I Was in Egypt when a Reuter telegram announced that the Austrians had taken the Lovtchen, occupied Cetinje, and appointed as Mayor "the Bulgarian Vuletitch." I guessed at once this was my old friend Vulco of the Grand Hotel. His son-in-law, Rizoff, who had had to leave Rome, where he was working a pro-German propaganda, was now Bulgarian Minister at Berlin. There was something truly Balkanic in the surrender of Cetinje, arranged by the Grand Hotel and his son-in law, which appealed to my sense of humour. I soon learnt my guess was true. The Fates willed that I should meet a Montenegrin official. Last time we met during the Balkan war I had vituperated him about the cutting off of noses. Now in a strange land we were old friends.
"Tell me," said I, "what happened? The Austrians cannot really have taken the Lovtchen. One does not march troops up two thousand feet of rocks under guns, when one can walk in by the back door." Cheerfully he replied:
"Gospodjitza, you have been up the Lovtchen yourself. It is not worth while lying to you. Frankly, we welcomed the Austrians, even with enthusiasm. A small detachment on the road had not been warned, and fired. Otherwise nothing occurred. Yes, Vuko is Mayor! All your old friends remain, Yanko Vukotitch, and all! Only the King and suite left. Mirko, as you know, remains." Here he burst out laughing. "He is tuberculous, you know, and will go to Vienna to consult a doctor! The King told Petar to remain, too, but it bored him, and he came away afterwards. Mon Dieu, but the King was angry with him. You know our Montenegrins. They are funny dogs. When those at Antivari heard that the Austrians had arrived in Cetinje, they pillaged the palace of Prince Danilo. But before the house of the Austrian consul they put a guard. A good fellow this consul, is he not? For me this war is the struggle of the Slav and the Teuton for the only unexploited lands in Europe. We always knew it would come. But in the past we have never reckoned that England will range herself with Russia and permit her to take Constantinople. That would mean the end of Roumania, of Bulgaria, of Serbia, of us, and of you, too, Gospodjitza, if you are not careful. Therefore we ranged ourselves with Austria. Those who have travelled in Austria know that the Slavs there are richer, better educated, and better off in every way than we poor devils of Serbia and Montenegro. In return for the taxes they pay they get roads, schools—what you will. Our taxes all run out of the breeches pockets of those Two Families (Petrovitch and Karageorgevitch). The war is not ended, but I can tell you those Two Families will go and never return. Our King is in France. If the French want a king, they may keep him!"
"And who is responsible for killing the Archduke?"
"Who knows? It was done certainly by some of those mad students of Belgrade. You remember how they tried to kill King Nikola? Well! The Serbs wanted war. Now they have got it let us hope they are content. Politics, as you know, are all cochonnerie. As for me, I have had enough, and I wash my hands of them."
His account squares with others. The Greek Minister in Cetinje, who, as a neutral remained there, related that not long after King Nikola left Montenegro a telegram from Vienna arrived inviting him to stay. Prince Danilo was already abroad when the crisis arose. Serbia as well as Montenegro made an attempt to come to terms with Austria in 1915, it would appear, from an unsigned convention, a copy of which has been lately reported to have been found in the archives at Vienna. It would account for the fact that in spite of the advice of more than one English authority, they persisted in making no preparation for the further defence of their country, and disposed their troops only for an advance into Albania.
Thus tragically ended poor King Nikola's life's ambition and his golden dream. Mirko, whom he would fain have seen on the throne of Serbia, died in Austria in 1918. The records of Danilo and Petar are such that they are not likely to succeed their father. Prince Danilo in vain refused the spiritual headship of the land. No Petrovitch seems destined to be followed by his son, though their dynasty is the older, and their hands are not so stained with murder as those of the rival dynasty.
Nikola is not wholly blameworthy. Powers stronger and more crafty than he, planned Great Serbia and ruthlessly ruled him out of it. No reinforcements came to him; no troops to help him hold the Lovtchen. Russia was once his god—and she forsook him.
The Montenegrin opinion of the Serajevo murders is corroborated by several facts. The Serb students refuged in London had post cards printed of the murderer Princip, on which he was described as a national hero! One said to me: "Yes, it is a pity so many people were killed. But you see the plan quite succeeded, and Great Serbia has been made." He seemed to think it the object of the war. Another told a friend of mine that bombthrowing had been taught at Shabatz, and a Serbian officer boasted to Lady Boyle, when she was doing Serbian relief work, that he was one of the men who taught the murderers to shoot. He took their photographs from his pocket, and called on her to admire how well he had taught them.
The bombs used, like those prepared for King Nikola, came from Kraguyevatz. The assassins told in great detail at their trial that they had been supplied with weapons, and taught to use them, by a Serbian railway employe, Ciganovitch, and by Major Tankositch the komitadji trainer He was a well-known komitadji himself, and a member of the Narodna Odbrana and of the Black Hand. And he was in constant touch with the Belgrade students at the Zelenom Vjencu eating-house. A Serb student, who himself had frequented this place, told me that Princip was chosen because he was so far advanced in tuberculosis he could not live long in any case. He saw him just before he left for Serajevo, looking very ill indeed. He described that when the news of the murders arrived three hundred Bosnian students rushed through Belgrade shouting and singing, and led by a Montenegrin playing the gusle.