My friend Paton does not render half justice to this city in his charming book, "The Highlands and Islands of the Adriatic;" but he is so in love with Ragusa—and, if truth must be told, so am I—that he has nothing to say for Cattaro; it is true he saw it in Winter, when it must be a dismal place. But Cattaro, for all that, deserves a visit, and anyone fond of sketching will spend, with profit, several days in and about the place. It is situated at the extreme end of the Fjord of that name, on a very narrow ledge of land at the foot of the most precipitous cliffs facing the west, up which it extends for a short space. It is surrounded by the ancient Venetian walls, bastions and fortifications, and crowned by a fort perched on the very summit of the rock, a thousand feet above the city. Looking at it from below, it seems scarcely balanced on the cliff, and one expects to see it come tumbling down every moment.
The fortifications of the town are connected by crenelated walls with the fort itself on two sides, thus inclosing a considerable space on the face of the mountain, something in the shape of a triangle, of which the town would form the base, and the fort the apex, which is still garrisoned, and many a harmless rusty old cannon can be seen peeping through the embrasures. Having returned from the opposite side of the water, where I had gone the better to see the fortifications, we took a walk up and down the esplanade between the water and the walls, to look at the beau monde on their boulevard, and then adjourned to the café on the same esplanade to have some ices al fresco, and make our final arrangements for the following morning.
The public walk at Cattaro is very well laid out, and the most is made of the very contracted space at command. Two rows of large trees extend along the walls on each side of the gate, above which is to be seen, as usual, the Lion of St. Mark. Not so natural, perhaps, as Edwin Landseer's animals at the foot of Nelson's column; but, certainly, a more dignified beast than the one with straight tail which until lately kept watch and ward over Trafalgar Square from the top of Northumberland House. At the northern end of the Mall is the café, and round about it the grounds are laid out in gardens, where, under the shade of gigantic oleanders and mulberry trees, little round tables, made of enormously thick slabs, resting on short central pillars, for all the world like Brobdingnagian mushrooms, are laid out and surrounded with stools for the accommodation of all comers. The stone of which these round tables are made is powerfully sonorous, and if lightly struck, even with one's knuckles, gives out a beautiful soft tone. If cut into lengths and properly poised, excellent rock harmoniums could be made of it.
Here I fell in again with the Russian Consul, who introduced me to one of the finest specimens of men I ever saw, a Montenegrin chief, by name Pero Pejovich, commandant of the Grahovo (pronounced Graho), who had come from Risano in a boat, and was bound for Montenegro to be present at the Feast. He was dressed in full gala Montenegrin costume, plus the Risano jacket of crimson cloth without sleeves, thickly embroidered with gold, and on it the medals and decorations he had gained in battle. At another table were seated, also in full costume, two Montenegrin ladies of a family who had been exiled for political causes, and who were waiting at Cattaro in hopes of obtaining an amnesty which would permit them to return to their homes.
The sun had set, and the short twilight had nearly merged into darkness; the great heat of the day was now tempered by a delicious balmy feeling, as the cooler air from the mountains came down to mingle with that of the lower strata; the musical hum of the many voices, the exquisite Trebigne tobacco in our cigarettes, the delicious coffee, all conspired to make that evening one of the most delightful I ever passed. I got another chair, and stretched my legs on it; the natives stared—no Oriental ever thinks of stretching his legs—the acme of comfort for him is to tuck them under him. I felt supremely happy, and expressed myself so.
"I could live here for ever," I said to Signor Jackschich.
"Nay," rejoined Pero Pejovich, "but wait till it rains, and you will soon wish to run away from Cattaro. I have known it rain here for six weeks without stopping for a moment."
At this juncture, the band of the Austrian regiment quartered here came on the scene, with the same lamp arrangement I had seen at Pola, and for upwards of an hour played the most delicious music to our intense delight. The Consul now reminded me that we should have to start betimes the following morning, if we wanted to avoid being roasted in the middle of the day on the rocks of Montenegro. But the sense of enjoyment was too great, and I could not bear to break the spell of the hour which I was enjoying to the fullest. That I should have an excuse for delaying a little longer, I began to talk in Italian to a little beggar boy who had quietly been asking me for something the whole evening, not with noisy importunate appeals, but by the eloquent look of about the finest pair of eyes that ever were seen.
"Don't take any notice of the young ruffian," said Signor Jackschich, "he is the plague of the town, and the worry of his father. He won't work, and he is in every mischief that is going."
"But I don't tell lies—neither do I steal," retorted the bold young brat, who could be no more than eight or nine. "It is too hot to work, and as to going home to sleep la dentro," he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the town, "when I can enjoy the cool nights under these trees al fresco, I would rather not!"