"What a terrible country!" said a lady tourist to me once in Cetinje, "nothing but barren grey rocks; and what poverty! I declare I shan't breathe freely till I am out of it again."

This is a common opinion of travellers to Montenegro, and one that is spread by them all over Europe. And yet how unjust! A fairly large number of tourists take the drive from beautiful little Cattaro up that wild mountain-side and through the barren Katunska to Cetinje. A few hours later they return the way they came, convinced that they have seen Montenegro. A few, very few, prolong the tour to Podgorica and NikŠić, returning with a still firmer conviction that they have penetrated into the very fastnesses of that wonderful little land. These chosen few have at least seen that all is not bare and rocky, that there are rich green valleys, rushing mountain torrents, and pleasant streams.

If they are very observant they will likewise notice that the men of these parts are more wildly clad and fiercer-looking than their more polished brethren of the "residence." Rifles are carried more universally the nearer lies Albania, and in Podgorica itself they will have seen—particularly if chance has brought them there on a market-day—crowds of savage-looking hill-men, clad in the white serge costume of Albania, standing over their handful of field produce with loaded rifles; stern men from the borders with seamed faces; sturdy plains-men tanned to a mahogany tint by the almost tropical sun of the valleys; shepherds in great sheepskins, be it ever so hot; and haughty Turks, hodjas, and veiled women, all in a crowded confusion, haggling and bartering. Quaint wooden carts drawn by patient oxen, their huge clumsy wheels creaking horribly; gypsies with thunderous voices acting as town criers; madmen shrieking horribly; blind troubadours droning out songs of heroes on their guslars. If the tourist has witnessed and understood all this, then he has seen something of Montenegro. But beyond those lofty mountains which rise on either side of the carriage road, live these same people in their rude villages. There are towns far away, unconnected by any road, to reach which the traveller must journey wearily by horse and on foot, over boulder-strewn paths, by the side of roaring torrents, through the cool depths of primeval forests, and over the snow-clad spurs of rugged mountains. There he will find men accustomed to face death at any moment, who delight in giving hospitality, and who talk of other lands as "the world outside." These are the Montenegrins to whom we owe some of the most pleasant reminiscences of our lives.

Our book does not describe the whole country, as unfortunately we were unable to visit the northern districts and the lofty Durmitor, but we certainly saw the more interesting half, namely, the whole of the Albanian frontier.

Amongst those hardy borderers we made many warm friends, but it would be invidious to mention names amongst so many. We came to the country with a single introduction, to Dr. Stefanelli, the companion of many of our journeys, and we left at the conclusion of six months with a host of friends. Still to two we wish humbly to express our gratitude for many acts of, at the time, unknown courtesy, namely, H.R.H. Prince Nicolas, and the Metropolitan of Montenegro, Mitrofanban. As a slight token of our thanks to, and admiration of, that true father of his people, Prince Nicolas, we respectfully dedicate this book to the soldier-poet and prince of the Land of the Black Mountain.

Since we finished the story of our travels, I have had the honour of speaking long with Prince Nicolas and of seeing him on many occasions; for during our first travels in the land we were always strangely unlucky in this respect. I then learnt how our progress through Montenegro had been watched over, and contingencies provided for, which we had taken as a matter of course.

Some, alas! of our friends are now no more. The Governor of Podgorica was shot down in broad daylight a short while ago whilst taking his midday promenade in which we so often shared. Others, too, have fallen on the borders. Friends are easily lost in Montenegro, where a charge of powder and a bullet settle differences.

Disagreeable episodes happened to us—they happen everywhere—but these we have rightly or wrongly omitted. The good that we experienced certainly outweighed the bad, and that shall be our reason for so doing.

And again, throughout the book we have given our first impressions, much of it was written during our actual progress through the land. It may be that our feelings will thus be more interesting than a cut-and-dried treatise of the land and its inhabitants.

In conclusion, it will not be amiss to add an explanation of the Serb names which appear throughout the book in the original spelling. The names have often an unpronounceable appearance, and look harsh and forbidding. This is far from the case, for the Serb language is full-toned and musical.

In common with the Slav languages it has a sixth vowel, viz. "r"—hence such words as "Srb" (Serb), "trg" (place or square), and "Trst" (Triest). It is only necessary to roll the "r" to overcome this seeming anomaly of a collection of consonants. The language is spoken exactly as it is written, as for instance Italian, but the consonants s, c, and z vary according to their accents.

"s" is our sharp s; but with inverted circumflex

"Š" it becomes "ssh," as in "show."

"c" is pronounced "tz": thus Cetinje is spoken Tzetinje; Podgorica as Podgoritza.

"ć" and "č" are accentuated "tsch": as Petrović, Petrovitsch; Morača, Moratcha.

"z" is soft, as "s" in "rose."

"ž" is sounded like the French "j" in "journal."

"dž" is sounded like the "j" in "James."

"nj" is sounded like the "gn" in French "campagne": TzetignÉ (Cetinje), and so on.

We are fully aware of many shortcomings, and for these we crave pardon, but if we benefit little Montenegro by the publication of our work, then we shall not have written it in vain.

England has once before proved the friend of Montenegro; the fighting instincts of that brave race, their love of freedom, and the possession of their most glorious of histories appeal to all of us.

I fear there are troublous times ahead for that gallant little nation, perhaps another bitter disappointment is in store for them, when they will need a friend.

Times have changed now, personal valour avails but little against overwhelming armies and modern artillery.

"We little nations must beseech the Almighty to give us peace," said Prince Nicolas to me not so very long ago.

May it be His will!

R.W.

Vienna, February, 1903