Climbing up to the rocky height on which the monastery stood, we found ourselves in another cloistered court, not unlike what we had seen at Gučiagora. Outside was an old foliated cross, much the same as that which we had noticed at the other monastery, and dating, according to the monks, three hundred years back; but the buildings themselves were almost entirely of the present century. Inside the court we knocked at a door labelled in gold letters ‘Clausura;’ but no one opened it. Presently, however, a monk sauntered up from another direction, evidently to reconnoitre who the strangers might be before letting them into the sanctum—in troubled times a not unnecessary precaution. Seeing a Mahometan official with us he at once became, as the French say, _boutonné_; protested that there was nothing within worth our inspection; and when we told him our reason for visiting the monastery, which was to see the curious old Bosnian monuments contained there, went so far as to deny that any such existed. We were beginning to despair of gaining admittance after this, and should probably have gone away without seeing the most interesting antiquity, perhaps, in the whole of Bosnia—the book, namely, of the Old Christian Nobility, as it existed before the conquest—had it not been for our old friend, _the Major_. In his official capacity Major Roskiević had obtained admission to this monastery. As an Austrian and a good Catholic, he had disarmed the suspicions of the monks, and had been admitted to a sight of their invaluable treasure. The Major, though as a rule he does not trouble himself about antiquities, had engraved one of the old designs illuminated in the book—the armorial bearings, namely, of the old kings of Bosnia; and as I happened to have copied and duly coloured this as an appropriate device for the outside of my note-book, and possible credentials to Bosniac Christians, I took it out of my pocket, and, as a last resource, held it up to the monk. It proved an ‘open sesamé’ indeed! The monk, who thoroughly believed that no soul outside the monastic walls knew of the existence of the Book of Arms, much less that anyone possessed a facsimile of any of its illuminations, was visibly taken aback. The change that passed over his whole demeanour was most amusing. He no longer attempted to deny that the book we sought existed within, and was now as ready to welcome us inside as he had before been to keep us out. Another monk, who had come up during the conversation, which was held in Latin, went off to consult the Prior of the monastery, and there was something of the ‘Arabian Nights’ in the way in which the ‘Clausura’ door flew open, and a saintly vision of the Superior of the fraternity himself appeared above, beckoning us upstairs.