CITY OF CATTARO—SIGNOR JACKSCHICH—STREETS AND PIAZZAS—WALKS AND FORTIFICATIONS—PUBLIC WALK—CAFé AND GARDENS—SONOROUS STONE—A MONTENEGRIN CHIEF—A HAPPY BEGGAR BOY.

TURNING our backs now on that branch of the Fjord which leads to Risano, we steamed due south in the direction of Cattaro. Nothing could exceed the wild grandeur of this portion of the Gulf. The right hand shore was now entirely in the shade, while the crags on the left being exposed to the full glare of the afternoon sun showed a play of colours too beautiful to describe. Had these cliffs been clothed with varied foliage interspersed with the rocks, they would have formed a picture unequalled in any other place on the globe. 155

It was six o'clock when we moored alongside the quay of Cattaro, one of the most picturesque cities of the whole Adriatic, so I had plenty of time to walk about and see the place as well as to make arrangements for my advance into Montenegro on the following day, as I was anxious to proceed at once to Cettigne, in order to be present at the festival of St. Peter, during which a fair is held, to which congregate thousands, not only from Montenegro, but from all the surrounding countries. Thanks, however, to Persich Effendi, the Ottoman Consul at Ragusa, to whom I had brought an introduction from the Ottoman Ambassador at Vienna, I found everything already prepared for my trip. The agent of the Austrian Lloyd at Cattaro, Signor Jackschich to whom I can never feel too much obliged, had already procured for me a guide and two horses, thus saving me all trouble, and allowing so much more time to look about me at Cattaro. As soon as we had obtained pratique, the formality of which we carried out regularly at every place we touched, though, in reality, it was a farce, Signor Jackschich came on board, and having introduced himself and told me 156 what he had arranged, placed himself at my disposal for the rest of the evening. We at once went on shore, and traversing the Mall, which lies between the quays and the walls of the city, and which serves as the promenade of the Bocchesi, we passed through the principal gate of Cattaro, and entered the precincts of the fortifications.

Here, as in most other cities in Dalmatia, no horse, or vehicle of any kind (except sedan chairs) is allowed to enter. The streets in consequence are beautifully clean, and the piazza, which is paved in squares of alternate coloured marble, is more like the floor of the hall of an Italian palace than anything else. The streets are narrow, as might have been surmised, but there are some very fine old houses, some exquisite bits of art hidden away in nooks and corners which one would have loved to sketch had there been time, half built up porticoes with oleanders peeping over them, and bits of lovely hammered iron work of the Renaissance period. But I had no time, so after making a rapid tour through the little city, we came out on the promenade, as I was anxious to have another 157 view of Cattaro, from the outside, before it became too dark.

My friend Paton does not render half justice to this city in his charming book, "The Highlands and Islands of the Adriatic;" but he is so in love with Ragusa—and, if truth must be told, so am I—that he has nothing to say for Cattaro; it is true he saw it in Winter, when it must be a dismal place. But Cattaro, for all that, deserves a visit, and anyone fond of sketching will spend, with profit, several days in and about the place. It is situated at the extreme end of the Fjord of that name, on a very narrow ledge of land at the foot of the most precipitous cliffs facing the west, up which it extends for a short space. It is surrounded by the ancient Venetian walls, bastions and fortifications, and crowned by a fort perched on the very summit of the rock, a thousand feet above the city. Looking at it from below, it seems scarcely balanced on the cliff, and one expects to see it come tumbling down every moment.

The fortifications of the town are connected by crenelated walls with the fort itself on two sides, 158 thus inclosing a considerable space on the face of the mountain, something in the shape of a triangle, of which the town would form the base, and the fort the apex, which is still garrisoned, and many a harmless rusty old cannon can be seen peeping through the embrasures. Having returned from the opposite side of the water, where I had gone the better to see the fortifications, we took a walk up and down the esplanade between the water and the walls, to look at the beau monde on their boulevard, and then adjourned to the café on the same esplanade to have some ices al fresco, and make our final arrangements for the following morning.

The public walk at Cattaro is very well laid out, and the most is made of the very contracted space at command. Two rows of large trees extend along the walls on each side of the gate, above which is to be seen, as usual, the Lion of St. Mark. Not so............