first house we visited in Montenegro, and with him we drank our last cup of coffee when we left many months later.
The other building is the old palace of the Princes of Montenegro, which won its odd name of Billard or Biljar from the fact that a former Prince was so addicted to the game of billiards that the principal room of the palace was devoted to the game. It is now used for State purposes. The upper floors are occupied by the Government offices, and at one corner is the Supreme Court of Justice and Appeal, whose judgments are only reversible by the Prince himself. Further, the school and printing works are to be found within its quaint old red-brick walls and bastions.
Opposite to this picturesque old building stands the modern and uninteresting one-storied palace of Prince Nicolas. It shows the simplicity of his nature in perhaps a more marked degree than anything else, for little or no privacy from his people is possible. He walks from his house down a short flight of steps into the street. The small courtyard at the back is surrounded by a low wall, the entrances having no gates.
The recently erected palace of the Crown Prince Danilo, which stands on the outskirts of the town, is a somewhat more pretentious building. It has a large garden completely walled in, which is at any rate an apology for privacy and seclusion.
To obtain a comprehensive view of the town, we climbed a small hill immediately above the monastery, on whose summit stands the gilded cupola erected to the memory of Danilo Petrović, the Lord of Njeguši, founder of the present dynasty. Very pretty the simple little town looks from here, its red roofs giving a pleasing touch of colour to the otherwise severe landscape of grey rock, dazzling white streets, and sparsely vegetated valley.
One afternoon we visited the barracks, which are quite new, and the quarters of the battalion of the standing army. The barrack rooms are spotlessly clean, and the order and neatness unsurpassed, which, together with the smart drilling and superb physique of the soldiers, would delight the heart of the severest martinet. Everything connected with the military training of the Montenegrins is up to the standard of Continental excellence. All the officers undergo a long course of training, either in Russia, France, or Italy, and right well have they utilised this privilege. No wonder that the warlike Montenegrin drills as well as his Continental brother. The standing army wear uniforms, and at a distance remind one of our own troops, with their tight-fitting, short red jackets and tiny caps.
Other conspicuous buildings are the theatre, where performances are given in the winter in the Serb language and where Prince Nicolas' famous drama, The Empress of the Balkans, was first performed; the house of the Austro-Hungarian Minister, which is the best in Cetinje,[1] and the hospital. It is the only hospital in Montenegro, and is used almost solely for serious surgical operations. Here Prince Mirko, the second son of Prince Nicolas, spends much of his time, for his tastes run to bacteriology, and his skill with the microscope is acknowledged. He is also a musician of no mean order, and the march which he composed in honour of the city of Rome, and which was performed there under the leadership of Mascagni, will be in the memory of all. He has none of the tastes of his elder brother, who, true to the traditions of his country, is a mighty hunter, and whose prowess with rifle, gun, and revolver is acclaimed by the people who understand these gifts better.
[1] The Russian Minister has now an equally imposing edifice.
By far the most interesting episode of our sojourn in Cetinje was a visit to the prison, which we were enabled to do with our camera, by the kindness of the Minister of Justice. It was the first time in the annals of Montenegro that strangers had been allowed to take photographs in a prison.
At the appointed hour we approached the plain building, surrounded by no wall of any kind, which does duty as the prison. It is soon to be done away with, and all the prisoners will be transferred to the central prison at Podgorica. Smiling warders welcomed us and conducted us to their living-room, barely furnished and with an array of revolvers—the property of the prisoners—hanging on the walls. A female prisoner prepared us coffee, and while we were sipping the inevitable beverage a glance through the window showed us men busily sweeping the courtyard of the prison.
First of all a warder showed us the fetters—heavy, cumbersome irons, which are riveted to one or both ankles, according to the sentence. But it is only in exceptional cases of aggravated crime that this severer sentence is meted out to the offender. Then we were conducted by the main and only entrance into the courtyard, two sides of which contain the cells of the prisoners. These gentlemen rose with alacrity to their feet as we entered, evidently much pleased at the honour of our visit. Only three men were chained, and of these one remained moodily seated, staring indifferently on the ground before him. He formed such a contrast to his fellow-prisoners' smiling faces that we observed him closer, noticing that his clothes were such as the officials and better class wear.
"Who is he?" I asked.
"A Government clerk convicted of embezzlement," was the answer. "Six weeks in chains is his sentence."
"And what have the other criminals done?" was our next query.
"Oh, they have mostly quarrelled amongst themselves. They are not criminals. We have very few thieves and robbers in Montenegro. This youth," went on our informant, pointing to a young man with a pleasant face, and who grinned with joy as he noticed the attention with which we favoured him, "has a ten years' sentence for quarrelling."
"But quarrelling," we repeated. "Is it punishable to quarrel?"
"Yes, too many lives are lost," was the laconic reply.
"Oh," we exclaimed, a light breaking in upon us, "you mean murder! They are all murderers?"
"We have no murderers," came the indignant response. "Our land is as safe from murder as any other in the world. No one kills to rob or steal in Montenegro. But we just quarrel amongst ourselves. We are hot-blooded and shoot quickly, that is all."
P. and I looked at each other, but neither of us felt inclined to venture any further remarks; so we examined a dark cell with interest, without furniture or light, and one of six used for the worst kind of offender, viz. the political. They were all untenanted. We had all crowded inside, our warders as well, and as we emerged again into the strong light, I noticed the gate wide open and no visible guard.
"You have left the gate open!" exclaimed P., as he saw it.
Our warders laughed. Afterwards we understood.
Then we inspected a common cell, where about a dozen men sleep. Each man brings his own bedding and nicknacks, with which he decorates the wall above his bed and makes the place as much like home as possible. Loss of liberty is the only real punishment, and even that is not carried to an excess. The Prince has said that the restraint that they suffer is enough, and thus the prisoners have comparatively free intercourse with the outside world, plenty to eat, and on festivals wine and even spirits and a dance with their friends outside. This latter scene we witnessed some time afterwards on another visit to Cetinje. The only real severity is the chains, but these sturdy mountaineers soon accustom themselves to these thirty-pound trinkets, and when photographed take good care to arrange them tastefully and prominently. When we lined them up for a picture, we demanded a front place for the chained men, to their intense delight and the chagrin of the others who cast envious glances at their more favoured brethren. No doubt in that moment the unchained men wished they had gone just a little further in their "quarrel."
After a pleasant half-hour with these quarrelsome gentlemen, we went round to the ladies who occupy a wing of the prison, with all windows and doors facing outwards on to the open ground. Again no fence or wall marked a limit to their prison, and they walk in and out of their cells at leisure.