and love) can best be described by comparing it with the articulation of suffering
in sevdalinka, where the religious framework diminishes, and passion alone
becomes a self-destructive element:
Jesam li ti govorila, dragi:
Haven’t I told you, my darling:
“Ne ašikuj, ne veži sevdaha!”
“Don’t court, don’t sing about love!”
Od sevdaha goreg jada nejma,
For there is no greater misery than love
A žalosti od ašikovanja.
And greater sorrow than serenading.46
The description of Mara’s inner struggle, and the lack of any psychological
features that would affect plot development, point to the influence of renaissance
and baroque imagery in Luka Botić’s works. Botić relied not only on the tradition
of folk art in Dalmatia and Ottoman Bosnia, but also on the history of Croatian
and Italian literatures.47 The allegorical theme of the fallen maiden or son, and
the notion of suffering in the desert or monastery, are typical of the baroque style
generally, and of Croatian baroque in particular. Typical examples include Ivan
Gundulić’s Suze sina razmetnoga [Tears of a prodigal son] (1622) and Ignjat
Đurđević’s Mandaljena Pokornica [Mandaljena repentant] (1728). Being a
romantic writer, however, Botić avoided baroque allegorical and metaphorical
structures, using only the concept of suffering and the Christian notion of sin to
portray Mara’s inner struggle between her love for Adel and the pain of seeking
forgiveness from her family. Just as Adel’s tradition triumphs over his love and he
marries Melka, Mara dies believing that her family will never forgive her:
Glavom kreće nesretna djevojka: The miserable girl bows her head:
Nek s’ ne mole Bogu da ozdravim, They should not pray to God
for my recovery,
No za dušu moju neka mole,
But they should pray for my soul,
Da Bog skine s moje duše grijeh, So that God shall absolve it of sin,
I da skine kletvu roditeljsku!
And from the curse of my parents!48
Moreover, the Christian and patriotic concept of the feminine is visible not
only in the notion of sin and suffering, but also in the description of the specific
geographical location where the action takes place. Botić devotes the central space
of the bazaar in Split to the love scene, as well as Adel’s attempts to approach the
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321
Vornić family house. But his descriptions of the landscape mainly focus on the
portrayal of the Split hinterland, especially the mountain of Mosor which has
traditionally served as the poetic symbol of the town. Romantic descriptions of the
mountains originate once again in the tradition of Croatian literature that brings
into close relation the political notion of patriotism and femininity in the imagined
mythological world of Arcadia, located in the real geographical environment:49
Što zlo nije, pjesniku se smije
All that isn’t ill-natured smiles at the poet
I veselo igra oko njega,
And merrily dances around him,
Kao što mu se jutros na uranku
Just as this morning, with the
early-rising sun,
Sva priroda od zemlje do neba
All nature did, from the earth to the sky,
Bajna, čarna, vilinska i rajska,
Fabulous, miraculous, fairy-like
and ethereal,
I ponosna sa krasote svoje,
And proud of her own beauty,
U toj divnoj spljetskoj okolici.
In those beautiful surroundings of Split.50
Descriptions of meetings with nymphs originate not only in the Croatian
literary tradition, but also in folk literature, since nymphs and experiences of
nature are elements of the shared Mediterranean folk heritage.51 Moreover, Botić’s
description of Marjan and the motif of the wandering poet point directly to the
renaissance poet Petar Zoranić, whose travelogue Planine [Mountains] (1536) is
considered the first Croatian novel. Botić’s imagined version of the real sixteenth-
century century poet Franjo Boktulija wanders through the Split hinterlands and
helps those who suffer, while Zoranić’s Zoran undertakes a journey from the coast
to the mountains in order to meet Dejanira (after whom the mountain range of
Dinara is named), a nymph who will free him from the suffering caused by his
love. On his way to meet Dejanira he encounters many miraculous events, meets
and talks with mythological shepherds, listens to stories of unhappy love, and
finally encounters the nymph Hrvatica (meaning “Croatian female”) who will
liberate him from love’s suffering and show him the true meaning of life: to care
for the Croatian cultural heritage that has been neglected under Ottoman rule.
Exile into Arcadia becomes a patriotic revelation of the importance of taking
care of the “heritage”—or bašćina, as Zoranić names it. This not only has political
meaning, but it also points to the need to preserve culture, literature, and language,
which, according to him, remained neglected and therefore defenseless. Moreover,
the shepherds in the idyllic landscapes of the mountains lament about wolves that
kill their herds. The wolves are, of course, the Turks, since the metaphor also
extends to people—especially the feminine aspect:
Tvoji peharnici
Your cup-bearers
drže u uzi i tamnici,
keep in chains and gaols,
čiste divice,
pure virgins,
tvoje zaručnice,
your betrothed,
prez stida oskrvniše.
shamelessly desecrated.52
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Finally, in sharp contrast to the subtle sensuality of the sevdalinka, there is the
open eroticism of the landscape, described as the struggle or intermingling of the
masculine and feminine principles, characteristic not only of high art but also of
folk poetry. In his own footnotes, Botić etymologically described the toponyms
in these ballads, explaining their origins and meaning. He thus applied the same
literary mode as was characteristic of his literary predecessors, but also explicitly
eroticized the landscape of the mountains:
Živa slika nebeskijeh vrata,
Like a vivid image of the heavenly gates
Rascvala se zora nad Mosorom,
Dawn had blossomed upon Mosor,
Vedra, mila, sjajna, plamenita,
Serene, loving, radiant, and blazing,
Prelila se po prostranom nebu
She poured over the wide heavens
Kao sunce u šarenu dugu.
Like the sun onto a colourful rainbow.
Suncu ne da pomoliti lica,
She did not let the sun show his face,
Hoće svoju ljepotu da kaže;
It was her beauty she wanted to reveal;
Al sunce, muško, preko nježne
But the sun, a male, shed
Svoje sv’jetle trake prebacuje
His tender rays of light
Po Suđurđu i starom Kozjaku
Upon Suđurđ and ancient Kozjak
I po surom goletnom Marjanu.
And upon a barren and rugged Marjan.53
In a Christian environment, it seems that the only final solution
for the love
between a Muslim and a Christian is death and reconciliation with the social norms
established by tradition. The love stories Pobratimstvo and Dilber-Hasan have
different possible endings, again influenced by the folk mode but also by romantic
and real-life encounters: abduction, escape, and conversion. These phenomena all
exist in the ethnographic literature about Ottoman Muslim Bosnia, and they are
related to the impossibility of attracting a loved one belonging to another faith or
social upbringing. They all represent pressures on the older generation to allow
the marriage to take place, an outcome that actually does happen after an initial
period of disapproval. Antun Hangi has mentioned cases of abduction and escape
even from the beginning of the twentieth century, providing a first-hand account
of the persons who were involved in them. This proves that abduction was not
necessarily a violent act or solely an act involving two people in love, but that it
was pursued with the help of the community, and sought its approval:
If parents forbid a daughter to marry a man whom she loves and whom
she has, either publicly or secretly, courted for a long time, or to whom she
has promised herself, she resorts to planning her own kidnapping, either
personally with him, or through a reliable woman. On a particular day and at
a particular hour, usually late at night, the girl goes to a spring with buckets,
as if she were going to get some water. At the spring her sweetheart waits
for her with a couple of his friends, and takes her to his home. … For a
long time the girl’s parents remain angry with their new son-in-law and
their disobeying daughter, and therefore for some time neither he nor she is
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323
allowed to appear before them. But finally the parents give in, and reconcile
with them.54
In Pobratimstvo, Ajkuna, an aristocratic Muslim girl, is in love with Radmilović
Mile, a Serb from the Bosnian town of Trebinje captured by her father. Ajkuna
is a very common name in Bosnian Muslim ballads, and its use is functional—
referring to the established stylistic pattern of the ballads—rather than referring to
a real historical personality. Likewise in Petar Bačić, Kumrija is the name of one
of the servants, and this is also a very common name in Bosnian Muslim ballads.
Moreover, the poetical exaggeration in the description of the landscape of Skadar
is more fictional than real, serving as a lyrical framework for her escape with her
loved one:
Na pendžeru bi s’ Ajka naslonjala, Ajka would lean on a window-sill,
Gledala bi sunce na zahodu
She would watch the sunset,
Gledala bi Bojanu pod Skadrom, She would watch Bojana under Skadar,
Kako Skadar u njoj s’ ogledava
How Skadar reflects itself in her
Sa svojijem vitijem munaram
With its slender minarets
I hiljadu bijelijeh kula.
And a thousand white towers.55
Ajkuna escapes with Mijo and follows him on his way back to Trebinje.
Ajkuna’s escape, however, does not resemble a true secret escape, but a long
ritual of farewell (common in Bosnian Muslim ballads) typical for the bride who
leaves her house in order to join her future husband and continue her life with his
family. Ajkuna dresses herself in her most beautiful garments and adorns her hair.
Moreover, she says farewell to her mother and ponders upon her previous life,
recalling memories of the past and capturing particular details of the place where
she spent her childhood and youth.
In Dilber-Hasan, from a desperate and romantic need for escape, abduction
turns into a violent act—that of getting Sofa, a Serbian beauty living in Ottoman
Sarajevo. As Botić describes it, Sarajevo is close to its representation in historical
texts and quite romantic, as seen through the eyes of an outsider and a poet. In
contrast to Bijedna Mara and Christian Split, Sarajevo is described as more lively,
mainly through witty and humorous dialogues, without the ideological literary
framework common in the history of Croatian literature. The notion of song
becomes here the central concept and link between Hasan, a talented coffeeshop
owner who entertains his guest with his love ballads and humorous songs, and a
girl from Laatinluk, the Christian part of the town. Hasan bets that he can attract
Sofa with his singing, even though the local Muslims try to persuade him that love
between a Serbian woman and a Muslim man is not possible. Hasan also befriends
a young Serb named Pavel who, being a singer as well, admires his musical talent.
Hasan becomes a metonym for the Christian perception of Ottoman culture:
like Adel and in contrast to the Christian female character he is sensual, open,
artistic, and courageous in publicly announcing his love. As was the case with
Mara in the context of Catholic Split, in Ottoman Sarajevo Sofa falls in love with
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Hasan under the spell of the sevdalinka sung under her window and the ballads
featuring unhappy love also performed by Hasan. She feels their power and magic
touching her inner self. Just as in Catholic Split, songs in Ottoman Sarajevo have
a tremendous and fateful communicative power, representing the moment in a
girl’s life when she decides to leave the family house for an insecure future:
And that evening Hasan and Pavao came under her window and sang only
that tender song about Abdul and Fatima. But inside herself, Sofa felt the
fate of that song. Alas, where is now her first innocent and blessed peace
in the laps of her brothers and her parents, whom she now wants to leave
forever?56
Sofa tries to resist her passion because—like Mara—she fears God. Moreover,
she is aware of the social and traditional sanctions against inter-religious
marriages. However, she overcomes her passive role as the sufferer and agrees
with Hasan’s idea of escape as the only possible solution to overcome the cultural
codes and regulations:
If Hasan had converted, he could not have stayed in Sarajevo because of
the Turks. And nor could Sofa, in the embrace of a Turk, because of her
parents. … Hasan sang about numerous cases in which two lovers escaped
to Dalmatia, and he, miserable except for his love and his songs, did not
have any other guide in life. Sofa resisted the idea of escape, but only
with tears and sighs; and the more she gave in to that reckless and terrible
thought from day to day, the more the poor girl sighed and wept in her sick
heart. Would she not have been more confident if she had not heard the sad,
unhappy tale of Fatima and Abdul?57
The plan turns out to be unsuccessful and culminates in tragedy, because Hasan’s
rival Avdaga unexpectedly kidnaps the girl and hides her in a house outside of
Sarajevo. The act of kidnapping follows, from a narrative and thematic point
of view, the typical pattern of traditional folk poetry and beliefs. It features a
character who assumes a disguise and contains stereotypical, orientalist elements
such as the racist caricature of an “Arab” servant who has a monstrous smile;
girl:
What a beautiful prayer then, full of fear and hope, humility and faith
poured from that soul! … At that moment the door creaked and the Arab’s
head appeared: his face was black and shiny, his eyes two sparkles, his lips
turned out, his nose curved, his hair ragged, and his teeth small and white.
It was as if the girl saw the devil himself in that image.
The two different notions of abduction, one linked to sevdalinka and the other
to the exoticized, orientalist vision of Bosnia, point to the tragic conflict at the
base of Botić’s work: no matter how much the two cultures influence each other
in terms of everyday life, they remain two opposite traditions. Dilber-Hasan
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325
ends tragically, like all of Botić’s works. Hasan is killed, and Sofa marries Pavel
in accordance with Hasan’s wish. Botić’s experiments with establishing links
beyond traditional norms prove to be unsuccessful.
Tragic endings are not uncommon in literature dealing with inter-ethnic and
inter-religious love affairs. John McBratney has discussed such endings in the
context of Rudyard Kipling’s fiction of miscegenation, where the author “revealed
the same ambivalence about the hybrid as his Anglo-Indian contemporaries: a
fascination with the transgressive allure of ‘miscegenation’ combined with a
profound fear of the instability brought about by racial mixture.”59 McBratney
argues that the instability does not necessarily originate simply from the the fear
of the biological degeneration of the white race in contact with other races (as was
claimed by the late eighteenth- and nineteenth-century racial theories he discusses),
but also from the fear that the new “hybrid” race could seriously endanger and
subvert British imperial rule in India. Thus the British (and in some instances
also Indian) imperial structure imposed sanctions against miscegenation, and
sabotaged inter-racial couples’ attempts to create for themselves a “felicitous” or
“casteless” space, “an enclave in which the distinctions that normally divide white
from black are temporarily suspended.”60 Applying this analysis to Botić’s poems,
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