Mass over, everyone turned in for his dinner and siesta. The Commandant of the Grahovo went to his own abode, and I followed the general example.
In the afternoon some wonderful foot races were to be held, but not till near sunset, when the great heat of the day would be somewhat abated. I determined therefore to fill up the space between the end of my siesta and the visit to the races, with a call on Monsignor Roganovich, the Metropolitan of Montenegro. I had brought letters of recommendation to the Archimandrite of Cettigne, and in his company I went to the monastery to pay my respects. We entered by the great gate, after crossing the threshing floor, and having crossed the court we ascended by a very rough stone staircase, which landed us in a sort of primitive cloister looking on a garden, on which opened the suite of rooms occupied by the Metropolitan.
We were at once shown in, and had not to wait many seconds before Monsignor Roganovich made his appearance. His reception was most cordial. He took me by the hand and made me sit on the divan by his side, expressing his regret that he could not converse with me except through an interpreter, owing to his not speaking any other language than Illyrian and Russian. We got on, however, remarkably well, thanks to the rapidity with which the Archimandrite almost guessed what I was going to say in Italian, translating it into Illyrian with equal rapidity. Coffee, as usual, was served up, unaccompanied however by the customary pipes, as the orthodox clergy are forbidden to smoke.
And now as I am sipping my coffee, let me endeavour to describe what I saw as my eyes wandered about. The room itself was small and low, simply white-washed, with no other furniture than one small table in front of the divan, and four rush chairs of the homeliest description. Around the walls were a few coloured prints of saints, and the floor was utterly uncarpeted. All this simplicity, however, served to bring out in greater contrast and relief the portly figure of Monsignor Roganovich, as he sat on the divan in his ample cassock and gown of violet-purple silk. He was not a handsome man, strictly speaking, his was more a jolly countenance than a handsome one, still it was a face one liked to look at, with his grand black beard flowing down to his waist. He wore his hair in ample curls down his back as if it had never known the shears, and on his head the little Montenegrin cap of black silk. On his breast glittered the star of the Montenegrin order, and round his neck a massive gold chain, from which depended a Panagia or image of the Virgin and Child, nearly as large as a saucer, surrounded with large diamonds.
His manners were courtly and his smile most pleasing, and he gave me the idea of one who would make an excellent companion for a little dinner party of four, and who would be more in his element on the Boulevard des Italiens at Paris, than in his monastic seclusion at Cettigne. We conversed for half an hour or so when I rose to take my leave, and he gave me the Apostolic Benediction, and embraced me on both cheeks. As we walked back to the Palace, the Archimandrite told me he took great interest in the schools, which he visited daily, examining and cross-examining the students, to see that they made good use of their time.
CHAPTER XIX.
FOOT RACES—MONASTERY OF OSTROG—OTTOMAN ADMINISTRATION—A COURSE À LA MONTAGNE—RACING WITHOUT BETTING—BEN TROVATO—A FLAT RACE—CONVERSATION ABOUT ENGLISH LAWS AND CUSTOMS—LAW OF HABEAS CORPUS.