Part 4 (1/2)
”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 st.u.r.dy 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. However, there is a boundary marked out by posts and trees, beyond which they may not go. As we appeared they were sitting about, singly and in groups, knitting peacefully in the warm suns.h.i.+ne.
We again inspected their quarters, and learnt that the odd score of women represented the total crime of the land.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FEMALE PRISONERS]
A blus.h.i.+ng and gratified array of staid matrons and coquettish girls faced the camera, again only one young maiden of fifteen or sixteen showing any sense of shame, and she fled into her cell, only to be ruthlessly ordered out by a warder.
Soon afterwards we took our leave, and as we crossed the small unenclosed square before the men's prison we found it crowded by the late inmates of the courtyard, walking merrily up and down or chatting with friends on the outskirts, over which neither party may step. Only the dismal clanking of a chain here and there proclaimed to the casual observer the fact that they were prisoners. Lithe, active, and athletic men, none of whom fear death, and guarded by four warders in the loosest possible fas.h.i.+on, yet they never attempt a dash for freedom up the rocky slope which reaches down to their very promenade ground. Flight would entail their escaping from their country altogether, never to return, and that no Montenegrin has ever been known to do. Even though they work for years in strange lands, they invariably return to their rugged native mountains and end their days in peace. And so they serve their time in patience, and go home at the expiry of the sentence ”without a stain on their character.”
Many months afterwards we chanced to arrive in Cetinje on the occasion of a great feast. A stranger happened to be with us, a German, and we were showing him the sights. Naturally we also wended our way to the prison, hoping to be able to give him the unique spectacle of the prisoners strolling freely up and down their garden. As we neared the square sounds of singing and music a.s.sailed our ears, and in front of the women's quarters a large ring was swaying to and fro in the national dance termed ”kolo.” Men and women were performing together, otherwise the s.e.xes are kept severely apart, while others sat around in groups partaking of wine and food which their friends or relations had brought them, and they all sat chatting and laughing together as though this were their natural state of existence.
”The prisoners,” I said, pointing to the dancers.
”Nonsense,” said the German.
”Come nearer and listen,” I answered, for even I had my doubts for the moment; but my ear had caught the clanking of chains above the wild music.
They were the prisoners right enough, and many of the men moved heavily and awkwardly to the slow rhythm of the motion. It is not easy to dance with such ornaments as are provided free and gratis by the paternal Prince to curb an exuberance of spirits.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PRISONERS DANCING]
A great trial that the photographer has to undergo, be he professional or a strolling amateur, is the immediate demand for the picture. The mysteries of dark rooms and developing are not to be lightly explained, and the refusal to show the picture, for which the vain Montenegrins have so willingly stood, is accounted churlish. They are only appeased with a promise of a picture a few weeks later. Their names and addresses are hurriedly scribbled and handed with many peremptory requests for the picture to be sent as soon as possible.
Just before we left Cetinje, on our way to Podgorica, during our first visit, a bowing and deeply humble individual accosted us in the hotel.
When he had straightened himself up a bit, and we could see his face, we recognised one of the prison warders. After many expressions of sorrow for disturbing us, we gathered that on the occasion of our visit to the prison only three of the four warders had been present.
The fourth--and it would appear the head warder--had arrived after our departure, and learning of the photographs and his omission, had made things a bit hot for his three favoured confreres. Therefore would we of our goodness come and photograph him, and thus make life worth living again? Would we restore the peace and harmony of that little community?