ma, _The Empress of the Balkans_, was first performed; the
house of the Austro-Hungarian Minister, which is the best in
Cetinje,[1] and the hospital. It is the only hospital in Montenegro,
and is used almost solely for serious surgical operations. Here Prince
Mirko, the second son of Prince Nicolas, spends much of his time, for
his tastes run to bacteriology, and his skill with the microscope is
acknowledged. He is also a musician of no mean order, and the march
which he composed in honour of the city of Rome, and which was
performed there under the leadership of Mascagni, will be in the
memory of all. He has none of the tastes of his elder brother, who,
true to the traditions of his country, is a mighty hunter, and whose
prowess with rifle, gun, and revolver is acclaimed by the people who
understand these gifts better.

[Footnote 1: The Russian Minister has now an equally imposing
edifice.]

By far the most interesting episode of our sojourn in Cetinje was a
visit to the prison, which we were enabled to do with our camera, by
the kindness of the Minister of Justice. It was the first time in the
annals of Montenegro that strangers had been allowed to take
photographs in a prison.

At the appointed hour we approached the plain building, surrounded by
no wall of any kind, which does duty as the prison. It is soon to be
done away with, and all the prisoners will be transferred to the
central prison at Podgorica. Smiling warders welcomed us and conducted
us to their living-room, barely furnished and with an array of
revolvers--the property of the prisoners--hanging on the walls. A
female prisoner prepared us coffee, and while we were sipping the
inevitable beverage a glance through the window showed us men busily
sweeping the courtyard of the prison.

First of all a warder showed us the fetters--heavy, cumbersome irons,
which are riveted to one or both ankles, according to the sentence.
But it is only in exceptional cases of aggravated crime that this
severer sentence is meted out to the offender. Then we were conducted
by the main and only entrance into the courtyard, two sides of which
contain the cells of the prisoners. These gentlemen rose with alacrity
to their feet as we entered, evidently much pleased at the honour of
our visit. Only three men were chained, and of these one remained
moodily seated, staring indifferently on the ground before him. He
formed such a contrast to his fellow-prisoners' smiling faces th