A few days ago I learned from Miroslav Milosavljević, known to all as Miško, about a new book about Istria by Miroslav Bertoša, the best-known Istrian historian still living. Miško had read about it in Glas Istre (The Voice of Istria), and he knew I would be interested. Which I surely was. When I asked him to get me a copy in Poreč, where he lives, he told me that it would be far easier for me to get it in Zagreb, where it was just published by Durieux, one of the leading book publishers in Croatia. And so I immediately ordered two copies, for Miško is a great fan of history, as well. I was sure he would enjoy it to the hilt.

Today I got the two hardbound copies. Times of Violence, Times of Fear is the beguiling title. The book is dedicated to the effects of the Uskok War between Venice and Austria in the Seventeenth Century. The narrative stretches to the Eighteenth Century, for the unrest on the peninsula continued long after the war itself. Bertoša writes about the highway robbery perpetrated by the impoverished peasantry. One of his main contentions is that these crimes had little, if anything, to do with national awakening of the Slavs oppressed by the Venetians and Austrians, as some historians have maintained. It was plunder pure and simple.

The narrative strikes me as plodding. It smacks of an old-fashioned history book. It will take some time to plough through it in search of tasty morsels. But I immediately poured through the index, which is divided into two parts−one for places, and another for people. First I looked up Motovun, and I was happy to see that it was covered well by the book. And then I looked for all the family names that I carry. Sadly, Bon is not in the index. Širola, my father’s mother’s family name from Klana, is not in the index, either. Massalin, my father’s grandmother’s family name, is there, though. They were in Plomin close to the end of the period covered by the book. Flego, my mother’s family name, can be found in Buzet even before the Uskok War. Gržinić, her mother’s family name from Hum, is not in the index once again. But enough of preliminaries. It is time to start reading in earnest.

Addendum (November 26, 2011)

Fascinated by the criminal roots of the human species, I was quite delighted to stumble upon Bertoša’s book. Thanks to Miško, of course. And it offers plenty of evidence of banditry not only in Istria, but across much of Europe. Styling himself a microhistorian, he relies on Venetian archives. The information about banditry in Europe of the same period also comes from similar sources. Historians like Bertoša do not like to guess. Instead, they rely on credible historical sources. But that leaves a good chunk of history not only unexplored for the time being, but unexplored for all times.

Istria in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries suffered a great deal of banditry. It came in many forms, from the collection of booty in military engagements to looting to smuggling. Smuggling was at the very core of banditry, too. The division of the peninsula into Venetian and Austrian parts only helped in this regard. According to him, banditry also blossomed in Italy and Germany, both of which were divided into many bits and pieces. It blossomed along the borders, and especially in wooded and mountainous areas along the borders. All this stands to reason, and it is not surprising that many microhistorians like Bertoša have endeavored to understand the phenomenon by patiently examining the extant archives.

What is disappointing about the book is that Bertoša will not venture beyond the information gleaned from the archives. According to him, that would be only guessing. Although he mentions that banditry was also rife in Istria in the Fifteenth and Nineteenth Centuries, both of which he mentions here and there, he is not willing to generalize. God forbid. What about earlier history, though? Or about prehistory? What about so-called primitive societies today? Finally, what about Istria in the Twentieth Century, and especially since independence? All this is left to future microhistorians, of course. Criminal roots of the human species thus remain open to all sorts of guessing.

Nonetheless, the book is a pleasure to read. The geography of Istria comes alive with criminal endeavors of all sorts. It comes alive with so many family names, many of which are still around and about. Motovun does not appear in the book often enough, at least not to my taste, but it is squarely there. Thrust into the Austrian hinterland, this Venetian stronghold surfaces again and again. However, Bertoša does not come up with a single battle for the town. Fortified in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries, it was beyond the reach of bandits on both sides of the divide. This is precisely what I would expect from the medieval walls that encompass the top of the Motovun hill, but it is still ever-so-slightly disappointing. Motovun remains perched outside history. A mirage to behold from afar.