Verlicca

“From Sign I went to the baths of Verlicca, five hours higher up the valley of the Cetigne, which in the months of July and August are, from their mineral waters and cool picturesque situation, the popular Spa of those Spalatines and Ragusans whose circumstances allow them to go thither. The valley is from a mile to two miles wide, and the character of the scenery entirely different from that with which I had hitherto associated Dalmatia in my mind. Instead of the olive, the aloe, and carob, were the saplings of the north, the white bud of the thorn, the verdant grassy slopes, and the clear Cetigne murmuring its winding way over the dark-brown pebbles, while the birds, in chorus, whistled a joyous welcome to the genial spring. […]. And every now and then a Customs revenue officer, armed with a long gun, and asking my name, and the object of my journey, reminded me of my vicinity to the frontier. 

The people, if better dressed than the peasantry of the north of Europe, were infinitely worse lodged and appointed. The agricultural utensils are of the rudest description; the houses are square cabins, with a framework of wooden beams, and built up with shapeless stones, joined by cement of cow-dung and ashes; most of them have a chimney; and in those I saw, the cattle and humanity were not intended to be under the same roof, as in Montenegro. The floor is the bare earth; the roofs are quite black with the smoke, and take on a jetty lustre that looks better than any abortive attempt at whitewashing. The furniture consists of a few low three-legged stools, beds of blankets without sheets, a large chest or two, a low round table, and earthenware dishes for food, with wooden spoons. Fire-insurance is unknown; and when a man’s house is burned, all the country side has a pride in assisting him to rebuild it, his neighbours offer him hospitality till he be replaced, and on the completion of the house, all bring their offerings of utensils and provisions; so that a fire is seldom a loss (pp. 19-20).

Verlicca has a pleasing situation, but is not half the size of Sign; and I put up at the boarding-house of the water-drinkers, there being no regular inn. A gravel road led out of the town, down a slope, to a dark wooded angle between two mountains; and in this nook, at the extremity of an alley of trees, was a wall, breast-high, forming a circular enclosure, within which were stone benches, and without, well-grown shady planes. Here were the principal people of the place, playing bowls. […]. As we approached to the town, perceived a large assemblage of male and female Morlacks, enjoying themselves with music and dancing; this being Sunday. […]. The dance, which the women performed in a circle, is called the Kolo; it is the national Illyrian amusement, and probably a legitimate descendant of the Pyrrhic dance. The sexes were not mingled; and the females taking each other’s hands, made a slow perpetual round, rising and falling. […]. The music they made was a slow, droning, humming chorus; and without the circle, and seated on a low piece of wall, was a man playing the gusly, or Illyrian violoncello. The sound is not unpleasing. Like oriental music, it appears at first hearing to the European to have no beauty in it; but custom soon reconciles the ear, and at length we prefer it to hearing no music at all (pp. 21-22)”.