Metkovic, the port of Bosnia on the Mediterranean, and the southern terminus of the state railway, is situated upon a point of land made by the silt of the Narenta River, twelve miles from its mouth, and has the unhappy reputation of being the most unhealthy port on the Adriatic. The surrounding country is swampy, and miasmatic poisons are believed to rise in clouds from the surface of the earth whenever the sun goes down. It is purely a modern commercial city, with about 4,000 population, mostly Italians, Greeks and Jews, and looks like an Italian town. Everybody is engaged in fishing or shipping. Metkovic will become a port of growing importance as the trade of Bosnia develops, but people never stop there if they can help it for fear of malaria and mosquitoes, and the trains from Sarajevo are arranged to connect with the steamers so that passengers can be rushed through as if it were a plague-infested place. I do not think it is any worse than Colon, and it really looks much better, because the buildings are of stone or stuccoed brick, with thick walls, solid floors and tiled roofs, while Colon is a collection of bamboo huts and wooden houses. Metkovic is fourteen miles from salt water. A canal is being dredged through the delta, which is broad and level, so that the largest steamers can reach the docks instead of handling cargoes in lighters. The marsh, being made of the soil washed down from the mountains, is of prodigious richness, and marvelous stories are told of its fertility; but the atmosphere is so unhealthful that few people attempt to cultivate the land. Syndicates have been organized to drain the marsh, but the outlay is too great. I have seen tropical vegetation along the Spanish Main, in Yucatan, Cuba and the other West India Islands, in the valleys of the Amazon and the Orinoco, but there is nothing on the American hemisphere to compare with the plant life there.
The most interesting of the many places along the eastern coast of the Adriatic are Spalato and Salona, where are found the most extensive and best-preserved Roman ruins and remains in all that country. Centuries before the birth of Christ, Salona was a populous and prosperous city, and its people were far advanced in culture; quite equal to those of Rome. Their wealth and artistic taste, their luxurious habits and rivalry in display, are clearly illustrated by the remains of their palaces, baths and places of amusement. The entire district for fifty miles around is full of absorbing attractions to archeologists and historians, and the palace of Diocletian at Salona is declared to be the best-preserved example of Roman architecture of its period now extant. It possesses extraordinary interest for everybody, and fascinates artists and architects.
Attracted by the entrancing scenery of Salona, his native place, the Emperor Diocletian, at the height of his power and opulence, erected here an incomparable retreat in which he spent his declining years. The palace, or more properly the series of palaces, covers nearly ten acres of ground, and contemporary writers relate that 6,000 servants, attendants and guards were required to protect and wait upon this luxurious Roman. The palace was twelve years in construction, and must have cost an enormous sum of money, for in size, magnificence and architectural pretensions it surpassed all dwellings that had been erected before or have been erected since. At the time of its completion, at the end of the third century after Christ, it was doubtless the largest, the most beautiful and costly structure ever built by human hands. Many of the architectural details still remain in a perfect or partial state of preservation, sufficient to excite the wonder and the admiration of visitors. The most perfect portions are the mausoleum, intended for Diocletian’s tomb, which is now used as a church; the Capella Palatine, now the baptistery; the main vestibule, a colonnade and three of the gates. All of them are sufficiently well preserved to permit an accurate study, but the rest of the palaces have been practically destroyed, and the marble is being gradually carried to Trieste, Venice and even to Rome and other cities of Italy for building purposes. Several of the most beautiful palaces in Venice are said to have been constructed entirely of material taken from the palace of Diocletian. After the death of the emperor, in 313 A.D., the palace became state property, but none of his successors ever made it an abode, because of the expense of maintaining the establishment. Shortly after the Christian era it was converted into a fortress and after the fall of the Roman empire was allowed to crumble into ruins.
PART V
Greece
PART V
GREECE
XV
FROM CORFU TO CORINTH
A little narrow-gauge railway runs across the kingdom of Greece from Patras to the town of Corinth, hugging the Gulf of Corinth, and then, crossing a ridge that divides the isthmus, follows the shore of the Saronic Gulf to Athens. There are altogether about six hundred miles of railroad under operation in Greece, and about three hundred miles abandoned. You can find the track of the latter in various parts of the country, but the most important of the abandoned routes was to run up through Thessaly, the northern part of the kingdom, to the Turkish frontier. A little more patience and a little more money would have carried it through and made a splendid thing for the entire country, because the people of southern Greece do not raise food enough to supply their own wants, while in northern Greece there is a good deal to spare. The difference in the price of bread in the Peloponnesus and in Thessaly is unnaturally great, for the Thessalians have few markets and the Peloponnesians have few farms. This railroad was expected to equalize things, but unfortunately it has not been completed and the rails lie rusting until they are stolen for old iron.
Brindisi is the gateway to the East. The steamers for India, China and Japan touch there coming and going, to leave and take passengers for and from Paris, London, Berlin and other parts of Europe, who can thus save the long voyage of seven or eight days from Bremen and Hamburg and five and six days from London and Havre, and cross Europe by rail. Special trains with dining-cars and sleepers are run in connection with the steamers which carry the mails also, making Paris and Berlin in thirty-six hours from Brindisi and London in forty-eight.
When you leave Brindisi going east you enter Hellenic ground. The Adriatic, like some other beauties, has an uncertain temper and behaves badly sometimes. It is called “the blue Adriatic,” “the gem of seas,” “the sapphire sea,” and by other poetic names, but it is also “the stormy Adriatic,” and an old seaman told me that “it could kick up more sea than the Atlantic Ocean on the slightest provocation.” The steamers for Greece generally leave Brindisi at midnight, so as to reach the opposite coast early in the morning, and there, when you awaken, if you please, you can see the sun rise upon masses of solid snow that crown the mountains of the Albanian coast of Turkey. The land of mythology is before you. Every island, every mountain, every valley was the scene of some fable, the abode of some god, or a battlefield that you read about in the Greek classics when you were in college. The places and the names of ancient history are brought home in a familiar way, and as you gaze from the deck of the steamer upon them they look like the real thing.
At Corfu, a beautiful little island lying off the Turkish coast, you get your first view of oriental life and customs, and a girl with a kodak is kept busy taking snap-shots of the queer things she sees. There is a temptation to photograph all the ruins, because they remind you of the warriors, heroes and philosophers you studied about when a boy, and Greece is full of them. The island of Ithaca excites vivid recollections, and the Phæacian ship which brought Ulysses home lies in the harbor of Corfu, turned to stone. It is now occupied by a monastery of Greek monks and called by the humiliating name of Mouse Island. According to the Odyssey, after he was wrecked, Ulysses landed at Corfu, swimming to the shore. He made up a bed of dead leaves on the rocks as a precaution against rheumatism, and, worn out by excitement, peril and fatigue, sank into a dreamless sleep. There he was discovered by Nausicaa, a beautiful princess, upon whose charms Homer loves to linger. She was the daughter of King Alcinous, and when Ulysses awoke she led him to her father’s palace, with its exquisite gardens and luscious fruits. The local guides, who endeavor to adjust their moral consciousness to the curiosity of visitors, and the topography of the island to the demands made upon them, show the exact place where Ulysses swam ashore, and tell you that the garden of the King Alcinous is now occupied by the country palace of King George of Greece, one of the most democratic and considerate of monarchs, who loves to have the people enjoy everything that belongs to him. He opens his gates to strangers and subjects alike. Nobody is required to pay a fee or even to ask permission, although the proper thing to do is to leave a card at the porter’s lodge and a word of appreciation, which that official takes entirely to himself. One of the streets in Corfu is named in honor of King Alcinous, and Ulysses is considered a sort of stepson of whom the community is exceedingly proud.