Part 20 (2/2)
The militia were formed up and the whole, led by the Montenegrin War Banner, proceeded in solemn procession to the princ.i.p.al mosque. On their return, a royal salute was fired from a bastion of the old wall, and in the evening the town was illuminated.
It was an extraordinary sight, and one not easily to be forgotten. All the houses stuck candles in every window, by order of the Prince; the market-place and the War Memorial were covered with lamps, but the most striking feature of all was the illumination on a small hill immediately behind the old town. This hill overlooks the town, and was covered by rows of lamps. In the streets Turks, Albanians, and Montenegrins jostled each other; at peace, at any rate, for one evening.
A day or two later, a very different spectacle could have been witnessed. The main street leading to the church on the outskirts of the town was lined by waiting Montenegrins, and not a Turk was to be seen. Soon a carriage drove rapidly from the church, with a blus.h.i.+ng Montenegrin girl and a gold-embroidered Montenegrin at her side. It was the late Turkish maiden, now a radiant Montenegrin bride and Christian. Several Turks had been caught endeavouring to approach the church with revolvers concealed, but were promptly turned back.
And so ended an eventful week.
One day, quite by accident, we discovered the arrest-house, or place where prisoners are detained pending their trial and sentence. We were pa.s.sing a door which led down by a few steps into a courtyard, when an acquaintance of ours accosted us.
We went inside and spoke to him for some minutes. He was a merry individual and a clerk in a Government office.
He requested us to bring our camera and photograph him on the next day. Then he moved and a chain clanked. Neither of us had realised that this was a prison till that moment, though we had pa.s.sed that door many times.
Next day we came again, and took a picture of our genial friend, whom we found seated and playing the gusla to a crowd of other prisoners, some exceedingly heavily chained.
One or two guards came up and we spent an hour in a pleasant chat.
Our friend was only ”in” for a few days for making a rude remark about the Chief of Police. The chained men were mostly murderers, if we may use such a harsh term for those who are compelled to kill their enemies by the relentless laws of the vendetta, and who would be punished by the laws of man should they prove themselves guilty of cowardice.
The vendetta in Montenegro is a legal anomaly. Men are punished in either case.
CHAPTER XVIII
S. Vasili and Ostrog--Our drive thither--Joyful pilgrims--Varied costumes--We meet the Vladika of Montenegro--The ordeal of hot coffee--A real pilgrimage--The shrine of S. Vasili--The ancient hermit--A miracle--Nikic--The gaudy cathedral and the Prince's palace--We are disappointed in Nikic.
Though we visited the famous Monastery of Ostrog at the very beginning of our visit to Montenegro, and Nikic at the conclusion, both places lie so near together that we put them now in this order for the sake of simplicity.
It was our good fortune to be enabled to witness the annual pilgrimage to the shrine of S. Vasili, which takes place during the Greek Whitsuntide.
Ostrog is the Lourdes of the Balkans, as many equally miraculous cures take place as at the Roman Catholic rival in the Pyrenees. The Serb-speaking races from far and near flock there in enormous numbers, as well as many Mahometans and Catholics.
S. Vasili (or Basil) was a native of the Hercegovina and a holy man of great repute. About a century ago he had a vision telling him to travel to Montenegro, and there to found a monastery. Accordingly he set out, taking with him a great quant.i.ty of building material, and chose a spot not far from Podgorica, on the right bank of the Zeta.
But in the night the material disappeared, and S. Vasili hunted high and low. After a weary search it was found at Ostrog, and there he built his place of retreat, living many years, working many miracles, and dying as a saint. He is buried there, and it is said that any believer has but to visit the shrine, and whatever his wish may be, it will be fulfilled. Thus cripples have walked back the way which they were carried, sick have been made whole, and the mentally afflicted have gone away rejoicing. Certain it is that many wonderful cures are yearly effected there.
Furthermore, the name of Ostrog appears often in the glorious annals of Montenegrin history. The oft-told tale of Prince Nicolas' father, Mirko, ”The Sword of Montenegro,” who was besieged in that inaccessible cleft in a precipice with a handful of men, is one of the most famous feats of Montenegrin arms. The charred cliffs still bear silent witness to the efforts which the Turks made to burn out the little garrison by throwing bundles of flaming straw from above.
Ostrog is about six hours' drive from Podgorica. The road pa.s.ses along the River Zeta, leaving the village of Spu on the right, and past the flouris.h.i.+ng little town of Danilovgrad, soon to be the connecting town between Cetinje and Nikic on completion of the projected road.
There is nothing of interest in Danilovgrad, though the market is of some importance. A little way beyond the town a nearly complete building can be noticed. It is the lunatic asylum.
From this point onwards the road ascends slowly but steadily until a deep valley lies to the right, and the Zeta a.s.sumes quite diminutive proportions. The mountains opposite rise to an ever-increasing height, until a few tiny buildings can be made out by the help of field-gla.s.ses. It is Ostrog. That morning we could make out the tents and booths of the pilgrims, and a dark ma.s.s of surging humanity. But it is still a very long distance away. The road climbs up to the head of the valley to the village of Bogetic, full that morning of the carriages of the wealthy pilgrims. During the Whitsun festival carriages are scarcely to be procured in the whole of Montenegro, or in Cattaro either.
We broke our fast here, and then drove for another mile or so where a path leaves the road, and the pilgrim has either to proceed on horseback or on foot. We had to go on foot, and a very long and tiring walk it proved to be. Besides Dr. S. and his factotum, Lazo, we took another man with us, a wretched puny individual, but seemingly possessed of more endurance than any of us. He led us by a short cut over rocks, and up slippery breakneck walls of cliffs, over which our guide skipped nimbly, and having reached the top seemingly hours before us, sat down and beamed benevolently.
Half-way, the rain came down in sheets, and we took shelter in a wayside inn, or rather hut. It was crowded with returning pilgrims whom the threatening weather had forced to depart earlier than is their wont.
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