Visiting the island Hvar in November, there was little to see. Out of the tourist season, the little town of Hvar seemed rather empty, and the important sites were closed. Even the coming parliamentary election did not elicit much excitement. I observed a rally of the ruling HDZ party, attended by a crowd of mainly elderly supporters, whose mechanical applause for the dull speeches of party figures appeared no more than dutiful. Hvar is however a very charming little place. I first visited in 2000, for a wedding. The name derives from the Greek colony of Pharos, on the other side of the island. In the middle ages, the capital of the island was moved to the present site of Hvar town, the old capital being renamed Stari Grad, literally ‘the Old Town’.
When the English architect T.G. Jackson and his wife visited Stari Grad in the 19th Century, they found little of interest. The locals tried to dissuade them from making the journey across the island to Hvar, which they described as ‘a poor decayed place’. Coincidentally, before I left Split for Hvar, my landlady there also told me that there was nothing much to see in Hvar town, and that I would do better to stay in Stari Grad. For the Jacksons, getting from Stari Grad to Hvar involved a boat down the coast, followed by donkeys across the island – an arduous trip. For me, it was a short bus ride.
Jackson was delighted by Hvar town, although he noted its dilapidation, writing that ‘on all sides we saw roofless walls set with beautiful traceried windows through which the blue sky was seen, and handsome houses with rich balconies now deserted or turned into magazines or storehouses.’ Jackson added that Hvar’s heyday was in the past, as ships no longer put in there, and the end of the Turkish threat meant there was no need for its fortifications any more.
The town is in much better condition today, although walking through the narrow streets, one still comes across occasional abandoned buildings, greenery poking through ornate stone windows. Some of them are in the process of renovation. A common problem in Dalmatia is that the ownership of fine old houses is diffused among dozens of relatives, many of them in Zagreb or spread around the world. Getting agreement on what to do with such properties can be difficult, with the result that they are left to continue their slow decline. Hvar boasts the oldest theatre in Croatia. Built in 1612, it is above the arsenal, and was under renovation when I visited.
When I visited Korčula for the first time in 1990, it poured with rain. During my second visit, more than 20 years later, the rain again poured down. And indeed, the island does seem to be notably damper than the rest of Dalmatia. Travelling by bus in 1990 from Vela Luka at the western end of the island to the town of Korčula at the eastern end, I was struck by the lush green of the place, such a contrast with the arid, rocky dryness of other Dalmatian islands. The 19th British traveller A.A. Paton wrote of the ‘luxuriant and variegated shrubbery’ on Korčula, which he described as looking like ‘one great conservatory.’
In its Venetian heyday, the town of Korčula was a prosperous place, as attested to by its fine buildings. Its glory was considerably faded when Paton and Jackson visited. Paton described the Arneri Palace, across the square from the cathedral, as ‘sadly dilapidated’. Both he and Jackson were much taken by the enormous door knocker of the palace, in the form of Hercules flanked by two lions. Jackson sketched it. Sgr. Arneri described the pleasure he derived from giving the knocker a knock, which made the risk of the knocker being stolen worthwhile. A Hapsburg prince had offered its weight in gold in exchange for the knocker. Now, the knocker is kept at the museum of Korčula, in the next-door Gabrieli Palace. It is an impressive piece. I gave it a knock myself, and understood Sgr. Arneri’s delight at its rich, deep tone.
The Arneri door knocker, Korčula
Jackson also remarked on a ruined house with a ‘splendid window with carvings of birds and serpents’. The house’s balconies had been sold to an American, for his house in New York, and the impoverished owner was being tempted by offers for the window as well. I was told at the museum that the window had been kept in Korčula, but had been removed to the cathedral museum. I asked a priest at the cathedral office if I could see the window, but was peremptorily dismissed. A Korčula woman told me that Jackson had played an important role in saving the town’s heritage, setting up a fund for the purpose, and that his contribution was still appreciated. She contrasted Jackson’s efforts on behalf of Korčula with the conduct of the former Venetian rulers, who she said had ruled only for Venice, and not for Korčula.
I had heard such bitterness towards the Venetians in Dalmatia on previous occasions. Typically, they are reproached for having stripped Dalmatia of its resources, especially timber, while showing scant concern for the economic or social well-being of the inhabitants. Of course, Venetian rule did see a cultural flowering in towns up and down the coast, as the numerous fine buildings attest. And those buildings also give evidence to the prosperity that Venice’s trading empire brought to the coastal towns. But foreign travellers confirmed the neglect and backwardness of the Dalmatian interior. Paton considered that, among the various foreign rulers of Dalmatia, the Austrians had done most for the populace, building infrastructure and introducing universal education. The Egyptologist, J. Gardner Wilkinson, remarking on the primitive state of the Dalmatian hinterland in the 1840s, also noted that the Austrians had made improvements after the neglect by the Venetians.
Korčula’s particular claim to fame, disputed by many, is its assertion that Marco Polo was a native of the island. Indeed, the house where he is supposed to have resided, round the corner from the cathedral, is one of the main attractions. During my visit, it was in the process of being renovated. Wherever he originated, it is certain that Marco Polo took part in the Battle of Korčula between the Venetians and Genoese in 1298, as a galley commander, and that he was wounded, captured and imprisoned by the victorious Genoese.
In the museum of Korčula is a collection of photographs and documents concerning the Partisan struggle against the Italian and German occupiers on the island. Along with most of the rest of Dalmatia following the dismemberment of Yugoslavia in April 1941, Korčula was annexed by Italy. Partisan groups were formed, as a result of whose activities six hostages were shot by the Italians in August 1942. Following the capitulation of Italy in September 1943, the Partisans briefly took control of the island, before the Germans took over in December.
On 4 November 1943, the first Conference of the People’s Liberation Council for the District of Korčula took place in Korčula town. Among the participants emerging from the conference in a photograph displayed at the museum is Fitzroy MacLean, Churchill’s envoy to Tito. MacLean had an illustrious career as a diplomat (he was in Moscow during Stalin’s purges, and travelled widely throughout the country, later writing about his experiences); soldier (he was an early member of the SAS); and politician (as a Conservative MP). But it was for his role in World War II Yugoslavia that he was most remembered, and with which he is most associated. I met him, a very old man by then, at the beginning of the 1990s, as Yugoslavia was on the point of collapse.
In 1943, MacLean was instrumental in a change in British policy towards Yugoslavia, away from supporting both the Royalist Chetniks of Draža Mihailović and the Communist-led Partisans, instead fully backing the Partisans. His brief from Churchill was apparently to find out who was killing the most Germans in Yugoslavia, and how Britain could help them to kill more. Maclean’s relatively brief stay in Yugoslavia, during which he was a guest of Tito, and had no contact with Mihailović’s adherents, resulted in his so-called ‘blockbuster’ report, which confirmed the already widely held view among the British that their full support should go to Tito. His report was, and remains highly controversial, contributing as it did to a switch in policy that helped the Communists triumph in Yugoslavia.
Evelyn Waugh, another of the British agents with the Partisans, warned of the consequences of Communist victory, including repression of dissent, and in particular of religion. Waugh met Maclean, and did not warm to him, expressing distaste at his evident ambition. Indeed, MacLean elicited resentment among many of the British military officers concerned with Yugoslavia, especially because of his close relationship with Churchill. Not only Maclean, but also an earlier British envoy to Tito, Bill Deakin, were close to Churchill. Churchill took a keen interest in the activities of the two young men, who he perhaps saw living through similar adventures to those of his own youth. He seemed to have an almost romantic attitude to the Partisan struggle in Yugoslavia, viewing Tito as a kind of T.E. Lawrence in the Balkans. Tito remarked that Churchill wept the first time they met, on the island of Vis in 1944, saying that he was the first person he had met from ‘enslaved Europe.’
MacLean was fully aware of the import of his recommendation to support the Partisans, which was perhaps remarkable for a man of his conservative disposition. When he noted to Churchill that, as a consequence of supporting the Partisans, Yugoslavia would be Communist after the war, Churchill apparently responded by asking whether MacLean intended to live in Yugoslavia? Ironically, MacLean did own a house on Korčula after the war.
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