as we cross the promontory we pause on the ridge to enjoy the backward view. Dark clouds are rushing over the sky, casting weird shadows upon dancing water and cas- tellated islands. Before us, wandering up the bare gray mountain side, our road appears, a narrow dust-colored line. Crossing this last barrier we come upon signs of habita- tion, green almond-trees grow on the southern terraces, young calves, nibbling at an invisible herbage, surround our car in dazed fearlessness. A platform near the road is pro- tected on the two sides whence blows the Bora by high stone walls and in the centre bears that great blessing of the Orient, a deep cool well. We are nearing Senj, Segna, or Zengg, now, and soon catch sight of it through the falling mist. "And the pirates?" demands the Enthusiast, for the surroundings are so very propitious and the former inhabi- tants so notorious. "Do you see any?" 44 ABBAZIA TO ZENGG "Oh! there's no danger here," quoth the Leader. "Those red-capped groups in the harbor are only innocent fishermen about their daily toil." We peered anxiously from beneath the curtains as we thundered through the mediaeval gateway and dashed across the square to a neat-looking building marked Hotel Zagreb. "But our hotel is the Agram," ventured the Enthusiast. "Well, Zagreb is Croatian for Agram." And my wonder was increased, for the hundredth time, as to how it was pos- sible for the early geographers to evolve the names they did from the native words. A cheery landlady came from the tiny box of a kitchen in the centre of the house and led us up two flights of steep and shining stairs. With conscious pride, throwing open the door of a spotless chamber, she preceded us to open a small compartment in the double windows and to watch our faces when, our veils being removed, the full splendor of her best apartment should burst upon us. For although we had sent no word it was evident that some one was ex- pected. The immaculate sheets were turned half-way down the bed, over tufted satin quilts; the rufiled and embroidered pillow cases glistened; a vase of bright arti- ficial flowers ornamented the columnar stove in the corner; and Dresden shepherdesses looked coyly down at more ordi- nary bric-a-brac upon the whatnot. A gracefully shaped glass pitcher stood in the porcelain-lined tin bowl on the washstand and plenty of fresh towels were brought. Only the landlady herself seemed to understand German, so all orders were given through her. With the big-eyed Croatian 45 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS maiden we found gesticulations ample and sufficient. After all, our needs were few — something to eat and a clean bed. It did not seem exacting. We wandered out to the quay through the narrow wind- ing streets and from the pier looked back beyond the ware- houses to the Nahaj Castle on the hill — a likely place indeed for a pirate band ; but we saw nothing piratical on the slum- bering sunlit shore, or even in the tortuous streets of the tiny town. A quiet good-nature seemed to prevail and every- where we were sped on our way with the greeting, ^'Kiiss die Hand.^^ 46 CHAPTER IV ZENGG TO GOSPIC — OVER THE VRATNIK PASS TJERY early the next morning our party is perforce awake for there are no shades or curtains or bhnds to shut out the brilliant light. Already the city is astir, and at the foun- tain in the public square a girl is filling her wooden tub. How is she going to carry it away? To my amazement she lifts it lightly to her head, balances it deftly, and walks up the hill without spilling a drop. Before our breakfast is ready she is back again and as she trips along with a peculiar lilt- ing motion the water dances in little pointed wavelets in the tub but it never dances out. Boys, great and small, many of them wearing the Croatian cap, crowd around the automobile intensely interested in every detail ; but with a politeness of demeanor that reassures us. We are susceptible to each new impression this morning and an unwonted air of excitement seems to pervade our party, for to-day we are to enter the promised land ; — to-day we are to try strange routes and cross the mountain passes of Vratnik and Mali Halan. What knowledge we have been able to acquire is so meagre, so contradictory, that it really is with a thrill of prospective adventure that we leave our friendly Hotel Zagreb and set out at last for Dalmatia. There is a coast road as far as Carlopago, thence to Gospic ; but being assured that the better route lies straight inland we leave the sea and start up the valley where the blue hills overlap. On the southern slope the trees are 47 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS already tinged with green and the sun shines in brilHant patches from a wind-swept sky. It is indeed a day for adventures. Should one of the Frangipani, who were masters of this territory in the thir- teenth century, appear, surrounded by his body-guard, to demand toll from this new invasion, it would not sur- prise us. Or should the Uscocs dart from any one of the many convenient ambushes, it would seem quite natural and fitting. The original Uscocs were honest men when driven by the Turks from Bulgaria, Servia, and Bosnia to find refuge, first in Clissa, and then in Zengg under the protection of Ferdi- nand of Austria. Here, at first, they made an ideal frontier guard against the Turks; but after being checked in that direction they turned their attention to the sea, degenerating into lawless marauders, attracting to their number ad- venturers and outlaws, from all nations and "becoming the terror of Christian and Moslem ahke." After unheard-of atrocities culminating in a three years' war between Venice and Austria, in 1618 the Uscocs were dispersed and Zengg occupied by German troops; but the pirate tales of bar- baric bloodshed, of hideous crimes for gain, still create a background of darkness and gloom which enfolds the harbor of Zengg and its overhanging rugged heights. Up these heights we crawl slowly for an unexpected detail delays us ; — the sharp stones of the road are well worn down in two fairly smooth ruts and we might mount the somewhat steep incline with ease were it not for the cassis, or bumps, which at every forty feet or so force us to slow down or break a spring. We might almost as well ride in the dry 48 ZENGG TO GOSPIC bed of the torrent, so faithfully do we follow its capricious bends. Beside us a whitewashed chapel lifts its tiny belfry above the wooden crosses at its feet. Up and up we go by long windings on the mountain side until at length, far above us, we see a cleft in the crags. ''That," says the Leader, pointing to it, "is where our road goes through and over. The many white pyramids of stones which dot the mountain between us and that cleft show where the route lies, and are ready for repairing it." Below us the inlets of the sea lie like crater lakes among the peaks. Although we have passed the last straggling pines and firs, we still hear bird songs above the hum of the machinery and catch occasional glimpses of the happy song- sters. "Bransevina" we read on a sign-post and look down sheer two thousand feet to where the islands seem cut in ivory out of the blue water. Even far-away Cherso comes into view and then — Suddenly a loaded wagon drawn by two horses appears on the road ahead of us. Poor things! How frightened they are ! And the teamster — how he trembles — how his teeth chatter! The predicament is not a pleasant one for either party, as there is no parapet to the road and the dis- tance down that precipice is many hundred feet. We in- stantly stop on the outside and the chauffeur talks soothingly to the horses and rubs their noses until they consent to be led by the evidently harmless although terrifying monster. The man is grateful and smiles pleasantly as he pursues his down- ward course and we hope fervently that we may not meet many vehicles on this narrow pass. 4Q MOTORING IN THE BALKANS Soon after, we stop at a wayside spring for the marvellous view below us. Beyond the heights of Veglia the island of Arbe rises like a shimmering opal out of the turquoise sea. The play of color on her shining cliffs changes with each dimpHng cloud. So unearthly is the vision it seems floating in ether and I half expect anything so lovely must soon vanish when — I hear a sharp click beside me and the motor continues its climb. "This is the top of the Vratnik Pass [2326 feet]," re- marks the Leader, as we slip through that cleft in the crags and turn away from the shimmering sea. "We have taken fifty-nine minutes to climb fifteen kilometers. At this rate we will have to make other arrangements for the night." The road is very muddy from recent rains, the bumps are farther apart now for we are on a high plateau, a culti- vated open country with wooded hills rising on either side. Cattle scramble up the steep inclines like goats to get out of our way, palisade-like fences take the place of stone walls, snow Hes by the roadside. "Vratniku 25 K. Otocac," says a guide-post, and we feel encouraged, for Otocac is our first halt. A walled-in well and a few scattered adobe huts consti- tute this settlement of Vratniku. The huts are shingled with five or six rows of long "shakes" and in lieu of a chim- ney have a pointed board placed at a slight angle from a hole in the roof. Neatly piled stacks of white birch-wood stand beside each door. We soon discover that this primitive shelter is the characteristic Croatian farmhouse, differing only in proportions. 50 ZENGG TO GOSPIC "22 u Otocac" — and three horses abreast stand stiff with horror before the advancing monstrosity. Again we stop and the chauffeur quiets the frightened beasts. The language is totally unknown to them but the tones are sooth- ing and comforting so they consent to be led by, and the strain is less intense since this time we are not on the ragged edge of a precipice. The wild hellebore grows rank among the stones, a hawk circles overhead, gayly marked small birds fly from the corniolo^s yellow blossom, and prim- roses peep from beneath a tangle of dried clematis. "Zatalowka," but the tiny hamlet is soon passed. We are on the great plateau of the Velebit and the road is drier in places. Men in picturesque costumes consisting of blue sleeveless coat, white woollen stockings drawn over the trousers to the knee, and gaiters above the string sandal, or opanka, pass us; on their heads is the inevitable red Croatian cap and they carry a flat bag woven of horsehair with red fringe. A tumble-down chaise appears and the horses threaten to smash it in their struggles to get away from us ; but noth- ing really happens. I will omit our further experiences with horses on this one day. There seems to be a certain monotony in the teUing of them, which, however, did not pertain to the reality! At the time there were always ele- ments of danger; but we successfully emerged from every one of our ten encounters. Cisasitch is passed, and here a road leads to Dabar; but there is no mistaking our own route carefully marked with guide-posts from the top of the Vratnik Pass. 51 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS Near Kompolje our exhaust has to be cleaned from the accumulated mud, and I welcome every stop, as there is always so much to see. Here the houses resemble Swiss chalets. From over the high-railed wooden balconies the mountaineers peer at us, reserved yet friendly, and seem less suspicious than the inhabitants of the coast. Eager to test their hospitality, we go toward one of the simple dwellings, and as we approach every head disappears from the balcony, whether in dislike of my kodak or fear of ourselves, we cannot tell; but after a moment's delay the mystery is solved, for all the family have rushed down to open the door and welcome us. They stand in a huddled group, looking at us curiously, but not quite certain what to do. With the one word ^'voda^^ (water), uttered in an ap- pealing tone and with a gesture of drinking, we throw our- selves upon their mercy. Their self-consciousness vanishes in flashing smiles, and the youngest runs inside while the older ones motion us to enter. An unmistakable odor of onions and soup rushes out through the half-opened doorway. "We are so bundled up," the Gentle Lady explains; — "will they pardon us for not accepting their invitation?" I stare in amazement at the variety and lucidity of her gestures. When the girl returns with two cups of water all formality disappears. How good it tastes! How pleased they seem to be at our delight! They finger frankly our strange gar- ments; my pongee mackintosh especially amuses them, and the one who discovers the rubber lining has to exhibit it to each in turn. They talk all the time, and we do the same, 52 ZENGG TO GOSPIC each in his own tongue; the tone, the inflection, the expres- sion, are even more teUing than language. By the time the Leader calls us, we have become good friends, and bid these kindly creatures a half-regretful '' Au revoir." Once more we surmount a forest-covered ridge, and from the top we see Otocac in the distance. It is nearly eleven as we stop at the "Oest Automobil Club Auto-Benzin und Oel Station" for supplies, and are immediately surrounded by a crowd in holiday attire. *'0h, do take the kodak and go across the street," I beg the Leader, who, busy about his gasoline, looks up a bit annoyed. But one glance at the picture is enough for him, and he obediently seizes the kodak and crosses the broad street. *'If it would only take color!" I cry as he returns. "Do see this beautiful man at my side." By this time we speak our minds quite freely and aloud, for English is a tongue unknown in the interior of Croatia. The "beau- tiful man" is meanwhile devouring with his big eyes every detail of the mud-bespattered car. " Is n't that white knit jacket becoming ? And do you see each one has a different colored border and cuffs ? Are n't the brass-studded belts effective? And did you ever see such long pipes?" The women wear big black silk aprons trimmed with white lace and carry the gayest of tasselled bags, large enough for panniers on a donkey's back. From the neat-looking inn across the way, from the feed store and the low houses, come slowly a gathering throng, who, — making the henzin seller their interpreter, — ask 53 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS intelligent questions of our Leader as to our nationality, the distance made to-day, and our destination. The word "America" always brings a glance of pleased recognition. Is it not the dream of many a boy to some day visit that wonderful country and, of course, bring home a fortune? Scarcely a hamlet is so small that it has not sent at least one representative to the New World. So as we leave Otocac the people speed us upon our way with pleasant nods and smiles of friendly sympathy. "That is the road to the Plitvica Lakes," calls back the Leader, as we pass a post which says " u Priboj." "If it were later in the season, we would go over there from here, but as they lie two thousand feet above the sea, I am afraid it would be too cold just now." As we cross a tiny stream, we meet a cart, whose owner, fearing to pass us, turns about hurriedly and runs before us seeking shelter; in his anxiety he fails to notice the loss of one of his wheels! It is a comment on the usual roughness of the roads! We pick up the wheel and carry it to him where he is waiting in a hospitable farmyard and he re- ceives it with a mingled expression of amazement and gratitude. Past Lesce and a cross road to Ravljane, we climb into a charming dale where the Gacka River begins its gentle course. A mill is half hidden behind low falls; a group of men bow poHtely as we move by ; the road becomes drier as we mount a long well-graded hill with pleasing views back over the grassy valley and the little stream meandering through its green length. We have time to enjoy it, for our 54 ZENGG TO GOSPIC poor engine cannot breathe, the radiator is so choked with mud. Farther on we enter pine forests and hills of spruce and cedar, — then snow by the wayside and many granite boulders. We look about for water, to replace the loss caused by the overheating of the engine. Not a brook nor a pool any- where ! Finally at a turn in the road a house appears bearing the welcome sign "Gostiona,'' (inn) and the willing peasant, in response to our gestures, brings out a pitcher and a glass. We point to the engine, and pour in what he has brought; when, smiling at his own cleverness in comprehending these queer foreigners, he darts toward the well and soon reap- pears with a kerosene can full of water. This receptacle, fitted with a wooden bar for a handle, has usurped the place of the pail as a carrier of water throughout these regions. "Gospic?" we ask — for we are growing hungry. "25 K.," he writes on a slip of paper. Luckily figures are alike in most languages! We thank him for his precious draught, and go on our way over the hilltops, through low thickets of " maquis'' and masses of rock. " Maquis'' is a name given to a certain type of vegetation, grayish green in color, which abounds on the dry boulder-strewn slopes of the Mediterranean region. It consists of aromatic plants, such as the rosemary, thyme, lavender, myrtle, mastic, and helichrysum, with cistus of various kinds, oleaster, and lavendula, intermingled with the buckthorn, wild olive, and juniper. Their perfume is said to protect them from animals, and they are able to withstand the long droughts of midsummer : here evidently 55 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS the same conditions prevail. The mountains are covered with snow on our right, and we can see our road winding in long loops up the other side of the valley. In the deep hol- lows the crops are green and sheep graze among the stones. We gain another crest, — two thousand and eighty feet, — with a wonderful glimpse of snow fields on summits veiled in clouds. Past the towns of Kvarte and Perusic, we meet four loaded wagons at the door of a wayside inn. Fortunately the men are inside the house and we are by before they have a chance to communicate their fright to the dumb beasts. The lamb's-wool horse-blankets, dyed in brilliant colors, contrast gayly with the grayness of the road. Flocks of wheatears flit back and forth across our way. Such beautiful creatures! Descending into a plain of ploughed fields, and crossing the river Lika, a wide, straight road brings us to the village of Gospic at the foot of the snow-crowned Velebit Moun- tains. Evidently, it is market-day, for the way is lined with picturesque groups of peasants. The sleeveless sheepskin coats, striped waistcoats, and red caps of the men, the bright yellow kerchiefs of the women, make dancing spots of color amidst the sheep and cows, the donkeys and chickens, — to say nothing of the pigs, each one of which has to be cajoled into believing that this is the direction he wishes to take. All this forms an amusing spectacle, and we move with the utmost care to enjoy it as well as to avoid unpleasant entanglements. At half-past one we arrive at the door of the Svratiste 56 ZENGG TO GOSPIC Lika, the hotel in Gospic. We have made only fifty-four miles in five hours; but considering the condition of the roads, we are satisfied — and also very hungry. Yet it is with dif- ficulty that I sit quietly at table in the primitive restaurant ; for just outside the low windows groups of gayly dressed peasants, men and women, are passing and repassing, stop- ping to chat or gossip, and slowly strolling down the long street. From the onion-shaped steeple of the church near by, comes a hideous din as of pounding on copper, and small boys in the street swing dull wooden rattles vigorously. ''Why ?" I begin, but the Leader has already informed himself. "It is Holy Thursday, and they ar. celebrating," he answers. After luncheon we hold a council of war as to whether we would better rest here over night or push on to Zara. "How far is it?" asks Madame Content. "We have still about seventy-five miles to go. Of course I know nothing of the roads. Unless they are much better than we have had this morning, we shall not get in until very late." "Is there any place to stop between here and Zara?" "None that I know of," he answers. "Is any one too tired to go on?" We all protest our willingness. The Leader has all the responsibility; whatever he decides is best we will do. The hotel is not inviting, the sky looks clearer, the promised country lies so near. We conclude to go on. 57 CHAPTER V ENTERING DALMATIA— GOSPIC TO ZARA **"LJOW far is Dalmatia from here?" queries the Enthu- siast, as we leave Gospic and speed down the fairly good road over a level plain beside an imposing range of snowy mountains. "It is thirty miles to the frontier," replies the Leader, "but we must first climb a pass over four thousand feet high." For fifteen kilometers the road is encumbered with the wagons of the country folk returning from market. It is very narrow, and the horses are terrified at the unwonted noise of our approach, for no railroads have accustomed them to steam engines or other mechanical conveyances. In these countries the chauffeur not only has the care of the motor, but of every horse or donkey or pair of oxen along the way, and his vigorous "Whoa!" spoken from the car, seems to have a wonderfully calming influence upon the plunging steeds. Does the mere sound of the human voice coming from this strange machine reassure them? Certainly the syllables must be new to them! Over a slight rise and straight away across a plain, — where the oxen ploughing in the field stop, terror-stricken at our flight, — we come to a cross-roads whose signs have tumbled down; but following the telegraph poles as well as the indications on the map, we keep to the right and sweep over a hilltop into a rolling dale. Before us rises the snowy peak of Vakanski Vrh (5843 feet); below the white 58 ENTERING DALMATIA expanse, glistening, ice-covered trees stand in serried ranks, and we strain our eyes to see whether we can discover any sign of road or horse or vehicle within that silent wilderness. Leaving Vakanski behind us, we enter a region of blue mountains veiled in dark, low-lying clouds; "Sv. Rok," we quit the highway leading to Knin, turn to the right, and in four minutes are reassured by the first sign bearing a Dalmatian name: "Obrovac36." Soon we begin to climb in earnest, — no soft rolling over hilltops with a gradual rise at each new height, but a long, steady pull up the mountain side, through forests of budding beech-trees: the landscape is pink with them. Patches of snow appear by the roadside and increase to long drifts; then the mountains are covered with thin layers growing ever deeper. Meanwhile the snow in the road increases so as to somewhat impede our progress, but banks three and four feet in height on either side are evidence that this pass over the Velebit, the best inland communication between Croatia and Dalmatia, is kept open all winter. As we rise, the great valley of the Ricice spreads out in wonderful perspective below us; lakes and tiny threads of rivers, dotted villages, and distant hills, until the whole horizon is bounded by range after range of lofty mountains lost in clouds. Up the steep ascent we continue to climb, scattering the tiny pebbles in our path. The cleared way is so narrow that we shiver at the mere thought of meeting anything ; but when the emergency arises we find it is pos- sible to pass, — by testing each inch of soft snow so as not to go over the edge ! 59 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS When the poor, overworked engine, clogged with the mud of the valley, gets hot, handfuls of snow are pushed into the steaming radiator, and we go onward, ever upward. Now we are in the clouds, and we push forward cautiously, sound- ing the horn at frequent intervals. An eagle sails out of the driving mist above us, and a hut half buried in the snow is seen. It is the government station of Mali Halan. We are still in Croatia, but the top of the pass (3483 feet) must be close at hand. Making a sharp turn through jagged cliffs, we pass a frontier post. This is Dalmatia. As if in sympathy with our ardent desires, the clouds Hft, slowly disclosing a world of crags and precipices; a gray world, without a touch of green; no budding beech-trees here, — indeed, no trees at all, nor bush, nor spear of grass, — naught but the grandeur of towering peaks beneath a threatening sky. Down the inclines we wind and twist, the turns are broad and no cassis impede our flight, and the snow soon disappears behind us. We stop to lower the hood, and — "What is that inscription on the cliff?" cries the Enthu- siast. 'T can see it is not Slavic." The Leader goes over to investigate, and returns with the following lines in his note-book and a touch of emotion in his voice : Alla memoria del gendarm Francisco Fracasso il QUALE NEL GIORNO 27 MaGGIO 1 85 1 IN DIFESA DELDA PrO- PRIETA CADE COMBATTENDO CONTRO 2 2 ASSASSINI. (To the memory of the soldier Francisco Fracasso, who on the twenty-seventh of May, 185 1, whik protecting property, fell fighting against 22 assassins.) 60 ENTERING DALMATIA What a picture it brings to us here in this desolate spot! The hopeless struggle, the death for duty's sake! As we continue our journey the mist rises, and an in- describably magnificent panorama is revealed; the ribbon- like highway clings to the mountain side, — twelve different levels can we trace before it takes its arrow-like course across the plain, — that plain which soon resolves itself into a series of terraces, with the blue lakes of Novigrad and Karin like jewelled bosses on its pearly breast. At the west opens the Canale della Montagna. The long rays of the afternoon sun touch the small white villages of Starigrad and Tribanje, Nona, the Island of Pago; and far off Lussin, where rises Monte Ossero in dream-like out- line. The faintly glittering sea is studded with tiny reefs and islands of varying sizes, extending as far south as Sebenico. At the southeast rise the snowy Svilaja Mountains beyond the Krka River, and still farther away the Dinarian Alps upon the Bosnian boundary. The great northwestern penin- sula of Dalmatia lies unfolded like a map before us, with the white walls of Zara seventy kilometers away. Yes, Dalmatia is wonderful, and this is surely the best way to enter it, — dropping from the clouds, as it were, — securing the first impressive picture in its length and breadth before descending to inspect it bit by bit. Under overhanging precipices and over deep ravines we slide down in long loops. Suddenly far below us a collection of ant-like objects appears upon the road. At nearer view these resolve themselves into a caravan of at least fifteen 6i MOTORING IN THE BALKANS wagons, drawn up in single file upon the outside of that mountain highway, where no parapet protects them from falling into depths some hundred feet below! Evidently the men are on their way up the pass, and on account of the grade and heavy loads, have no fear that their horses will run far; but they take all possible precautions, blocking each wheel with a large stone, and placing themselves at their horses' heads to await our onslaught. Although we advance very slowly, with engine off, at sight of us the first horses instantly shy, throwing the whole line into confusion. We are terror- stricken! What can prevent them from going over the em- bankment ? Why have they not at least taken the inside of the road ? But the teamsters speak soothingly to their poor beasts, with an apologetic expression toward us. We found this attitude all through Dalmatia. The peasants seem to say: "You must excuse us and our igno- rant animals. We know we are behind the times, but we want to see what is going on in the world. We welcome strangers and the strange new carriages. Do not be angry with us, — we will grow accustomed, in time, to the noise and the smell, for we too wish to be civilized." Of course we stop at once and the chauffeur goes for- ward to assist in untangling broken harnesses and in calm- ing the frightened animals. After a few moments they seem to appreciate our harmlessness and permit us to glide slowly by, thankful that matters are no worse. Across the high plateau lying to the southwest of the Velebit Mountains we merrily speed, — where only the small huts of the shepherds, dotted here and there, keep us com- 62 ENTERING DALMATIA pany, and a tiny chapel lifts its cross by the wayside, — past the hamlet of Mekdolac, — and approach Obrovazzo, or Obrovac, the end of the Velebit Pass. This great piece of engineering, connecting Zara with the highway between Karlstadt and Knin, was constructed in 1829-32. It is twenty-one feet wide, with nowhere a grade of more than five per cent, and is twenty-three kilo- meters (fourteen and three-eighths miles) in length between Obrovac and the Dalmatian frontier on the top of the pass. It is possible to go by water from Obrovac to Zara, by way of the Zrmanja River, the sea of Novigrad, the canal della Montagna, stopping at Pago, and on through land- locked channels. This is a delightful sail of about nine and a half hours. Obrovac is charmingly situated at the bottom of a narrow ravine through which flows the Zrmanja River. The small steamer lies at its dock below the ruined castle on the hill in wonderful green water. Fruit-trees are in bloom and the air is soft and mild. The inhabitants rush out to see us but we make no pause, — the hours of daylight are slipping away. From the quays they watch our upward flight, as we climb in short windings to the plateau separating this shut-in valley from the Lake of Karin. The red sun is sinking in a burst of glory over the waters of Novigrad ; long brilliant rays shoot up into the sky and turn to rainbow tints the rocks and sage-brush of the roll- ing desert. On the protected slopes around Lake Karin both grain and grapes are growing, — a welcome change from the gray landscape we have passed through. Over the inlet connecting the two lakes, a strong bridge is in course of 63 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS construction, and the temporary structure looks so insecure that we slow down to reconnoitre; but from a group of picturesque peasants a friendly Franciscan brother steps forward and with gestures of reassurance beckons us to cross. After exchanging salutations with the kindly friar we ascend a last steep inchne in loops, catching glimpses of the monastery in its sheltered cove beside the lake. At the top, to our surprise, our road, — as far as the eye can see, — lies straight and smooth and empty! Only the heart of a true automobilist can appreciate the delicious sen- sations which such a sight produces! Without a word, the chauffeur bends over his wheel, each one of us snuggles down into his or her heavy wraps, and in rapturous flight we race with the gathering dusk. Through alternate rock-bound pastures where flocks of sheep are watched by gayly gowned young girls — some of them distaff in hand; by small settlements embowered in fig and olive trees; past a Turkish fortification rising from stony meadows where flourish low juniper bushes; past Smilcic and Zemonico, both upper and lower, we hasten, for the Hght is growing fainter and fainter. Hardly do we perceive the mulberry trees bordering the route near Babindub! Scarcely can we distinguish the sea as we approach its dark expanse; but the fights of a fairy city begin to gleam in the distance. Nearer and nearer they come; a tiny harbor, mediaeval :11s, and an imposing gate- way—the Porta Terrafcrmc. Through this, in perfect confidence, the Leader signals. 64 ENTERING DALMATIA "Turn to the left two blocks, and then to the right"; and we stop at the Hotel Bristol, Zara. We have travelled only one hundred and twenty-nine miles to-day; but have crossed two mountain passes, one of 2326 feet and the other of 3483 feet, starting from and returning to the sea. 65 CHAPTER VI ZARA /^OOD FRIDAY! A never-to-be-forgotten morning at Zara! As I throw open the shutters the whole exquisite scene is disclosed ; the soft sky, the pearly slopes of the mountainous islands, the limpid water, the fishing-smacks at anchor beyond the low embankment. Even the black-and-red steamer approaching the pier is transformed by the match- less Hght into an object of beauty. An Austrian officer has kindly loosened his blue cape, which falls in graceful folds as he strides smartly by. A Roman priest, in black cas- sock, red sash, and broad-brimmed hat, eagerly exchanges views with a stolid parishioner, and two lovers of the beauti- ful are having their morning coffee on the terrace below '*ew plein airy A woman in a blue gown, red hose, and white kerchief walks slowly by, balancing a three-gallon can of milk on her head ; on her arm she carries a heavy tin pail, thus leaving her hands free for her knitting. A fisherman's boat moves leisurely along with limp and flapping sail, two men stand at the oars, their red caps nod in unison. The clumsy black craft passes all too soon but here is another one painted blue. The white shirts of the oarsmen gleam in the sunshine and their constant chatter rises faintly to my upper window. This boat is laden with pine branches which exhale their pungent 66 ZARA fragrance in the placid air. Are these for Easter decorations, I wonder? Here below the quay which has replaced the ancient city walls the water is so deep that the boats pass close, and the men may exchange greetings with the passer- by. When the discussion becomes especially intense, the boat is stopped at one of the stone pillars along the way and the owner comes ashore to enforce his theories. Are the colors really more gorgeous in themselves, or is it only the atmospheric effect ? That golden brown of the velveteen on the lad who lounges by! That rich tan of the flying sail bound for the opposite isle! A faded green hull drifts by with a woman leaning on a long oar. Is she really helping or merely making an exquisite picture in her snowy coif and dull blue gown ? In another boat the whole family are evidently out for an airing as a kerchiefed child squats upon the covered prow and a baby crows from his mother's arms. Flocks of terns, those graceful swallows of the sea, whirl and dart over the rippling waves. How restful is the stillness! No railroad or trolley within sixty miles! No steam tugs or cranes or whistles! The ships and fishing- boats move noiselessly. Even the occasional steamer slides with bated breath through the waters of this enchanted sea. My thoughts follow her in idle reverie. " Do you intend to spend your entire day gazing out that window?" calls a mocking voice from the neighboring balcony. ^'Oh, no indeed! Of course not. I want to see it all, but could anything be more fascinating than this ? ' ' And my hand moves vaguely over the constantly changing scene. 67 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS "Where first?" I demand, as we stroll toward the pier. "I suppose you know that the cathedral here is a famous one," begins the Leader. *'\\Tiat is that w^omen carrying?" I interrupt. "Can it be a turkey? And do look at her full short skirts, gay apron, and leggings! Oh, I must try to get a kodak of her." And I gaze carefully in the opposite direction as the unconscious poseuse approaches. "Did you see her embroidered kerchief?" I cry, as she passes. "And oh! there are some more over by the post- office." I try to walk sedately, not stare too intently, and yet to grasp in all its details this gay and lively scene. For this is our first experience with the barbaric costumes of the Mor- lacchi and no background could be more effective than these gray stones and stucco walls beneath this cloudless sky of Zara. Descending from the land of Rascia in the fourteenth century these swarthy Slavs settled in the interior of Istria and along the canals of northern Dalmatia. The name Morlacchi is derived from the Slav words "Mauro Vlach," meaning " black Wallachs." The market-place is resplendent with oranges and onions, lemons, wild asparagus, and chicory, under scarlet awnings in the dazzling sunshine. Gayer than all are the moving groups of picturesque peasants. Such bravery of color! Such gorgeous raiment! Such charming caps and kerchiefs! Such bags and belts and baskets! For be it known that each island of the Quarnero, each village on the mainland, even each sect in that village, 68 IX THE MARKET-PLArE THE HASKETS ARE BEAL'TIFl'L I\ ZARA IIIF. RI\A \i:CCIlIA, ZARA ZARA whether Greek or Roman, has its own pecuHar dress. The men vie with the women in splendor, for their red caps and sashes, blue trousers slit at the ankle to disclose the embroid- ered leggings, waistcoats shining with silver buttons, and white lamb's-wool coats thrown over the shoulders form an attire both comfortable and becoming. Most of the men and women wear the opanka, or leather sandal, laced and curious- ly worked with string. But alas! even here civilization is about to encroach upon picturesqueness, for a long row of baskets filled with clumsily made low shoes, evidently the very latest imported fashion, are attracting many purchasers in the market-place. At one corner, leaning lightly against a column, stands a beautiful young girl with the air of a Greek goddess, clasping in her hands a basket of snowy eggs. Should any one choose to buy, well and good, — but she scorns to persuade. Not far away a worthy dame exposes for sale her stock of olive oil. It stands beside her in a brightly polished kero- sene can with a glass carafe full of it as a sample. She squats comfortably on the ground, a customer approaching assumes also the Japanese posture, sniffs the small carafe and tastes its contents. There is much discussion as to quality and price, both enjoying thoroughly the good-natured banter. After some minutes, the bargain being completed, the purchaser extracts a bottle from his saddle bags, pours the rich oil into it, and saunters on in search of other bargains. We stroll from group to group. There is no monotony of costume, no two are dressed precisely alike. Some 69 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS women are distinguished by a short jacket, others by a long sleeveless coat, others by a fringed native shawl, but all are decked with odd barbaric jewelry, rings and beads, brooches and a curious medal called a "Maria Theresa." This is a silver five-kronen piece made in Dalmatia, encircled with a fixed style of filigree and the whole gilded. Suddenly, in the distance, appeared two attractive figures, their stiff brocaded aprons glistening in the sunlight, their "Maria Theresas" carefully displayed beneath their knotted kerchiefs. "I am going to ask them to pose for me," I muttered. Before a remonstrance could stop me I was endeavoring by gestures to explain my desires. They spoke nothing but Slavic. For such an unheard-of request, however, the ser- vices of a linguistic policeman were necessary. Just outside the Porta Marina we found an accommodating official, who explained our meaning in loud tones to the bewildered peas- ants and in an equally loud voice translated into Italian their smihng affirmatives. If I could only have photo- graphed the group, the interested onlookers, the ancient lion of St. Mark looking down from the city gate ! But the light was wrong and I succeeded in getting only faint reproductions of these comely country women. "The cathedral," began the Leader again, and we turned a corner to face its lovely cream jagade. "It does recall the Duomo at Pisa," I granted, "and it is charming. The arches and attached columns being grad- uated give just enough variety and play of light and shade." "The two rose windows are later work, Jackson says," 70 ZARA continued the Leader, "but as a whole it is considered the finest fagade in Dalmatia." "How beautiful the campanile is!" exclaimed the Enthusiast. "Yes, it carries out exactly the style of the period, al- though it did not receive its two crowning stories until with- in the last few years. They are from designs by the distinguished EngHsh architect, Mr. Jackson." The Dalmatians are a deeply rehgious people. No chimes were heard that whole long day, no clocks struck, or bells of any kind. The flags on the club-house, the post- office, and all the government buildings, as well as on the passing steamers, were at half mast. For was it not Good Friday ? Not only the cathedral was crowded with worshippers, but also San Simeone, where we joined the admiring throng who mounted the narrow stairway behind the shrine. The body of the saint who held the infant Christ at the Presenta- tion lies here, enclosed in a magnificent silver Area pre- sented by the unfortunate Queen EHzabeth of Hungary in 1377. This is not only a splendid specimen of goldsmith's art but also interesting for the scenes from contemporary history depicted upon its carved panels. Formerly it "was supported on four angels of silver. These were melted down at the time of the war between Venice and Cyprus, and have been replaced by two of stone and two of bronze made from cannon taken from the Turks and given to Zara by Venice in 1647." (F. H. Jackson.) At San Francesco, after examining the Gothic choir stalls 71 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS which have been called "among the finest in Dalmatia," we went into the sacristy where hung a beautiful old picture in an elaborate blue and gold Gothic frame. This was something for which we were not prepared. "Who painted it?" we demanded of the young Francis- can. *T do not know," he answered. "It came from Ugljan, was sent to Vienna for restoration, and has been here only five or six years.'' "It is certainly fifteenth century," murmured the Leader. "Perhaps," indifferently replied the youthful friar, and endeavored to lead us on to other treasures in the usual round. But it is not every day that one discovers a new painting by an old master, and we stood in thoughtful con- templation before the sweet-faced Madonna with the Christ child on her knees. On either side of her were St. Peter Martyr, St. Ambrogio, St. Francis, St. Jerome and a tur- baned saint, while above and below were medallion heads of other saints all on a glowing gilt background. "Have n't you a photograph of it ?" asked the Enthusiast. "No, it has never been taken," asserted the monk, more and more astonished at our enthusiasm. "Yes, it is indeed a beautiful picture." And he looked at it curiously, as if he saw it for the first time. Wandering through the narrow streets of this mediaeval city we came upon a gracefully curving apse and stopped to admire its arcaded gallery. "It must be San Grisogono," hazarded the Leader. Before the entrance little children in groups of twos and 72 ZARA threes, the older ones leading tinier tots by the hand, kept lifting the heavy curtain to pass in and out. **San Grisogono is the patron saint of Zara,'' read the Leader; "his body was brought here from Aquileia in 649. The interior of the church has been modernized." "Why is it that only children are visiting this church?" asked the eager Inquirer. "Can't we go in a minute?" The interior was dark and still. At the farther end the altar was illuminated with small cups of oil on which floated lighted wicks screened by texts illuminated on vellum, simple texts that the children could understand. On the pavement beneath the altar, pots of creamy grasses, each glowing with a mysteriously hidden light, outlined a great white cross. How chaste and sane a symbol for this holy day! What a con- trast to the agonizing figure which, in varying degrees of realistic detail, is usually exposed for the adoration of the faithful! Zara, or Zadar, the Roman Jadar, the capital of Dal- matia, is an attractive city, built upon a long peninsula and surrounded still on all sides except the sea front, by its six- teenth century fortifications. To be sure, some of these have been modified. Above the Porta Marina a shady promenade has been planted, where, on that sunny morning in the springtime, the elm-trees were heavy with blossom. Leaning over the parapet, we traced the narrow entrance to the port, where, in days of old, chains stretched from shore to shore kept out the enemies' fleet. In this small, quiet harbor the Romans and Dalmatians, or descendants of the earlier Illyrians, the Franks and Byzantines, the Venetians MOTORING IN THE BALKANS and Croatians, the Hungarians, Bosnians, and Turks, the French, and finally the Austrians have each in turn fought for supremacy. How peacefully the yachts and steamers lie now upon the quiet waters! With what security ships from far and near cast their anchors here and greet the swarming small boats that come to give or take the cargo! Fishing-smacks from the Croatian coast, Chioggia, Lesina and many neighboring islands, are moored at the quay. Their brilliant sails are utilized for awnings and on the shaded decks lounge vari- colored groups. Back and forth through the Porta Marina, the fisher folk pursue their occupations, while we look down in keen enjoyment upon the shifting scene. At the farther end of the Riva Vecchia, a broad street is being opened through the old walls which will doubtless add to the material prosperity of the city. The foundations of a magnificent Roman triumphal arch have thus been un- earthed for the second time, and it is to be hoped that some way may be found to preserve them in their present situation. Before the Giardino PubbHco, planted on an ancient bastion, is an open square containing five pozzi, or wells, all communicating with one vast cistern, where the water, after being elaborately filtered and purified, is free to the citizens of Zara. As we linger in the shade of a neighbor- ing guard house, a sturdy, short-skirted damsel comes swiftly across the hot flagged square, and resting her wooden tub upon the curb, fills it from the cool well. I cannot but feel that I am looking on at a bit of stage life. The setting is perfect, — except for her, the place is deserted. We stand 74 ZARA motionless as she lifts the brimming vessel to her head and moves off steadily down the long shadowy street. "I am sure it is time for luncheon," suddenly exclaims Madame Content, and we return to the hotel to test the variety of sea-food exposed on tempting trays in the big restaurant. Fresh from the water, they are brought in glistening and palpitating, the dentale, the branzino, and many others whose names I never learned. Delicious were they, and well cooked. In fact, all the food was excellent, but the proprietors had a strange aversion to fresh air. The double windows were not only nailed down, but it seemed as though every chink was stuffed with cotton. The doors were carefully kept closed, and smoking was permitted, nay, encouraged, at all hours of the day or night. However, we were far more comfortable than we had expected to be in Dalmatia. Our own rooms were fairly clean and the pil- lows were of feathers. There was a bath-room, too, in the hotel, where a hot bath could be obtained on giving notice of an hour and a half! To be sure there was no lift and our rooms were in the third story; but every one knows that going up and down stairs is one of the best forms of exercise. However, what compensated us for these lesser inconven- iences was the possession of a tiny balcony facing the sea and the western sky. The bare limestone crags of Ugljan were just far enough away to catch and give back the full radiance of the morning sun. And at evening what glorious cloud effects were reflected in the shimmering water! But Saturday it rained. To be sure the tiny row-boat tied to the buoy all the day before had plenty of companions 75 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS in this propitious weather. A trahaccoli glided gently over the oily water with one orange sail and one of browner hue. Slowly they filled with the mild south wind and disap- peared toward the village of S. Euphemia. Through the mist loomed the distant fortress of S. Michele, crowning the heights of Ugljan. "We haven't seen the Museum yet," suggested the Leader. It proved to be well worth a visit. Agreeably displayed in the round ninth century church of San Donato, — in itself a treasure to the archaeologist , — were Roman frag- ments and jewels, Greek vases and other antiquities from Aquileia, a collection of coins and inscriptions, Lombard and mediaeval reliefs, historical objects, and bits of archi- tectural decoration. The woman in charge permitted us to wander about and examine at our leisure whatever attracted us. No other visitors distracted her attention. She an- swered our questions intelligently and bade us God-speed when we departed, quite as if in her own domain. It has been said, that in Dalmatia a stranger will find much to surprise and perplex him. "He will wonder at the extremes of civilization he encounters, ranging from high culture to something lower than semi-barbarism; and above all, he will be perplexed by the existence, unaccountable to those who have not studied Dalmatian history, of the two elements in the population, — Latin and Slavonic, — which for twelve centuries have lived on, side by side, without los- ing their difference." (Jackson.) In the shops the people speak Italian; the signs, too, are in that language. // 76 ZARA Piccolo delta Sera arrives daily from Trieste and // Dal- mate is published twice a week in Zara. This is the only Italian municipality in Dalmatia and here arc the only Italian schools. Forty years ago Italian was used generally in the schools throughout the country, then for a short time German was introduced, but now that branch of the Slavic tongue called Servian-Croatian is, according to recent authorities, "universal." Instead of using that cumbersome compound I have followed the example of modern writers and designated the language of these Slavs as Slavic. Just south of Zara, on the coast, is the small Albanian village of Borgo Erizzo which has an interesting history. In 1726, when Vincenzo Zmajevich was made archbishop of Zara, he brought with him from Perasto, his native town, twenty-seven families of x\lbanians who shortly before this, fleeing from the atrocities of Mehmed Begovich, pasha of Albania, had sought his protection. Count Erizzo, who then commanded the fortress of Zara, assigned them land near by. Being sober and industrious they prospered and in- creased until now they number about three thousand souls. The women work in the factories until they marry, after which they remain at home. The men own vineyards and fields within a radius of seven or eight miles. We took a very personal interest in the Hungarian Lloyd steamer which arrived at half -past five that afternoon, bring- ing the Paris mail. It was a pretty boat, white with a red band about the black funnel and a white star on the red. Many port-holes and a roomy deck indicated its concession 77 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS to the passenger service. The crowd that welcomed it formed a moving mass of black umbrellas, for the rain was steady if light. At six the steamer started once more upon her way, but it took two long hours to distribute and deliver that precious mail. In the Piazza dei Signori is the Biblioteca Paravia, the gift of a benevolent citizen of Zara. This occupies the ancient court of justice, a fifteenth century loggia. The street connecting this piazza with the Duomo is the fashion- able promenade and on that Easter Sunday afternoon it was filled with a throng of well-dressed persons. But one might have been in Rome or Glasgow, in Boston or in Munich, so far as any local color was concerned. ''How monotonous a world entirely civihzed would be!" exclaimed the Enthusiast in a disappointed tone. " Let 's go over to the Porta Marina." So we wandered back to the shady walk on the old city walls above the little harbor. Alas! Not a fishing-boat remained beside the Riva Vecchia! Gone were the craft from Chioggia, from Croatia, from Arbe and her sister islands! Deserted was the market- place and empty the Fossa! Back to their own villages had returned the Morlacchi and all the picturesque country folk! What a different impression Zara would have left upon us had we missed that brilliant market-scene on the morning of Good Friday! 78 CHAPTER VII SCARDONA— FALLS OF KRKA— SEBENTCO 'T^HE morning that we leave Zara for Sebenico is cloudy, with brief spatters of sunshine. As the coast road goes only as far as Pakoscane, we turn away from the Adriatic and journey inland through avenues of chestnuts, almonds already green, elms, and cherry-trees heavy with blossoms. In this pebbly soil, olives, vines, and vegetables flourish astonishingly. Walls of green brambles border an excellent road. Plantations of pine alternate with sheep pastures and fields of grain. Farther on, the hawthorn hedges are in flower and beside them bloom large pink anemones and asphodel. Looking back from the top of a hill we have a beautiful view of Zara, lying lightly on the sea like an outpost of Venice. At Zemonico are the ruins of a cavalry station fortified by the Venetians against the Turks. Here in 1346 Ladislas of Hungary encamped with 100,000 men, ostensibly to assist the Zaratines who were besieged by the Venetians, but like the King of France in the nursery rhyme, who "Wenl up the hill With twenty thousand men; The King of France came down the hill, And ne'er went up again." So Ladislas appears to have done nothing on either side, and after a few weeks he took his army back to his 79 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS own country again. The plain has a peaceful appearance at present, and nothing more inimical than barking dogs pursues us as we speed through the village. We are afraid of running over them, and the Gentle Lady is obliged to threaten so vigorously with her whip that she drops it. '*0h, wait! I 've lost my whip," she cries, but we are half a mile away before we stop. As we start back, a friendly lad comes running toward us, bearing our precious weapon, and he refuses to accept anything for his services but our hearty thanks. So far, we had retraversed the highway which brought us to Zara; but just beyond Zemonico we turned south, and after four kilometers more the road lay straight before us the entire distance to Biljane. According to tradition, on this plain of Grobnica the Tartars met defeat in the thirteenth century. It is a pleasant country with green willows, more fields of grain, many vines and olives, even fig-trees in sheltered nooks. Peculiar to these limestone regions are shallow lakes formed by the winter rains. In the spring the water gradu- ally recedes, leaving a rich soil in which the crops are planted, so that by midsummer the whole is a waving mass of green. One of these, known as the Lake of Nadin, now appeared in the distance, but gradually the Karst reasserted itself and the small shepherdess in her lamb's- wool coat and crimson cap became once more a feature in the landscape. Biljane is a hamlet of half a dozen houses, with perhaps as many more scattered through the fields. Here our course 80 SCARDONA-^SEBENICO turned to the southeast, sharply dividing the rich valley on the left from the rocky waste on the other side. The way was stony but we met no vehicle and hence could stay in the smooth wheel tracks. Clusters of low houses guarded the crops on the southern slopes. It seemed curious that the road should pursue the even tenor of its way without regard to them, but it was probably built for military purposes and took the shortest route between two points. At Benkovac the Karin, Novigrad, and Vrana highway crossed our own route. Here a dismantled castle had a certain charm of age and our Leader strove to interest us in it. But our attention could not be distracted from the gorgeously dressed populace, who gathered in fright- ened groups about the doorways and peered eagerly at us from well-guarded corners, for this was Easter Monday and we had arrived just as service was over in the little church. '*Oh, do go slowly," we begged from the back seat; so we loitered on the long ascent until we had scanned each picturesque peasant to our heart's content. "In these marshes," said the Leader, pointing toward Vrana, *' many ancient stone pipes have been discovered. They are believed to have been part of an aqueduct which Trajan built for the Roman colony at Zara. For similar pipes have been found on the shore near Borgo Erizzo and Zara Vecchia and in the ruins on top of the hill Kastelj, above the Lake of Vrana. Here near Biba was a spring which probably supplied part of the water." Near the thirty-ninth kilometer post we spied a stately MOTORING IN THE BALKANS chateau or fortress on a summit at our right. Instinctively I reached for Baedeker and sighed as I remembered how inadequate he is in the interior of Dalmatia. ''It must be the castle of Perusic," explained the Leader. ''I don't think we can see from here the famous ruins of Asseria, although they must be near. It was one of the important cities of Liburnia, Pliny says." "The Castle of Perusic, a most imposing pile of mediaeval fortification which is often mentioned in the warfare of Turks and Venetians during the sixteenth century, and is, I believe, still partially habitable. It seemed to consist of a square enclosure with curtain walls and towers, and a huge castellated building within." (Jackson, 1885.) Beside a wayside fountain, a woman stood in unconscious grace, twirling her spindle rapidly. A magpie disturbed by our clatter flew slowly before us. The dusty diligence from Benkovac to Knin passed us; and suddenly we re- alized that the Karst had been driven back to the hill- tops, and once more ploughed fields, fruit-trees, and flower- ing elms surrounded us. The tiny Morpolaca River on our right flows into the shallow lake of Prokljan, and as we begin the ascent, following the northeast boundary of the marsh, Mt. Ostrovica rises on our left. Here our further progress is apparently blocked by a curious buttress of rock, but as we slow down in momentary hesitation, a carriage ( !) appears from behind it. This ancient landau, brown and rusty, is not only filled to overflowing with crimson-capped countrymen, but bears upon its top a load of "knobby " articles, presumably potatoes, guarded by 82 SCARDONA-SEBENICO a vociferous small dog. The horses are too weary to be frightened and pass us without lifting an ear. We continue to travel over foot-hills, amidst herds of grazing cattle, sheep, and goats. The women courtesy from the doorways of their huts and the men doff their caps as we rumble through the gray village of Zavic. Just beyond a pine grove we perceive the ruins of Bribir on an eminence in the distance. At the Ponte de Bribir the road to the left goes on to Knin, that to the right to Scardona, which is our goal. In the Middle Ages this was an important corner, but now there is nothing here but a tumble-down inn where two or three peasants are lounging. Was not this Province the ancestral home of the famous Stephen, Count of Bribir, who in 1247 was created Ban of Slavonia and Dalmatia? His successors were virtually rulers of the country, under various titles, during the follow- ing hundred years. Indeed, by 1308, when Charles Robert became King of Hungary, the then Count of Bribir, Paul, was not only Ban of Croatia but "succeeded in getting himself elected Count of the maritime towns of Traii, Spalato, and Sebenico." I suppose that means he was allowed the privi- lege of protecting them with his soldiers from any other foe. Zara alone still swore allegiance to Venice; but it also was persuaded, after three years, to throw off that yoke, and to elect Paul's son Mladin to govern it. Mladin is a fascinat- ing hero; indeed, the history of these Counts of Bribir would form by itself a volume well worth reading. Looking back from the modern village of Bribir, we enjoyed a splendid panorama of the hills and vales we 83 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS had traversed. The road improved. Near Krcma — these fantastic and extraordinary combinations of consonants deHght me ! — we met two wagons loaded with hogsheads of wine. The drivers were resting within the inn and we dared not try to pass without notifying them. At the sound of our horn they rushed pell-mell from the house, shrieking directions at us and jerking their horses' heads, quite beside themselves with fear; but the horses took all this commotion very quietly. For five kilometers more we rode through alternate lands of plenty and barren waste, then crossed a small river and entered Scardona, stopping before a building where a sign read "Restaurant Buljan." We within the tonneau looked at each other in dismay. We were hungry, too — but here? It seemed to us ex- tremely doubtful whether we could possibly find anything eatable here. But it was past twelve o'clock. The Leader had already dismounted and had disappeared through the dark doorway. A crowd, mostly men in fine old costumes, gathered about us. Polite but curious, they discoursed together in a tongue beyond our comprehension. Suppose at the inn, too, they spoke nothing but Slavic ? We began to be more and more concerned as we waited for our chieftain. But when he did return, with smiling reassurance he ex- plained that he had been ordering our luncheon in a mixture of German and Italian, that the place was n't at all bad and he thought that we might be very comfortable. ''Where can I put the motor?" he asked, by signs as much as by spoken word. "Why, here." And willing hands opened a shed door in 84 A TVnCAL COSTUME (scardona) A BRILIJAVr CROWn, srARDfjXA THI-: FKRRV ACROSS llll'; KRKA SCARDONA-SEBENICO the wall, hastily moving out an ox-cart to make room for our cumbrous car. The chauffeur carefully measured the open- ing so that there might be no possibility of accident, and amid the awed admiration of the populace he backed the motor into its temporary home. We, meanwhile, had stumbled up the dim but spotless stairway and found a neat room for our wraps and a quiet corner for our mid-day meal. The dishes were peculiar but palatable, especially the soup and a dessert called Dolce Grj But I could not keep away from the queer, box-like, double windows, beneath which the red-capped natives sauntered up and down, the light reflecting from their silver buttons and giving more color to their gay sheepskin coats and silken sashes. I finally mustered up courage to ask one of these splendid creatures to pose for me. How kindly and courteous they were ! Although we must have been equally objects of curiosity to them, no crowd followed us as we wandered through the limited streets of the tiny town, but if we needed advice or assistance they were eager to be of use. It was difficult to believe that Scardona was once an important city, that she shared with Salona and Narona the honors of capital. To be sure, that was in the days of maritime IlljTicum about A. D. 9. The Avars first swept down upon her, and after 639 she seems to have been thrown back and forth between the Latins and the Slavs for centuries. She was rebuilt only to be sacked and burned again, until it is not surprising that nothing now remains of her former 85 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS greatness. Pillaged by our grewsome friends, the Uscocs, in 1607, she revived, only to be condemned to final destruction by Napoleon in 1809. But there must be something very tenacious about the inhabitants of this small town. She purchased her safety by the payment of an enormous fine and has already developed a profitable silk industry. Surely, some day, she will be able to utilize the enormous water power which the Klrka represents, and so become again an important commercial centre. We had heard that there was a ferry here on which we could cross the Krka River, but whether or not it would carry the automobile was the question. In four minutes from the Restaurant Buljan we had arrived at the broad bed of the stream and were inspecting the flat barge with its protecting sides which lay at the quay. It looked very small, but cautiously we ran up on it, and to my surprise, at least, it did not perceptibly sink. A shepherd draped in his brown kahanica came aboard, and three men of varying aspects bent, standing, to the oars. Slowly the boat swept out upon the wide river. The sensation was not an altogether pleas- ing one to the feminine portion of the party. A rope, or chain, stretched across from shore to shore, would have inspired us with confidence, but no such guidance was at hand, and the creaking craft seemed to make small headway against the strong current. The Leader, perhaps to divert our minds from the swirling water, called our attention to the fact that although Scardona lay just behind the pine- dotted cliffs it was invisible. The boatmen were so inter- ested in my kodak that at times they almost forgot to row. 86 SCARDONA — SEBENICO Why is it that, the world over, at sight of a camera the whole body involuntarily stiffens? Although it seemed much longer it was only fifteen minutes from the time we stopped to enter the ferry before we had started up the other bank of the Krka. Ascending the steep incline we were surprised, at a bend in the road, by a charming view of Scardona and Lake Prokljan. For miles and miles, on either side of this highway to Sebenico, the government has planted double rows of young trees on this otherwise barren tableland. It is a wise provision for the future and the road is a joy to the motorist. We, however, wish to see the famous falls of the Krka, so turn to our left at the first opportunity and follow a rough and narrow route to the north. Suddenly the flat tableland yawns apart, and far down in the canyon appears a rushing stream! The road drops down in four long winding loops until we are on a level with the river above the falls. We leave the car and walk on to various viewpoints below the roaring waters. How beautiful it is! The banks are thickly planted with Lombardy poplars and groves of a shrub which looks like sumac or ailanthus and whose twigs are covered with bursting red buds. "In fifty years the river has not been so high," we are told. It is amazing how the small islands of trees and grasses withstand that tumbling, crashing torrent. From its source in the Dinarian Alps near Knin to the sea-level at Sebenico the Krka descends in alternating level pools and high cas- cades; this is the eighth and last one and has been thus 87 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS described by Mr. Jackson in his well-known book on Dalmatia: ''The falls are on a really magnificent scale, reaching in various interrupted cascades all across the valley. The damp mist they throw up has encouraged a luxuriant vegetation, and the whole is embosomed in rich copses, through which there peeps in every direction the silver of numerous smaller cascades leaping down to join the main stream below. The river does not pour over the ledge in one unbroken sheet, as at Niagara, but in several independent cascades of various widths, the largest of which cannot be much less than 200 or 250 feet across. The total height of the falls, which are broken into several steps divided by stretches of glassy rapids, is said to be 170 feet. The upper fall is magnificent, formed by two streams falling together at an angle and uniting as they fall, but the lowest fall is perhaps the finest of all, thundering down into a great basin and throwing up clouds of spray, in which we saw a rainbow." Our own blue-backed swallows were circling in lovely curves above the swirling waters as we left the bed of the rock-girt stream and mounted once more to the tableland. It is only a ten-minute run from the corner where we regain the highway to the hotel at Sebenico, for the road is excellent. Passing a modern fortification, we get a charming view of the broad Krka where it merges into the sea, the islands beyond, and Sebenico crowned by its mediaeval castles. Down a long, straight, stone-paved street we go, turn sharply to the right beside the Public Garden, cross the Marina, and stop at the Hotel de la Ville. 88 SCARDONA — SEBENICO No one appeared in answer to our persistent tooting, so the Leader entered the deserted doorway to reconnoitre. It was the hour of the siesta — how could one expect a guest? The sleepy porter was finally aroused and per- suaded to take our bags up to some rooms facing the sea. Could we have some drinking water? He would inquire. Soon after, I heard the faintest murmur at my door and the fat landlady stole softly in without knocking, carrying a bottle of mineral water nearly as round as herself. ''Prego^^ she said, and the handle of the door came off in her hand as the wind slammed it. Nothing daunted, she went for tools and was soon back, bearing wire and a cutter with which she deftly fastened it on again. The landlord, the chef, the porter, even the chambermaid, assisted at the important function of ordering our dinner. The market-place was before the door and fresh peas looked very tempting. The rest we left to their discretion. It was only a little past four, none of us were tired, so we went out to get an impression of the town. How abso- lutely different is this port of Sebenico from the one at Zara! Neither could anything be more diverse than the appearance of the two cities. The fiat peninsula of Zara, with its encircling walls and towering campanile, only serves as a charming contrast to this terraced town mounting the hill- side, with its domed cathedral and dominating forts. In the large land-locked harbor a training ship was anchored, and through the tortuous channel sailed grimly a man-of-war. Near the pier lay a half-submerged steamer which had gone down the week before. Already the wreckers were at work 89 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS raising her. An enterprising photographer with a studio overlooking the scene had taken advantage of his location to secure good pictures at different stages of the disaster. This was a bit of Western enterprise most surprising in this Eastern land. The pictures, as well as the ship itself, were surrounded by an interested crowd of country folk. The costumes of the women were more sombre here, although the red streak below the coarse brown serge petticoat and the orange ker- chief, topping the loose brown sleeveless sack, gave a touch of color, which added to the effect of the full white sleeves and bodice. The red caps of the men were smaller than any we had yet seen. The seams of their brown jackets were corded with magenta and the front covered with many rows of crinkly magenta fringe. These coats opened over double-breasted embroidered vests set with filigree silver buttons. In the Public Garden is a statue erected to Nicolo Tom- maseo, who died in 1874, aged 72 years. 'T wonder who he was!" murmured the Enthusiast. Slowly and impressively the list of this celebrated man's attainments was read aloud, thereby causing the Enthusiast to blush for her ignorance. — "A philologist, philosopher, historian, poet, novelist, critic, psychologist, statist, poli- tician, and orator. He left nearly two hundred works." Surely his fellow-countrymen appreciated him and gladly honored him in this his native place. Up flights of steps from the quay we toiled, catching a glimpse of the apse above a band of curiously carved heads 90 I\ VHE MARKEP-I'LACE, SEBEXICO THK ROWS OF HEADS OX THE CATHEDRAL APSE THE I'LEASA.\T-LOf)KI\(; LION'S Af THE CAIHEDRAL DOOR, SEBEXICf ) SCARDONA — SEBENICO before we reached the picturesque piazza where the cathe- dral stands. These sculptured heads are extremely inter- esting, as they depict the different types of the period, princes, scholars, courtiers, and peasants, both Slavic and Italian. Across the square extends the open loggia of a casino, and from either side wind up more stone-paved paths, which disappear under archways leading to houses on steep ter- races above. A Venetian window or door-frame at odd cor- ners gives one a thrill of reminiscent joy, and looking down from the farther end of the square, once more we see the Krka, broadening as it nears the sea. A pelting rain sent us home again, — "home" being wherever our bags happened to be unpacked. By the dim light of a single electric bulb I looked about my large apart- ment. Evidently it had been the parlor of the hotel, for the red velvet curtains and grand piano imparted an air of ele- gance to the simple bed and washstand. Later on I made a further discovery. Beneath the fiimsily constructed floor was the restaurant, and the day being a holiday the merry- makers were driven by the rain from the terrace, where usually they sang their songs of joy, to take refuge in that warm and comfortable spot. Ringing voices, not too well in tune, came to my drowsy ears, with the clink of heavy mugs and an undertone of lively conversation. This gradually diminished as the "wee sma' hours" drew nigh, until finally only one reveller was left, and as revel- ling all alone is wearisome work, even he subsided and quiet reigned. The next morning it was still raining and we thought 91 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS dubiously of the roads. The market in the square before our windows, however, opened in good season, the tenders of the booths, mostly women, standing just within the drip- ping awnings. I cannot say that trade was brisk, but every now and then a customer with yawning basket would appear and would bargain with as much deliberation as if clothing were impervious to slanting showers. "Shall we go on to-day, in spite of mud and water?" "Why not wait until the afternoon?" — and I quoted my favorite maxim: "Rain before seven, clear before eleven." In this case I was justified, for by ten o'clock the rain had stopped and we sallied forth for new experiences. Now we appreciated the stone-paved stairways, for the rain had washed them clean and by proceeding slowly, we managed to climb to the cemetery just beneath the ancieat fort of San Giovanni. We stopped to take breath at its locked gate and a dozen dancing little demons in rags surrounded us, begging for coins. "The key?" Two dirty youngsters darted down the steep incline after the custode, returning in an incredibly short time with outstretched hands. But no! The key must be forthcoming first, which fact they accepted philosophically and returned to their gambling for pennies. It was some time before the healthy figure of a young woman came labor- iously up the hill carrying an iron key over a foot long. "■Eccol " cried the small band of robbers, thrusting forth their dirty palms. 92 SCARDONA-SEBENICO ''Patience! We must get some change first!" said the Leader. "Very well." They could wait, their game was inter- esting. The custode carefully locked the gate behind her as we entered the cemetery, and went up to the foot of the old fortifications. Here we obtained a magnificent view over the city and the splendid harbor with its surrounding heights. It was a restful place, the lilacs — our first lilacs — were sweet with blossoms and primroses starred the grassy banks. "I wonder what Sebenico means," idly ventured the Enthusiast. "Was it a Roman colony, too, like Zara?" "No," answered the Leader, half-reading, half-relating. "Sebenico is not of Roman origin, but is first spoken of as a Croatian town. According to traditions, some brigands built a fort here, overlooking the sea, and surrounded it with a palisade, or Sibue, hence the name Sibenik in Slavic, or Sebenico in Italian. It did not become important until after 1127, when the Croatian city of Belgrad (Zara Vecchia) being destroyed by the Venetians, the inhabitants took refuge here, and in 1298 it was made a bishopric. Gradually it became Latinized and although it suffered from various sieges and changes of masters, * in the sixteenth century the arts and sciences flourished in this city more than in any other in Dalmatia.' In this period the cathedral was built — " "Oh! I should like to see the cathedral again," ex- claimed the Enthusiast. So duly rewarding the waiting gamins, we descended the countless steps and once more looked upon the creamy 93 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS walls of the Duomo, lingered before its splendid Gothic portals, admiring especially the two pleasant-looking lions which guard the northern entrance. The barrel roof is constructed entirely of stone, which forms the inner ceiling as well. The dome, alsOjis of stone. Indeed, neither timber nor brick are used in any part of this noble building. Within, time has mellowed to an ivory tint the marble choir seats, the ancient walls and railings supporting tiny lions in various postures, and lent deeper shadows to the richly foliated band which, at the ceiling, encircles the church. But the famed baptistery, elaborate as it is and rich with much exquisite detail, leaves one with a sense of confusion and disappointment ! We emerged to find the sun shining brightly, the clouds rolled away, and a wind which promised to dry the country roads. Could motorists ask for more ? 94 CHAPTER VIII SEBENICO VIA TRAU TO SPALATO npHERE is a railroad from Sebenico to Spalato and up to Knin, 'Svith two trains daily," we were proudly informed; "making the entire distance of fifty-six and one- half miles in three and one-half hours!" But the highway to Spalato goes via Zitnic, an extremely roundabout route. Is there no other way? Oh, yes, there is a road; but it is little used, going over the Boraja direct to Trail and thence to Spalato. Is it possible to motor that way ? Well, opin- ions differed as to that, some asserting it was all right and others assuring us that it was bad; but neither side could give us any details. After thinking it over we con- cluded to try the shorter route, following the railroad until beyond Vrpolje. The road-bed is firm and dry. By the wayside blooms the ever-present genista, with asphodels and pink anemones; fruit and fig trees are bursting into leaf. ''Oh, do see that mass of yellow by the railroad track!" says the Enthusiast. "It is a new flower! Can't we get some?" "Probably we shall see it again," comforts the Leader, as we speed onward; for fields and ditches and fences separate us from those coveted blossoms. Curiously enough, however, we do not see them again during the w^hole day, although we look industriously for them. Later, on returning from the source of the Jadro, we find quantities 95 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS of them in a marshy spot amidst thorns and brambles. Some of these we gather and send to a wise man across the ocean, in order to learn their name and habit. But to return to our Spalato route. It proves of the same type as on the other side of Sebenico, desolate gray hills with occasional patches of green grain. At an angle in the road a church with many sheds confronts us, but no houses or people are in sight ; not a wheel-track can be discerned on the whole well-graded highway. Sometimes low-growing coarse grass gives a touch of color to the roadbed. We cross a substantial five-arched stone bridge over the now nearly dry bed of a mountain stream; and, leaving the railroad, enter a canyon where sage-brush and shaggy goats alone accompany us. Ascending very gradually by this forsaken government road, we come suddenly upon an oasis of almonds and figs, olives, cherries, and vines. How beautiful it is! No human habitation can we see, — yet some one must have planted them here in the midst of these boulder-covered fields. Leaving this garden spot we are once more traversing the hilltops, up and down, in apparently aimless wandering; the road, no longer good, is covered with sharp bits of rock, at sight of which the motorist shivers. Suddenly the car stops — and a sound of running water under the machine strikes consternation to our hearts. What is that? In an instant both men are out. It is the radiator! Can it be cracked ? That would be a catastrophe indeed! There follow moments of tragic suspense when each imagination travels far; for if this be true it means at 96 SEBENICO TO SPALATO least a week of waiting. And where ? Will we have to camp by the wayside or sleep in the automobile ? Already I can fancy hordes of ravening wolves, — of course, they would be ravening, — or possibly a bear creeping down those rocky heights and across the desolate fields! But the Leader laughs at our forebodings; there are no bears in Dal- matia, nor wolves, nor wild animals of any kind except coyotes; the fact that we have seen no village since leaving Vrpolje, miles back, would indicate that we must soon come to one; oxen could draw the car there by taking time, and the priest or school teacher or mayor of the town would take us in while the chauffeur went to Trieste, or possibly further, for the needed parts. Meanwhile, an examination is being made. " It is only the rubber connection which is broken," the chauffeur finally announces, " and I can fix it all right. I '11 wind it with adhesive tape. That will last until we reach Spalato and we can get a new piece of rubber there." Sighs of relief are exchanged by the sitters in the rear seat. ''But we cannot run without water, and there is not a drop left in the radiator," continues he. At this, our eyes search the wide horizon; as before, there is not a house in sight. We have not met one solitary per- son the whole distance from Sebenico, — either driving or riding or walking! The chauffeur is rapidly completing his repairs, — still no sign of help; stir from the spot we cannot ! ''Of course there must be some one within a mile or two 97 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS who cultivates these stony pastures so carefully enclosed, but this may not be his day to visit them," remarks the Leader. Is it in answer to our united longing that in the dis- tance at last appears a shambling lad ? He ambles up to the machine in curious contemplation, but the Leader imme- diately extracts the canvas pail from under the seat and points to its emptiness, looking in all directions and shaking his head. This language is universal. With eager gesture the Slavonic youth points to the mountains; and, as we pre- sent him with the pail, he stretches his arms to their utmost extent to signify the distance; but is finally persuaded to the task. We watch him running swiftly down the road, leaping wall after wall in his flight across the fields, until he disappears in a hollow where trees denote the presence of the precious well. The birds sing blithely, the afternoon is young, the chauf- fer is getting on successfully, and we wait for the reappear- ance of our Heaven-sent help. If he runs, coming back, there will be little water in the pail by the time it reaches us; also, unless he knows enough to soak the canvas thoroughly first, the contents will soon leak out; but our forebodings are, as usual, utterly unnecessary. From afar we watch him cautiously climbing the stone walls, deliberately walk- ing up the long road, and our enthusiastic reception of him and his brimming pail seems to surprise as well as please him. Of course, a small pailful of water does not fill the radiator; but by some mysterious process of mind-reading, 98 SEBENICO TO SPALATO the Leader manages to learn that only a kilometer or so beyond there is a wayside well with plenty of water in it, and we prepare to go on. Noticing how wistfully he eyes the car, the Leader motions the lad to sit down at his feet in it and cautions the chauffeur to run slowly, so as not to frighten him. We do run slowly; but, whether from fright or because this is his stopping-place, suddenly the boy steps off as he would from his ox-cart! We scream as he rolls on the rough road, luckily away from the machine; but by the time we have stopped and backed up to him he has risen, rubbing his bruised elbows and protesting that he is not hurt, though he looks a trifle pale, and we feel the need of language to ex- press our sympathy. Evidently when too late, he under- stands his miscalculation and bears us no ill will, and in five minutes we are stopping at the wayside well in an oasis at the foot of an embryonic village. Out from every doorway, down the steep hill, pour the entire population, men, women, and children! Such a brilliant procession! Different costumes from any we have yet seen! It is bewildering! And with what keen apprecia- tion these people enjoy the species of circus chariot brought to their own doors. A gorgeously gowned young woman, evidently a bride, does not stop to drop the big cloak she is mending, but follows down the hill to see the wonderful sight. The others take a lively interest when my kodak is brought forth and assist me in posing her. Silver coins almost cover the front of her sleeveless jacket and her white kerchief is spotlessly clean. She is almost as attractive as 99 MOTORING IN THE BALKANS the unconscious shepherd with his kid tucked under his arm. ''I never can get used to those silly pancake-like caps on these broad-shouldered men!" murmured Madame Content. "Do you see that one has an elastic, at the back, to keep his on!" After this pleasant interlude we bowl over sterile hills with higher mountains rising on either side, the road con- stantly improving. A few scattered shepherds watching their flocks are our only companions until, at the end of a long straight road, we reach a precipitous cliff and stop in keen delight. Far below us lies the sea-girt city of Trau, with its mediaeval walls and towers rising picturesquely from the water; and, beyond, the cloud-flecked peaks of the Dinarian Alps. Two miniature ships approach a fairy-like port, — it is Seghetto, with its steepled church and clustered houses. The islands of Solta, of Brazza, and even of Lesina, are gradually disclosed as we slip down in long loops through pine nurseries and fields of fragrant lentils. The descent is not always smooth; but the views are so splendid and varied that any discomfort of that kind is soon forgotten. Crossing ''the silver streak of sea that saved the city from the Tartar hordes," we stop before the Porta di Terra Firma and dismount to see the city of Trail, or Trogir. From the masonry of this gate a cypress bush has sprung, which, according to local superstition, miraculously flour- ishes to hide the sculptured lion of St. Mark, that hated symbol of Venetian domination. Bits of Italian architecture lOO ^11 S?T