It was somewhat horrifying to find that the frescoes behind the altar-screen were completely scribbled over.  At first we put this down to impious tourists who delight in leaving their miserable names on the most historical buildings; but, on closer inspection, we found that they were copious notes in the form of a diary.  The Abbot told us that Mitrofan Ban, the Archbishop, had written them during his lengthy abbacy many years ago.

There is another church, or rather tiny chapel, within the monastery which is about a century older than the rest of the buildings, and the interior is likewise covered with frescoes of the same crude and vivid painting.  They represent scenes from the life of S. Nicholas, and the chapel is only used once a year during the pilgrimage which takes place on the feast of their patron saint.

Every year large numbers of Montenegrins flock to the monastery to offer prayers and offerings.  Just outside the walls stands a small cannon, with a Turkish inscription, which four Montenegrins carried away one night from Kolasin when that town was in Turkish hands.  Not only the bravado of such a deed, but the athletic feat of carrying such a weighty object over that difficult country, are very characteristic of this people.  It is fired annually during the feast of S. Nicholas.

The worthy Abbot was greatly annoyed to find that we had ordered food below, and still more when he heard that we were returning to Kolasin the same afternoon.  He repeatedly urged us to spend a few days with him, but, enjoyable as the visit would have been, previous engagements forbade our acceptance.

A second priest waylaid us as we were leaving for our meal, and carried us off to his room, where more coffee was served.  He had travelled much in Turkey and the Black Sea, and we had a very pleasant conversation, but, after a short time, the pangs of hunger forced us to excuse ourselves.  Our humble meal, which we partook of in the best chamber (and only bedroom), was hardly over when the young priest again rejoined us, bringing with him an enormous bottle of wine.  Very solemnly he filled our glasses, and proposed the health of His Majesty King Edward VII.  Our surprise was so great that we almost forgot to drink.  And then came many questions as to the progress of the Boer war, questions with which, by the way, we were often assailed by the more intelligent classes during our travels.

To quote an instance which happened to myself once in Cetinje.  While waiting outside the monastery for the appearance of the Prince, who was attending divine service within, I entered into conversation with a gendarme.  We spoke of many things, and to my surprise, for he was but an ignorant peasant, he inquired as to the progress of the war.  He asked the nature of the country, on which subject I was luckily able to enlighten him.  Parts of it are not at all unlike Montenegro.  At this he pricked up his ears.