320 



The National Geographic Magazine 



united stand under Tzar Lazar Gubljan- 

 ovich on the plain of Kosovo. The day 

 was at first with Tsar Lazar, but, as usual 

 in the Peninsula, jealousies prevented 

 a concerted action and he was betrayed 

 by his son in law, Vuk Brankovich, who 

 coveted the crown. He deserted to the 

 enemy with 12,000 followers, a frightful 

 slaughter ensued, and the Balkans fell to 

 the invader. This fateful 15th of June is 

 a day of mourning throughout Serb lands 

 and the Montenegrin cap is worn in com- 

 memoration — the black is for mourning, 

 and the red-centered crown for the blood 

 shed on the field of Kosovo. A semicircle 

 of gilt braid encloses the Prince's initials 

 H. I., the circle typifying the rainbow 

 of hope that the Turk will be driven from 

 Europe and the great Servian Empire 

 again established. 



A PROUD AND HANDSOME RACE 



The dress of the women is not so 

 gaudy as that of the men, though very 

 graceful. Like their brothers, they wear 

 the national cap without the gold braid, 

 the married women being distinguished 

 by a black lace veil falling behind. The 

 hair is parted and the mass of heavy 

 braids forms a coronet for the well-car- 

 ried heads. They wear a soft, silky 

 blouse with open sleeves and trimmed 

 with strips of delicate embroidery, a band 

 of which forms the low collar, then a red 

 or black velveteen bolero heavily braided 

 in gold, and over all a semi-fitting, open, 

 sleeveless coat reaching to the knees of 

 the same delicate shades as worn by the 

 men. 



It would be hard to find a handsomer 

 race; the men, seldom under six feet, 

 strut about like war lords. Their only 

 business in life for generations has been 

 to protect their families from Turkish 

 raids when not engaged in actual warfare. 

 Consequently most of the hard work has 

 fallen to the women's share, which they 

 cheerfully perform, often carrying heavy 

 loads, such as great blocks of ice, from the 

 higher mountains down to the towns. 

 Such labor and the hard conditions of 

 life age them earl)', but when young the 



girls are really beautiful, with noble, 

 Madonna-like faces ; the type is rather 

 mixed in coloring, neither light nor dark. 

 We saw many fine gray eyes and espe- 

 cially noticed a lovely shade of ruddy gold 

 hair. 



Traveling in Montenegro is delight- 

 fully simple ; there are no trains and only 

 one carriage road in and out of Cettinje ; 

 you either go by carriage or you take a 

 pack pony and scramble over the moun- 

 tain tracks. It is said that Prince Nickola 

 wishes to make Nikshitz his capital, as 

 being more in the center of the princi- 

 pality; the one road from Cettinje con- 

 nects with it via Podgoritza, but it is 

 doubtful if the scheme will be carried 

 through, as Cettinje is considered by the 

 representatives of the Powers to be the 

 "jumping-off place," and certainly Nik- 

 shitz would be much less accessible. 



Delightful as were the days at Cettinje, 

 the beyond was ever calling, and it 

 seemed a pity when so near the Sultan's 

 domains not to drop over the border into 

 Albania, the most northwesterly vilayet 

 of the Empire, and see not only a bit of 

 this out-of-the-way province, but the Al- 

 banians, who are the wildest people left 

 in Europe, in their own country and in 

 their own capital. Our friends shook 

 their heads dubiously and advised us not 

 to go. "Why is there trouble ?" "Where 

 there are Albanians there is always 

 trouble. The ladies had best stay with 

 us ; they can travel safely all over Mon- 

 tenegro, but the Albanians are a bad lot.'* 

 However, we had seen enough of the 

 edge of the Eastern question to know that 

 every man's hand is turned against his 

 neighbor, and even now the Montenegrin 

 cannot get over the wars, cruelties, and 

 reprisals of his blood enemy of hundreds 

 of years. 



We decided that the Albanian was 

 probably not so black as he was painted 

 and left Cettinje early one morning en 

 route for his capital of Scodra. After 

 leaving the town the road rose steadily, 

 and when we reached the top of the pass 

 we caught our breaths at the beauty of 

 the view spread out before us — peak after 



