The occupation of a Montenegrin gentleman--The public library--Prince
Nikita's prisoners--Albanian _versus_ Montenegrin--A Montenegrin
loan--The Prince as a sportsman--The museum--The hospital.
The next morning we rose betimes, to visit the lions of the Montenegrin
capital.
It struck us, as it strikes most travellers in this country, that the
favourite occupation of a Montenegrin in time of peace is to swagger
about in peacock fashion in conspicuous places where he is likely to be
seen, proud of his fine dress and splendid weapons, which he sticks
ostentatiously in his silken sash. The women do work hard here, but I
have never seen a Montenegrin of the sterner sex demean himself by any
labour. They are all gentlemen, in the good old sense of the word. They
can't do any work, and wouldn't if they could.
There is no industry of any kind in this country. Their embroidered
robes, their metal work, their saddlery, all come from Albania, or are
here worked by emigrants from that province.
The Black Mountaineers have many virtues, but, _pace_ Mr. Gladstone,
industry is not one of them.
How they manage to procure their expensive get-up often puzzled me.
True, all the riches of the country are on the not over-clean backs of
the inhabitants.
Miserably poor the common people are. A bad season, as this one has
been, equals in horror and suffering even what Ireland has just
experienced. Yet a Montenegrin, be he starving, can always manage to be
well armed, and often gay with gold embroidery.
We met a string of women, some by no means ill-favoured, bearing
building materials--wood, bricks, and the like--on their broad
shoulders. They had brought these all the way from Cattaro. As all the
luxuries, and many of the necessities of life, have to be brought up
that frightful path on the backs of the fair sex, Cettinje is by no
means a cheap place to live in. It made my eyes open to learn the cost
of a feed of hay for one's horse.
We walked up the high street, till we reached an institution of which
the natives are very proud--the public library.
This was but a small room. The books were few in number, all in the
Sclav tongue. I was surprised to find the chief Russian, German,
French, and Italian journals lying on the table. There was a _Standard_
and _Illustrated London News_ of as recent a date as September the
27th.
The Prince, who of course is consulted as to what publications are to
be admitted into his realm, has curiously enough selected from our
daily papers the one that, above all others, takes a view of general
European politics diametrically opposed to that of himself and his big
ally in the North.
The next object of interest we visited was the prison. Imagine a
courtyard open on the street, generally, I believe, unguarded. Here
all offenders against the law squat on the ground, or stroll about as
they like. They are allowed to receive their friends, who bring them
little luxuries. A most happy-go-lucky sort of a prison, and very
characteristic of the country. These prisoners, were they so inclined,
could escape in a moment. They never attempt such a thing. They are
ordered to remain there and consider themselves prisoners for so many
days, and there they stay, smoking patiently till their time is up.
In so small a country as Montenegro, it is hardly an exaggeration to
say that everybody knows everybody. The flight of a prisoner would be
telegraphed to every village--he would soon be re-captured. For so
great is the love and fear entertained by this people towards their
Prince, that none would venture to shelter or assist a runaway from his
prison. Again, to fly across the frontier is a plan few would care to
resort to. The Montenegrin loves his country too much to desert it, and
is too much disliked by his neighbours to expect to be by them received
with open arms.
The Prince had occasion to send an important message to Cattaro one
winter. Heavy snow rendered the path dangerous--almost impracticable.
So, as it was a pity to risk the life of an honest man, a criminal
from the prison was called out, and ordered to carry the letter to
the Austrian fortress, and return immediately. No one for a moment
suspected that the man, having regained his liberty, would stay away
for good. Indeed, he carried out his mission safely, and returned
within two days.
While we were lunching with the grandees in the hotel, several loud
explosions, succeeding each other in rapid succession, shook the house
to its foundation. We were told that the noise proceeded from the new
road to Cattaro, where the rock is being blasted with dynamite. We went
out to see the sight. The plain at the back of the hotel was crowded
with groups of men, women, and children, who seemed pleased and excited
at the spectacle. Every now and then from the rocky ridge, about half a
mile off, would spout a huge volume of smoke and fragments of rock,
which was followed shortly by a loud roar.
The recklessness of the spectators was amazing. A fragment of rock
would fall in the midst of them occasionally, which called forth peals
of laughter. They would all rush up to see how deep it had forced its
way into the soil. One large piece of rock whizzed by us and buried
itself near the hotel, not ten yards from where we were standing, and
almost between the legs of a little boy. The urchin screamed with joy
(as did all round--the narrow shave was an excellent joke), and threw
himself on the ground to disinter what had so nearly proved his
destruction. The stone was nearly as large as a man's head, and had
buried itself quite eighteen inches in the ground--a sufficiently
formidable missile. We were told that a rock had been projected into
the Prince's palace the other day during the blasting operations, and
that several people had been killed or seriously wounded at different
times. The Black Mountaineer is too accustomed to scenes of carnage to
be anything but reckless and careless of life.
In the afternoon we saw the Prince himself, as he enjoyed the fresh air
of the plain. He was walking in a slow and dignified manner, followed
closely by two attendants. He wore the national costume; over his
shoulders was thrown a magnificent cloak of furs. Whichever way he
turned his head, and he did so often, every one within radius of his
vision immediately uncapped himself, and as instantly resumed his
head-covering when his sovereign's eyes were turned in another
direction again. On no other occasion does the Montenegrin doff his
cap; this mark of respect is due to the Prince alone. He wears it
indoors as well as out.
Here a man salutes his equal with a kiss on the cheek, his superior
with a kiss on the hand or hem of the garment, according to the rank.
Woman, an inferior and subject being, never ventures to do more than
humbly take in her own, even her husband's, hand and kiss it.
We did not have an interview with Prince Nikita, though we had letters
of introduction for him. As he was entertaining the Austrian Grand
Duke, we considered that he had enough distinguished foreigners on his
hands for one time. Later on Robinson and Jones did interview him, and
were much pleased with his frank and genial manner. He is always very
glad to see any strangers that visit his domains, and is anxious that
his endeavours to civilize and ameliorate the condition of his people
should be better known and appreciated by England.
I fear that he and his people have been almost too highly appreciated
of late. Some would persuade us that the Montenegrins are the finest
people in Europe--a race of Demigods. The popular superstition as to
the "unspeakable Turk" is no less absurd than that which exaggerates
the virtues of the noble Montenegrin.
They are brave warriors. They are cunning enough to know that the good
opinion of civilized Europe is worth having. They are intensely
self-conceited; they hate the Turk and the Albanian; they are too proud
of their warlike qualities to care to work; and, in my humble opinion,
will never be more than they are now, picturesque, poor mountaineers,
very inferior in mental capacity to their neighbours the Albanians,
Christian or Mohammedan, and no wit less ferocious and cruel in war.
But Albania has an ill-name among those who know her not. She is the
scapegrace of the Eastern Adriatic--the cause of all troubles
hereabouts, it is said. Montenegro, on the other hand, enjoys a high
reputation.
This is natural. Subsidized or bribed by two of the Powers that be,
petted by the same, she plays a good game, and encourages the
superstition that she is much more virtuous and civilized than the
neighbour whose territory she lusts after.
The unfortunate Arnaut has no Prince Nikita, is robbed by the so-called
government of Turkey when it is strong enough to affect him in any way,
has no friends, but is surrounded by cunning enemies, hungry for his
lands.
Let any disinterested person travel among Montenegrin and Arnaut, and I
think he will conclude, as I did, that the latter is as brave a
warrior--more industrious, more intellectual--in every way of a finer,
nobler race, than his much belauded hereditary foe.
The cares of State lie not heavily on the shoulders of Prince Nikita.
The little work he does do he is very proud of. Europeans that have
conversed with him have come away with the impression that he is the
hardest-working, most conscientious prince in Europe.
I am told that now that he has constructed a very complete network of
telegraph wires throughout his realm, he considers that one thing alone
remains to bring Montenegro up to his standard of civilization.
This is a National Debt. He talks seriously of negotiating a loan in
some of the European capitals, and proposes to hypothecate the timber
of the State forests. We saw a good deal of Montenegro in this and in a
later visit; but had great difficulty in discovering where these fine
forests were. We often made inquiries. "Ah! when you reach So-and-so,
you will see them on your right hand." So-and-so reached, we could
perceive nothing but the eternal stones of the Karatag, made further
inquiries, and were referred to some further spot where we should find
huge primeval forests darkening mountain and valley, the haunts of wild
beasts, where the axe of the woodman had never been heard to resound,
where twenty men linked hand-in-hand would fail to encircle the
gigantic trunks.
We pursued these phantom forests, but never found them, so we
concluded that they existed only in the imaginations of the
Montenegrin financiers.
At last, it is true, on the frontier, near Klementi, we did come
across what might be called forests, but the timber was not large;
and, growing where it did, in inaccessible haunts of the eagle, in the
heart of the wild mountains, it was next to useless.
I should say that if the Principality endeavoured to raise a loan on
the security of her inexhaustible stones, she would be about as
successful as she will be if she seriously tries to hypothecate her
forests.
A rather cynical person, a foreigner, who knows Cettinje well, gave me
an amusing summary of Prince Nikita's method of passing his time. In
the morning he sits in his palace; occasionally sends a message of
little import to some village _Voyade_, through the medium of his
new toy, the "electric telegraph." A few telegrams constitute a hard
day's work for the Prince. Some relaxation is necessary. Sport is
suggested; so off he rides, with his Court, to Rieka, in whose stream
are trout of fabulous size. Here he enjoys a good afternoon's fishing.
With rod and fly? No; but in a more wholesale and princely fashion.
With dynamite! Truly a royal pastime! He is also a poet in his way,
and turns out rather dismal compositions in his native tongue. He is
an affectionate husband, and is wont, on fine evenings, to serenade
the princess with the one-stringed guzla, or violin of Montenegro,
accompanying it with his voice, which he raises in song of his own
making.
A Montenegrin notable, a fine young fellow, quite six feet five inches
in height, kindly offered to be our guide over a Museum of great
interest, which is situated at the further extremity of the town. The
Museum is merely a small, rough-plastered room, but it contains what
is well worthy of visit--a collection of trophies taken from the Turk
in those wars which have raged fiercely and cruelly between the two
races for so many hundreds of years. Here were the spoils of a
thousand battles. Guns of very antique date--curious, ricketty weapons
of Middle Age Europe. Here the long Albanian gun, with silver-inlaid
barrel, and small narrow stock of beautifully carved steel; old
muskets with English Tower marks; Martini-Henry and Winchester rifles
hung on the walls, bringing one down to more recent campaigns. Sabres,
blood-stained and broken; mountain howitzers, tattered standards, some
falling to pieces with age, some rent with ball and shell; the richly
inlaid scimetars of some old Prince of Orient, lances, old
chain-armour, and I know not what besides, lay in confusion all around
us.
In one corner of the wall hung certain trophies which are calculated to
sadden the English visitor. These are the decorations of the slain
Turk. Among the Medjidies were numerous Crimean medals, English and
French. It was not pleasant to see these here at Cettinje, taken as
they were from the breasts of many a veteran ally of ours in the olden
time--heroes of Kars, may be; soldiers of Williams.
From this melancholy collection we were taken to see the Hospital. The
surgeon, a Herzegovinian by birth, kindly showed us over the
establishment. It was a rough place, but answered its purpose well
enough. The beds were occupied chiefly by those who had been badly
wounded in the late war. The patients were crowded together in a way
that would have much astonished an English doctor. But these hardy,
temperate people, have marvellous constitutions, and the air of
Cettinje is pure and bracing; so no ill has resulted so far, from a
system which would invite pyaemia, and kill off half the inmates of a
London hospital in a week.
We stayed at Cettinje for three days. By that time we had seen enough
of the metropolis, so held a council as to whither next we should bend
our steps.
As Albania, and not Montenegro, was the object of this expedition, we
decided to cross the frontier to Scutari, the capital of North Albania,
where resided an English and other consuls, who could give us useful
information.
We found the best, indeed the only, way of reaching Scutari from here
was to go by land to Rieka, a Montenegrin village on the river of the
same name, and then hire a boat to take us down the Rieka, and across
the great lake of Scutari, to the Albanian capital, which is situated
at its furthest extremity.