But what was most striking was the thoroughly Mahometan appearance of so many of these Christian devotees. The influence of Islâm seemed to have infected even their ritual; for many grovelled on the ground and kissed the earth, as in a mosque. There was one man whom I should have mistaken for a Hadji or Turkish pilgrim; there were others with the shaven crown of a true-believing Moslem, and the single pig-tail, so thoughtfully preserved by the Faithful to aid the Angel Gabriel in dragging them into Paradise. There were women with faces so nearly eclipsed that they seemed in fear of the injunctions of the Koràn; and even the monks who had come up from the monastery of Comušina might be mistaken at a little distance for Turkish officials. There was something pathetic in the sight of so many Christians, dressed indeed in the garb of Mahometans, but still clinging to the faith of their fathers![175] Indeed, the whole scene was one which, though well-nigh impossible to describe, no one who had seen it could ever forget, and in which even those who lament the superstition must acknowledge some elements of grandeur and beauty;—the solitary mountain-peak, momentarily thronged by pilgrims who in some childish yearning after heaven had pitched their place of worship here so as to be nearer their celestial goal—the votaries themselves—these poor peasants, brutalised by centuries of misrule, steeped in ignorance and bigotry, outcasts of this world rapt in silent communings (as they believed) with another and a happier; beneath them the primeval forest; around in every direction an aërial gulf; and beyond, far as the eye could pierce the deepening twilight, range upon range of lonely mountains.
Not but what these thrifty Bosniacs had turned the opportunity to account by combining with their religious festival and pilgrimage a large fair—or, as the Germans would say, a year-market—which occupied the other end of the mountain neck. A long lane was formed along which to arrange the wares, but the show was mostly reserved for the festa itself on the morrow. On each side of this lane the peasants were camped in families; and in the festivities of the night and the fair next morning we saw displayed before us, as in some brilliant picture-book, the whole life of the rayah country people from a large tract of Bosnia: their varying costumes, their simple diet, their cheap necessities, their dances and discordant minstrelsy, and over all, the shadow of a Damoclean scimetar.
As the night drew on the whole neck of the mountain was lit up by cheery bonfires, round which the peasants clustered in social circles. Our Zaptieh provided us with blazing logs for ourselves, over which we performed our own culinary operations, supplemented by a generous haunch from a sheep, roasted in the usual Bosnian fashion. This is how the peasants cooked their meat—for on this high-day there were some who indulged in such a luxury as mutton. They took a sharp stake about eight feet long, and inserting it in the slaughtered animal’s mouth or neck, skewered it right through the carcase and out at the tail. Two low forks were now driven into the ground, the huge spit with its burden was lodged on them, a large fire was kindled over against it, and the peasants took turn and turn about to make the spit go round. A goodly portion of the assemblage seemed determined to make a night of it, and what with carousing, dancing, singing, and playing, I will not deny that they succeeded.
The first dance I saw was of a comic kind, performed by two men, and there were so many varying figures that one fancied they must improvise them as they went on. The accompaniment on a ghuzla, the one-stringed lute of the Serbs, was of the dolefullest, and the dance itself was anything but graceful. The chief object that they apparently had in view was to dislocate every limb in the most comfortable way possible. Now and then they stamped on the ground, and then walked after each other and round each other in a clown-like fashion; and now and then they would pause and tread gingerly with their feet, as if they were trying whether ice would bear, fumbling the while in a stupid way about their noses, as if to see that spectacles were safely fixed on them. The Kolo, however, or round dance of the Sclaves, was more elegant, and chiefly danced by the girls, who formed themselves in a ring and danced round and round, sometimes in a very spirited manner.
The most monotonous of all the dances was that with which some Turkish officials, who had fixed their quarters at the further end of the mountain neck, solaced themselves. Not that they danced themselves! they were far too lazy and phlegmatic to do that; but they impressed into their service a succession of rayah boys, who in turn danced long pas seuls before their lords and masters. Without leaving what we may call his pedestal, a boy kept treading the ground to the weary see-sawing music, and trying to make every muscle and limb quiver like a jelly. Then, after performing this operation for a good ten minutes, with his face towards his Turkish admirers, he slowly turned round on his pivot and danced—if such tremulous distortion could be called dancing!—for an equal space of time, with his back to the spectators, and then he gradually swerved round again as if he were roasting before a slow fire, and was from time to time adjusted by a turnspit! But the Turks, comfortably squatted on carpets strewn over the turf, gazed gravely on by the hour together, and seemed to enjoy the spectacle.
We heard much playing of ghuzlas and double pipes and flutes, and much vocal accompaniment with lyric songs and long epic ballads. The instruments, with the exception of the ghuzla, were the same as the Croatian already described, and the ghuzla itself resembled a tamburitza with three strings and bow in place of fingers; but the playing on them struck me as slightly better than what we had heard at Siszek. The metre was as curious and as much a relic of an older world as the instruments whose Arcadian affinities have been already touched on. One of the many minstrels was enchanting an audience of Bosniac maidens with a lyric, whose measure, unless my ears deceived me, was identical with that of Anacreon’s song beginning,
λέγουσω αΐ γυναῖκες,
Ἀνακρεων γέρων εἶ.
And it was strange and impressive, with the air merry with tree-crickets from the foliage around, to catch, as it, seemed, the cadence of that exquisite ode in which the Teian bard paid his homage to the same cicadas!