The Royal Capital That Was: Exploring Cetinje.

The Royal Capital That Was: Exploring Cetinje in Montenegro.

October 2021.

As soon as Sladja and I heard about the town of Cetinje, we knew it had to be a priority of our final weeks in Montenegro. A mountain town thirty kilometres from the coast, a former royal seat once home to kings, queens, princes, and princesses — Cetinje promised a side of the country completely different from our coastal adventures in Tivat, Perast, Kotor, and Budva.

Thus we took the bus over from Budva one afternoon. It was an unusually grey day as we wound along the mountain road, tucked into the rugged folds of the Dinaric Alps. At last, Cetinje came into view — the little town that had been the beating heart of Montenegro’s royal story from 1697 until 1918, when the country was absorbed into the new Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes.

Our journey into Montenegro’s regal past began on Njegoševa, Cetinje’s main pedestrian avenue and historic spine — a dense concentration of 19th and early 20th-century buildings, each with a story to tell. The dictionary definition of an open-air museum.

Ignoring the spitting rain, we began hunting down the many historic edifices. First up was the imposing Neo-Renaissance Džukanović House, built in 1910. It belonged to Marko Đukanović, a civil engineer and President of the State Council.

The Royal Capital That Was: Exploring Cetinje.

This grand home was one of many that sprang up that year, reflecting the rising influence of the bourgeoisie in the town. Also in 1910, Prince Nikola I proclaimed himself king, transforming the Principality of Montenegro into a kingdom—so certainly exciting times for little Cetinje.

Two stone lions guard the entrance, while the house is especially renowned for its female statues representing spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Carved from white concrete, their eerie (to me, at least) gazes evoke the cyclical nature of time and the harmony between human life and the natural world.

Next, we paused at the former French Embassy, another 1910 creation involving several notable French architects, including Auguste Perret. The embassy operated for just four years before World War I forced its closure.

After standing empty for decades, it was reinvented in 1955 as a branch of Montenegro’s National Library.

Former French Embassy.

Sladja and I weren’t shy about getting up close for a proper look. Happily, some of its original art nouveau flourishes remain—ornate mosaic tiles and decorative ironwork—still full of character, though dulled by time.

Another curiosity is the somewhat sinister Vujović House, which gives off serious haunted-house vibes. Completed in 1930, it was the home of architect Vlado Vujović, who in fact designed the Neo-Renaissance structure himself.

He wanted it to resemble a castle, hence the dome, poised gables, and round tower. Like many of Cetinje’s historic buildings, it has fallen on hard times and now seems abandoned.

The rain began to pick up as we continued down Njegoševa. Soon, we passed the imposing Ministry of Culture and Media, housed in the former Presidential Palace.

Nearby, we stopped to read a plaque outside a distinctive green building called Mašanović House. It was here, on April 19th, 1920, that police shot dead Marko Mašanović, a leading Montenegrin communist. His death was one of many during a period of harsh anti-communist repression across Yugoslavia following King Alexander I’s crackdown on political opposition.

Mašanović’ House.

Now, I know it’s a bit of a mouthful, but take a moment to appreciate this next historic home: Duke Šako Petrović Njegoš House. The duke was a respected theologian, military commander, politician, and—wouldn’t you know it—cousin of King Nikola I. In 1906, he became the first President of the National Assembly. No wonder they named the town’s main street after him.

Cetinje is also home to several museums. On Njegoševa, one of the most prominent is the Money Museum, housed in the former Central Bank of Montenegro. The exhibition includes access to the old counters and vaults, along with displays of rare coins, banknotes, and a fully restored 19th-century minting machine.

Sadly, several houses along Njegoševa stood in ruins. To the local council’s credit, however, they’d begun transforming a few into meaningful tributes. Take this former townhouse, for example—then being reborn as a Garden of Memory.

With flowerbeds, young trees, plaques, and benches on the way, we could sense it would soon become a lovely spot to pause and soak up a bit of calm and nature right off the main street.

The Royal Capital That Was: Exploring Cetinje.

This ruinous structure, meanwhile, was once the home of Jovan Tomašević, founder of the Communist Party of Montenegro. A plaque outside claims he was born here on July 3rd, 1892, though a rival plaque in the village of Gornji Brčeli insists otherwise.

A short flight of stone steps leads into the hollow shell of the house and an art installation titled Take Me Back Home. Comprised of over a thousand hand-sewn flowers, the exhibition celebrates Tomašević’s life while mourning his early death at just 33.

Suffering from tuberculosis and hounded by political repression, his life ended far too soon—a tragic fate for a man who had studied law in France and fought in both the Balkan Wars and the First World War as a young man.

At last, the town’s main street opened onto the pretty Court Square (Dvorski Trg). Peaceful and leafy, the elegant space barely whispers of its illustrious past, having hosted countless state ceremonies. In fact, this was the very spot where Prince Nikola I Petrović-Njegoš proclaimed the Kingdom of Montenegro and became King Nikola I.

Court Square.

Today, the square also serves as the gateway to the former Cetinje Royal Palace, now a branch of the National Museum of Montenegro. Regal yet understated, this larger-than-it-looks royal residence was built for Nikola between 1863 and 1867.

With the rain still falling, we were grateful to step inside and pay the modest entry fee of €5 per person. A small price, I’d say, to explore the lavish home where Nikola and his family lived and governed for nearly six decades.

It was here that the king received envoys, drafted reforms, and guided Montenegro through wars and diplomacy alike.

Inside, the museum proved beautifully curated and clearly arranged, with thousands of original antiques, family portraits, royal uniforms, and diplomatic gifts on display.

From the many royal biographies, I found myself drawn to the melancholic Princess Natalija Konstantinović. She married Nikola’s second son, Mirko, in 1902, and the couple had five sons, though tragically lost two in early childhood. The grief weighed heavily on her, and when the royal family fled Montenegro during the Austro-Hungarian invasion of 1916, her depression deepened.

The Royal Capital That Was: Exploring Cetinje.

She divorced Mirko within a year, later remarrying the Belgian nobleman and diplomat Gaston Errembault de Dudzeele. She died in Paris in 1950, aged just 67.

We spent several hours exploring the palace, particularly fascinated by the royal bedrooms.

Yet, the experience was slightly dampened by the curt woman at the ticket counter and a man who marched across a vast hall to snootily inform me of the palace’s strict no-photo policy. I smiled, waited for him to leave, and quietly carried on with my business.

By the time we left the museum, the persistent rain had finally eased. Hungry and thirsty, we stopped at the nearby Scottish Pub Academia for a pizza. The food was decent, the service efficient if a little gruff, and we were tickled by the walls lined with framed Scottish art.

Next, we mapped out a walking route to another highlight—or so we were told—the historic and highly controversial Cetinje Monastery. But with plenty to see along the way, it took us a while to arrive.

First, we paused at the Brindisi Boat Disaster Monument, which commemorates over 300 Montenegrins who perished when the Italian steamship struck a mine off the Albanian coast on 6 January 1916.

The Royal Capital That Was: Exploring Cetinje.

The ship was carrying volunteers to the Adriatic front to support Montenegro’s defence, and the tragedy remains one of the greatest in Montenegrin history.

We also stopped at this dramatic statue of Ivan Crnojević, the founder of Cetinje. As the last ruler of the medieval Principality of Zeta, he moved his capital from the lowlands to Cetinje in the late 15th century to establish a mountain stronghold.

Renowned for his alliance with Venice and resistance against the expanding Ottoman Empire, he is celebrated as a symbol of Montenegrin resilience and independence. What’s more, he even founded the very monastery we were on our way to see.

Just before reaching his monastery, we came upon an incredibly picturesque little church. Known as the Court Church, it was built in 1890 by King Nikola upon the ruins of an earlier medieval church. Yes, you can actually see the remains of the original structure surrounding the church.

Unfortunately, we were unable to enter. Which was a great pity, as it doubles as a mausoleum that contains the remains of none other than Ivan Crnojević and King Nikola I themselves.

The Court Church.

Somewhat reluctantly, it’s time for me to take you into Cetinje Monastery. According to historians, work on the building began in 1484. Over the centuries, it’s stood as not just a place of worship, but a centre of education and the country’s earliest printing studio.

Miraculously, it has also survived a string of Ottoman and Venetian attacks, most notably in 1692, 1714 and 1785. Each time, Montenegrin leaders patiently rebuilt it, determined to preserve their seat of faith and freedom.

Its most recent restoration dates from the mid to late 1920s. In recent years, however, this remarkable history has been overshadowed by controversies touching on theology, national identity, and the complex historical relationship between Montenegro and Serbia.

On 5 September 2021, just six weeks before our visit, Bishop Joanikije Mićović was enthroned at the monastery, formalising the Serbian Orthodox Church’s longstanding claims to the premises.

The event sparked widespread protests, with thousands gathering at the monastery. Clashes with police followed, involving rocks, bottles, tear gas, and armoured vehicles, resulting in numerous injuries. Although tensions had eased in the weeks afterward, we still noticed a visible police presence at the main entrance.

Cetinje Monastery.

That uneasy feeling deepened once we stepped inside the monastery. Moments after I took a photo, an irate priest strode over, declaring that photography was forbidden and accusing me—like so many visitors, he said—of ignorance and disrespect.

He demanded several times to know where I was from. Shaken, we made a quick circuit of the interior before stepping back outside, eager to leave the bad energy behind.

It was late afternoon when we began climbing Eagle Hill via a pretty woodland trail near the monastery. Perhaps it was the hour, or maybe the persistent drizzle, but the path was largely deserted.

Also known as Eagle Rock (Orlov krš), the short ascent rises from the southwestern edge of the Cetinje plain. Partway up, a dog appeared—seemingly out of nowhere—intent on guiding us to the summit.

At the top, a grassy platform offers panoramic views of Cetinje’s red-tiled rooftops and the surrounding hills, with the majestic Mount Lovćen visible in the distance.

The Royal Capital That Was: Exploring Cetinje.

Here stands a small, pavilion-like mausoleum dedicated to Danilo Petrović-Njegoš (Bishop Danilo I), founder of the ruling Petrović-Njegoš dynasty.

The monument, built in 1896 to mark the dynasty’s bicentenary, features a simple stone sarcophagus on a pedestal beneath a canopy of four slender columns. Danilo was assassinated by a rival clan member on 13 August 1860, aged just 34. His successor was none other than Nikola—yeah, the same Nikola who would later become king.

With daylight fading, we set off toward our final stop of the day. From the hilltop, we could already see Cetinje’s sculpted Summer Stage below, giving us a clear sense of direction.

The dog, still loyally watching over us, sprang into motion to lead the way down.

It took around ten minutes for us to reach the Summer Stage. Built in 1951 at the foot of Eagle Hill, it was designed to look like an ancient amphitheatre.

Summer Stage.

They say that at full capacity around two thousand people can be seated here, which must create a fantastic atmosphere for concerts and plays in the summer months.

With nobody else around, we hung out for a bit taking photos and enjoying the quiet. Soon, we’d head back to the bus station for the journey back to Kotor. But for a few more minutes, Cetinje was all ours.

Like this? Check out my many articles from across Montenegro.

I’ve been living, working and traveling all over the world since 2001. So why not check out my huge library of travel reports from over 40 countries.