We reconsider our opinion of Cetinje—A Montenegrin wake and its consequences—A hero's death—Montenegrin conversation—Needless appeals to the Deity—We visit the hospital.
We have said that there are not many stirring events happening in Cetinje. But this was due to the fact that we had only a very superficial knowledge of the town. To appreciate it fully, though, it is absolutely necessary to know the country and the people first. We had quite made up our minds to go down to Cattaro the day following the memorable drive from Podgorica, but a mutual acquaintance, a Montenegrin of high standing, met us as we strolled aimlessly down the main street that morning. When he heard that we were leaving in a few hours, he became quite excited. Had we really seen everything, in Cetinje too?
"Yes," said we. "We have visited the monastery, watched the soldiers drilling, chatted with the criminals, and know every burgher of the town, at least by sight."
"First you must see the hospital and then you must attend a trial in the Supreme Court of Appeal," said our seducer. "And as for vendettas," he added with pride, "we too have our little quarrels. On the spot you are standing a man was shot five years ago, and in the act of dying he killed his assailant."
"Tell us the story," we broke in eagerly. Montenegro is demoralising in this respect. One becomes so used to bloodthirsty anecdotes that one wonders how other countries exist without the excitement of the vendetta. Then the intercourse with noted murderers and assassins makes a mere ordinary man whose hands are not stained with the blood of his fellow-beings seem dull and tame. Our eagerness pleased our friend and we adjourned to the café opposite.
About five years ago a near relation of the Prince died, and was taken to the home of Petrović in Njeguši. To do honour to the dead man, the men of Cetinje and the men of Bajice—a village at the further end of the valley—accompanied the corpse as a guard of honour.
Now a corpse is waked in true Irish style in this country, and by the time the escort had returned to the valley of Cetinje and halted at Bajice for a parting glass, the condition of the mourners resembled the close of a Bank Holiday in London. The too liberal indulgence in raki or spirits does not always provoke that mellowness which follows a good dinner and a glass of port. On the contrary, you become argumentative and convinced of the truth of your side of the question, and you do not hesitate to tell the other man that he is more or less of a fool. So it came to pass in Bajice that those of Cetinje argued that they were the better men, a statement which did not conduce to good fellowship—in fact, a Voivoda who was present, a native of Bajice, had to interfere to prevent the only true solution of the question in point. He was an aged man, and the men of Cetinje proceeded home without proving their statement. One man, however, stayed behind to continue the argument, and this naturally enraged the Voivoda. He ordered him to be beaten. Nothing loath, the worthy villagers fell upon him, and belaboured him with such fervour that he soon fell insensible to the ground. Before he lost consciousness, he was heard to utter a threat to the effect that his assailants would be sorry for it.
Then he was carried to the hospital in Cetinje and lay six weeks recovering.
When he was well again, his thoughts were occupied with revenge, and in this scheme he was greatly assisted by his relations.
"Thou wilt be killed, of course," they said, "but thine and our honour must be avenged. Who are the men of Bajice to beat one of us and go unpunished?"
He was of the same opinion, and cast about for a suitable victim. Now the son of the aged Voivoda who had ordered the assault lived in Cetinje. He was the captain of the Royal Body Guard, the hero of many a fight with the Turks, and famed throughout the land. We knew his son, who stands about six feet four inches, and he is said to have been small compared to what his father was.
"He shall be the victim," said the man of Cetinje, and his relations applauded the choice.
One morning early the captain emerged from a shop, and from a distance of a few feet, the avenger of his honour fired at him from behind, hitting him in the neck. The captain fell forward on his face, saying, "Who has shot me?" and turning saw the assassin running up the street. With his last strength he drew his revolver, and resting his elbow on the ground, he fired once; the man reeled but continued his headlong flight: again the wounded officer fired, and as he sank forward dying, he had the satisfaction of seeing the fugitive throw up his hands and fall dead, shot through the heart. The last shot was fired at a distance of fifty yards.
"As you can imagine," concluded our informant, "the news of this affray nearly caused a pitched battle between Bajice and Cetinje, which was only prevented by the energetic action of the Prince. He called the two clans together before his palace and with marvellous judgment picked out the ring-leaders and imprisoned them, and the rest were sent home with such a warning of what would come if he heard any more about it, that all interest was lost in the dispute. Men do not like to face our Prince when he is angered, and his constant presence in Cetinje is a great drawback to the vendetta. Now I must leave you, and to-morrow you shall visit the hospital."
We strolled to the market-place, which was full of peasants and their produce. It is not nearly such a scene of life as is met with elsewhere. The Albanian element is almost totally absent, and that alone takes fifty per cent. of the wildness off. Neither are rifles brought to Cetinje, so that it presents a far more peaceable aspect. Still it is crowded, the guslars do a literally roaring trade, and there are always a sprinkling of men from the Vasović and other outlying clans to liven up the scene.
Here old friends and comrades in arms meet, called to the capital as witnesses, or principals, in a law case, or to draw their salaries as small officials of their districts. The conversation on these occasions is always the same, and if heard often, becomes monotonous. The unvarying formula of greeting is quaint and terse, but it loses much of its impressive character by translation. One word in explanation. The Montenegrins cannot utter the simplest remark without invoking the Almighty in some form or another. The use of the word "Bog," or "God," is incessant.
Picture an aged man, whose grey stubble fringes a weather-beaten and furrowed face with a grizzled moustache. He is smoking a grimy tchibouque in a contemplative fashion, as he stands on the outskirts of the chattering throng. To him approaches a second stalwart, lean man about the same age and appearance. He is also smoking a long tchibouque; it is a custom which the elder inhabitants have adopted from the Turks.
"May God protect thee," says the new-comer gravely, as though he had never given vent to such a momentous utterance before.
"May God give thee good fortune," answers the other, with equal solemnity; and removing their pipes, they clasp hands and fervently kiss each other. Then the smoking is resumed, and between the puffs the following conversation ensues.
"How art thou?" says the new-comer, gazing with affection at his old comrade.
"Well, thank God," replies the other.
"Thank God."
"And how art thou?"
"Well, thank God."
"Thank God."
Now it is the new-comer's turn for the Montenegrin catechism.
The questions already asked and answered are only the prelude, so to speak, before they settle down to serious business. "Kako ste?" ("How art thou?") is simply as meaningless as "How do you do"; in fact, a mere matter of form.
"Art thou well?" says the questioner, referring to the other's state of health, who replies—
"I am well, by God, thank God."
"Thank God," says the questioner, breathing more freely, and continuing.
"How is thy wife?" "How are thy children?" "Thy grandchildren?" "Thy brother?" "Thy sister?" To all of which a deep-toned "Well, thank God," is given.
Having satisfied himself that the whole family is in reasonable health, and quite certain that he has omitted no important relation, the catechiser proceeds to inquire as to the other's worldly possessions.
"How are thy crops?"
"God will give me a good harvest."
"How are thy horses?" "Thy sheep?" "Thy goats?" "Thy cows?" "Thy pigs?" "Thy bees?"
It must be clearly understood, to appreciate the humour of the scene, that the formula has been shortened to avoid vain repetition. Every question is asked in full, and answered with a pious "Dobro, hfala Bogu" ("Well, thank God"). Not a word is omitted. The concluding question is put, after a few moments' thought that really no item has been left out, and this covers any lapse of memory.
"And, in short, How art thou?"
"Dobro, hfala Bogu" ("Well, thank God").
"Hfala Bogu" ("Thank God").
Now it is the other's turn, and precisely the same questions are asked, varied perhaps with an inquiry as to the state of health of the district "standard bearer" or "mayor." Then a few minutes' general conversation are indulged in as to the direct cause of the other's visit to Cetinje, and each satisfied that he has gained every particle of information, they clasp hands, kiss, and part with a measured "S'Bogom," signifying that they commend each other to the Almighty's keeping.
The simplest and most inoffensive query is answered thus:—
"Hast thou any milk?" says the thirsty wayfarer, pausing at a hut.
"I have none, by God," and the stranger proceeds wearily on his way.
Our visit to the hospital was decidedly interesting. The senior doctor of Montenegro was an ex-Austrian military surgeon. He was very pressing in his invitation, so one day we wended our steps thither at eleven o'clock. We were met by a smart-looking nurse, who told us that the doctor was at present engaged in an operation, and would be with us shortly. He soon appeared, and, apologising for the simplicity of the building, started taking us round. First he led us into the accident-room, where the injured are first treated. There were the usual operating-tables and cases of instruments. "We treat wounds that are suppurating here," he said pleasantly. "Our real operating-room is in the other house, and is much better fitted up. This being the only hospital in the country I have all the operations to perform, generally one a day."
Then we went into the Röntgen room. The X rays, the doctor informed us, was very useful in locating bullets. In the men's ward a young man was pointed out to us who had been shot twice during a kolo dance in the arm and leg.
"The Montenegrins," said the doctor, "are very careless when they fire their revolvers during a dance, and I get a good many patients that way." Afterwards we visited some other wards, and we were finally taken to the other operating-room, or theatre. But it was only a reproduction of the other on a large scale. "The Prince is very generous," said the doctor, "and gives me a free hand. We have every modern appliance, and I have trained my assistants to such an extent that I can absolutely rely on them. The hospital costs a lot of money, for we only charge a krone (about a franc) a day, and then they petition that they cannot pay."
After inscribing our names in a book we went back to our midday meal.
The hospital, from a medical and surgical standpoint, is extremely up to date, and at its head is a doctor who may be counted as one of the finest operators in Europe; at his own request his name has not been mentioned. It is another instance of Prince Nicolas' benevolence to his people, another of the progressive movements which he is ever introducing into the country. Every district has a doctor, all of whom are under the head doctor at Cetinje, who directs all treatment in the case of an epidemic. Serious cases are sent to Cetinje and treated there, but these are largely surgical. The fame of the doctor at Cetinje has reached the furthermost village; men who have suffered for years now troop joyfully to the capital, and the number of operations increases yearly.
May the hospital and its capable chief flourish and continue to bring the blessings of science to the worthy sons of the Black Mountain!