4 Rabbi heavens we very blessed leave you God! Beyond blue horizons far at the world's end, strange fascinating lands beckon us. Let us revel in their exotic splendors. Come with us as we head for ports of call. The Great War Along the eastern shore of the Adriatic Sea lies Yugoslavia, whose name means land of the southern Slavs. It was christened at the time of the Great War, but only its name is new. For centuries the Slavic people who lived in this region were divided into the tiny kingdoms of Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia, Montenegro, Dalmatia and other principalities, whose very names are now almost forgotten. Turkey occupied Serbia for 500 years. Austria and Hungary claimed parts of this domain. But the southern Slavs never lost their sense of nationality, and their fiery hearts clung fiercely to the memory of their ancient glory. Almost every fertile plain and rocky gorge in Yugoslavia has been drenched with the blood of her soldier sons in their desperate struggles to claim their land as their own. The Blue Adriatic Crossing the Blue Adriatic, we anchor in the harbor of Dubrovnik, ancient Ragusa. This tiny city, whose borders can be skirted in less than an hour, was once an independent republic known as the city of refuge. Its rocky streets and thick-walled houses have sheltered fugities from many lands, kings, generals, cardinals, friend and foe alike. Earthquakes have devastated the ancient city, and conquering hordes overrun it. But the broken walls even now seem defiantly to guard the peaceful citizens. In the crumbling watchtowers, gay flowers hide the gaps that time has made. But we aren't going to Ragusa, Louise. Oh yes we are, Bob. I'm going to see that old Roman palace. They say Diocletian brought a mysterious black thing from Egypt for it, and there's a secret inscription on it that no one can read. But we can see it when we come back from Setina. He may not come back this way. You know how dad he is. And we must see the monastery built by Richard the Lionhearted and the island of... Oh wait Louise, here's Dad. Let's ask him. Dad, we aren't going to stay here, are we? No, no, we're going on through the Montenegro. There's so many things to see here in Dubrovnik that I thought we'd come back for a week later. Oh fine. Well let's hurry. You'll have lunch and a little fun I know about. And Louise, you better wear your blue beads. Why? Well everybody in Yugoslavia knows they wore it off the evil eye. Oh Dad, Bill! Let's go. The province of Yugoslavia, called Montenegro, was long an independent country. Perched among rocks and barren cliffs, its people seem to have taken on the untamed elements of their wild land. Their history is one of unceasing struggle against the powerful nations with which they were surrounded. It is the year 989. Jovan Vladimir, king and hero of Montenegro, has been defeated and taken prisoner by Samuel, Tsar of Bulgaria. Just over the Bulgarian border in Samuel's bleak castle, Vladimir looks from his narrow window. Less than a mile away, his own land stretches before his eyes. Jovan. Kassara, your highness. Do you never take your eyes from the window? I saw you standing here last night when it was too dark even to see the mountain tops against the sky. You are a Bulgar. How could you understand? Oh do not turn away from me Jovan. I know how you long for your country. To you it is nothing but a desolate wild land, but is filled with men who love it, who would give their lives for it gladly, as many did on the battlefield less than a month ago. I know. Have you heard your father speak again of the Turks? Yes, he... that is what I came to tell you this morning. You can't mean he's decided on a Turkish alliance. Yes, he believes it is the only way. It is the college way. Jovan. I ask your pardon Kassara. You know well my life would not be worth living if it were not for you. But what are we to do? I must find a way to escape. I must. I know. And I have a plan. Tell me quickly. In every city and village there is an arranger of marriages. We have that custom too. With us he is known as the providagia. The father lets it be known his daughter is... Is ready for marriage. She is not obliged to take the first man who offers. We have that custom as well. The meeting is arranged between the bridegroom and the bride after her dowry is agreed upon by the providagia and the father of the girl. Is it so with you? Yes. Oh, but Kassara, your father would never consider me as a suitor for your hand. But you are a king in your own country. Yes, but... And my father will not know until the last possible moment and I will refuse all the others. Do you mean your father intends to announce you are ready for marriage? He has already announced it, Jovan. And the arranger of marriages has already received Vladislav. And who is he? The man my father has chosen to succeed him as Tsar of Bulgaria. Oh, I hate him. Then without seeing him, I hate him too. Oh, I must go. That's the signal that my father is returning to the castle. If he knew how many times I had managed to see you... But Kassara, we have planned nothing. I will find a way. Trust me, Jovan. Oh, I do. But I am a man and a soldier. If there is danger I must not leave it for you. I have often heard my father say that there is a time to rush into danger and there is a time to be crafty and wait. Kiss me, Jovan. I must go. Lyubov. Jovan, it will not be long until every Gypsy tribe in Montenegro is playing our wedding music. The duties of an arranger of marriages are always entered into with joy because it is a happy task to assist in the establishment of a new family. Although we must also move with caution lest the marriage portion be unsatisfactory. In this case, Your Majesty... Oh, never mind all that. Your Majesty, I was only about to say that in this case the position of the bride as daughter of the Tsar requires me to move with even greater caution than usual. Begin then. Yes, Your Majesty. Kassara, daughter of Samuel of Bulgaria, are you ready to listen to the words of your suitors? I am ready. I present first the name of Vladislav. He swears his allegiance to the Tsar and offers one thousand soldiers to the Tsar's army and a yearly tribute. The sum to be fixed by agreement between the Tsar and himself. It is very pleasing to us. Why did Vladislav not come in person to receive my answer? He has written out to meet the emissary of the Turks, Kassara. Come, give him your answer so the betrothal can be celebrated tonight. There is another suitor who has thought my marriage of enough importance to present himself in person. Petrovich. Your Majesty, I had no choice. Her Highness was... Where is the fellow? Just outside the door. Come in, Vladimir. Vladimir. Vladimir, I will have you tortured. I fear you no more than my soldiers feared yours on the battlefield. What? How did you... Father. Silence. I will not be silent. I myself unbarred the door where Yovon Vladimir was held prisoner. You, my own daughter. I present myself as a suitor for the hand of the Princess Kassara. I offer to share with her the throne of Montenegro and the perpetual allegiance of my subjects who will adore her as I do. No, take him out. I will have him beaten to death. I warn you, father, I will never marry at all. A Bulgarian princess unmarried. According to the custom of our country, I am free to marry whom I will if he is a man of honor. And even you cannot deny that Yovon's honor is beyond question. But I should be forced to free him and send him back to his own country. Whether or not you free me, you will never rule peacefully over my country. For as long as one Montenegrin is left alive, he will fight you with every weapon at his command. Your Highness, I ask your hand in marriage. Your Majesty, it is yours. If you will, I will go with you today. My people will never forget you, Kassara. Your name will be sung forever in the history of Montenegro. Vladimir and Kassara became the central figures of one of Montenegro's most famed legends. And even today, their names are celebrated in the ballads of the countryside. But their tiny kingdom was seldom at peace. For centuries, Turkey's periodic invasions kept the people terrorized. Finally, in the year 1389, Lazar, Tsar of Serbia, formed an alliance with the rulers of Montenegro, Albania, Dalmatia, Bosnia and Croatia. It is a summer evening in the tiny village of Cuprija. Lazar, traveling through the countryside, has stopped at a small inn for the night. While Sufer is being prepared for himself and his men, he strolls down to the river with his son-in-law, Miloš Gabilević. Serbia is beautiful, Miloš. If only the people dared lift their eyes from their swords to see it. If it weren't for the cursed Turks, our children wouldn't be forced to learn to handle a sword almost as soon as they've learned to walk. There must be a decisive battle soon. Pray, God, we may win and that I may bring my people peace. Amen to that, Tsar. Return to the inn now, Miloš. Leave me here by the river. I'll leave you if you wish, Tsar. But I'm not sure you'll be safe, even here in this quiet village. But if the people of the village had seen Turkish soldiers, they would have told me. I'll go then. When the meal is ready, I'll come for you. I am weary of fighting. But Muslims must never rule Serbia. Laza! I am Laza. Who calls me? I call you Tsar of the Serbians. But where are you? I can't see you. This night you shall choose between two crowns. Two crowns? I wear the crown of Serbia. What other could I wear? You shall choose between the crown of earth and the crown of heaven. Say which shall be yours. I do not know your voice. And yet it seems I must obey it. Choose which crown you will. Then let the heavenly crown be mine. It shall be yours to wear through all eternity. Tsar! Tsar! A messenger has come to the inn and... Oh, you've fallen asleep. Milos, I have been visited by an angel. An angel? Tsar, you were dreaming. No, it was not a dream. He offered me a choice between an earthly and a heavenly crown. And when I chose the heavenly crown, he said... He said... Tsar. I understand it now. I am to die. Oh, Tsar, I beg you to listen. I have news of the Turks. You do not believe my vision. But when the next battle is over, remember what I have said to you here. Now, what is your news? A messenger came to the inn only a moment ago. The Turks are on the march. The runners are waiting for your orders. Come then, we will go. Send the runners to the rulers of the other kingdoms who await my word. If the soldiers start at once, we can meet the Turks at the mountain valley of Kosovo. That's it. Give the runners one word only. Kosovo! The troops of the Balkan allies met the Turks at Kosovo. Outnumbered more than three to one, the Slavs battling desperately for their freedom, held out through twelve long days. Then, overwhelmed by the Turkish force, slowly, still desperately fighting, they began to retreat. In a small ravine at the edge of the valley, a handful of knights is gathered. All that remains of the flower of Serbian nobility. Darkness has fallen. We can't stay here. We must decide what to do. What do you propose, Dushan? Someone must lead the people over the mountains into Montenegro. He is right. In this chaos, hundreds may be killed for lack of a leader. But where is Lazar? He may be lying wounded or have fallen into the hands of the Turks. Iloy Skavilevich promised to bring word to us here. But Lazar will expect us to... Listen! Dushan! Dushan! We are here, Miros. Did you find Lazar? Yes. Will he join us here? He is dead. Lazar is dead? He was traded by Peter Stepanovich. One of our own men. Yes. And it was his treachery that cost us the battle. Now, Murad, the Turk will own the Balkan countries indeed. Murad will never own anything but a strip of earth. And that by right of possession. What do you mean? When I learned of Lazar's death, I sent word to Murad that I had a secret to reveal to him. Only a Turk could have been so easily fooled. You reach him, Murad. Yes. He was alone. I told him the secret I held was the secret of his death. You killed him? With this dagger. It is dishonored by his foul blood. I shall never use it again. Now let us go. In the distant hills we can gather our people together. There we can plan and wait for the moment when we shall be strong enough to strike off the rule of the Turk. The Battle of Kosovo changed Balkan destiny. Since that day even the native dress of the country proclaims the tragic story. Even the poorest peasant wears a cap of two colors. Crimson for the blood spilled in defense of their land. Black for their defeat. One by one during the next five centuries the Balkan states threw off the yoke of Turkey. But as outside influence waned, discords among themselves grew to fierce hatreds. A dozen wars were fought. Rival dynasties claimed the thrones. And the heart of the turbulent Balkan states was Serbia. Belgrade, 1903. In his luxurious apartments in the royal palace, King Alexander talks with Colonel Demitrijevic of the Serbian army. Now I have something to tell you, Demitrijevic. Yes, Your Majesty. I am to be married. I congratulate you, sire. The lady is, of course, the German princess. Nothing of the sort. That was my father's idea. But while he bustled off to Carlsbad to arrange a marriage that would suit him, I have made my own plans. May I ask her name, sire? Drogge Maschin. Sire. Perhaps you know her? Yes, Your Majesty. She was formerly a lady-in-waiting to your mother, I believe. Yes, she was. Your Majesty, she is at least 15 years older than you. She is unscrupulous and avaricious. Stop! I am responsible for my own decisions. My father advocated my favor. I have already telegraphed him. I can say no more, Your Majesty. You have our permission to retire. So you tried to set Alexander against me, Demitrijevic. I needn't ask how you succeeded. Do you realize the destiny of a country is at stake, Madame Maschin? Certainly I realize it. Oh, my dear Colonel, I would like nothing better than to keep you here glowering at me if I had not an important engagement. But since I have, let me tell you, Alexander and I are already married. What? Oh, yes, it's true. Then God help Serbia. What a nuisance you make of yourself over this tin pot kingdom. The people would be far better off if it were annexed by Austria. Madame, the freedom of Serbia is dearer to every man than life itself. But that, of course, you could not understand. No, I confess I couldn't. And as I told you, I have an appointment. So I must say good afternoon. I suggest you go down to the cafe where you army officers waste your time and drink to the health of the new queen. This condition is intolerable. The people will not long foot up with this. Something must be done and soon. Why has the king's own father telegraphed his resignation as commander-in-chief? The cabinet has resigned. Alexander has replaced all his old counselors with new ones. Here's Demitrijevic. Let's tell him our news. First, hear my news. The king has married Madame Draga Marshal. Who? Listen, gentlemen, listen. There is no time to waste and talk. We must act. The colonel is right. Tell us what you have in mind, Demitrijevic. Fill your glasses, gentlemen. To anyone passing in the street, we must seem to be without a care in the world. Now, all of you must remember the old Slavic society known as Union or Death. But it's no longer in existence. I propose that we revive it. We do not know what may become necessary. But let us pledge ourselves here and now to the society with a vow that we will do what we must. Oh, go see. I'm with you, Demitrijevic. And I. And I. To the death. Your hands on it. Now, when the very life of Serbia hangs in the balance, let us promise to meet here every night at ten o'clock. Tomorrow night, let each of us bring one other. Pledge to secrecy and to Union or Death. We're all here but Lieutenant Peter Zivkovic. Where is he? His duties kept him at the palace. He'll be here later. Have you decided what to do, Demitrijevic? Yes. There is but one thing to be done. Execute the king and queen. Yes, it's too dangerous. Demitrijevic, listen. You all know what we've uncovered. Alexander and Draga have practically sold Serbia to Austria. He's right. Even when I was in command of the Royal Guard, the palace was a meeting place for every intriguing politician in Central Europe. There is no other way to save Serbia from Austrian rule. Alexander is mad with power. And what he cannot contrive, Draga will. Ah, here's Peter Tanner. Good. License steward is no longer honored to be a member of the Royal Guard. Why, what's happened, Peter? All day I've been to tail the guard the boudoir of a member of the Royal Family. She is entertaining one of the most notorious spies in Europe. Just what we were discussing. Sit down, Peter, and listen to our plan. My idea would be to execute them both. That's our plan too. And because of your position in the Royal Guard, you'll be able to admit those of us who go to carry out the death sentence. Only tell me when it is to be done. Tonight. Before any word could possibly get about the city. When it's over, we'll ring the bells of the palace church as a signal to all our members. Surely you don't plan to go yourself, Colonel? Certainly, you mustn't. Anything should go wrong with our plan. You're the only one who could make a new one. Yes, Colonel. Serbia's future is in your hands. You must stay here. You must listen to us, Colonel. Very well. But I'll wait here in the cafe. Don't fail to ring the bells to let me know all is well. I'll ring them myself. Good. Now listen carefully, all of you. This is what we must do. All Europe rang with the story of the death of Alexander and Draga. But the society of union or death told no tales. Once more, Serbians began to feel free of their long burden of fear. For ten years then, the society grew in numbers and in power. Its agents were everywhere in central Europe. Pledged to Serbian independence, they feared nothing but the loss of their precious liberty. Colonel Demetrijevic was their honored chief. June 28, 1914. Demetrijevic has come to the village of Sarajevo, in the green Bosnian mountains. Here in a tiny cafe, he finds a young student awaiting him. Colonel, you're here at last. I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Gavrilo. But the roads are choked with people today. Oh, I didn't mean you'd get me waiting, Colonel Demetrijevic. I only meant I thought you might not come at all. Surely you couldn't think that. You've seen the plan I made? Oh, yes, sir. And you've decided where you will stand and what you will do? Everything will be done exactly as you planned it, Colonel. You have no fear of what will happen afterwards? Oh, no, sir. My ancestors died fighting the Turks on the field of Kosovo. Why should I fear to shoot an Austrian? It is the only way to assure the liberty of Serbia. Austria must learn, as Turkey was forced to learn, that Serbians must be free. I know, sir. And I am proud that the lot has fallen to me. Serbia will be proud of you, Gavrilo. Oh, I hope so. Here they come. Are you sure you'll be able to force your way through the crowd? I have it all arranged. Twenty of us are scattered along the way. My cousin is keeping a place for me just across the street there. Oh, then. And may your aim be true. Goodbye, sir. And I want you to know that whatever happens afterward, I have no regrets. Long live Serbia. Long live Serbia. Goodbye, sir. The Artillery shot the Reds! The Artillery shot the Reds! Amid the Red chaos that followed, Gavrilo Princip and his twenty comrades were tried for treason, committed to prison in Prague. And the boy who precipitated the World War with its more than 37 million casualties died peacefully in Prague in 1918. Sarajevo, 1936. Three American tourists stand beside a small bridge spanning a tiny river. Look, here it is, Dad. Oh, yes. Let's see. On this historic spot, Gavrilo Princip, on St. Vitus Day, June 28, 1914, heralded the advent of liberty. The present kingdom of Yugoslavia was created in the peace settlement at the end of the Great War. Once more, the Slavic ideal of freedom has been attained. Under the regency which governs the country during the minority of the boy, King Peter, peace has come. Proudly, the national costume is worn by the people everywhere. Mohamedans and Christians, the people of the country, the people of the world, the people of the world, the people of the world, the people of the world, the people everywhere. Mohamedans and Christians live side by side. The clean little cities bustle with renewed prosperity. Farms are cultivated by their owners. The old Slavic customs have come back. From the busy little harbor of Sibinik, we take our leave of Yugoslavia. Our steamer is escorted out of the harbor by a fleet of tiny sailboats, whose rugged sailors lift their voices in the stirring songs of their liberty-loving ancestors. We reach the Adriatic. The music dives away on the refreshing wind. We're homeward bound once more from another journey to ports of call. We invite you to join us again next week at this time, as we journey to another of the world's fascinating ports of call. Music
