Having slowly worked our way through this sumptuous repast, we went on deck, where coffee was served with its usual accompaniment of Maraschino, both sweetened and unsweetened, together with the inevitable smoke, which contrary to reason, as one would think, is even more comforting in hot countries like the Levant, than it is in cold damp regions like Holland.
I have a dim recollection of the captain tapping me on the shoulder and telling me something about Ragusa Vecchia and Epidaurus as we were steaming down the coast; but I was in too dreamy a state to pay much attention to him at the time, and as I knew the coast was uninteresting, I told him to call me as soon as we should come in sight of the Bocche and Castelnuovo, and dozed away again.
I afterwards learnt that this Epidaurus, about which I was rather fretting for having refused to stir from my siesta to look at it, was really not worth seeing, though an ancient city, having been founded by a Greek colony somewhere about 700 years b.c., more or less; but all its antiquities had been removed long ago.
It was between three and four in the afternoon when I awoke of my own accord, thus anticipating the captain, who was just coming to tell me that we were about entering the canal of Cattaro, as it is called, but which to our ear is far better described by the name of Fjord of Cattaro. It is to all intents and purposes a Fjord, being an arm of the sea running up for eighteen miles into land, between high precipitous cliffs; and if there is not a glacier at the end of it, but only a quaint Dalmatian town with the most picturesque fort and fortifications in the world, it does not alter the character of the inlet.
The entrance to this Fjord, called "le Bocche di Cattaro," is guarded on the right by the Fort of Castelnuovo, and on the left is bounded by a narrow strip of Turkish territory, a portion of Herzegovina, which here comes down to the Adriatic, separating the Circolo of Ragusa from that of Cattaro. By some strange political arrangement, or oversight more probably, another narrow strip of Turkish territory comes down to the Adriatic on the north of Ragusa, completely isolating that ancient Republic which finds itself thus entirely surrounded by Ottoman territory on three sides, while on the fourth it is bounded by the Adriatic.
The country about the entrance of the Bocche di Cattaro is fine, well wooded and planted with olive trees, through which can be seen numerous habitations, while many of the rugged heights are crowned with semi-fortified churches, which served as places of refuge to the women and children in troublous times.
Proceeding onwards, the scene varies and the trees lessen in numbers, though the landscape loses nothing of its beauty, as by the constant windings of the Fjord the changes are continuous and rapid, and the many villages built on the edge of the water, and sharply reflected in it, add one more charm to the picture. At one point the Fjord is barely half a mile across, when suddenly it expands into a lake of many miles in circumference, where all the navies of the world could lie in safety. But now the scene changes again and the Fjord becomes a narrow tortuous channel, bounded on either side by naked rocky cliffs. Like the rest of the coast of Dalmatia it is, however, very beautiful. About half way between Castelnuovo and Cattaro, the Fjord expands and divides right and left forming two bays, that of Risano to the left, and that of Cattaro to the right; while in front rise the almost perpendicular crags of Montenegro, at the foot of which, with barely room to build on, so near does the mountain come to the edge of the water, stands the town of Perasto with the ancient fort of Santa Croce just above it.
This place must have been of considerable importance within late years, still I never saw such a picture of poverty and desolation. The houses are not in ruins, but look dilapidated; the windows are broken in, the jalousies hanging by one hinge and in pieces, while in many places the roofs are stripped of their tiles. The position of Perasto cannot be surpassed; built on a promontory facing the west, it has the lake-like expansion of the Gulf of Cattaro in front and does not consequently labour under the disadvantage Cattaro suffers from, by having a chain of mountains in front of it to the westward, which deprive it of the sun in Winter before two o'clock in the afternoon. The style of the houses in Perasto shows that not long ago it could boast of an opulent population, which is further exemplified by the fortress built at the expense of the town—by its lofty steeple and by its churches. One in particular caught my eye from the steamer, it had no façade, not that it had fallen into ruin, neither had it been shaken down by an earthquake, but was built so; open to the weather with a half cupola something like one of those little roadside shrines dedicated to the Virgin which we meet with constantly in Italy and other Catholic countries, only on a very much larger scale.
I felt quite interested in Perasto, it looked so picturesque, so noble, so poor! One house especially struck my fancy, but the word house does not convey its appearance, it was what an Italian would call a palazzo. The entrance was evidently from a back street, while the side which faced the water consisted of a loggia of many pilasters and arches, into which opened the rooms of the ground floor, while above it were tiers of large and handsome windows. In front of the loggia was a paved terrace, from which a series of steps, the whole length of the house, led down to the water. It was uninhabited and in fact going rapidly to ruin! I fancied to myself what a little paradise one could make of it; I saw in my mind's eye a row of orange trees growing on that terrace, a yacht moored close into those steps, and life and bustle in those chambers where all was now silence and decay. What can have brought such desolation on Perasto? I asked several people but I could get no satisfactory answer! some blamed Austria, some il commercio; I suppose I could have bought the fee simple of that house in Perasto for a £10 note.
In front of Perasto are two small islands—San Giorgio and La Madonna. In the church of La Madonna is to be seen an ancient picture of the Virgin, attributed as usual to the artistic efforts of the Evangelist Luke, who evidently, from what I have seen of his works of art in different places, was not possessed of much talent in that line. Tradition states that the picture was transported in 1452, by an unknown hand, from Negropont to this rock; and being seen amidst lighted candles by some fishermen, it was removed to the church of Perasto. The next night it returned to the island; and the same action having been repeated three times, it was presumed that the picture preferred remaining there; thus they built a church for it, which no doubt turned out a profitable speculation.