In many places on the road, traverses of immensely thick stone walls had been erected for protection against the fury of the wind, but notwithstanding all, the Karst is sometimes impassable when the Bora blows in real earnest, and heavy-laden waggons which have tried to cross it at such times, have been turned over and over like "leaves in Autumn weather." After travelling for some short time along this elevated plateau, we again began to descend, and soon reached our destination, where, having eaten the lunch I had brought with me, I started on foot, under the guidance of a native who could speak nothing but Styrian, to seek the mysterious river.
In less than half an hour's walk, I found myself on a grass-covered plateau of some miles in extent, fringed in the distance by lofty hills, dotted with clumps of fir trees, and after a few minutes more walking in an easterly direction, I suddenly came on a perpendicular precipice, upwards of five hundred feet in depth, which completely barred my further progress. The cliff on which I stood rose in a narrow valley, or glen, or cleft, as if the crust of the earth had cracked here for a few miles. This cleft, nearly of uniform depth, was not of uniform width; in some places it was so narrow that the smooth river which glided through it completely filled it from side to side, while in other places a sufficient strip of soil remained between the river and the cliff to admit of some amount of cultivation, and here and there a cottage.
This strange cleft, or valley, or crack in the plateau through which the river flows is of a most irregular outline, going zig-zag, in and out, just like the cracks one sees in a dried up pond at the end of a hot Summer in England. I was standing where this precipitous crack barred the way, by running exactly at right angles across the path, and here right under me at a depth of about five hundred feet, the river which could be seen coursing from a considerable distance at the bottom of the cleft, suddenly leapt into a cavern and disappeared beneath my feet.
Having made a rapid sketch of this extraordinary landscape—or, more correctly speaking, having tried to convey on paper some faint idea of what the place was like—I again followed the guide, who now, turning his back on the precipice, led me in a westerly direction, and brought me in a few minutes to the brink of a fearful-looking circular chasm, about fifty yards in diameter, with precipitous rocky sides, and from the bottom of which could be heard the distant roar of the river rushing among the rocks. The guide threw some large stones down this yawning gulph, disturbing some thousands of rock-pigeons who build their nests in the nooks and crannies of the rocks, and having timed the fall of one of these stones by listening for its splash in the subterranean river, I noted about seven seconds as the time it took in falling.
I now accompanied the guide through the little hamlet of San Canziano, and still going westward came just beyond the village on another chasm, of oblong form, about six hundred yards one way, and three hundred and fifty yards the other way, while in depth it was no more than about fifty yards. It looked to me as if this opening had been made by the subsidence or falling-in of the roof of some cavern, of which the limestone rock of these mountains, as well in Styria as in Dalmatia is so full. The sides of this depression were not precipitous except in some places, and an easy descent led me to the bottom, across which stretched from side to side a fantastic ridge of rock pierced by a natural arch about the middle, and under which an opening in the rock gave entrance to another cavern, through which anyone desirous of exploring it could without much difficulty, but at the cost of some fatigue and the risk of some falls, descend by a series of about six hundred high and slippery ledges of rock to where again the river makes its appearance after its subterranean course.
As the day was pretty well advanced, and as the weather, which had been cloudy all the morning seemed now to be threatening rain, I thought it wisest not to venture on going further, although the guide had provided himself with candles for the descent. So I scrambled up the sides of the chasm, and was making for the roadside inn where the carriage was waiting for me, when the storm-clouds, which had been gathering thicker and thicker for some time, broke out at last into such a deluge of rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning, that I was glad to take refuge under the archway of the belfry of San Canziano, and from thence into the church itself, the door of which was opened for me by a queer little old dried-up chip of a sexton.
I am sure he said to me, "Pray take shelter in here from the rain," though as he spoke Styrian I could not understand a word, but his looks and gestures were as eloquent as words. Having walked into the little church, first taking off my hat, the little sexton became quite eloquent, and pointed out with evident satisfaction to every part of the chapel, which was poor and desolate in the extreme. Four white-washed walls, a wretched altar piece of wood painted in a few gaudy colours, and a crimson damask baldachino in tatters, which, stowed away in a corner, served to shelter the "Santissimo" when carried about in procession, two or three benches, a confessional box, and a lighted lamp hanging in front of the altar, constituted toute la baraque! but the poor little old man seemed delighted with himself and everything around him, and kept repeating in a shrill voice the only Italian word he apparently possessed "Bella," "Bella," to which I responded as in duty bound, "molto bella," and I trust I may be forgiven the cram; for I never told a bigger one in all my life!
The floor of this little church was formed of large flag-stones, in some of which iron rings were inserted, while in others there only remained the marks of where rings had formerly been; some had inscriptions, and I should have been interested in hearing something of the ancient tenants of these graves, but here the sexton and I came completely to a dead lock. "Bella" could serve my friend no longer, still he understood perfectly what I required, so when he sat down on a bench, pointing to me to do the same, I complied at once, and all the more willingly as the rain was still coming down in torrents.
The old fellow then commenced, and, pointing with his skinny finger to the central slab, entered at once into what, I presume, must have been a full, true, and complete history of the tenants of that grave, descanting probably on their virtues, and dealing gently with their faults; but alas! I could not understand one word. At last, I suppose the same thought must have struck "Old Mortality," for he suddenly stopped and bursting into a shrill, unearthly, and most discordant laugh, pointed to the sky which was now clearing, and held out his palsied hand, when I discovered he knew another word, not Slave, nor Italian, but this time German, "Geschenk!" I gave him the only bit of silver I possessed, an English sixpence, and left him seemingly contented.
The clouds had all melted away, and the sun shone brilliantly when I left the little roadside tavern of San Canziano to return to Trieste; but, as I wanted to visit a stud-park which the Emperor of Austria keeps in this part of his dominions, we took another route on my return journey. The country we now drove through was prettier than what we had traversed in the morning, and the road passed through some fine oak woods, which constantly prompted one to look out for a mansion, the country appeared so park-like—but in vain.