Montenegro's oldest building--The ride to the Moraca Monastery--A
perilous bridge and ascent--The Abbot's tale--We inspect the
monastery--The health of the King is drunk--The relative merits of
Boers and Montenegrins--The Abbot makes us presents--We visit a
peasant's house and a Homeric feast--A feu-de-joie--Departure from
Kolasin--We are mistaken for doctors again--Raskrsnica.
In Montenegro there are, strangely enough, with one famous exception,
no buildings of any great antiquity. This, however, can be easily
accounted for by the repeated invasions of the Turks, who ravaged the
land with a merciless fury. Montenegro was the only Balkan state which
they were unable to bring to obedience, and the struggle, which began
after the battle of Kossovo, has, perhaps, not reached its final stage
yet, though other enemies have supplanted the Turk.
Far away in the heart of the mountains, and perched on the top of a
high cliff, at whose feet the turbulent mountain torrent Moraca races
past, there is situated a monastery, which takes its name from the
river below.
This monastery is the only building that has escaped the scourge of
the Turk, and, though often attacked, only once has it been partially
burnt. Like its famous sister at Ostrog, it is constructed in a
position where Nature has provided the best means of defence, and
this the hand of man has skilfully utilised and improved. It was
founded in the year 1252 by one of the sons of the famous Servian
king, Stephan Nemanja, and dedicated to S. Nicholas. Right well has
the saint watched over and protected his feof.
During our stay at Ostrog the Archbishop of Montenegro impressed upon
us most strongly the necessity of visiting Moraca before leaving the
country. He himself had lived there many years as the Archimandrite,
and was besieged by the Turks during his sojourn within its walls.
So, accompanied by a guide, with whom the Governor of Kolasin had
provided us, we made an early start one morning for the monastery. We
had a perfect ride through dense beech forests, skirting a noisy
little stream, of which we were able to obtain a glimpse every now and
then through a break in the trees. On either side of the ravine the
hills rose steeply to some height. We soon passed a lonely cross in a
small clearing, erected to the memory of five Montenegrins who had
been surprised and murdered there by the Turks.
It is always so in Montenegro, when the traveller is filled with a
sense of peace at the grandeur of the wild mountainous scenery, or the
beauty of a sylvan forest glade, a rough cross, or cairn of stones,
will be pointed out where men have met a sudden and violent death.
[Illustration: A TYPICAL ROAD]
Once, as our path led up a steep incline, our guide told us
graphically how that, a few weeks ago, both a horse and its rider had
fallen down the one hundred feet into the river below. The path was
very narrow, and he strongly advised us in passing to take care, which
remark seemed slightly superfluous after the vivid description with
which he had just favoured us.
Crossing the stream we dismounted, and climbed to a small grassy
plateau on which a church is being built for the shepherds of the
district. It commanded a beautiful view. The path now ascended to a
great height, and much walking had to be done, for a ridge of hills
lay between us and our destination. At the top the valley of the
Moraca could be seen with a magnificent background of rugged
mountains. A breakneck descent of two and a half hours, most of it on
foot, brought us to the river, which was crossed by a picturesque and
broken-down bridge. On a cliff opposite stood the monastery.
While leading my horse over the bridge I chanced to rest for a moment
on the central arch to enjoy the view. The guide, who was behind me,
thrust me unceremoniously forward. It is not always safe to admire
scenery from Montenegrin bridges. Certainly, on inspecting the bridge
from below, he seemed to have shown no unnecessary caution. Two of
the arches had completely given, and may collapse at any moment.
A very steep and dangerous path leads up to the plateau on which the
monastery is situated. It was nearly the cause of a serious accident
to me, for my saddle gave, and began to slip backwards. Had the horse
made one false step at this critical moment I should have been dashed
over a precipice of eighty feet. Just before the gates stands a small
inn, where we left our horses and proceeded on foot.
The monastery strongly resembles a fortress, for the massive walls
surrounding it are liberally loop-holed, and it can be entered from
one side only. We entered a large courtyard with buildings on all
sides. At the back a great mountain ascends obliquely, and in front an
inaccessible precipice descends to the river. It was doubtless a tough
morsel for the Turks in the olden days, though modern artillery would
make very short work of it.
The Archimandrite, or Abbot, soon came down and welcomed us most
cordially, conducting us to his room, where we were regaled with the
inevitable strong black coffee. He was a big, handsome man, with the
long beard and hair which all the priests of the Greek Church wear.
Quiet and benevolent as he looked, he is famed throughout the whole
country as a mighty warrior; for in times of war the priests fight
with the soldiers for their beloved freedom. Strangely enough, in
the last war with Turkey he played an important role in saving the
very monastery of which he is now the spiritual head. He was then a
colonel, and commanded a battalion. The following story of the rout of
the Turks is taken down from his own lips.
[Illustration: THE MORACA MONASTERY]
In those years (1876-7) all this district was in the hands of the
Sultan, and the Turks had just made an unsuccessful attack upon the
Monastery of Ostrog. Their army, under the command of the famous
Mehmet Ali Pasha, was retreating on Kolasin, pursued by the
Montenegrins. On reaching the Monastery of Moraca they halted with the
intention of first destroying it, and Mehmet Ali placed a battery in a
commanding position on the opposite heights for the bombardment.
Unknown to the Turks, half a battalion of Montenegrins were stationed
there as garrison, and the Pasha, thinking that he had but a handful
of priests to deal with, sent down a small detachment to effect an
entrance. The gate was opened, and they were enticed inside. Hardly
had the last man set his foot within the courtyard when the
Montenegrins fell upon them and beheaded them every one.
The Turks, deeming all safe, sent a second detachment to assist in
bringing out the booty, and they met with a similar fate. Then Mehmet
began to suspect that something was wrong, and made preparations for
a bombardment; but it was too late. A brigade of pursuing Montenegrins
had come up. They fell upon him from flank and rear, and a horrid
slaughter ensued.
It must be confessed that the account seems incredible, and is,
doubtless innocently enough, greatly exaggerated. But the worthy Abbot
distinctly stated that out of 25,000 Turks only 2,000 or 3,000
escaped. It was indeed "a terrible tale of a Turk that is ghastly and
grim and gory." The Montenegrins were but men 1,800 strong, just three
battalions, one of which was commanded by Michael Dozic, the Abbot,
and his battalion it was that took the Turks in the rear, throwing
them into utter confusion.
To-day the peasants still find heaps of bones in the crevices and
hollows of the rocks.
After this very pleasant story, we descended into the courtyard, which
is formed in a semicircle. In the centre stands the church. It is
built in the shape of a cross, and its porch and interior are
gorgeously adorned with the most quaint frescoes; indeed, every
particle of the walls and ceiling is covered with frescoes of the most
crude design and vivid colouring, and the altar-screen is
magnificently gilded. The colours are well preserved, and seem as
fresh as when the monks first laid them on, for the painting all dates
back to the time of the foundation.
It was somewhat horrifying to find that the frescoes behind the
altar-screen were completely scribbled over. At first we put this down
to impious tourists who delight in leaving their miserable names on
the most historical buildings; but, on closer inspection, we found
that they were copious notes in the form of a diary. The Abbot told us
that Mitrofan Ban, the Archbishop, had written them during his lengthy
abbacy many years ago.
There is another church, or rather tiny chapel, within the monastery
which is about a century older than the rest of the buildings, and the
interior is likewise covered with frescoes of the same crude and vivid
painting. They represent scenes from the life of S. Nicholas, and the
chapel is only used once a year during the pilgrimage which takes
place on the feast of their patron saint.
Every year large numbers of Montenegrins flock to the monastery to
offer prayers and offerings. Just outside the walls stands a small
cannon, with a Turkish inscription, which four Montenegrins carried
away one night from Kolasin when that town was in Turkish hands. Not
only the bravado of such a deed, but the athletic feat of carrying
such a weighty object over that difficult country, are very
characteristic of this people. It is fired annually during the feast
of S. Nicholas.
The worthy Abbot was greatly annoyed to find that we had ordered food
below, and still more when he heard that we were returning to Kolasin
the same afternoon. He repeatedly urged us to spend a few days with
him, but, enjoyable as the visit would have been, previous engagements
forbade our acceptance.
A second priest waylaid us as we were leaving for our meal, and
carried us off to his room, where more coffee was served. He had
travelled much in Turkey and the Black Sea, and we had a very pleasant
conversation, but, after a short time, the pangs of hunger forced us
to excuse ourselves. Our humble meal, which we partook of in the best
chamber (and only bedroom), was hardly over when the young priest
again rejoined us, bringing with him an enormous bottle of wine. Very
solemnly he filled our glasses, and proposed the health of His Majesty
King Edward VII. Our surprise was so great that we almost forgot to
drink. And then came many questions as to the progress of the Boer
war, questions with which, by the way, we were often assailed by the
more intelligent classes during our travels.
To quote an instance which happened to myself once in Cetinje. While
waiting outside the monastery for the appearance of the Prince, who
was attending divine service within, I entered into conversation with
a gendarme. We spoke of many things, and to my surprise, for he was
but an ignorant peasant, he inquired as to the progress of the war.
He asked the nature of the country, on which subject I was luckily
able to enlighten him. Parts of it are not at all unlike Montenegro.
At this he pricked up his ears.
"Thou hast been to the Transvaal?" he asked with increased interest.
"Are the people brave like we are?"
"They are brave," I said, "but not as ye are. They only shoot at long
distances, and object very strongly to hand-to-hand fighting."
The stalwart Montenegrin looked puzzled.
"Shooting is good," he answered; and after a pause he added, "at
_first_, but that is not fighting. It is an empty glory to shoot one's
enemy, if one cannot prove it afterwards." I knew he was alluding to
the decapitating process. "And then the wild charge, the cutting with
the handjar when rifles are thrown away--_that_ is fighting."
I explained that our soldiers loved the bayonet as much as the
Montenegrin loved the handjar.
"But what can you do when the other side won't wait for it?" I asked.
"Then they are cowards," he answered judicially. "Are thy countrymen
all as big as thou art?" he continued thoughtfully, feeling my biceps
and scrutinising me closely.
"Some of them are bigger," I said.
"Then the Boers will have no chance," he said emphatically, and at
this moment the Prince emerged from the church. This personal allusion
to my size I took as a great compliment, for in a land where physical
strength is an all-important factor candid appreciation of this kind
is not meted out to one and all alike.
Extremely fatigued after our early start and long ride, it was an
effort to keep from falling asleep, and noticing this the priest left.
We were both comfortably asleep in corners when the wretched landlord
appeared with armfuls of sheets and pillows at the order of the
priest. He cruelly woke us up and proceeded to make beds. After that
all thought of sleep was gone. Furthermore, in dirty and dusty
riding-clothes one has not the heart to lie down on spotlessly clean
sheets.
Soon afterwards the horses were ready, and we cantered up to the
monastery to take our leave. But leave-taking was no such easy matter.
Our pockets were filled with dried fruits, and after we were already
in the saddle the Abbot presented us with packets of incense which he
hurriedly fetched from the church. Waving him and the other fathers a
last farewell, we started on our long ride back to Kolasin.
During our rambles in Kolasin the doctor took us to a peasant's house
whom he knew very well. This acquaintance proved one of our most
pleasant recollections of the country. The head of the house was a
fine-looking man, lean and active, and possessed many decorations for
past acts of bravery in the field. His son was in prison at the time
for some political offence, but his daughter-in-law and two little
babies, besides two or three unmarried daughters and sons, were living
with him. The whole family outdid themselves in courtesy to us, and we
were, as usual, considerably embarrassed by the behaviour of the
women-folk. Though we went several times to the house, they would
rarely seat themselves while we were present, and invariably kissed
our hands in coming and going.
The doctor played games of cards with our host, but the united efforts
of P. and myself failed to discover any method or system in the game.
The doctor tried to explain at first, but after five minutes we begged
him to desist. So we sat and looked on, drinking cups of black coffee
and endeavouring to make friendly overtures to the babies, who openly
showed that they considered us distinctly dangerous.
The house itself was curious. The ceiling was low and the walls were
of great thickness. The windows were so small that it was barely
possible to squeeze one's head through the opening. The idea of the
house is to obtain the maximum amount of warmth, for the cold of these
mountainous regions is intense in winter. In summer, however, these
houses are delightfully cool.
The evening before our departure from Kolasin we were invited to an
open-air feast at the peasant's country house.
The "country house" was, it is true, only a rough wooden shanty, but,
as our meal was outside, it didn't matter.
When we arrived, after an hour's walk, we found a table set out with a
white cloth and three wooden chairs on a green slope overlooking the
valley of Kolasin. It was a delightful spot. Some little distance away
the last few turns were being given to a lamb roasted whole on a spit
over an open fire.
The feast was soon served up. The entire lamb, on a great wooden
platter, an enormous bowl of milk, eggs, sheeps' cheese, and unlimited
spirits. The women-folk waited on us and kept our platters full. Other
men with their wives joined us, not to partake of this Homeric feast,
but to see us gorge ourselves. It may not be a nice expression, but we
were literally forced to eat to an uncomfortable state of repletion.
They took no denial, and even then the lamb was not nearly finished.
These mountaineers eat meat only on great festivals, and consume
enough to last them for the next few months. They did not realise that
we were content with sufficient to last us for the next few hours.
Our glasses, too, were kept replenished with the potent spirit of the
land, and our respective healths were drunk, on the average, once
every three minutes. When this began to pall they toasted each other,
in which we had naturally to join, and these were followed by
patriotic toasts. It was rather an uproarious evening.
About ten we took our leave, and our hosts drew their pocket cannons
and started firing; we naturally replied, and a deafening fusillade
went on till every man had emptied his revolver. With singing ears we
returned to our hotel to find the town alarmed, excited groups were
congregated in the Market Square. Our _feu-de-joie_ was speedily
explained, and the men flocked into the inn. As a slight return for
the fright we had given them, we paid for a few quarts of spirits. The
Governor overlooked our law-breaking, for after dark firing is not
allowed, and no doubt he envied us in his heart, for, poor man, he is
in the clutches of the Band of Good Hope, much, we heard, to his
disgust.
We left next day, and had a hearty send-off from the town, who turned
out _en masse_ to witness our departure. The local doctor was not
present. We had found no favour in his eyes.
Shortly after leaving the town we passed the Montenegrin Militia, hard
at their weekly drill. No uniform is worn, every man coming in his
everyday clothes, bringing only his rifle. But they drill very well
and the discipline is excellent. A company was being dismissed as we
came up, and a large number accompanied us for a long way.
The ride was magnificent that afternoon. The way wound up and up, and
our last glimpse of Kolasin showed us the little town far away below
us.
The usual Montenegrin trick was again played successfully on us, the
"only two hours' ride" developing into a journey of six hours. But
to-day we did not murmur; it is only at the end of a long and trying
day that this style of humour is out of place.
For two hours our path threaded its way through dense beech forests.
At one spot P. and I had ridden on so far in advance of the others
that we dismounted and waited for them to come up. In the interval I
was assailed by a man with a bandaged head. Doctors always wear
European clothes in Montenegro, and without further inquiry, this man
proceeded to sit down before me and remove his bandages, disclosing
ultimately a ghastly eye.
"What must I do for it, Gospodin Doctor?" he asked at length, for
beyond the usual greeting he had not spoken. One glance was
sufficient, and P. got up and left us.
"Take it away!" I said, with averted face. "I am not a doctor, and
never shall be."
I felt him looking at me with his uninjured eye. These simple
peasants are always under the impression that our modern education
comprises that of medicine.
"But, Gospodin, it has been like this for weeks," he went on, "and is
very painful."
"There is a doctor at Kolasin. Go to him. _He_ will be pleased."
Evidently much hurt at my indifference, he slowly replaced his
bandages and departed. Then our party caught us up, and we continued
our way.
Later on we emerged from the woods, and, still climbing, we rode for
the remaining distance on magnificent grassy slopes far above the
forest belt. Several snow-patches still lay unmelted in the shady
hollows, and often far below us. From this ridge we obtained our first
good view of the lofty Kom, the second highest mountain in Montenegro,
and our ultimate destination.
These great downs, across which we rode, had been only thrown open to
the public, so to say, a few days ago, and were full of flocks of
sheep and goats and large herds of cattle, grazing to their hearts'
content after their long winter's imprisonment in the villages below.
The Government fix the date when the shepherds may migrate into the
mountain pasturages and when they must leave again for the lowlands.
We overtook or met several parties of Montenegrins, and even Turks,
for the border is not far distant, travelling from place to place. We
were viewed with obvious interest, and invariably greeted with
respect, though there is nothing of subservience in a Montenegrin's
salute. He feels himself in no way your inferior as a man until you
have proved your superiority in shooting or physical strength.
In this part of the country Dr. S. always told the peasants that we
were engineers, as a road is being contemplated.
About seven p.m. we branched off from the main path, and descended on
foot a steep path into a thickly wooded valley. In a clearing of the
trees stood a collection of wooden huts, a summer village of
shepherds, called Raskrsnica.
It was our halting-place, and as our visit had been notified, we were
received by a schoolmaster and taken to his hut, which was placed at
our disposal.
No schools are held during the summer months, and the teachers often
turn shepherds, as in this case, and migrate with their flocks to the
mountains.