Fraser John Foster - Pictures From The Balkans

1 _ CTURES
E BALKANS
JOHN FOSTER FRASER

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PICTURES FROM THE BALKANS
BY THE SAME AUTHOR:
CANADA AS IT IS.
WITH 47 ILLUSTRATIONS.
THIRD IMPRESSION.
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PICTURES FROM
THE BALKANS
BY
JOHN FOSTER FRASER
WITH MAP, COLOURED FRONTISPIECE

AND FORTY FULL-PAGE
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CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
A KETTLE OF FISH.
PAGE
An Affray at Orovsji — Civil War between Rival Christian

Churches — Jealousies between the Powers — The Mace-
donians a Mixture of Races — Bulgarian " Bands " and
their Methods — Greek " Bands " — Conversion and Re-
conversion— European Officers and the Gendarmerie — A
Big Massacre Wanted — Servian " Bands " in Macedonia —
Turk and Greek— The Remedy 1
CHAPTER II.
BELGRADE.
A Russian Town made Clean — Military Officers — The Mark of

a Crime — Rival Dynasties, Obrenovitch and Karageorgo-
vitch — King Milan — King Alexander and Queen Draga —
Austria's Hand in the Plot — Breaking into the Palace —
The Search for the King and Queen — A Woman's Shriek
— Murder of the Queen's Brothers, of Ministers and
Officials — Where the King and Queen were Buried —
Indignation of the Powers — The Servian People not
Responsible for the Crime — Plot and Counterplot — The
Serbs a Nation of Peasants — The National Garb Dying
Out 18
CHAPTER III.
A SITTING OF THE SERVIAN PARLIAMENT.
A Mean House of Parliament — A Debate — Short-lived Govern-
ments— Dealing with Irregular Elections — Democratic
Appearance of the Members — A Congeries of Cliques —
The Pay of Members and Ministers — The Leader of the
Opposition — The Minister of Justice — An Interview with
the Prime Minister 37
vi CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV.
A MONASTIC RETREAT. rAGE
The Most Famous Monastery in Servia — The Archimandrite

— A Glimpse of the First King of Servia — The Vicissitudes
of a Silver Coffin — Sacredness of the King's Remains — A
Devout Brigand — Dinner in the Monastery — The Church
—Feast of St. Mary 47
CHAPTER V.
THE PEASANT NATION.
The Serb a Hater of Town Life — A State without Towns —
The Servian Pig — Why British Trade is Dwindling — Peasant
Proprietorship — A Country Ruled by Local Government —
Taxation — Military Service — A Simple, Genuine Folk . 59
CHAPTER VI.
SOFIA.
A Miniature Brussels — A City in the Making — The Public Build-
ings— The Church of St. Sofia — The Bulgar's Qualities — A
Kaleidoscopic History — Prince Ferdinand — His Unpopu-
larity— Bulgarian Ambitions — The Prince a Factor for
Peace — The Most Efficient Army in Europe — A Nation
that Believes in Education . . . . . .06
CHAPTER VII.
A BIT OF OLD BULGARIA.
Out of the World — Tirnova in the Sunrise — A Primitive Inn —
The Tariff — " Ver' Good English " — A Litigious Community
— The Churches — Monastery of the Transfiguration . . 77
CHAPTER VIII.
OVER THE SHIPKA PASS.
Memorials of the Great Fight — Traces of Turkish Days — The

Joy of Early Morning — Shipka Village — How the Russians
Behaved after their Victory — Glimpse of the Plain of
Thrace 87
CHAPTER IX.
THE ROSE GARDEN OF EUROPE.
Where the Best Attar of Roses Comes from — Kasanlik — A Rose
Garden Eighty Miles Long — The Plantations — The Process
of Distilling — Adulteration — Prices — Potency of Attar of
Roses . . 93
CONTENTS. vii
CHAPTER X.
THE CITY OF THE PLAIN. PAGE
A Sunday Evening at Philippopolis — Individuality of the City

— A Passion for Education — Bulgarians not Speculative —
Agriculture — Industry of the Peasants — Return of the Turks
— Bulgar Characteristics — Fleeing from the Heat — Monas-
tery of St. Petka— A Night in the Open . . . . 100
CHAPTER XI.
IN THE LAND OF THE TURK.
Adrianople — Mistaken for a Person of Distinction — The Real
East — A Mixed Population — The Mosques — A Great Fire
— A City of Terror — An Armenian's Adventure — Celebrating
the Sultan's Accession — A Turkish Exhibition — Turkish
Time— A Visit to the Vali 110
CHAPTER XII.
WHERE THE " BEST BORDEAUX " COMES FROM.
Turkish Roads— A Halt— Kirk Kilise— Shipping Wine to Bor-
deaux— Visiting the Governor — Etiquette — The Return
Visit — Elaborate Make-believe — A Representative of Great
Britain . . .123
CHAPTER XIII.
IN THE BORDERLAND.
Insurrection and Reprisal — Taken for a British Secret Service

Official— The Village of Dolan— The Headman— Sileohlu—
Bulgarians and Turks Living Together Amicably — Incessant
Coffee-drinking 132
CHAPTER XIV.
HIS MAJESTY'S REPRESENTATIVE.
A British Consulate Described — Comfort the Triumph of English
Civilisation — Home Thoughts — England Honoured in the
Balkans . . .... 143
CHAPTER XV.
THE TURK AS RULER.
Virtues of the Turk— The Sultan's Point of View— The Two

Turkeys — The Reform Party — Universality of Corruption —
Abuses of Taxation — The Peasant — The Turk Incompetent
to Rule .151
viii CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XVI.
UNDER THE EYE OF BRITAIN. PAGE
Drama, the Centre of the British Sphere of Influence — British

Officers Wearing the Fez — An Expedition into the Hills —
Spies — Enmity between Greeks and Bulgars — Philippi —
Memories of Greeks and Romans — St. Paul's Visit — Kavala
— Skittish Turkish Ladies — Where the Tobacco for Egyptian
Cigarettes is Grown — A Moslem Monastery — Birthplace of
Mahomet All 160
CHAPTER XVII.
THE CONDITION OF MACEDONIA.
The Different Parties — Decrease of the Moslem Population —

Nationality not a Matter of Race — A Hotbed of Intrigue —
The Macedonian Committees — Austria and Russia as Watch-
dogs— Greece the Tool of the Sultan — Where the Future of
the Balkans is Likely to be Decided 174
CHAPTER XVIII.
SALONICA.
Mount Olympus at Sunrise — Ancient and Modern Greeks —

Albanians — Women of Different Races and their Dress —
The " Converts "—English Manners and Others— The Turks
of Salonika — The Art of Driving Bargains . . .183
CHAPTER XIX.
HILMI PASHA, " BONHAM'S BABIES," AND SOME STORIES.

The Viceroy of Macedonia — Major Bonham and the Gendarmerie
School — " Bonham's Babies " — The Salonika Explosions
—Tales of Greek and Bulgarian " Bands " . . 197
CHAPTER XX.
MONASTIR.
The Cut-throat Part of Europe — Murder a Commonplace —

Massacres by the Turks — Bursts of Ferocity and Bursts of
Philanthropy — Outrages by Greek and Bulgarian " Bands "
—The Risings of 1903— Audacity of the Komitajis— Rela-
tions between the Bulgarian and Turkish Governments . 205
CONTENTS. ix
CHAPTER XXL
THE QUAINT CITY OF OCHRIDA. PAOK
Among Brigands — Attacked by Goat-dogs — The Dogs Dismayed

— A Grateful Albanian — Resna — Melons, Melons all the
Way— Hard Life of the Albanian ^Peasants— A Thirsty
Ride— Water at Last— A Young Turkish Soldier and his
Devotions — Ochrida — The Chief of Police and his Horse —
A Hotbed of Intrigue— Healing Water . . . .218
CHAPTER XXII.
THE MOUNTAINS OF ALBANIA.
Lake Ochrida — Struga — A Nation of Dandies — Why the Turks

Provided an Escort — Confidence of Albanians in the English
—A False Alarm— Kjuks— A Beautiful Prospect— A Start
at Daybreak — A Perilous Descent — Roman Bridges —
Rudimentary Roads ....... 233
CHAPTER XXIII.
ELBASAN.
The Central Town of Albania— Albania like Scotland and the
Highlands in the Sixteenth Century — Chronic Guerilla
Warfare— Elbasan— Twenty or Thirty Murders a Week-
Ducks as Scavengers — Albanian Silk — The Best Hotel in
Elbasan — A Single-minded Landlord — Mr. Carnegie's Fame 245
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE ALBANIANS.
Albanian Ferocity and Chivalry — A High Sense of Honour —
Language — Religion — Customs — Lack of Unity — Outrages 256
CHAPTER XXV.
BERAT.
A Dismal Journey — Berat at Sunset — A Fever-breeding Town
— Koritza — A Specimen of the Eastern Christian — Goodbye
to Berat 261
CHAPTER XXVI.
ROUGH EXPERIENCES IN THE MOUNTAINS.
A Refuse-heap of Nature — Benighted — A Dangerous Path —

A Cheerless Night — Cigarettes for Breakfast — On the Moun-
tain Top— The Down Grade — Permet — A Short Cut over
x CONTENTS.
PAGE
the Mountains to Liaskovik — Turkish Courtesy — Albanian

Wedding Festivities— A Turkish Bride— A Sixteen Hours'
Hide — Koritza Again — An Antiquity !— Back at Monastir . 269
CHAPTER XXVII.
A NIGHT ALARM. USKUP. THE FINISH.
Difficulties in Hiring — A Disturbed Region — Taking Refuge in
a Harem — A Midnight Visit from a " Band " — At Uskup —
War the only Solution of the Macedonian Problem — A
Gloomy Forecast — Germany's Designs . . . .281
LIST OF PLATES.
To FACE PAGE
The Author in Macedonia .... Frontispiece
An Insurgent Band of Bulgarians 5
Slaughter of a Family through Religious Animosity ; Fate of
Christians Suspected by a Revolutionary " Band " . .12
Servian Village Scene 39
The Servian Parliament House ; In the Market at Belgrade . 42
Studenitza Monastery; Some of the Monks . . . .55
The Church at Studenitza 58
Servian Women; On a Country Road in Servia ... 60
A Bit of Old Sofia; A Bit of New Sofia .... 71
A Gipsy Encampment in Bulgaria 74
The Quaint City of Tirnovo 80
Monastery of the Transfiguration 84
At the Foot of the Shipka Pass ; the Shipka Pass ... 90
Rose Pickers near Kasanlik 94
Early Morning Market in a Roumelian Town ... 98
Philippopolis 101
A Bulgarian Dance; A Corner of Old Bulgaria . . . 102
Primitive Method of "Wheat Threshing in Bulgaria . . 108

Adrianople en Fete ; Coffee Drinking 117
Scene at Adrianople ; In a Mixed Village : Turks and
Bulgarians 124
Turkish Hospitality to the Author 140
xii LIST OF PLATES.
To FACE PAGE
Drama 165
Ruins at Philippi 167
A Corner of Drama ; Nearing a Disturbed Village . .170
Kavala; Outside the Walls of Kavala 172
Major Bonham; Some of " Bonham's Babies" . . .199

Macedonian Peasants 202
Turkish Soldiers in Monastir ; A Good Trade in Daggers . 209
Bulgarians Slain "by Greeks ; How the Turks Punish a Village . 211
Ochrida 222
A Rough Road 224
On Lake Ochrida ; Method of Irrigation near Struga . .231
The Author's Route through Albania 234

Relic of the Roman Occupation 242
A Group of Albanians 245
The Inn and Innkeeper at Elbasan 252
Bazaar Scene; Castle of an Albanian Bey .... 254
A Village in the Highlands of Albania 263
Albanian Gentlemen; An Albanian Farmer .... 266
In Wildest Albania 270
An Albanian Peasant ; Priest and Bulgarian Insurgent . . 280
Map of the Balkans, showing the Author's Route

23
18 19 20
19 Long East 20 of Greenwich 21
MAP OF THE BALKANS.

•ter Eraser's route is indicated in Red.)
MAP OF THE BALKANS
PICTURES FROM
THE BALKANS.
CHAPTEE I.
A KETTLE OF FISH.
X
An Affray at Orovsji — Civil War between Rival Christian Churches
— Jealousies between the Powers — The Macedonians a Mixture
of Races — Bulgarian " Bands " and their Methods — Greek
" Bands " — Conversion and Reconversion — European Officers
and the Gendarmerie — A Big Massacre Wanted — Servian
" Bands " in Macedonia— Turk and Greek— The Remedy.
BIDING in Macedonia I passed the village of Orovsji.
The inhabitants had just buried seven Bulgarians
and four Turkish soldiers who had killed each other
the previous day. Otherwise all was quiet.
Indeed, the Balkan peninsula was never so quiet.
There were no wholesale massacres of peaceful
Christians by ferocious Moslems, no fire and sword
campaign by the troops of the Sultan, no batches
of outrages on peasant wTomen by devils wearing
the fez. There were few incidents which newspaper
correspondents at Constantinople heard of and tele-
graphed to London. And yet, if totals count, there
were more murders in Macedonia in 1905 than
during any of the years which have thrilled Christian
Europe and caused worthy folk to exclaim, " Some-
thing must be done ! "
The reason Macedonian methods have attracted
2 PICTURES FROM THE BALKANS.
scant attention is because the barbarities have been

scattered. A village of a dozen houses is burnt
down — a common occurrence, not worthy the atten-
tion of Constantinople ! A family is murdered — hus-
band, wife, children, aged folk — shot, maybe, more
likely with brains battered out, possibly writh throats
cut — an everyday affair !
The good Christian at home, when told, shud-
ders, and being pious, offers a little prayer that the
day may soon come when the accursed Turk will be
swept out of Europe, and the sorely tried but patient
Christian people of the Balkan peninsula be free to
live peaceably and worship as the heart and con-
science dictate. Very likely he sends a contribution
to a Balkan committee to assist in the noble and
patriotic work of feeding the destitute and driving
the murderous Turks out of Europe.
What the worthy English Christian does not
always realise, and what it is not the business
of the propagandists to inform him, is that most
of the murdering now going on in the Bal-
kans is by Christians of Christians. The fact is
the whole of the Balkans is infested with rival
Christian "bands," which terrorise villages and
convert them from the Greek Church to the Bul-
garian Church, or from the Bulgarian Church to the
Greek Church, at the dagger's point. The Turkish
soldiers occasionally hunt these " bands," and when
they catch one there is some quick killing.
The situation in the Balkans has gradually en-
tered a new phase. The Christians hate the Turk ;
but they hate each other more. " What are you? "
A KETTLE OF FISH 3
I asked an innkeeper in a village near Koritza, on

the borderland of Macedonia and Albania. " Well,
sir," he replied, "I find it best to be a Greek."
There was a Greek " band " in the neighbouring
hills.
The genuine problem before those who seek the
welfare of the Balkan people is not so much to
remedy the incompetence of the Turk as to find a
means of checking the civil war which is beginning
to rage between rival Christian Churches. The ad-
herents of these Churches perpetrate atrocities on
each other as vile and inhuman as the Turk ever per-
petrated on either. The Turk meanwhile quietly
chuckles. Why should he slay the Christians when
they are so busily engaged in slaying one another ?
The Balkans is a confused kettle of fish. The
ordinary man knows there is a tangle of interests
too complicated for him to understand. He does not
try. In a rough way, however, he wonders why the
Great Powers do not immediately come to some
agreement to remove the Turk, as a ruler, out of
Europe. That is what the Powers cannot do. Who
shall have the Balkans wrhen the Turk goes? The
Eussian has an eye on Constantinople. The Aus-
trian has both eyes on Salonika. Eussia freed Bul-
garia from the Turk, meaning to use Bulgaria as a
stepping-stone to the Bosphorus. Austria used
Servia as a pawn to prepare the route to an Aus-
trian port on the .ZEgean Sea. Both Eussia and
Austria were surprised and hurt that Bulgaria and
Servia, instead of being grateful and subservient,
began to preen themselves and dream dreams of a
Great Bulgaria, and an extension of Servia, with

no interference from northern neighbours. About
the same time the Greeks began to remember that
Greece once extended far into the Balkan region.
Then Eoumania, on the other side of the Danube,
startled everybody by the brilliant audacity of the
claim that the Balkans was really Kouman terri-
tory.
See the welter ! The Great Powers cannot agree
to clear out the Sultan. They know Eussia and
Austria want to annex the dispossessed region.
Germany stands in the background ; she will have
no part in bullying and badgering the Sultan to re-
form the Macedonian administration. The thank-
ful Sultan accordingly gives Germans the most valu-
able concessions in the Turkish Empire. Germans
grow more than ordinarily fat and wealthy. Also
they can afford to smile. They know that though
Austria and Russia may join France and Britain
and Italy in demanding reform, reform is just the
thing neither Russia nor Austria wants. It is the
disturbed condition of the peninsula which gives the
two countries hope that their services maybe required
to come in with armies to secure peace — and stay !
Germany thinks that over tPTe little kingdom of
Servia and the principality of Bulgaria Austria will
reach Salonika and Russia Constantinople. Ger-
many sees far. She hopes Austria will get to
Salonika. Also she reckons that the Austrian Em-
pire is doomed, that the German Empire must ex-
pand. She thinks she sees the not-distant day when
Salonika will be a German port.
A KETTLE OF FISH. 5
But Britain? The Christian populations in the

Balkans appreciate that England has no territorial
aspirations. They believe that were any of the nations
to attempt annexation they would have to face
British cannon. They know that Britain squeezes
Turkey, sometimes very uncomfortably, to put its
Macedonian house in order. They rely on Britain
— if Turkey does not govern the country well, as
she never will — first to secure European control of
Macedonia, and ultimately to give the Macedonians
independence. So the name of England is honoured.
England is the one European Power which, un-
selfishly, and from purely humanitarian motives,
will see justice is done the Macedonians.
But who are the Macedonians? You will find
Bulgarians and Turks who call themselves Macedon-
ians, you find'Greek Macedonians, there are Servian
Macedonians, and it is possible to find Roumanian
Macedonians. You will not, however, find a single
Christian Macedonian who is not a Servian, a Bul-
garian, aGreek, or a Roumanian.
They all curse the Turk, and they love Mace-
donia. But it is Greek Macedonia, or Bulgarian
Macedonia , and their eyes flame with passion , whilst
their fingers seek the triggers of their guns, at the
suggestion that any of the other races are Mace-
donian, or, indeed, anything but interlopers. In
point of fact, Macedonia is little more than a name
given to a tract of Turkish territory where, besides
the Turks, live congeries of races, chiefly Bulgarian
and Greek.
Converse with a Roumanian consul, say at
Monastir. " True, these people talk Bulgarian or

Greek," he says; " but they are really Eoumanian,
though they don't know it. Therefore, when Mace-
donia isfreed from the Turk, its natural and proper
ruler is Roumania." Interview a Servian. " Before
the coming of the Turks," says he, "the Servian
Empire stretched south to the sea." Seek the views
of a Bulgarian. " It is obvious," he tells you, " that
practically all Macedonia is filled with Bulgarians.
They speak Bulgarian, and are adherents of the Bul-
garian Church. Many people who speak Greek and
are Orthodox have been coerced ; but they are Bul-
garian. Macedonia is the rightful heritage of Bul-
garia." "Nothing of the kind," retorts the Greek ;
"the Bulgarians are schismatics, and are not even
entitled to the name of Christian. They compel
villages by threats to renounce the Orthodox Church,
and then they are reckoned Bulgarian. Bah on the
butchers ! ' '
It is this race animosity, nurtured by politicians
and egged on by the priests in the name of Christian-
ity, which is putting an obstacle in the way of the
Powers doing much to remedy the condition of
the country, and would do so even were they
united and possessed of the best intentions in the
world. The misrule of the Turk is bad enough.
But to hand over Macedonia to the Christians of
Macedonia to work out their own salvation would
be to plunge the country into direst bloodshed. The
rivals are afflicted with land hunger. That we can
appreciate, especially as the claimants bring for-
ward plausible reasons. The regrettable thing is
A KETTLE OF FISH. 7
that the war of extermination waged by Christians

upon Christians is unconsciously fostered by well-
meaning but ignorant Christians in other parts of
the world.
Among the Balkan races the Bulgarians are un-
doubtedly the sturdiest, most industrious, best fitted
for self-government. What they have done with
Bulgaria, since the Turks were driven out of their
land, is deserving of respect and admiration. When
the Bulgarian frontier was fixed it should have been
drawn much further to the south and west than it is,
and have included districts, undoubtedly Bulgarian,
which were unfortunately left in the Turkish Em-
pire. Bulgaria, especially since it realised its poten-
tialities as a nation, has smarted under the limita-
tion. A considerable section of the Bulgarians is
working for a " Greater Bulgaria." But this laud-
able ambition has run wild, and is the cause of much
of the existing unhappy strife.
Understanding that when Concerted Europe
should be sick of endeavouring to badger or
kick the Turk into improving his methods of
government, autonomy would probably be given
to Macedonia, the Bulgarians began to arrange so
that, at the proper moment, Macedonia should
fall like a ripe plum into the mouth of Bulgaria.
The Bulgarian Committees, safely ensconced in
Sofia, organised the notorious " bands," not only
to retaliate upon the Turk and guard Bulgar-
ian villages from Turkish depredations, but also
to further the Bulgarian propaganda in those
parts of Macedonia which were not quite sure. Be
it remembered that when Bulgaria broke away from

the Greek Orthodox Church, numerous villages in
Macedonia did likewise, and appropriated to them-
selves the Greek churches. But there were and are
many villages of Bulgarian-speaking peasants who
did not secede from the Greek Church, but who —
after the manner of the Balkans — are called Greeks,
though they do not know a word of Greek. Further,
there are Greek-speaking peasants who call them-
selves Bulgarians because — living probably in dis-
tricts where the real Bulgarians predominate — they
have succumbed to local religious influences.
The men composing the Bulgarian ' ' bands ' ' are
courageous fellows. They undergo many hardships
in the mountains. They risk their lives in the Bul-
garian cause. But they are playing at revolution,
and when they lose a point in the game and are
caught by the Turks and slain, and their heads
thrown into saddle-bags, so that Turkish soldiers
may give proof they have earned reward for killing
brigands, it is for their friends to regret their loss,
but not to rail at the barbarity of the Turk.
Here were the methods invented and pursued by
the Bulgarian " bands." They visited the Bulgarian
villages, levied contributions, and stored arms, so
that on an appointed day there might be a rising
against the Turk, and Bulgarian Macedonians be
liberated from their oppressors for ever. Naturally
they were greeted as heroes ; food was willingly
found for them. Most of the industrious peasants
living under the eye of the Turk knew where the
rifles were stored, and were sworn to join the re-
A KETTLE OF FISH. 9
volution when the signal was given. But there were

Bulgarian villages which — maybe not knowing better
— were content with their lot, lived in amity with
their Turkish neighbours, had no national aspira-
tions, and, what is more important, dreaded any
trafficking with the " bands," which would lead to
terrible reprisals by the Turks.
And the Turk is a bungler in administering pun-
ishment. His spies inform him when a village is
the headquarters of a " band." He sets out to cap-
ture the revolutionists. He rarely does so, however,
for the "bandsmen" also have their spies, are
warned of the coming of the troops, and are off to
the fastnesses of the hills before the Turks appear.
The soldiers do not follow. They proceed, on the
usual Asiatic lines, to punish the village. They
shoot, they burn houses, they commit rapine. So
the innocent and the least guilty suffer while the
revolutionists escape. If the "punishment" is
severe, Constantinople in time hears of it, very likely
in a grossly exaggerated form, and we read over
our breakfast of a wanton and unprovoked attack
by Turkish soldiers on a peaceful Bulgarian village,
guilty of no other crime than that of being Christian !
Now it is occasionally forgotten that half the
population of Macedonia is Moslem and Turk. The
Turkish peasant is just as good and industrious a
fellow as the Christian. He has to give the " blood-
tax " in serving as a soldier, which the Christian
has not, and the bloodsuckers of Turkish officials
oppress him quite as much as they oppress the
Christian. He has no foreign consul willing to
listen to his tale of woe, and no Orthodox or Ex-

archist bishop to carry a complaint to higher
officials. On the whole he accepts his fate resign-
edly, taking it as part of the order of things that
he should be ill-treated, just as his neighbour the
Christian, after four centuries of Turkish authority,
is sometimes disposed to take the exactions of the
tax-gatherer as part of the scheme of life. And
because it is characteristic of human nature for us
to open our ears to tales of tragedy, and be heed-
less of quiet contentment, we are occasionally dis-
posed to ignore the hundreds of Moslem and Chris-
tian villages in Macedonia, all subject to Turkish
misrule, which, as between themselves, have no ani-
mosity whatever. Indeed, I have been in many a
Macedonian village where Turk and Christian trade
and deal and live side by side in perfect accord.
Take the case of a Bulgarian village which has
no desire to be mixed up with the " patriotic "
movement. Those who resist are generally one or
two men of character. If they do not yield to the
demands of the " band," and all the rest of the male
inhabitants swear to join the revolution, it is not un-
likely that some morning a couple of resisters, or
maybe three, will be found dead. After that the
village is submissive.
But the methods of the Bulgarian ' ' bands ' '
went further. They terrorised Bulgarian villages
belonging to the Orthodox Church, and therefore
deemed Greek, into renouncing the Greek Church
and becoming Exarchist and Bulgarian. For in
the Balkans race and speech count for nothing in
A KETTLE OF FISH. 11
nationality. Nationality is decided by the Church

to which you belong. It is much as though a
London-born Roman Catholic were called and
counted an Irishman, or a Presbyterian in New
York, though his ancestors came from Germany,
were called and counted a Scotsman. The plan
of campaign on the part of the ' ' bands ' ' was to
make Macedonia Bulgarian. In furtherance of
this they took to ' * converting ' ' villages that were
not only Greek in religion but Greek in speech
and race.
The Greek nation, with memory of Hellenic
influence stretching far into the Balkans — with
hundreds of Greek villages penetrating half through
Macedonia, till they mingle with Bulgarian vil-
lages and then disappear — resented the methods of
the Bulgarian " bands." If there was to be any
division of Macedonia, Greece was entitled to the
larger share. Accordingly, Greek " bands " ap-
peared to check the propaganda of the Bulgarian
"bands." What amounted to civil war began.
Greek "bands" adopted the methods of the Bul-
garian "bands." Greek-speaking villages which
had adopted the Bulgarian Church were obliged
to renounce their religion, and become Greeks
proper, or have their houses burnt, or worse. The
villagers, who would like to be left in peace, yielded,
and instead of Bulgarians became Greeks. When
the Greek " band " withdrew, down came the
Bulgarian ' ' band " to " re-convert ' ' the village
and make the inhabitant Bulgarians again. There-
upon the Greek " band " cut a few throats and
fired a few houses just to remind the peasants they

must be Greeks or be killed. The Greeks invaded
Bulgarian villages — Bulgarian in race, speech, and
religion — and, with murder, compelled a conversion
to the Orthodox Greek Church. The bishops and
priests of the Greek Church not only countenanced
but urged crime as a means of compelling Bul-
garian Macedonians to proclaim themselves Greeks.
What think you of a letter written by a Greek
bishop advising a ' ' band ' ' to warn a village that
if it is not converted all the Bulgarian houses will
be burnt; and on the top of the notepaper the
emblem of the Christian faith !
The Bulgarian " bands " are excused on the
ground that they are necessary to protect Bul-
garian villages from indignities at the hands of
the Greeks, and the Greeks say that their " bands "
are only to frighten off the Bulgarians from molest-
ing Greek villages. Both races believe they are
engaged in a high patriotic mission. They will
not listen to reason. They regard the others as
vermin deserving only extermination. So the burn-
ing of houses, the murder of partisans, is proceed-
ing apace in a more flagrant manner than during the
times of Turkish atrocities.
What impressed me two or three times a day
as I wandered through that wild and bloodstained
land was that the bitterness against the Turk was,
even among the Bulgarians, not so ardent as it was
two or three years ago. The explanation is that the
Turks, except when "punishing" a village for
harbouring " brigands," have been comparatively
SLAUGHTER OF A FAMILY THROUGH RELIGIOUS
ANIMOSITY.
FATE OF CHRISTIANS SUSPECTED BY A REVOLU-

TIONARY "BAND."
guiltless of violence. This is not because the

leopard has changed his spots. It is because the
Turk knows he is being watched by the European
officers who have been introduced to assist in the
reform of the Gendarmerie : the British at Drama,
the French at Seres, the Kussians at Salonika, the
Italians at Monastir, the Austrians at Uskup. In-
dividual officers are stationed in particular districts,
and few are beyond three days' horse- journey from
any point of outrage, where they can make personal
inquiry. Therefore the Turk is behaving himself,
and the country is comparatively quiet.
Yet the murders and the burnings as between
Christians continue. They are not made much of
to the outer world by the rivals, because they
dread the alienation of Western European sym-
pathy, and do not want to be interfered with in
their reprisals. It is only in quiet conversation
you get the brutal truth.
This was said to me by one of the Bulgarian
leaders in Sofia : ' ' We intend to make every village
in Macedonia a centre of revolution. If there are
any, Greeks or Bulgarians, who check us, they
must be removed in the interests of Macedonian in-
dependence. The time for argument is gone. We
shall run no risk from traitors. At the proper
time the country will rise en masse against the
Turk."
"But what chance," I asked, "will your
peasants have against trained Turkish soldiers?
You know what the Turkish soldier is when let
loose. The country will welter in massacre."
" We know it, we know it ! " was the quick ex-

clamation in reply. "We want a big massacre!
It is the price we shall have to pay. We shall
provoke the Turk into such a massacre that Europe
will — must — intervene. I do not expect anything
from your Reform movements, or Boards of Finan-
cial Control. The Turk plays with you and defeats
you every time. I know Europe is getting sick
of the Macedonian muddle. But Europe has got
to be stirred. The only thing to stir it to interfere
and take Macedonia from Turkey will be a great
massacre of Christians. That is the way by which
Macedonia will get its liberation."
Horrible words ! Spoken by a revolutionary
leader, a man whose name is well known in Eng-
land and America to the more prominent sym-
pathisers with the Macedonian movement.
Another phase of the situation. Servian
" bands," and, I believe, even Roumanian
" bands," have appeared in Macedonia, ostensibly
to save Serb and Roumanian villages from " con-
version " to Bulgar or Hellenic nationality. And
while the Bulgarian " bands " are the more nume-
rous— figures are difficult to obtain, but I think
about 7,000 " bandsmen " were in the hills last
summer — they have not been so active with their
propaganda as the Greeks. They received orders
from Sofia to "go gently !" If Western Europe
and America knew how Christians were waging war
on Christians the clock of Macedonian freedom
would be put far back. Accordingly the Bulgarians
have not been so energetic as the Greeks.
If one must balance criminality, the weight of

horrors now rests with the Greeks. And I am
within the mark in saying that the Turkish au-
thorities wink at the doings of the Greek " bands."
The Turk abets the weaker party and helps Greek
propaganda, not because he loves the Greeks, but
because he wants — and this is the blunt truth — to
let the rival parties get more equal in numbers,
to provoke reprisals, and let the mutual murdering
by the Infidels proceed. I saw constant evidence of
this. Whilst the Bulgarian "bands" are hunted
by the
now left Turkish
alone. soldiers, the Greek " bands " are
Further, in all mixed Christian villages where
there is strife, whether the Church is Greek Ortho-
dox or Bulgarian Exarchist, the Turk aids the
Greek. In many a village where the Church was
originally Orthodox, but became Exarchist when
the Bulgarians renounced the authority of the
Greek Church, the Turk by his authority has
handed church, schools, and revenues to the Greek
minority. The consequence is that to-day you can
hardly meet a Greek who will not tell you the Turk
is doing the right thing by seeing that Christian
property is restored to the legitimate owners. The
Greek fails to perceive that the whole proceeding is
part of a scheme to keep the Christians at enmity.
As things are, the misrule of the Turk is pre-
ferable to the condition of affairs that would be in-
evitable ifthe races in Macedonia were given their
freedom. That the Turk is impossible as a ruler is a
truism. That all the tinkering at reform will end in
nothing is recognised by everybody who has any

direct acquaintance with the Balkans. The Turk,
fine fellow as he is personally, cannot, in governing,
conceive the right way to do a thing, and even
when it is pointed out to him, he is content to
do it in the wrong way.
But there can be no genuine and lasting ame-
lioration inthe Balkans till the Revolutionary Com-
mittees in Sofia and Athens understand that the
desire of the outer world is not to aid Bulgarian
or Greek aspirations, but to save Christians, of
whatever Church, from injustice. If there is to
be outrage in the Balkans, let it not be between
the Christians themselves.
Many students of the Balkan problem are plunged
in pessimism as to any solution being possible. I
am not without hope, though I am quite certain
that pricking the Sultan will not lead to anything
beneficial. The idea that Macedonia may become
peaceful under the Turk may be put on one side.
The Macedonians themselves, being quite unfitted
for self-government, must consent— and they will
consent if Great Britain, whose impartiality is re-
cognised byall the Balkan States, gives the lead
— to efficient European control by the representa-
tives of all the Powers. Bulgaria, Greece, Servia,
and Boumania ought to be given to understand that
they need expect no territorial acquisitions, that
Macedonia is a state unto itself. " Bands " and
propagandists, whoever they are, must be repressed
in the sternest manner.
Then Macedonia will have an opportunity to
develop ; and in that development and consequent

prosperity I have some hope that in years to come
the inhabitants will think less of their Turkish,
Bulgarian, or Greek origin and a great deal more of
the fact that they are all Macedonians. And then
only can self-government be conceded to Mace-
donia. Behind that, however, I have hopes there
may be a Confederation of the Balkan States,
with the remainder of European Turkey as part
of the Confederation. So long as there are half
a dozen little nations open to attack by powerful
neighbours, the Balkans will continue to be a region
of unrest. A Confederation of the States for de-
fensive purposes would, however, not only count for
mutual prosperity, but would remove the cause of
the bad dreams from which European statesmen
often suffer.
CHAPTEE II.
BELGRADE.
A Russian Town made Clean — Military Officers — The Mark of a

Crime — Rival Dynasties, Obrenovitch and Karageorgovitch —
King Milan — King Alexander and Queen Draga — Austria's
Hand in the Plot — Breaking into the Palace — The Search for
the King and Queen — A Woman's Shriek — Murder of the
Queen's Brothers, of Ministers and Officials — Where the
King and Queen were Buried — Indignation of the Powers —
The Servian People not Responsible for the Crime — Plot
and Counterplot — The Serbs a Nation of Peasants — The
National Garb Dying Out.
WHEN you have got south of the Danube, crossed

the sprawling Save, left Hungary and its swarthy
Magyars behind, you feel, despite the testimony of
your map, that you have stepped out of Europe into
Asia.
Yet Belgrade, high-perched, and turning the eye
of its citadel toward the twin and quarrelsome em-
pire of Austria-Hungary — the wolf which constantly
frightens little Servia that it is going to be gobbled
up, only the other wolf, Eussia, also hungry, is
showing its teeth — is not at all Asiatic in appear-
ance. It is bright and white, broad-streeted, and
clean, wide-spreading. The people are Slav, fair,
bony, not well-set ; but occasionally you note a tinge
in the skin, a cast of the eye, a thinness of the nos-
trils which tell of splashes of Tartar, Magyar, even
Turkish blood.
Belgrade, however, is European — outwardly. It
looks like a Eussian town 18 made clean. Had I been
BELGRADE. 19
borne from Paris to Belgrade by the agency of

the magic carpet instead of by the service of the
Orient Express, I should have concluded I was in
a Kussian city where the scavengers had been busy,
and the citizens had profited by lectures on sanita-
tion and the advantages of whitewash. Not that
Belgrade is devoid of odour. In the lower town it
breathes upon you — the soft, rather quaint smell
which greets you in the East, maybe antiseptic,
possibly decayed Turk, and certainly flavoured with
defective drainage. Within easy memory Belgrade
was a Turkish town. Slobberly Turkish soldiers and
wheezy Turkish guns looked over the citadel and
ramparts. But the Turk has gone, save a few
decrepit old men who sit in the cellars of the
lower town, puff their narghilis, slither to the little
mosque, as shaky as themselves, kneel on the ragged
carpets and worship Allah, slither back again to
their narghilis, and philosophically resign themselves
to kismet.
The Servians have rebuilt their capital. Evi-
dence of the Turkish occupation is removed. Elec-
tric tramcars whiz along the streets ; the electric
light blinks at you as, in the dusk of a sultry day,
you sit beneath the limes and sip Turkish coffee — the
one legacy of the Turkish occupation the Servians
accept. The smart German waiter at your hotel has
learnt English at your favourite restaurant in
London, and the price charged for a second-rate bed-
room is the same as that at Eitz's or the Savoy.
Belgrade is doing its best to acquire European habits.
There is never a moment in the streets when the
eye can escape a military officer. The officers are as

handsome, as well-set, and carry themselves with
as jaunty a bearing as any in Europe. They are
neat and well groomed; their garb — peaked caps,
close-fitting and spotless wrhite tunics, and crimson
trousers — is distinctive. I did hear Servians com-
plain that their officers are fonder of the card table
and the cafe than of military study. When I saw the
officers of a cavalry regiment give a display before
King Peter I was surprised such fine fellows on such
excellent horses should ride so badly.
It is permitted to young officers all the world
over to have a little swagger of demeanour. In Bel-
grade you notice that the extra swagger is with those
who wear on the breast an enamelled Maltese cross
with golden rays between. That is the first signal
you get — notwithstanding the up-to-dateness of Bel-
grade in aspect and attire — that you are among a
people who do things the rest of Europe could not
do. The medal is the acknowledgment by King
Peter to those soldiers who took part in the bloody
assassination of King Alexander and his consort
Draga on that dread night in June, 1903. The
officers are proud of the barbarous deed. They have
a lighter, brisker step than those who have no such
medal. You are startled at the number of officers
who wear it. Yet I never saw it worn anywhere
outside Belgrade. The explanation is that King
Peter keeps near him the regiments which betrayed
Alexander and placed Peter on the throne of Servia
— a very unstable throne. Other regiments, not
implicated in the conspiracy, possibly resenting the
BELGRADE. 21
disgrace brought upon their country, have been care-

fully distributed throughout Servia. The danger of
concerted retaliation is small.
That tragedy was one of the blood marks in a
long, wretched royal vendetta, the end of which is
not yet. The story of it all is like an historical
novel, with more than the usual amount of plotting,
counter-plotting, daring deeds, dark crimes, and the
love of women. Servia has had much buffeting. At
the time England was settling down under the Nor-
man Conquest, the Serbs, tribes which in unknown
times had wandered to the Balkan Peninsula from
the Ural Mountains, coalesced, and the Servian
empire arose. Afterwards came the Turk. The re-
sistance was valiant, but the Serbs were crushed.
The Ottoman pressed on, crossed the Danube, and
advanced toward Vienna itself. Later came the push-
ing back of the Turk. He was forced below the
Danube, and Servia was the buffer which bore many
blows whilst the Moslem, fighting hard, backed Asia-
wards. In time, at the beginning of the eighteenth
century, the Serbs themselves rose against their Turk-
ish masters. The great leader was Karageorge (Black
George), a swineherd say some, a brigand say others,
a brave man certainly. One of his aids, another
brave man, was Obren. Karageorge, after long
struggle against the Turks, lost heart and retired to
Hungary. Obren continued the resistance and broke
the power of Turkey. He became king. He was
the founder of the Obrenovitch dynasty, of which
the murdered Alexander was a son. Karageorge de-
sired the crown. Obren refused. Then the vendetta
began. The Obrenovitch dynasty was overthrown.

The Karageorgovitch dynasty began.
And for a century Servia has been a hotbed of
conspiracy between the rival houses. Murder has
provided the step to the throne. Though Milan
Obrenovitch, father of Alexander, was the darling of
the soldiery, because he cut the last thread which
bound Servia in vassalage to Turkey, and made
Servia an independent kingdom, he only reached the
throne by murder. He was a dominating personal-
ity, but he had the morals of a Tartar chief, and his
treatment of his beautiful Queen Natalie — now living
quietly in the Eiviera mourning her murdered son —
made him the disgrace of Europe. He lost favour
with the Servian people. Probably fearing the
assassin's bullet, he abdicated in favour of his son
Alexander, a mere boy, and retired to his amours in
Vienna and Paris.
Alexander had much of his father in him. That
he was boorish and unintelligent is untrue. But
when he reached the full power of kingship he
showed a stubbornness that was the despair of those
about him. He was quick in understanding, had
almost genius for reaching the root of a matter. But
advice and argument were things he never heeded.
He displayed what was almost a madman's eccen-
tricity in his thorough enjoyment of upsetting
Government plans. He would acquiesce in a Minis-
terial proposal, and then begin plotting to upset it.
He regarded the discomfiture of his Ministers with
unfeigned delight. There were two Houses of Par-
liament— the Senate, and the House of Kepresenta-
BELGRADE. 23
tives. When he found the Senate opposed to his

will, he rose one morning, abolished it, reverted to
a Constitution of ten years before, and appointed
another and obedient Senate — all in about half an
hour. That sort of conduct he considered clever.
But it aroused bad thoughts in the country.
Then came Draga. She was the widow of a Bel-
grade official — a beautiful woman, with soft and cap-
tivating eyes , an excellent conversationalist ; she
had all the personal qualities which fascinate men.
When she was thirty-two and Alexander was eigh-
teen she became his mistress. The relationship was
quite open. That Alexander had the deepest and
most sincere affection for Draga is undoubted. Her
influence over him was tremendous. She was the
only person in the world who exercised power over
the King's actions. And though, according to the
moral standpoint, the relationship was bad, Draga 's
influence was good. Alexander was too headstrong to
care whether he was personally popular. Draga did
her best to restrain the King's immoderate conduct.
Her power in the Court was great, though probably
not so great as generally thought. Endeavours were
made to estrange the King from Draga. Even the
Oriental method of bringing young and sprightly
actresses before him was adopted. It was no good.
Alexander would look at no other woman than
Draga. His friends in the European courts thought
the liaison would stop on the King's marriage
to a princess — a necessary proceeding, for Alexan-
der was the last of the Obrenovitch line. It was
possible to find him a bride among the German
princesses. Would he agree? Yes; and he left the

details to be arranged by his father, the exiled Milan,
and the Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria. A
suitable German princess was found, all the purely
personal arrangements were made, the time arrived
for the announcement to be made to the world.
Then, as usual, Alexander fooled everybody. He
married Draga.
The Serbs, who did not concern themselves much
so long as the woman was only the King's mistress,
felt they had been slapped in the face. There were
the customary stories, that Queen Draga was little
other than a strumpet, that she had been the mis-
tress of other men before she met King Alexander :
stories most likely untrue, but not unnatural among
a people who smarted under insult. She was hated.
Nothing the King did unwisely but Queen Draga
was always seen behind the action.
Draga was a woman as well as a queen. She
had old scores to pay off in regard to other women
who held their skirts on one side in former days.
There was the snubbing of women against whom
there was no scandal. Draga 's two brothers were
given high places in the army, and they, presuming
too much on their relationship with the Queen, were
unpopular with their brother officers. Draga was an
ambitious woman. She desired that one of her own
blood should ultimately succeed Alexander as king.
The news spread that Draga was about to present
Alexander with an heir. A great Paris specialist
was brought to Belgrade and said it was so. Then
rumour got to work. It reached the Austrian Court.
BELGRADE. 25
The Emperor Francis Joseph wanted definite in-

formation. Two great Viennese specialists were
sent to Belgrade. They reported that not only was
it not so, but it was a physical impossibility. The
mystery has never been cleared up, but the belief
in Belgrade is that Queen Draga was in collusion
with her married sister, and hoped to introduce to
the Serbs a baby nephew as the son of King Alexan-
der. No wonder, with this story-book proceeding
taking place in their midst, the people of Servia wrere
beginning to seethe with indignation against Alexan-
der and Draga. Servia had had enough of them.
They must be got rid of. But the Serb people con-
templated nothing more drastic than exile.
Meanwhile there was living on the banks of Lake
Geneva, very modestly, Prince Peter Karageorgo-
vitch, the claimant of the Servian throne for the rival
dynasty. He was a widower with twro sons and a
daughter. His wife had been a daughter of Prince
Nicholas of Montenegro. When she died Prince
Nicholas stopped the payment of the income from
her dowry. So Prince Peter Karageorgovitch lived
quietly.
There was an anti-Obrenovitch party in Servia,
working secretly for the overthrow of the ruling
dynasty and the re-establishment of the Karageorgo-
vitches. When you talk to men in Belgrade you
hear that Austria found much of the money for sub-
terranean propaganda, and then you are told in a
whisper — for once you get below the surface in Bel-
grade you breathe conspiracy — that Austria's motive
was not simply to provide Servia with a more
promising sovereign, but really to cause disruption

in the state, bring about civil war, give Austria an
excuse in the sacred name of peace to intervene, to
pour her troops into Servia — and to keep them there.
Then came the deed of June 10th, 1903. There
had been a family supper party at the Palace.
Midnight had gone, and the King and Queen had
retired to bed. All was still. Then uproar. A
couple of regiments hurried through the streets
of Belgrade. Heavy guns rattled, and soldiers
were supplied with ammunition. "The King is
in danger," the soldiers were told — which indeed
he was, though the troops did not know what part
they were to play. The Palace, all in darkness,
was surrounded. A signal was given. The traitor
within the walls should have unbolted the doors.
No response. It was given again. No response.
Curses, but no time to be lost. Conspirator officers
crashed the door. The traitor who was to have
given entrance was in the lethargy of intoxication.
His brains were blown out.
To the room of Alexander and Draga ! All was
turmoil. An aide-de-camp of the King appeared
affright edly. To the royal apartment ! He refused.
He was shot dead. The bedroom was reached;
the lock was broken. The bed had been occupied,
but the King and Queen were gone. They must
be found. Minutes were valuable. The town
would soon be roused ; the police would be sum-
moned ;regiments a mile outside Belgrade would
arrive. Then the conspirators would be shot down
like dogs. They searched eagerly, ravenous for
BELGRADE. 27
blood ; but in vain. They found another aide-de-

camp. He knew nothing of the flight of the King
and Queen. Eevolver at his head, he was directed
to lead the search. He led to a little room where
was the electric light installation. With his foot
he smashed the connection. There was black
gloom. Matches were struck, and death was the
payment for that kick.
Stricken with dismay at the miscarriage of their
plans, the conspirators groped their way to the
servants'
their lives quarters.
would be They
forfeitgot
for candles.
the wild Hurry ! or
endeavour
of the night. The Palace was searched. Gone !
Frenzy struck the conspirators. They fired their
revolvers into every cranny.
And the town was aroused. The police dashed
up. Rifle shots and ranged cannon drove them
back. News of the revolution reached the troops
beyond the town. Officers spurred up, were met
and were killed. The troops before the Palace began
to murmur, to waver. Let the other troops come
up and there would be war in the streets. " In the
name of Christ, hurry!" was the blasphemous
cry of the conspirators outside. Enraged, mad-
dened, distraught with terror at the miscarriage
of their designs, the conspirators inside the Palace
pursued their search. They fired at random, and
into walls. A bullet pierced a thin lath partition.
There was the shriek of a woman. "By God,
we've found them!" It was a cupboard where
Draga's gowns were kept. The door was broken open.
There, in the flicker of candle light, stood the
King and Queen, pale to ashen hue. But one

moment they looked on their hunters. Alexander
stepped in front of Draga to protect her. It was
only for an instant. They sank beneath the bullets.
The animals, not content with the death of their
quarry, slashed the dead with their sabres — hor-
rible, awful mutilations.
" Hurry up, for Christ's sake, hurry up ! " was
the cry. The troops beyond the gates were on the
point of revolt. The window was raised. "It is
all over," was the reply. " Prove it ; let us see ! "
Then, in the dark of the night, with no light but
the uncertain flicker of the candles, two figures,
ghastly and blood-smeared, were flung from the
first storey window into the grounds below. The
revolution wras accomplished. In an ugly, half-
naked heap lay the last of the House of
Obrenovitch.
But the gory work of the night was not yet
ended. The house where Draga 's two brothers
lived was surrounded. When told of their fate,
all they asked wras a cigarette and a glass of water.
They drank the water, and wrhilst smoking their
cigarettes they were shot. Other detachments
visited the houses of the Prime Minister, the Minis-
ter for War, and officials who might exercise
authority against the revolutionaries. They were
murdered, some before their wives and little children.
Between thirty and forty lives were claimed in
those awful two hours.
The work, however, was done. The Revolution
was complete. There was now time for the officers
BELGRADE. 29
to drink wine and display their bloodstained swords

to the women in houses of ill-fame.
The conspirators promenade the streets of Bel-
grade to-day with wives and sisters on their arms ;
they make lowly obeisance before the altars of the
Servian Church ; they are merry and happy beneath
the trees, where they sip their coffee and listen to
the lustful music of the Tzigane bands. And they
are proud of the white enamelled cross, with the
golden rays, that they wear above their hearts.
I visited the place where the dead King Alex-
ander, aged twenty-six, and the dead Queen Draga,
aged forty, were unceremoniously tossed to burial
with none so merciful to say a prayer for the peace
of their souls. In the dawn, and conveyed in a
common cart, they were buried behind the door
of the little church of St. Mark in the old ceme-
tery. A couple of rough wooden crosses lean
against the wall. On one is painted " Alexander
Obrenovitch," and on the other is " Draga Obreno-
vitch." That is all. Some day, maybe, they will
be buried with the circumstance befitting their
rank, and with charity towards the frailties of their
humanity.
Europe was rightly indignant with Servia for
this the latest crime to blacken its annals. All the
foreign Ministers were withdrawn as a mark of
disapproval. But when Prince Peter hastened to
Belgrade to secure the kingship, and be crowned
with an iron crown made from part of the first
cannon his ancestor Karageorge directed against
the Turks, the Eussian and Austrian and the other
European Ministers came trooping back to bow the

knee to King Peter. Only Great Britain held
aloof. The Ministers told the Court they would
not attend a New Year celebration if the conspira-
tors were allowed to be present. The Court
salaamed and were very sorry, but the officers who
took part in the Eevolution could not be excluded.
So the Ministers left again. In a week or two
the Eussian Minister was back. Austria, fearing
its rival might secure the diplomatic upper hand,
sent her Minister also, post haste. Then came the
German Minister and the rest. Still the British
Government held aloof. The Serbs laughed.
" You," they said to the Ministers, "come here
to squeeze advantages from Servia. Only Britain
has acted consistently."
In their hearts the Serbs admire England for
refusing to recognise King Peter. But they regret
it, and nobody feels more hurt than King Peter
himself. He is a kindly man, but he feels an
outcast among kings. Neither he nor the Crown
Prince has caught the favour of the populace.
The King lacks tact, and sometimes fails to do
the things which touch the popular fancy. When
he drives through the city, officials turn into shops
or down by-streets rather than salute him. As
for the crowd, there is no cheering, and seldom
the raising of hats.
Do the Servian people approve of the drastic
means by which Alexander and Draga were re-
moved? I am positive they do not. It is true
they wanted to get rid of Alexander and Draga,
BELGRADE. 31
but their thoughts did not travel beyond exile. It

was the Army, and only a section of the Army,
which conspired to free Servia by murder. Then
why did not the Serbs rise, repudiate the conspira-
tors and the new king? Because the Serbs, whilst
having a warm love for their land, have a touch
of the Asiatic, shrug-shoulder acceptance of facts.
Alexander and Draga were dead. Another revolt
would not bring them again to life. Besides, they
were not deserving of tears. A king was wanted.
Why not Peter Karageorgovitch , who was a Serb,
and the descendant of their national hero? And
what would civil war mean? Much bloodshed un-
doubtedly. Worse, for already Austrian troops
were massing north of the Danube ready to invade
Servia to restore order. The Austrians would come
to stay, and the days of Servia as a nation would
be gone. That was the real factor which guided
the Serbs in their acquiescence in the new order of
things. They felt and feel that their country stands
disgraced in the eyes of the world. But that is
not so bad as becoming an Austrian province.
Get below the surface of things in Belgrade
and you hit conspiracy at every point. You hear
of a movement to place the conspirators, the King
included, on their trial, and let the lot be shot.
You hear of a movement to bring an illegitimate
son of King Milan to the throne. There are rais-
ings of the eyebrows ; that would be restoring the
Obrenovitches, and the last was supposed to die
with Alexander. You hear of the country repu-
diating all Obrenovitches and all Karageorgovitches
32 PICTURES FHOM THE BALKANS.
because they have made Servia a land of vendetta.

You hear of a movement to offer the throne to a
Montenegrin prince who would come with clean
record and yet be of Serb blood. Sometimes en-
vious eyes are cast across the frontier where Bul-
garia has made such strides under a foreign prince.
But the Serbs are a proud people ; they would chafe
under the idea of a foreigner being their king.
So that possibility is only mentioned to be
dismissed.
The Serbs are democratic. They have no nobility.
Of rich men, such as we of the West understand by
the expression, they have none. Country estates
do not exist. I doubt if in all Servia, with its three
millions of population, there are half a dozen
private houses in which a dinner party could be
given to twenty people. One of the characteristics
of Belgrade is the small ness of the residences.
They are neat, clean, have gardens, and tell the
story of general, frugal comfort. The servant ques-
tion has extended to Servia. A Serb, man or
woman, thinks it degrading to be in service to
someone else. So in the hotels servants usually
are German, whilst in the private houses the
womenfolk attend to the needs of their families.
The consequence is that the Serb, though good-
natured, is little given to entertaining. Occasion-
ally a big supper is provided at the Palace, and
everybody who is anybody — eight hundred out of
a population of about seventy thousand — is in-
vited. So unused is the Serb to this kind of enter-
tainment that he scrambles for the cigarettes,
BELGRADE. 33
pockets dainties for friends at home, and has been

known to leave with a bottle of wine under each
oxter. Usually he dines with his friends at the
cafe, spends a merry, laughing hour, and goes to
bed early. I have walked along the main street
of Belgradecountered a soul.
at ten o'clock at night and not en-
The nature of a race is not altered with a change
of clothes. And although Belgrade looks European,
the Serb is still the peasant of a hundred years
ago, with peasant tastes, peasant virtues; he is
simple-mannered, kind, sentimental, and yet with
a smouldering fire in his heart, the result of cen-
turies of oppression and struggle and fight — a fire
which, when it bursts into flame, shows that the
Serb has much of the blind fury of the savage.
There is a little picture gallery in Belgrade,
where are a few good pictures and many indifferent.
But there are some on view which, from their
subject, would be excluded from any Western gal-
lery. They are very " bluggy " pictures. The
place of honour is given to a big canvas represent-
ing a grey ledge of rock in the Albanian mountains
where an Albanian has been decapitated, his head
placed between his legs, whilst his wife and child
stare distractedly at the gazeless eyes. There is
a plenitude of "purple patch" in the picture.
Another scene is that of a woman just ending
the operation of cutting a man's throat. The eyes
of the dead man are repulsive, the skin has the
sallowness of death, the throat — well, the custo-
dian put his finger on it and told me it was very
fine. The attractiveness of these pictures — if at-

tractivenes ithe
s proper word — is in the gore.
The old Serb garb is disappearing amongst those
above the peasant class, save some middle-aged
ladies who still retain the costume of their mothers
— full but plain skirt, a zouave jacket fringed with
gold or silver lace, a low-crowned, red Turkish fez,
rather on the back of the head, while the hair
plaited in one long coil is twisted round the fez, so
that it cannot be seen from the front, and only the
red disc of the top is seen from behind.
Men and women usually dress in the European
style. At the fall of the sun all Belgrade comes out
to promenade the streets, the ladies dressed as
prettily and much in the same way as the ladies
at an English watering place. The shops devoted
to the sale of picture postcards are as many as
in any French, German, or English town. There
are plenty of picture postcards of King Peter, plenty
of portraits of King Peter in the hotels. But no-
where in any part of Servia did I see a picture of
Alexander. Even the coins bearing his effigy have
been withdrawn from circulation. The authorities
would wipe his memory from the public mind.
Here and there is a touch of Servian colour. In
the market-place are gathered the peasants with
their wares for sale — big flat cheeses of sheeps' milk,
piles of grapes and peaches, mammoth melons,
masses of brilliant tomatoes. The men, lithe and
lank, sunbaked of cheek, wear skin caps, an upper
garment of white — half-shirt, half-smock — trousers
white and like a pair of shrunken pyjamas. Their
BELGRADE. 35
legs are swathed in rough home-spun stockings,

generally with a red band ; on their feet are crude
sandals thonged across the instep and round the
ankle. The peasant women are plain of feature and
inclined to podginess ; they wear short petticoats and
have gaudy handkerchiefs tied over their heads.
The Belgrade housewife does her own marketing,
and there is much haggling. A man wanders through
the crowd singing he has sweet drink to sell. Priests
of the Servian Church, men with long black hair,
black whiskers, and in long black gowns, receive
salaams. A policeman, looking like a soldier, and
with a horse pistol in his belt, marches along carry-
ing a document. He is followed by an official who
beats tap-tap-tap on a kettledrum. There is a halt,
and the drum rolls. Everybody makes a rush and
gathers round the policeman, who in a mumbling
voice, not to be heard half a dozen paces away, reads
a proclamation. Tap-tap-tap, and a move is made
elsewhere.
Out on the dusty country road I heard the shrill
call of the bugle. A detachment of young soldiers
came swinging by, with a long stride and dip of the
body, like Highlanders on the march. There was
no smartness. Their dark blue forage caps and dark
blue breeches were grimy with dust, their cotton
smocks would have been benefited by a wash, their
boots were down at heel. Stuck in most of their
caps was a bunch of clover, or a couple of ears of
wheat. The officer, on a capital horse, was neatness
itself.
From a turn of the road came a clanging sound.
Here were forty prisoners, gruesome fellows, all

chained, clanging their way, talking loud and laugh-
ing. An escort, with swords drawn, walked along-
side. Further on, the highway was being repaired
by convict labour. As the men, tawny sans -culottes ,
heaved the pick, they had the tune of their chains
for music. At intervals soldiers rested on their rifles,
ready to curb their charges should any be seized with
a desire for quick exercise.
CHAPTEE III.
A SITTING OF THE SEKVIAN PARLIAMENT.
A Mean House of Parliament — A Debate — Short-lived Governments
— Dealing with Irregular Elections — Democratic Appearance
of the Members — A Congeries of Cliques — The Pay of
Members and Ministers — The Leader of the Opposition — The
Minister of Justice — An Interview with the Prime Minister.
ONE of these days the Servians will build for them-

selves aParliament House in Belgrade that will be
worthy of their nation. Till that time they are con-
tent to hold the Skoupshtina in a place which looks
like a French country inn from the outside, and
much like a barn inside.
The Servian, while conducting you to the Skoup-
shtina, bemoans that his Parliament meets in so
wretched a style, asks fifty times during your visit
if you are disappointed, and, as you are leaving,
promises that the next time you honour the Servian
nation with a visit there will assuredly be a new
Parliament House.
Certainly the Skoupshtina is undistinguished. It
is lath and plaster and whitewash. In front and at
the side are lime trees, and beneath these the
Servians sit in their varied garbs — the town '37 men in
clothes imitating those of Western Europe, but
those from the provinces in brown homespun zouave
jackets, beflowered shirts, tight-fitting brown home-
spun trousers, and rough rural-made sandals. Or
they are in loose white garments, white trousers
which look as though they have shrunk in the wash,
38 PICTURES FROM THE BALKANS,
and white shirts falling to their knees, at first sug-

gesting that their owners have forgotten to tuck them
in their proper place. And everybody smokes cigar-
ettes. Near the doorway lounge one or two police-
men in blue uniforms, peaked cap, top boots, and
with bulging revolver cases on the waist belt — •
amiable men, despite their warlike appearance.
I conversed through an open window with a dark,
Muscovite-like gentleman, with cropped head and a
black beard spreading like a fan from the chin. He
had hay fever, for our talk, frigid at first, but
speedily cordial, was interspersed with considerable
sneezing.
I had a message from a dignitary that I be ad-
mitted to hear the debate. Could that honour be
mine ? The honour was all on the other side ! I
bowed and received a card. A tinkle of a bell, and
I had two attendants : a tawny, wiry little man who
pirouetted about me like a dancing-master, opened
doors, salaamed, backed into the wall, salaamed
again, and made me feel pasha-like and uncomfortable
with his excess of politeness ; and a big policeman ,
who evidently was not quite satisfied of the wisdom
of admitting a foreigner — possibly an abhorred Aus-
trian, ifnot that incarnation of wickedness a Bul-
garian— to the deliberations of Servia's Parliament.
Phew ! was my gasp at the top of a dingy and
creaking flight of stairs. The air was thick, oily,
and sickeningly sultry. I was in a crush of Servians
who were straining their necks and their ears. An
excitable gentleman down below was getting thin
of voice whilst first addressing two upraised fingers
THE SERVIAN PARLIAMENT. 39
on his left hand, and then two upraised fingers on

the right hand, repeatedly turning his head whilst
swiftly he brought each pair within three inches of
his nose and spoke to them for their virtue's sake.
Phew again ! I was pressed through a steaming
mob and reached the Diplomatists' Gallery — which
I took as a compliment — crowded with round and
weighty and panting individuals. Were these am-
bassadors? Oh, no ! ambassadors never came ! Well,
yes, perhaps, some of them, at the opening of Par-
liament. Accordingly when Servian gentlemen were
fat and hot, and their legs were inclined to weary, it
was usual to allow them to fill the Diplomatists'
Gallery. They did fill it, in swelling measure. I
got standing room in the only interstice.
The House was crowded with Servian representa-
tives. It was a great debate : the fate of the Govern-
ment rested upon it. The balance of parties was
such that the Prime Minister had a majority of one
— not large, but 'twould serve. Let the Govern-
ment be defeated, and alas ! they would be in a
minority of five — a hopeless minority. But only
perhaps for a week or so , when the new Government
would be defeated and a fresh party would come
into power. For the Servian Parliament is the
creature of the public will, and as it is the Servian
political temperament always to be disgusted with
things that are, to be confident a change would be
an advantage, and to be furious — when the change
has taken place — at finding things very much the
same, there is a kaleidoscope of crises.
The Servian Parliament is elected for four years ;
'
it usually lasts about two years, and if in that time

there have not been half a dozen or eight changes
of Ministry, politics have been dull. There had
been a general election of 160 members a week or
two before my visit. Parliament, however, had sat
for a week. The first problem was to deal wTith
elections in which there had been irregularities.
The first concerned a batch of six seats — one
Government and five Opposition. The Government
were magnanimous. Irregularities might occur in
the best-conducted of elections. Why, of course !
Let them be overlooked, and all six seats be allowed.
As it was five to one, the Opposition regarded the
result as quite sensible, because it limited the
Government majority to one, instead of to five.
Now came up a second batch of irregular elec-
tions— six of them, and all Government seats. Of
course, said the Government, these seats will be
allowed the same as the last seats were. The Op-
position never heard of such a proposition ! Things
were quite different ! It was all very well for Minis-
ters to desire that the breaking of the law in regard
to the election of members should be overlooked, but
the Opposition were the champions of honour, of
justice, of recognising the law. Why should they
acquiesce in electoral law-breaking so that this
Ministry be kept in power? Honest elections were
more important than any Ministry. That was the
pedestal of Parliamentary virtue on which they were
standing when I visited the Skoupshtina.
The Chamber was plain to cheapness. It was a
large square room, with colour-wTashed walls. On a
raised dai's covered with matting was a crimson

canopy, and beneath wTas a huge red velvet and gold
arm-chair — the throne. In front, before a long deal
table covered with green baize, sat the President,
on an ordinary seaside-lodging-house sort of cane-
bottomed chair. He was an alert little man,
with scant hair brushed back from the temples, and
an enlarged imperial on his chin. Before him was
a gong-bell, and when he desired order so that an
orator might be heard, or when, in his discretion, the
orator attempted to widen the range of discussion , he
whacked the bell with vigour. On the right was
another green baize table where sat the Ministers,
and on the left, a third green table where sat the
Departmental Secretaries. In front, in a pew, sat
the Reporter — an official whose duty it is to explain
what has been done in committee, to defend warmly
what has been done, and to shrug his shoulders and
make gestures of contemptuous resignation that any
Serb cannot understand that what the Ministry
proposes is entirely for the best. Then, in a tiered
semicircle, with three gangways, sat the members.
What struck me first was the democratic ap-
pearance of the House. There was no man with
countenance that might be described as aristo-
cratic. It looked more like a gathering of labour
leaders, farm labourers, a tiny sprinkling of shop-
keepers, and one or two long-haired, long-gowned
priests. The majority were in peasant garb, and
looked for all the world like men taking it easy in
their shirt-sleeves. Not inaptly this has been called
the Peasants' Parliament.
The composition is of cliques rather than parties.

As far as policy goes they are rather six of one and
half a dozen of the other: keep down taxes, and
hate the Austrians and Bulgarians. Personality is
the real power. Bivals win followers, and the rival
leaders support and overthrow each other as per-
sonal advantage and sentiment — for the Servian is
nothing if not sentimental — dictate. When I was
there the Young Radicals were the cocks of the
walk — ardent reformers who had got ahead of the
Old Radicals because of their glowing enthusiasm.
There were fifteen Nationalists, who used to call
themselves Liberals, but changed their name simply
because Nationalist had a finer sound. There were
small cliques calling themselves Patriots, Conserva-
tives, Progressives — who, by curious paradox, are
the very people who do not want progress — one re-
presentative ofthe Peasant party, the Joseph Arch
of Servia — a party which once promised to achieve
much in the rural districts, but didn't — and two
Socialists, who only differ from other members in
that they alwrays put on their hats when the Presi-
dent reads the King's Speech at the opening of Par-
liament.
The Skoupshtina is a conglomerate of men get-
ting in each other's way. Servia will not make
much political advance until it has shaken itself
down into two parties with distinct policies, and the
change of Ministry be less often than three or four
times a year. These peasant members receive fif-
teen francs a day whilst attending to their Parlia-
mentary duties, and also free railway travelling.
THE SERVIAN PARLIAMENT HOUSE.
IN THE MARKET AT BELGRADE.

Ministers receive remuneration at the rate of 12,000
francs a year, whilst the Prime Minister gets an
extra 6,000 francs. Seven hundred and fifty pounds
a year is not excessive pay for a Prime Minister.
The Skoupshtina always meets at nine in the morn-
ing, sits on till about one, divides into committees
for the afternoon, and sits again for an hour or two
in the evening when necessary.
As the subject, when I was there, was whether
the Government of a week should remain in office,
speeches were lively. But gesture seemed almost as
important as speech. There was one peasant mem-
ber who knew the wily ways of the Government ; he
closed every other sentence by placing his forefinger
tight against the side of his nose and then slowly
winking over it, as much as to observe: " See, I
know the game." Another behaved as though his
hands offended him and he were endeavouring to
shake them off, throw them away ; he became de-
cidedly annoyed because they would stick to his
arms. x
Interruptions occurred. They were tame in the
way of interruptions compared with the wild hulla-
baloo to which the British House of Commons oc-
casionally yields itself. On the first "No, no!"
the President gave a bang at his bell. When there
were cries of " No, no ! " from half a dozen quarters
he stood up and aimed steady blows at the bell.
When the shouts approached clamorous protest he
seemed intent on breaking that bell. He appealed
for fair hearing, got into personal altercation with a
member, and won easily, because whenever the man
who had challenged him attempted to reply he

drowned his utterance with the clang-clang, clang-
clang of the Presidential bell.
There were two undemonstrative speeches, one
by M. Nicholas Pashitch, the Leader of the Opposi-
tion, an elderly, long-bearded man, incisive, yet
calm, and the Archpriest Gjuritch — a benevolent
old man, with flowing white hair and a crimson
girdle round his black frock — a man much
honoured, because for years he languished in prison
and in chains. He was supposed to be mixed up
in some revolution during King Milan's lifetime.
A Servian patriot who has been in prison — and
there are many of them — is regarded much in the
same light as an Irish patriot who has been flung
into prison by an alien British Government.
There were great demands by the Opposition that
the Minister of Justice, M. Petchitch, should defend
the justice of allowing illegally-elected members to
sit. M. Petchitch was a youngish man inclined to
fulness of cheek, but sallow, and his hair was dusted
with grey. He spoke slowly, with long pauses,
working his hands all the while as though weaving
an exquisite pattern, and he always clinched an
argument by making a little pat at the first button
of his waistcoat, pulling it off in imagination, and
then giving a little toss of it towards his critics.
The heat of the Chamber was stifling. I ex-
pected to see the whole Assembly dribble away.
My collar melted. Members walked to the table
and drank inordinate quantities of water. One or
two fell asleep, and some whiled away the time
by reading the local newspapers. I was about to
retreat when a message arrived from the Prime
Minister, M. Stoyanovitch. Would I honour him
with a visit? I went to his room just behind the
Chamber. He was a charming man, about middle
age, dark, quietly dressed, but alert in manner.
We exchanged compliments. What a miserable
Skoupshtina for a gentleman from England to
visit ! I assured him I was captivated with the
debate, and that I admired his amiability in being
the head of a Government with a majority of only
one. I was quite certain that if the Prime Minister
of England could only visit Belgrade he would have
such an infusion of courage that he would never
bother his head if the majorities of his own
Government sank to a couple of dozen. M.
Stoyanovitch clasped his hands ; a majority of
twenty-four or thirty a small majority ! He threw
his eyes to the roof ! What victory would strew
his path for years if he had such a majority !
Enter the Minister of the Interior, M. Paviche-
vitch, a cheery, twinkle-eyed man with an excellent
taste in cigarettes. There was general conversation.
Servia was a little country with a big heart ! It
had a mighty past ; surely it had a magnificent
future. It teemed with prosperity. It had its
internal troubles — assassination of Kings and
Prime Ministers and such-like — but these were not
mentioned. It hoped soon to have a big army, for
Austria, a few miles away, was hungry for terri-
tory, and the Bulgarian neighbour? — a raise of the
eyebrows, a shrug of the shoulders, and a meaning
smile ! England had no territorial aspirations in

the Balkans ; England had ever proved the friend
of small countries, and if Servia with the all-
powerful aid of mighty England — and so on.
I went back to the Diplomats' Gallery. The
atmosphere was that of a Russian bath. The rival
cliques were shouting at one another; the Reporter
was forcibly orating and nobody listening. The
President was more determined than ever to smash
that bell. The rivals exhausted their mutual re-
crimination— " You were not legally elected ! " met
with ' ' Who are you to talk ? most illegally
elected! " — the Reporter sank back breathless, the
President's hand got sore banging the bell, and he
wrapped his handkerchief round his fist. In a pause
he pantingly exclaimed : ' ' The House is adjourned
for ten minutes."
Blessed relief ! Members tumbled out and made
for the adjoining cafe, where native wine and beer
and coffee were to be had. Afterwards I heard
that the Government maintained its triumphant
majority of one. The Prime Minister was safe in
his office for a week. I hope for at least a fortnight,
for M. Stoyanovitch did me several courtesies.
CHAPTEE IV.
A MONASTIC KETREAT.
The Most Famous Monastery in Servia — The Archimandrite — A
Glimpse of the First King of Servia — The Vicissitudes of a
Silver Coffin — Sacredness of the King's Remains — A Devout
Brigand — Dinner in the Monastery — The Church — Feast of
St. Mary.
DAWN crept over the back of the Servian hills,
throwing the palest of green lights into a velvety
sky. There glistened a myriad stars which seemed
to have come nearer to earth than they do in other
lands. It was four o'clock in the morning, and
the monastery bell was clang-clang-clanging, send-
ing forth its summons to prayer.
I rose from the simple bed the monks had
given me, left my cell, and went on to the broad
arched balcony. The air was crisp and stinging
with life. From the gloom came the blusterous
roar of the river hastening from the Turkish hills
to the mighty Danube. The monastery cockerel
raised his shrill voice heralding the morning. An
unmonastic cockerel gave him challenge from a dis-
tance.
Across the grass, silent, like shadows, stole the
black-cloaked monks. Taper lights, fitful and
vagrant, appeared through the deep-recessed and
dusky windows of the church. The clang of the
bell ceased. Then sonorous but muffled came the
intonation of the monks as, in the old Slavonic
tongue of their fathers, they began the day with
obeisance to God. 47
Somehow, as I stood there in the chill of the
morning, bathing my soul in peace, I felt I had
slipped back through centuries. The clamour of
great cities, the screech of trains, the conflicts of
commerce, the maddening, deadening scramble for
wealth — all such things were but a blurred dream
from which I had just awakened. I knew it was
not many days since I whizzed through the stifling
London streets on the top of a motor omnibus.
But it was gracious, while watching the heavens
blush with the new day, arid listening to the prayers
of the monks for us all, to let fancy rove wayward
and picture that the simple life in a monastery —
far from the track of rushing civilisation, not easy
to reach, visited maybe by a single foreigner a year,
where indeed the world stands still, the same to-day
as four centuries ago — is really the life beautiful.
Without any priggish pretension to devoutness,
the ordinary man, who kicks about the world, is
worldly, and knows what modern life means, can
go to Studenitza Monastery and feel a little cleaner
of heart for his few days' retreat from the outei
world.
This monastery is the most famous in Servia.
It is intimately associated with the history of the
Serbs as a people. It is a shrine. The first
crowned King of Servia sleeps here ; the latest
crowned King, Peter, came here and kissed on the
brow his predecessor of nigh six centuries ago.
From eight in the morning till hot afternoon
I had ridden in a crawling, often halting, local train.
A winding branch line pushed towards the hills. At
A MONASTIC RETREAT. 49
a little town there was coffee to be sipped with

officials, and haggling with a horse owner for a
carriage and horses. There followed an evening
drive of forty miles towards the wilderness, the
moon our only lantern. At midnight we rattled
over the cobbles of the town of Kralievo, slept well
at the inn, rose at five, were off at six, followed the
swirling waters of the Ibar through the mountains,
admired a big, square, ruined castle perched on
the rock — which did brave service against the Turks
in the centuries that are nothing but rankling
memories — fed beneath the trees and slept beneath
the trees, struck away up a ravine — surely the
haunt of brigands, though so peaceful in the glow
of fading afternoon — and, just as the Archimandrite
had backed from the church door, bowed his head
and made the sign of the Across , disturbed him by
our arrival. We smiled and he bowed. We bowed.
Then through my interpreter I said nice things and
presented my note of introduction from the Prime
Minister of Servia.
The Archimandrite was a tall, spare old man,
with long but thin grey hair and grey beard ; a
stern old man, with a visage like that of John
Knox, but an old man wrho had lived amid the
sanctity of these hills for forty-six years, away from
the world, knowing little of the world, having never
been out of Servia. He had a beautiful smile. " I
said to myself nearly fifty years ago when I came
here that I must never regret. And I have never
regretted. I am content. It is very quiet here —
a very difficult place for a stranger from England
to reach. I am honoured. Let me see to your

room."
What a restful room it was ! Absolutely severe.
But there was refreshment in the thick walls, in
the shadows, in the look through the narrow win-
dows to the hills beyond. A peasant, in the white
and cleanly garb of his race, was in attendance.
There was welcome : first a little glass of whisky
made by the monks from plums, then several spoon-
fuls of preserved cherries, a long drink of icy water,
and a tiny cup of Turkish coffee — and all the time
the peasant stood like a waxwork holding the little
tray before him. So began my rest at Studenitza
Monastery.
High walls clasp the sanctuary. In the middle
of the sloping sward stands the church, built of
white marble from adjoining quarries. That was
in the twelfth century, when the Serbs, who had
wandered from beyond the Volga, made a nation of
themselves with a bigger land than they own to-day.
Here Stephen, the first crowned King of Servia,
was made ruler, and here rest his bones. The
double coffin was opened for me to see the form of
the sainted king — shrouded, and on his breast a
golden cross, containing in its centre a morsel of
wood which tradition says, and the faithful believe,
is part of the true Cross. When the Archimandrite
and I entered the church we were followed by
several countrymen who had travelled two days over
the hills to attend a festival on the morrow. They
stood back humbly, for the shrouded King Stephen
is not for peasants' eyes. But when 1 had cast a
curious gaze, the chief of the monastery invited the

peasants to come forward. They bent their heads ;
they crossed themselves ; they kissed the edge of
the outer coffin ; they kissed the cross ; they kissed
the covered forehead of the King ; they crossed
themselves again. Their rugged, sunbaked coun-
tenances were illumined with light, for a precious
opportunity had been theirs.
I have mentioned two coffins. The first is of
black wood, inlaid with exquisite gold and silver
design ; the outer is a massive silver casque, mag-
nificently embossed, supported by silver angels,
with a mighty silver cross resting on the crimson
velvet lid; the interior is of blue satin, with three
plaques in the lid representing incidents in the life
of Stephen. But Stephen has not rested quietly.
The vendetta between Servia's later rulers has been
the cause of impious hustling — though surely he is
a sufficiently far-off king for the rival Karageorgo-
vitches and Obrenovitches to seek honour to them-
selves in honouring him.
When the last Karageorgovitch was on the
throne, it was the mother of the present King Peter
who hired the finest silversmiths of Vienna to make
this gorgeous coffin. With reverence King Stephen
was placed in it. But when murder brought the
Obrenovitches to power, it would never do to have
the most honoured of all Serb kings sleeping in a
coffin presented by their enemies. So Stephen was
removed, and lay, uncomplaining, in the old coffin
which had served him for several hundreds of years.
The silver coffin was hidden in a cellar. When
Alexander and Draga visited Studenitza they saw

nothing of the silver coffin. They presented the
monastery with amazing golden robes and a golden
communion cup. But when Alexander and Draga
went their hurried way, and King Peter stepped to
the throne, the silver coffin was brought out, pol-
ished up, and Stephen once more laid in it— to the
appreciation of King Peter when he visited the
monastery, though he saw nothing of the woven
golden robes nor of the golden communion cup,
which were safely out of sight in the cellar.
The sacredness of Stephen's bones is part of the
faith of the Servian Greek Church. No people have
so sure a faith as the peasants of the mountain
slopes. The poor, the ignorant, and the humble
have an exquisite advantage : they have no religious
doubts. It is left for those who are more civilised,
who have garnered culture, who have trifled with
higher criticism and dabbled in the depths of com-
parative theology, to smile at the reverence born of
superstition. They can be condescending to those
who have not yet learnt that it is all a mistake —
though a beautiful mistake. But for such as these
the simple faith of the peasants has its lessons.
And the hallowed church — surely where for five hun-
dred years men and women have poured forth their
souls, have felt the anguish and found the hope,
is hallowed — brings peace to the worldly man. The
belief of others gives him a peep of something he
lacks the quality to understand.
Now the faith in the sacredness of the King's
bones is shared by the devout and by others.. No-
thing is more firmly fixed in the peasant mind than

that the possession of a piece of bone from King
Stephen's skeleton is an absolute safeguard from
death by bullet. And here I have a story to tell.
For who is in more need of protection from bullets
than the brigand, who must shift his abode often
and show alacrity in keeping beyond the range of
the rifles of the pursuing soldiery? The Archi-
mandrite was one day honoured with a visit from
the most notorious brigand in Servia. The priest's
heart was glad ; the robber had turned from his
wickedness ; he had repented. But he hadn't !
That was very far from the rnind of the brigand.
His visit had a more practical purpose. He con-
fessed that in following his avocation he was occa-
sionally worried at what might be the consequence
if a stray bullet came his way. Indeed, he had
become nervous about bullets. He did not at all
fancy death by a bullet. So he sought the kind
assistance of the Archimandrite. Let him have a
small portion of the saintly King's skeleton, no
matter how tiny, and not only would he be in-
finitely obliged, but he would be able to follow his
business without hesitation, and without fear of a
leaden check. The reply he received was disap-
pointing. The Archimandrite would not despoil
the saintly king of a finger nail, even to oblige
the most distinguished of brigands.
A few days later the Archimandrite was thrown
into a fluster. Though the monastery gates are
locked nightly, somebody had surmounted the wall,
smashed the church window, gained entrance, and
wrenched open the coffin wherein lay the remains of

King Stephen. The big toe had disappeared. It
was well known who was the robber. Wonder pre-
vailed whether carrying the saint's big toe as a
charm was really efficacious in turning aside bullets.
More than a year later the brigand was captured —
alive. Knowing that his fate was sealed, he con-
fessed. It was quite true he had rifled the coffin
of the King's big toe. He carried it about with
him, in a little bag strung round his neck. But
after a time doubt troubled him. What if, after
all, the big toe was no safeguard from a bullet?
He decided to make an experiment. He fastened
the charm to a lamb. Then he fired his gun. Just
as he had dreaded ! The lamb fell dead. So he did
not think much of kings' big toes as charms. How-
ever— as he was about to be led out to be shot, sans
toe — he returned the relic to the Archimandrite.
The Archimandrite was joyed. He returned the
big toe to be companion to the four little toes. And
once more the skeleton of King Stephen is complete.
It is pleasant to idle the days in this monastic
retreat, to lounge within the shadows of the trees,
to gossip with black-haired, black- whiskered, black-
gowned monks : genially happy, and with no greater
ambition than to take their last sleep close to the
walls of the old church, where moss-flaked slabs
mark the stone cots in which monks of ages past
have their eternal slumber.
There is a little inn beyond the monastery gates.
Vine leaves straggle over crooked boughs, and in
the warm breath of the lazy afternoon it is well
STUDENITZA MONASTERY.
SOME OF THE MONKS.

to sit within their fretted shade and drink the native
wine, tart, strong, cool, enough for six of us, several
glasses each, at a price of tenpence. The bell
sounds vespers, and the monks go off to pray for
us all. Night comes tardily, and the lights flicker
eerily.
In the long, dim hall is set a simple dinner.
The Archimandrite mutters a blessing. I sit on
his right with my interpreter facing me, and in the
gloom stand the peasant servants, in clean linen
garb, with crude shoes removed. It is a time of
fasting, and the patriarch eats humbly of porridge
and small cucumbers, vinegar-soaked. For his
guest is a better meal , but all the dishes are vinegar-
soaked, a simple monkish device to check the warm-
ing of the blood. But there comes the wine. And
what monastery is not proud of its wine? A great
flagon of it, cool and delicious, is brought from the
cellar: the real juice of the grape, grown and nur-
tured by the monks, gathered by monks, pressed
by monks, and drunk to bring sunshine into the
heart. The old Archimandrite is proud of the wine
of his monastery; he stands, a tall, dignified figure,
smiling as he fills my glass once, twice, thrice,
many times. He watches with curious eyes my
first taste, the parley with the wine upon the
tongue, the appreciative smack of the lips. Later
he drinks my health, standing, his spare, black
figure bending over the table, his black eyes gleam-
ing under his black, funnel-like hat, his grey hair
tumbling about his shoulders. ' My heart is very
glad," says he. " It is a bright day, for the son of
the most enlightened of nations has travelled all
this way to honour our humble monastery. I raise
my glass to the distinguished gospodin. I wish
him a pleasant journey and a quick return to
Servia." I have not the knack of pretty cross-table
speeches. " Say thanks," I mutter to my inter-
preter. Says the interpreter in free and elongated
translation : ' ' The heart of the gospodin . is so
touched with your kindness that his tongue cannot
express all he feels."
The church, a medley of marble and whitewash,
of precious relics and gewgaw decorations, has a
chastened distinction. In its six hundred years
it has had batterings. Time has done something
in disfigurement, but the Turk has done more.
The grey marble pavement is cracked and uneven.
Marble pillars which graced the inner sanctuary
have been wrenched away. A group of Apostles
present only battered and unrecognisable features.
The walls bear frescoes of saints painted in garish
Byzantine style. But years have softened the
colouring. In places the frescoes have gone, and
cheap plaster fills the cracks. Turkish spears have
smashed the painted faces of the saints, and a blodge
of plaster has done the mending. There are pic-
tures of sainted kings — famous in Servian history,
but of whom the foreigner never heard, though he
listens with the ears of a child to the story of their
heroic deeds. The altar-screen is ornate with Scrip-
tural scenes in the " Pilgrim's Progress " vein.
About are heavy gold and silver ornaments. I see
the robes worn on high festivals. A key opens a
cupboard full of sacred books in old Slavonic — all

Russian gifts from the time of Peter the Great.
The Turks burned the old Servian manuscript
volumes.
There was celebrated the feast of Saint Mary.
Peasants had come two, even three, days' journey.
They were clean, stalwart, God-fearing people,
picturesque in Balkan garb. Some came by horse ;
most had walked. The women with their gay ker-
chief head-coverings sat in huddled groups. The
men, in groups also, sauntered the monastery
grounds. A few stayed at the adjoining inn ; a few
slept on the balcony of the cells ; most slept be-
neath the trees. Quite a hundred arrived the after-
noon before the festival. At sun-dip they munched
their black bread. With the coming of night they
wrapped their cloaks about them and slept beneath
the stars, the burnished silver moon their lantern.
At four in the morning, when the bell clanged, they
crowded the church.
I attended one of the services. The church
reeked with incense. The voices of the monks,
chanting in old Slavonic, were sonorous, musical,
impressive. Only the voice of the Archimandrite
had thinned with forty and more years of praying.
The peasants stood with bowed heads and clasped
hands. Their womenfolk stood modestly aside and
in corners. The gilt doors of the Holy of Holies
opened, and a monk, pale, with long raven hair,
and wearing a robe of silver adornment, came
swinging the censer. All the peasants knelt, and
the intoning was loud and ardent. I daresay there
was much that was bizarre in the scene. I have
thought so since.
But just then I had eyes and ears only for the
picture of reverent, humble folk, in an unknown
corner of the world, giving heart-thanks to the
Giver of the good they knew.
THE CHURCH AT STUDENITZA.
CHAPTER V.
THE PEASANT NATION.
The Serb a Hater of Town Life — A State without Towns — The
Servian Pig — Why British Trade is Dwindling — Peasant
Proprietorship — A Country Ruled by Local Government —
Taxation — Military Service — A Simple, Genuine Folk.
SEE VIA is the real peasant state of the Balkans.
The first proof is that the Serb, contrary to the
tendency in other European countries, hates town
life. The shop windows, the electric lights, the
clatter of cabs have no attraction for him. When
he comes into a town it is to sell or to buy some-
thing, and then get to his homestead as quickly
as possible. The life of the hills, its wildness, even
its eeriness, has laid hold of him.
He is emotional. So he loves well and hates
well. He will do anything for you if he loves you ;
if he hates you he will kill you, and mutilate your
body afterwards.
His tastes are simple. Civilisation, with its
cheap excursion trains and music halls, has not
reached him. His main amusement is to attend
a Church festival, where not only is he conscious
of doing good to his soul, but he is able to meet
his friends, eat, drink, and be merry. On the eve
of the Sabbath he puts on his best clothes, and
the women put on their gaudiest of frocks. They
meet on the sweep of green before the church.
The local gypsies — tall, swarthy, handsome, most
of them — provide shrill 59music, while the Serbs,
clasping each other by the hand, sing mournfully

and gyrate sedately. It is a melancholy dance.
But they are sure they are having a capital time.
Except Belgrade, there are no towns worth the
name. The " towns " are really big villages, with
very wide streets and single-storeyed, unpicturesque
houses. Everybody "makes promenade" in the
evening. In the dusk the few paraffin lamps in
drunken lamp-posts make the local inn — rather
meagre in the daylight — quaintly bright. There
are dozens of tables and hundreds of chairs. Every-
body gathers, whole families, the merriest throng
in the world. There are no rich people ; but wine
is cheap, the coffee is good, the food is plain and
inexpensive. From the ordinary point of view —
that of the man who lives in London, for instance
— they are people to be commiserated. But not a
bit of it. They are light-hearted and contented.
And, after all, light-heartedness and contentment
are wrorth much.
Of course, Servia is an agricultural country. Its
soil is good, and the yield is abundant. Some Serbs
look to manufactures increasing the material
wealth. But that is the road to losing money and
securing heartache. The Serb is not deft in manu-
facture;factory life would be intolerable, because
it would mean employer and employed, and the
Serb has a quixotic repugnance to being anybody's
servant. If he is wise he will keep to his hus-
bandry and pig-rearing. He is a good farmer when
his holding is small — as it generally is. I travelled
long miles in the interior, and noticed how every
SERVIAN WOMEN.
ON A COUNTRY ROAD IN SERVIA.

THE PEASANT NATION. 61
available yard was under close cultivation. No

country has so frugal and industrious a peasantry
— not even France.
The Servian pig is " the gentleman who pays
the rent." The growing of pigs and exporting
them to Austria is the staple industry. Indeed,
pig-breeding may be called the one trade of Servia.
When a Serb is well-to-do, the money has come
from pigs. There is, however, a speck on the
prosperity. Austria is not only the big customer,
but it is the big neighbour. Sometimes Austria
is inclined to play the bully and make Servia do
things that little Servia does not want to do.
" Very well," says Austria, " you have swine fever
in such a village ; swine fever is a terrible thing ;
we could not think of subjecting Austrian swine
to the possibility of contagion from infected swine ;
therefore we prohibit any Servian pigs entering this
country." Ruin stares Servia in the face! It is
no use protesting that the swine fever is so in-
finitesimal that it does not matter. Austria is
adamant. Servia yields. It does what Austria
wants it to do — gives Austrian wares a preference
over those of Germany and France. And just at
the time Servia gives in, Austria kindly decides that
the swine fever in Servia is not very bad after all,
and the prohibition is removed.
Servia cannot do anything commercially without
the sanction of Austria. Austria has about half the
imports into Servia, and takes practically all the
exports. British trade is dwindling : firstly, be-
cause Continental competitors have the advantage
in transport ; secondly, because British merchants
will not give the long credit, Austrians and Ger-
mans will; thirdly, because the Briton insists on
issuing his catalogues in English, and writing his
business letters in English, which the Serb does
not understand.
The fact that Servia has practically no poor is due
to the industry of the people, and the system of
peasant proprietorship. Every little homestead is
a family commune, whilst in some of the mountain
districts is the Zadruga, or communal village. The
village is really one big family; everything is held
in common. The oldest man is the guide, ruler, and
despot. He decides whether a man and a woman
shall marry or not. And here one drops across a
difference between Serbs and more enlightened com-
munities. To get daughters married is the desire
of most parents in Western Europe ; to delay their
marriage is the endeavour of Serb fathers and
mothers. The Serb woman is a first-rate worker in
the fields. So whilst there is no objection to a
son marrying, because he remains in the family
and brings in a woman worker, the departure of a
daughter means the loss of a worker. Every grown
man can claim five acres of land from the Govern-
ment. That usually goes into the family plot of
land. Other land may be bought, and, possibly,
may be lost to the moneylender. But those five
acres are sacred. They cannot, nor can their yield,
be claimed for debt. So, be a man ever so poor,
he has still his five acres.
Now although Servia has a Parliament elected
by manhood suffrage — every man who pays about

twelve shillings a year in indirect taxes having a
vote — the main governing authority is local. The
District Council, elected every year by the peasants,
manages the local finance ; it is also a combined
County Court and Petty Sessions. The Government
only concerns itself with large matters. Murderers
are usually shot on the spot where they committed
their crime.
The Serb is democratic. Nobody, except the
King, has a title. Property is equally divided be-
tween the sons. Education is free, from the ele-
mentary school up to the University. Corporal
punishment is prohibited. Practically everybody
belongs to the Servian National Church ; but though
the priests are personally popular, the Serbs are not
church-goers except at festival times. Then the
pic-nic is as much an attraction as the opportunity
to worship. The Serbs are a moral people. Also,
as is natural in a mountain people, they are super-
stitious. They hang out a bunch of garlic to keep
away the devil, and if a widow desires to get mar-
ried again she hangs a doll in the cottage window to
give male passers-by due notice of the fact.
The taxes of Servia are light ; but light as they
are, reduction is the popular cry of the politicians.
Kather than pay rates the peasants of a district give
two or three days' labour in the year for road-mend-
ing. The consequence is that the roads are uncer-
tain. A Servian road is much like the young lady
in the poem who wore a curl in the middle of her
forehead, and who, " when she was good, was very,
very good, and when she was bad she was horrid."
I have seen stretches of road in Servia as good as
any to be found in an English home county. Also
I have seen others.
Servia has conscription. Every man, from his
twenty-first to his forty-fifth year, is liable for mili-
tary service. Pay — as is all official pay in Servia —
is very low. When I looked at the smart young lieu-
tenants, Iwondered how they could be so gorgeous
on aG72 a year. The peace strength of Servia is just
over 20,000 men. In time of war well over 300,000
men could take the field. Each young fellow serves
two years ; afterwards he is in the reserve , liable
to thirty days' service per annum till he is thirty
years of age, eight days' service till he is forty, and
afterwards only liable in emergency. The Serb bears
what is often called ' ' the burden of conscription ' '
willingly, and as a matter of course. It is the
natural thing ; it exists in the surrounding countries.
The Serb knowTs that any day he may be called upon
to fight for his existence as a nation. All told, the
Servian population is not yet three millions.
Personally I keep a warm corner in my heart for
the Serbs. It was De la Jonquiere who called them
" a brave, poetic, careless, frivolous race." Frivol-
ity is hardly a description to apply to the people as
a whole, though it does apply to a few in the capital
who ape the ways of Vienna on a miniature scale.
Merry, heedless of mechanical progress — or he would
find other means of threshing corn than letting
horses run through it on a patch of beaten ground,
or letting oxen trail a board in which flints are inset
as a means of pressing the wheat from the ear — in-

dependent, not mindful much of education, knowing
his people have a noble though tragic history, but
making no attempt to assimilate the old culture,
jealous of Bulgaria, afraid of Austria, the Serb is
really a relic of the mediaeval age.
I have sat beneath the trees chatting with these
simple, genuine folk. They loved to hear of
London, of New York, of Paris, but with no envy :
rather with the interest of a child in a fairy story.
They wanted little or nothing from the outer world.
Their coarse linen shirts, rough brown homespun
jackets, and trousers, their crude shoes, their bead-
studded belts, their sheepskin caps, had all been
made on their own peasant plots. The women,
when tending the cattle or going to market, always
had a hunk of flax or tousle of wool which they spun
between their fingers as they walked. In lieu of the
evening newspaper, a blind old man told a story of
how the Serbs fell at Kossovo beneath the onslaught
of the Turks. When the moon rose, big and bril-
liant, there was the inn to go to, with wine at two-
pence aflask.
Travelling is not expensive. About a sovereign
a day is charged for a phaeton and pair. At the neat
town of Kralievo I had supper, coffee, cognac, and
mineral water, a decent bedroom, and breakfast, at
a total charge of three dinars, about half a crown.
CHAPTEK VI.
SOFIA.
A Miniature Brussels — A City in the Making — The Public Buildings
—The Church of St. Sofia— The Bulgar's Qualities— A
Kaleidoscopic History — Prince Ferdinand — His Unpopularity
— Bulgarian Ambitions — The Prince a Factor for Peace —
The Most Efficient Army in Europe — A Nation that Believes
in Education.
THERE is something of the western American city

about Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria. A quarter of
a century ago it was a squalid Turkish town. The
squalor has been swept away. The ramshackle,
wheezy houses, bulging over narrow and ill-smelling
passages, have disappeared as though swept by a
fire. There are now big and broad thoroughfares,
fine squares, impressive public buildings. The boule-
vards are shaded with trees, the cafes sprawl their
little round tables and wire chairs into the roadway.
Sofia is a miniature Brussels. One of these days
it may rival Buda-Pest, or rather Pest, the most
modern, spick-and-span town in Europe. Twenty-
five years ago there were eleven thousand people in
Sofia. Now there are over seventy thousand.
But Sofia is still in an unfinished state. The old
town, as the Turks left it, has nigh gone. But the
new town has not come in its completeness. There
is not a single paved street; the roads are bumpy,
vile with dust in summer, and villainous with filth
in winter. The houses are built with poor bricks,
but stuccoed and plastered and bevelled and colour-
washed into representation of stone blocks. There
66
SOFIA. 67
is the flimsiness of stage mansions about the resi-

dences. That, however, does not prevent them look-
ing neat and clean and, with the acacia trees which
grow rapidly to give a tone of softness, quite com-
fortable.
Unbuilt Sofia is pegged out after the American
style. Imposing, walled residences stand up soli-
tary. Before you get to them there is a patch
of waste land, with rank vegetation growing among
old pots and pans which have been pitched there;
then you get to a house in the course of construction ,
the material littering three parts across the road ;
then a completed and pretty house ; then more waste.
Sofia, in a businesslike way, is setting about to
make a fine city of itself. It is well situated on a
patch of plain, with picturesque mountain ranges as
a background. No time has been lost in providing
magnificent public buildings. The Eoyal Palace,
where Prince Ferdinand occasionally stays, is fine.
The National Assembly is a serviceable pile, and the
interior is ornate. The technical schools are well
equipped and up to date. The barracks are equal
to any in England. The Military Club would hold
its own with a Pall Mall establishment. The hotels
are clean, comfortable, and cheap. There is a good
theatre. Also there are gardens where, in the cool
of the summer evening, the band plays, and folk sit
round and sip beverages. The Bulgarians intend to
have a capital worthy of their energetic little nation.
Remember, it is only since 1878, when the
Turks, having smeared the country with their sloth
for centuries, were driven south by Eussian guns,
and Bulgaria got its liberty, that the Bulgarians

have had an opportunity to show the stuff of which
they are made. They have acquitted themselves
well. The first thing they did was to wipe out the
evidences of Turkish occupation. When the Turk-
ish rulers had gone, the Turkish populace also began
to disappear. The mosques were unfrequented ;
they were converted into prisons, markets, and even
baths. Only one mosque is in use to-day. There is
the Church of the Seven Saints, originally Greek
Christian, changed to a mosque by the Turks, de-
serted when the Turks wTent, and now changed
to a Christian Bulgarian Church. It has been re-
stored, and looks like a new building. There are the
remains of St. Sofia, the mother-church of the city,
built in the twelfth century. It is a mighty, but
cracked and tumbling mass of Byzantine architec-
ture. The walls are eight feet thick ; where decrepi-
tude has caused them to gape, secret chambers filled
with skeletons have been found. The plaster of
four hundred years is falling as though intent on
revealing the frescoes of Christian saints beneath.
There still stands the Christian altar facing Jeru-
salem. The pulpit from which the Moslem priests
proclaimed Allah is askew, so that it may face Mecca.
Remnants of Christian and Moslem worship com-
mingle in ruin. No formal service has been held for
many years. The interior has the damp smell of a
dungeon. But fervent Christians come and burn
candles before the cheap oleographs of Christian
saints which are pasted on the walls. An old man,
grey-locked and cadaverous, knelt on the slimy floor
SOFIA. 69
and prayed. He gashed his arm with a knife, and,

using his fore-finger as brush, made, in blood, the
sign of the Cross on the Mahommedan pulpit.
You must look beneath the surface for the quali-
ties of the Bulgar. He is dour, even sullen. There
is little refinement about him. He carries himself
slovenly. He has brusqueness of manner, and the
polite " thank you " rarely enters his speech. He
hates the idea of subservience ; to avoid any sem-
blance of that his behaviour savours of rudeness.
He is stolid and unimaginative. In commerce he
is slow. But he is a good worker, zealous, plodding,
and is one of the best agriculturists in the world.
You cannot stir the Bulgar with sentimental ora-
tions. Yet the Bulgar is fond of his country in a
cold, determined way. He does not move quickly,
but he is always moving. That is why Bulgaria,
since the Liberation, has made steady and definite
progress.
The history of the country is a kaleidoscope.
The Eomans made a province of it. The Goths and
the Huns overran it.; Tribes invaded it and but-
chered one another. The dominant tribe was that of
the Bulgari : Finns with an Asiatic strain, and from
the Volga regions. They got mixed up with the
Slavs — indeed, the Bulgar is more Slav than Bul-
garian, though he does not know it. The Bulgarian
language was pure Slavonic. Modern Bulgarian is
Slavonic, but murdered by alien peoples. No doubt
Vlach and Eussian influence has been the cause. In
writing, Bulgarian assimilates to Eussian. Still, the
Bulgarian language is no more of a hotch-potch than
is English. In the twelfth century the Bulgarian

tribes consolidated and flung off the Byzantine rule.
Then they fell under Servia. Next, both Bulgaria
and Servia came under the Turks, and for nigh five
hundred years remained stagnant. Eussia, with an
eye on the Bosphorus, came as the Liberator, and
after the siege of Plevna and the defence of the
Shipka Pass, forced Turkey to free Bulgaria. Then
by the Treaty of Berlin, 1878, Bulgaria was con-
stituted an "autonomous and tributary Princi-
pality "under the suzerainty of the Sultan.
Seven years later northern European Turkey,
called Eoumelia, but mainly inhabited by Bul-
garians, united itself to its brother and became
South Bulgaria. This growth of Bulgaria did
not please Eussia. It was all right lopping
off a piece of Turkey and erecting the little
Bulgarian
as her ownnation, Eussiait's suited
whenever child, the
to beMuscovite
claimed
intention. But an enlarged Bulgaria, with possible
ideas of standing alone, brought scowls to the brow
of Czar Alexander III. All-Eussian officers, who
had so kindly assisted the Bulgarian army, were
withdrawn. It was imagined Bulgaria lacked the
brains to defend itself. The Servians, egged on by
Austria, made war on their neighbours. The Bui-
gars, under their foreign Prince Alexander, smashed
the Serbs, and would have annexed Servia had not
Austria, under threats, cried halt, and even made
the Bulgarians yield territory. So the two countries
have no love for each other. It rankles in the mind
of Servia that it was defeated ; it galls Bulgaria that
A BIT OF OLD SOFIA.
A BIT OF NEW SOFIA.

SOFIA. 71
it lost territory. Eussia was wroth with Bulgaria

strutting as a nation instead of being dependent on
Eussia, which had done so much for it. Eussia kid-
napped Prince Alexander, held him prisoner, let him
go when Europe cried " Shame ! " but succeeded by
intrigue in making Alexander's life miserable, broke
his heart, and caused him to abdicate. The country
was in turmoil. Then Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-
Coburg was chosen by the Sobranje, or Parliament,
and under his rule Bulgaria has gone ahead.
Ferdinand is astute. Yet his cleverness is not
of the kind to be appreciated by Bulgarians. Dur-
ing the last twenty years he has had an excellent
opportunity to get a grip of the hearts of the people.
He has done nothing of the kind. Eightly or
wrongly, they are convinced that he neither likes
them nor their country. If they are wrong, he
ministers to the mistake by preferring to live in
other countries than in that of his adoption. His
official allowance is about a million and a quarter of
francs, money drawn from peasants. They think it
ought to be spent in Bulgaria, and not in Vienna
or Paris. He is not popular.
The Bulgars are a democratic people, with exag-
gerated notions of independence. The endeavour on
the part of the Prince to create an aristocracy goes
against the grain. He has round him a band of
Ministers — a few above reproach, most under a
strong suspicion — who utilise the national finances
for their individual benefit. Political corruption is,
in its way, as marked as in the United States. The
party in power, the Prince's party, who are little
but tools in his hand, come to office again and again,

because they have the means of bribing the con-
stituencies. Educated Bulgarians are sick of the
whole business, but any endeavour toward purity is
swramped beneath the flood of corruption. The Con-
stitution isnominally democratic, but really auto-
cratic. The Prince has greater powers than those
possessed by any constitutional monarch. He can
and does actively interfere in politics. The Ministry
has greater latitude than any other European Minis-
try. Prince and Ministry working together — and
the Prince has only pliable Ministers — the Sobranje,
with less than the powers of any other constitutional
Legislature, does not really represent the people.
The Government has machinery, not always credit-
able, which regulates the results of the polls.
The Bulgarians are ambitious. They are rightly
proud of the way in which their country has gone
ahead since the Turkish shackles were cast off.
Possibly they exaggerate their powers ; but that is
natural. There is a feeling that Bulgaria should win
back by the sword what Austria forced it to cede to
Servia. There is a much stronger feeling for a Big
Bulgaria, and eyes are cast toward Macedonia, where
it is alleged most of the Christians are of the
Bulgar race. There are also Macedonian Bulgarians
in the Principality — for since the Liberation Bulgars
in Macedonia have emigrated to the land where they
could have more freedom : men of sprightlier intelli-
gence than the pure Bulgarian — and these, not
anxious to have Macedonia fall under the rule of
Bulgaria, are working for an independent Mace-
SOFIA. 73
donia, with, of course, the Macedonian Bulgarians

as " top dog " over the Turks, Serbs, Eoumanians,
and Greeks. So in regard to Macedonia there are
in Bulgaria itself two parties — the Big Bulgaria
party, and the Autonomous Macedonia party. There
is bitter feeling between them.
The cynic smiles. The Balkan problem is wheels
within wheels. All the Christians hate the Turk.
The rival Christians, Bulgar, Serb, Greek, hate each
other. Then rival factions of Bulgars are at daggers
drawn — and sometimes the dagger is used. The
Sultan plays off one Christian nation against another.
Prince Ferdinand plays off one Bulgarian party
against the other.
Despite his shortcomings, Prince Ferdinand is a
factor for peace — a greater factor than the rest of
Europe gives him credit for. Were his influence
removed there is little doubt Bulgaria would pick a
quarrel with Turkey, and plunge the Balkans into
war. The war spirit is dominant, though there is
little of the splash and splutter which would be
shown by a more volatile people. It is a spirit which
has its roots in the belief that the Bulgars are at last
coming into their heritage, and have a large place
to fill on the scroll of destiny. They have watched
the Far East. "If," was often said to me, " a little
country like Japan can overthrow so great a Power
as Kussia, why should not Bulgaria overthrow
Turkey? We are the Japanese of the Near East."
The nation expects and wants to fight Turkey.
The Turks know it. Later in my wanderings I had
talks with Turkish officials. They admitted that
Turkey did not want to fight, but not because Tur-

key was afraid of defeat. Here was their logic :
' ' We fought the Greeks and defeated them ; then
we lost Crete. We shall defeat the Bulgarians, but
we the
of shallshoulders.
lose Macedonia. Kismet ! " Then a shrug
Now Prince Ferdinand does not want war. He
is a little afraid of a rival Bulgarian nation in Mace-
donia. He is more afraid of an endeavour toward
a Big Bulgaria, for he is not as confident as are his
people that the Turks will be defeated, and he knows
that under a Turkish victory the Bulgarians, in their
wrath, would make him their first victim.
There is, however, something fine and noble in
the way the little Bulgarian nation is equipping itself
to meet a great Power, be it Russia or Turkey.
Now and then I heard a groan at the burden of
the army, which consumes a third of the national
revenue. It is borne, because there is no Bulgarian
who does not realise that his country any day may
be called upon to fight for its independence — for the
suzerainty of Turkey is but a name. I visited, and
was shown over, the great barracks beyond Sofia.
I went out to the plains and saw the men at drill.
For its size the Bulgarian army is the best equipped
and most efficient in Europe. It means business.
Every detail is attended to, every probability of war-
fare provided for. The officers are not so smart as
those of Servia, but they are more practical. What
worries the War Minister is that the officers run so
much to fat. They are a most podgy lot of officers.
If someone will devise means whereby the Bulgarian
SOFIA. 75
officers need not wear such large waistcoats he will

receive the profuse thanks of the army.
Conscription prevails. It embraces everybody.
Even those who, for special reasons, escape full con-
scriptive service must do duty in the Eeserve for
three months in each of two years, and then must
pass into the active Army Eeserve for nine years.
In peace time a recruit enters the Army when he
is twenty years of age ; in war time he starts his
fighting at eighteen. Not till he is forty-five years
of age does a Bulgarian escape from liability to serve.
Even foreigners, after three years' residence, must
serve, unless they have a special certificate of exemp-
tion. If Moslems pay £20 they can claim exemp-
tion but
; as the Moslems remaining in Bulgaria are
poor, very few escape. Bulgars afflicted with in-
firmities which prevent them entering the service
must pay a special tax.
The Army lays its grip on Bulgaria. The peace
strength is some 3,000 officers and 50,000 men, 6,000
horses and oxen, and 250 guns horsed out of 500.
The war strength is about 6,000 officers, 300,000
men, 45,000 horses, and 2,500 oxen. The Army
stands for Bulgarian independence. The young
Bulgarian straightens himself, drops his slouch, and
walks with a proud glint in his eye when his country
calls upon him. Military service is popular.
Now the Bulgarians, though unemotional and
somewhat brusque, have other qualities besides in-
dustry and devotion to their country. They are a
moral and a truthful people. Further, though so
young a nation , they realise, better than any other race
in the Balkans, the advantages of education. I was

somewhat astonished at the number of men I met
who spoke English but who had never seen England.
The fact is that a considerable number of the public
men were educated at Robert College, near Con-
stantinople. English is the language of instruction.
That College has had a marvellous effect on the
Christians, not only of the Balkans, but of Asia
Minor. Both Bulgaria and Armenia owe much to
Robert College. In the uttermost corners of Tur-
key I have met men who spoke English. " Where
did you learn it? " " At Robert College," was the
invariable answer. In Bulgaria itself there are at
Samakov two American missionary schools, where
the pupils are Bulgarians, and all learn English. A
good word for Samakov. The directors realise the
danger of over-education. Only harm will come to
Bulgaria if ill-prepared minds are stuffed with what
are called " enlightened views." So earnest and
particular attention is directed to technical instruc-
tion, which is the thing the Bulgarians, as an agri-
cultural people, specially need. All the State schools
are free. Excellent colleges are at Sofia and Philip-
popolis. Parents submit themselves to hardship so
that their children may go to college. In the smaller
towns travelling State-paid lecturers instruct the
people in scientific husbandry. These lectures are
always well attended.
" What a wild, barbarous land Bulgaria is ! " is
the popular but ignorant belief in Britain. It is just
as safe as England. The Bulgarian likes to think
he is imitating England.
CHAPTEE VII.
A BIT OF OLD BULGARIA.
Out of the World — Tirnova in the Sunrise — A Primitive Inn —
The Tariff— " Ver' Good English "—A Litigious Community
— The Churches — Monastery of the Transfiguration.
TIENOVA is the ancient capital of Bulgaria. Liter-

ally, Tirnova means " the thorn," and this quaintly
perched city, to the north of the first Balkan range,
is not only shaped like a thorn but has truly been
a thorn in the side of Europe.
It is away from the tourist track. It has not
been touched by the stucco civilisation which marks
Sofia. It is old Bulgaria, picturesque, romantic,
sleepy.
The plain of Plevna is to the north. The land
becomes restless and knuckled before the Balkans
push their black shoulders skywTards. There is a
gnarled rock-heave with the purling river Yantra
making a pear-shaped sweep at its base. On the
rock Tirnova rises.
If the rock on which Edinburgh Castle is built
were ten times the size, and it were nigh circled
by a river, and on the rock were built a ramshackle
town, and hanging over the side of the rock were
bits of the town that could not gain full foothold,
it would give a fair idea of Tirnova.
I saw it first in a mixture of mist and gorgeous
sunrise. It was as fantastic as a much-daubed
stage-setting of a mediaeval
77 town. I was down in
the chasm, and wraiths of vapour trailed along

the river banks. There was cold shadow, and tall
pines showing how straight they could stand on
precipitous ledges. Above, like a picture through
the clouds, was the town, bulging over the rocks,
propped-up, wheezy : a hotch-potch of white build-
ings with garish yellow shuttering and balconies,
festooned with the dead green of the vine, and,
above the ragged house-line, a sky that was blue —
pure blue, with no qualification, no accentuation,
just blue.
When I climbed into the town I felt as though
I had trespassed upon a stage during a perform-
ance, when the scene is filled with swarthy
peasants in kaleidoscopic raiment. My grey lounge
suit was out of harmony with the splashes of rain-
bow hue among the traffickers in the market.
I had a cheery dumpling of a driver, who made
himself all the more of a dumpling by entwining
his waist with enough red baize to cover a stand
for a royal procession. I was in a crooked, ricketty
carriage, which banged and jolted over the cob-
bles, and seemed to be playing quite a clever game
of cup-and-ball with me. I never fell out once, but
I got more shaking in a two-mile drive than most
folk get in a railway accident. When my friend
had deposited me in front of a gaunt and dark-
bowelled inn he told me his fare was Is. 3d. When
I gave him Is. 8d. he bowed to the ground.
A great and rich foreigner was visiting Tirnova !
I found a seat on a shaky chair — everything in
Tirnova is uneven : to keep everything else in
A BIT OF OLD BULGARIA. 79
countenance, no doubt — and had half a pint of

good wine for 3d. ; a small glass of native brandy
for my friend cost Id. The landlord, a morose
individual, led the way to a room, up stairs that
were drunken, and through a door that absolutely
refused to close. There was a bed wyhich had four
legs, but never stood on more than three at a time,
and when I was in it was in a constant wobble, try-
ing to show its cleverness in standing on only two but
never succeeding. Water to wash — for I was grimy
with an all-night journey. Certainly ! A pint was
brought. Not enough. In time I showed I was a
mad Briton by having four pails of water brought
in. That was all right ; but two of the pails leaked,
and the water escaped into a sort of restaurant be-
low. The main ornament of my room was behind
the bed — a sort of hearthrug in violent colours, de-
picting an Arab sheikh escaping with a plum-eyed
damsel — who was sitting on the neck of the horse,
whilst her arms were around the neck of her cap-
tor— and leaving far behind an Eastern town which
apparently consisted of nothing but mosques.
There was as much art in the mat as in the sam-
plers our industrious grandmothers worked when
they were young women. But there was more
colour. There was a French door to the room —
of course, it jammed — leading on to a balcony which
was so flimsy that it ought to have tumbled down
the rocks into the river. But it did not. That
caused me much wonder.
Yes, I had got into an unfrequented part of
the world. I had six eggs and plenty of fresh
butter ; a plate of beans and another plate of sliced

tomatoes ; then half a litre of wine and a cup of
Turkish coffee ; and this — including a meal for my
driver, two glasses of brandy for him, and feed
for three horses — cost Is. 7Jd.
My conversation with the landlord, whose
countenance suggested sour wine, was fragmentary
and unsatisfactory. Delight, therefore, was con-
sequent on the bouncing appearance of a fair and
florid little man, who excitedly exclaimed, " Me
speak English." "Capital," said I, "and where
did you learn it? " "Me speak!" " Yes, I know,
but where did you learn? In London? " " No —
small boy — ver' small boy — two year — Australia ; me
Englishman ; me speak eight languages. Me speak
English good, eh?" "Then will you kindly tell
the landlord that I should like my room swept."
" Swep'? (Me no 'stand swep' — me speak English,
ver' good English, eh? "
He beamed and glowed and puffed and basked
within the admiring gaze of the restaurant loun-
gers as the one man in all Tirnova who could speak
English. Later, through my interpreter, I brought
him to positive tears by regretting that his know-
ledge of English was so limited. ' What say? Me
small boy — two year — Australia — me Englishman."
Later he came to my room. He knew I was a
great and powerful man ! He also was an English-
man. He wanted to leave Bulgaria and go to Lon-
don ! But he had no money. Would I tell the
British Government to send him £250? I mourned
the callous-heartedness of the British Government,
and, whilst promising to do my best, should befit-

ting opportunity occur, I besought him not to base
too much expectation on the fatherly sentiment of
the British Government towards a German born in
Australia, who was removed when only two years
old. I left him in renewed tears.
The streets of Tirnova are narrow, excruciat-
ingly cobbled, foetid, but kept in a state of rank
coolness by all the waste water being thrown
into the way. The carts, hauled by slow and cum-
brous black buffaloes, screech. Ponies, packed with
wood, jostle along under whacking and much swear-
ing. The vendors of melons — the cheap vegetable
on sale in the gutters — wail and blaspheme when a
cart-wheel crushes and squelches melon ; a bony
donkey, piled high with cocks and hens tied to-
gether with twine — rather uncomfortable for the
poultry, one would think — is driven by a big, broad,
brawny, red-petticoated woman, whose stick is
plied on the nose of every buffalo or pony which does
not swerve out of the way. Half the male popu-
lation, even in mid-morning, are idling before the
cafes, sipping gritty concoctions, puffing innumer-
able cigarettes, and playing dominoes.
Tirnova is litigious. Perhaps it is an inherit-
ance; maybe it is something in the air. But in
all Bulgaria there is not another town where the
people are always having the law on one another.
The courts are busy. I do not believe it is because
the Tirnovians are either rapacious or dishonest.
They are famous for their lawsuits, famous for their
street of lawyers, and they take a sort of civic pride
in upholding the notoriety of their town. The

lawyers have shops just like chandlers and dealers
in cigarettes. In the window is a stack of musty
and dusty volumes, but a good space is left so that
the lawyer may be seen at his desk with important
papers before him, a cigarette between his lips, and
a cup of coffee at his elbow. If he have a client
in hand a good view is provided for the passers-
by of the pair in confab. If not, he is usually to
be seen wheeled round, sitting close to the window,
gazing abstractedly at the wall across the way, but
certainly in evidence, and on the spot if any Tir-
novian merchant wishes to maintain his reputation
by an action in the courts. In the eyes of Tirnova
a man who does not go constantly to law has some-
thing wrong in his composition.
Further, the people are very proud of their de-
crepit city. For two hundred years, in the twelfth
and thirteenth centuries, it was the capital of Bul-
garia. Here lived the kings, and I barked my shins
clambering the crumbled walls they built to resist
the invaders. Here were plotted the revolutions
which drove south the Byzantine power. Kings
died of their wounds beyond the gates. In the dim
year of 1257, when kings and kings' offspring were
slain, there gathered here the first National As-
sembly, and Constantine Ticho was chosen king.
Ever since then, though the fortunes of Bulgaria
were broken, though the hill lands between Bul-
garia and Servia were often stained with blood,
though Tirnova in its corner seemed out of the way
and Sofia waxed large, the fortress town never forgot
and never failed to insist that it is the lord of Bul-

garian towns and deserving reverence. When the
unhappy Prince Alexander, not many years ago,
was forced to abdication by Eussia, the three men
who composed the Kegency came from Tirnova.
When Ferdinand was elected Prince he was not
really in the saddle till he had come to Tirnova and
been proclaimed. The Tirnova man likes to tell
the stranger how for centuries his ancestors fought
the Turks. As he sits before his cafe trifling with
the dominoes he may look a lethargic gentleman ;
but when the talk touches something affecting Tir-
nova there is a quick spark in the eye which tells
much.
Here, as elsewhere, the quiet relics of a noble
past are the churches. Wandering down the
ragged hillside I came to the Church of the Forty
Martyrs, low-roofed, dim, vault-like, but sturdy.
John Osen, the king, built it in 1330. The Turks
made it into a mosque in 1389. Christian worship
did not take place in it again until 1877. Only a
bit of the old edifice remains. The granite pillars
are of various periods. One came from a Roman
temple ; another is undoubtedly Greek. The
Christians had helped themselves to the ruins left
by former worshippers. I turned the pages of books
of prayer in the tongue of ancient Slav : wafer-like,
brown, crumbling in the hand.
I went down grooved stone steps to the Metro-
politan Church, its glory faded, and with only one
service a year now. The old dame, the custodian,
had lost the key ; she had no hesitation in sug-
gesting that the lock should be broken. But, at

the end of three-quarters of an hour, during which
time I sat and smoked in the shade, the key was
found. A dark interior, with indifferent frescoes
of outrageous-visaged saints. The pillars were
black marble — loot, no doubt, from a Grecian tem-
ple. In a cell, accidentally discovered by a crack
in the wall, were found wonderful old manuscripts
— a rich delving ground for the antiquary, I ween.
The stalls for the monks, shades of memory, were
cob webbed. In the gloom could be discerned in-
numerable ikons; from a beam hung massive can-
delabra.
There was something eerie about this silent,
gloomy, old place, with its pavements grooved by
the feet of men and women long gone and long
forgotten — forsaken now, save for its once-a-year
ceremonial. But I wondered, as I prayed in that
sanctuary of the dead, if there ever came the spirits
of the little children given the kiss of greeting into
the Holy Church, of tired old men who had hobbled
there and given their thanks to God. For an hour
I had the church to myself. I sat in the stall of
a monk. From a slat, high in the roof, gushed
a broad stream of sunshine and illumined the face
of the Virgin. It was an hour of peace and thought.
The sun was high, the road was dusty, and the
horses raced. I was off to visit the Monastery of
the Transfiguration. The way twined and rose,
and twined again.
We left the road and struck along in the cool of
high trees. The drowse was broken by the drip

of water. A curve, and there was the Monastery.
There were no old and hoary walls, no odour of
sanctified centuries. It was bright and variegated.
The sward was richest green, the sky was deepest
blue. The walls were white, but blazoned with
pictures in brilliant pigment. The tiles were warm
to ruddiness, and vines trailed everywhere.
For an instant I forgot this was a Monastery.
If damsels with short skirts and long hair had ap-
peared, swinging garlands and singing and
rhythmically kicking their heels, I should have
accepted it all. But there was no peach-cheeked
maiden. There was a kindly monk in long cas-
sock who came forward and gave me a handshake.
" Come and rest," said he. We went into a
balconied alcove, high perched, shadowed, but over-
looking heavily wooded hills, whilst away on one
side stretched a vast bleached plain. It was cool ;
there was a breeze ; eagles glided slowly on the
wind.
And then a saunter. The monks were proud of
the vines which drooped by the casements of their
dormitories; they were prouder of the wine they
made. The church was small and white. There
were frescoes of saints — of estimable morals, no
doubt, but certainly of quaint anatomy. There
was the refectory, a long, low-roofed room, where
the monks ate their vegetables on marble-topped
tables, all keeping silence save the appointed brother
who read a pious discourse. My host, a kindly
monk, had as decorations in his room photographs
of dead friends — the photographs taken after the

friends were dead, laid out on a table before the
house, and relatives standing round looking their
best — rather after the " wedding group " style with
us. Cheerful pictures !
CHAPTEE VIII.
OVER THE SHIPKA PASS.
Memorials of the Great Fight — Traces of Turkish Days — The Joy of

Early Morning — Shipka Village — How the Russians behaved
after their Victory — Glimpse of the Plain of Thrace.
IT was in the Pass of Shipka, on the first Balkan
range, that the most savage fighting took place
between the Turks and the Russians in 1877.
The Pass is a narrow gully of a road over
black rocks. The country is wild and woody. Here
and there, though you must look for them, are
weedy trenches from which the rivals poured fire into
one another. On slopes are patches bumped with
hillocks, as though giant moles had been at work —
the graves of the soldiers. There is one cemetery ;
but the wall has been broken and never mended, the
crosses are aslant or fallen, the graves are all covered
with rank grass, not a flower is anywhere. Plentiful
tears were shed when the officers were laid to rest ;
now they are forgotten.
Obelisks, stunted and white, points for the eye in
the mountains, tell in Eussian of the valour of the
Russian troops, and commemorate the heroic stand
of famous regiments. There are many of these
monuments proclaiming the bravery of the Eussian
soldiery. But not one did I see to the memory of
the brave Turks. None can say which are the
Turkish burial places. 87
Not the whiz of a bullet, but the call of a bird,
is the sound you hear as you slip from the saddle

after long hours of hard riding in blazing sunshine,
and seek the shelter of a clump of trees.
For the better part of a day I rode through
Bulgarian villages. The houses were low, and had
roofs, three sizes too big for them — they stretched
far over, and provided rich shade. Festoons of
vines put their arms across the little streets. I had
only to rise in my stirrups to help myself, on the
invitation of the peasantry, to bunches of grapes.
Along the crooked paths were hundreds, thousands,
of trees bearing their burden of plums — tart and cool ,
and cleaning to a dust-smeared mouth.
Bemnants of Turkish days were there. The
costume of the peasants was more Turkish than
European. Tinted turbans were worn. The people,
though Bulgars by race, were often Mahommedan in
religion, a relic of long-ago compulsion. The Turks
compelled the conquered people in these parts to
embrace Moslemism. Succeeding generations be-
came Moslem as a matter of course. Now the Turk
has gone and the Bulgar is free ; but hereabouts he
clings to the Mahommedan faith, and hates his
brother Bulgar who is a Christian.
So I got to Gabrova, a Turkish-like town, with
more mosques than churches. It is an energetic
place, doing much trade in leather and woollen
manufactures.
The inn where I stayed was dirty, and the charge
of three francs for the bedroom was probably
excessive. There was difficulty about food, for a
Church fast-day was on. However, I got a kindly
OVER THE SHIPKA PASS. 89
old Turk, who cared naught for Christian observ-

ances, to get me some fish — four wretched sprats;
but these, with a chunk of bread and a pint of wine,
served as supper for myself and attendant.
Five o'clock in the morning, and a hammering at
my door. In ten minutes I was down in the inn
yard, where were the four horses I had hired over-
night. The best, a ramping stallion, I selected for
myself, gave my attendant the next best, and left
the guide to decide which of the other two he would
ride, and which should be the pack-horse. No
breakfast but a tiny cup of coffee which would fill
about a couple of thimbles. Then into the saddle
and off at daybreak. My saddle was Turkish.
During that day I appreciated there must be some-
thing different about a Turk's anatomy from that of
a Briton. The high pommel, the brass-plate orna-
mentation, the shovel-like stirrups are picturesque
in a painting; but for use they are not to be
commended. Plain pigskin is the best.
But the joy of early morning, even in a Turkish
saddle and with no breakfast, brings song to the lips.
We sang as we cantered. We tossed greetings to
the peasants in the fields. We encountered bunches
of them coming in to market — the men driving the
goats, the married women wasting no time, but
weaving wool 'twixt finger and thumb as they
tramped along, the young women with red flowers
in their hair as an advertisement that they were will-
ing to be wooed and won.
We rode hard, for I wanted to get the worst of
the climb over before the heavy heat, Four hours'
going and we were at the foot of the Pass. A way-

side inn provided a mush of eggs and black bread
for breakfast. So off again.
At first the way was broad and easy. Then it
narrowed, became rugged, and the horses were in
lather. At places we dismounted and walked.
There were rude paths through the woods, 'made in
times of battle so that the troops might be moved be-
yond sight of the Turks on the heights. I rode over
a knoll where were the Eussian headquarters. I
climbed a precipice where, with mighty labour,
cannon had been perched to sweep the Pass.
All silent now in the drowse of glowing forenoon.
The eye wandered beyond the dark, cypress-cloaked
ravines. The world was an impressive panorama of
tumbled hills. Distance was lost in the haze of
heat.
Twenty-eight years ago the echoes were roused
with thunderous cannonade. Russians to the north,
Turks to the south, met on this mountain road.
Terrible struggles took place in the hollows of the
hills. Positions were lost and won and then lost
again The Russians, fearless of death, pushed their
advantage ; and the Turks, heedless of life, held their
ground. One battle lasted for seven days. Then a
fortnight of breathing time. On came the Turks
again; they captured Mount Nicholas, the com-
manding position in the Pass. But they were
mastered by the Russians, and with terrific slaughter
fled to the southern ravines. There they waited till
winter. The last great fight wras in mist and blind-
ing snowstorm. The Turks were outnumbered.
AT THE FOOT OF THE SHIPKA PASS.
THE SHIPKA PASS.

\
OVER THE SHIPKA PASS. 91
They struggled in desperation. It was useless. All

that were left of them, 32,000 men, unconditionally
surrendered. The Eussians poured down the
southern slopes to Shipka village.
There stands a bedizened, gorgeous, Russian-
Greek church to commemorate the victory. The
massive cupola, surmounted by a cross, is of bur-
nished gold. You can see the sun glitter on it from
twenty miles away. But there is no record of the
pillaging, the rapine and drunken orgies of the
Russian troops when they laid hold of Shipka
village.
An old man told me sad stories. " Ah ! " said
he, "the Turks did wrong things, but never any-
thing so bad as the Russians." " But you are glad,"
said I, " that the Turk has been driven away, and
that Bulgaria is now free? " " Not so very glad,"
he replied ; ' ' when the Turks were here taxes were
light, and now they are heavy. Then we had a
wider market for our goods ; we had all Turkey.
Now we are a separate country they try to keep out
our goods. Bulgaria is a little country, and other
countries tax our things. Perhaps it was best in
the old days."
My guide was garrulous, and had tales to tell of
the old days. It was common for Turkish brigands
to despoil Christians of their trousers, and then, to
save themselves from qualms of conscience, at the
pistol mouth compel the breekless ones to declare
11 Allah giveth."
Standing on the summit of the range, with
wooded lands behind me and bare ochreish sweeps
before, down even to Shipka village, I got my first

glimpse of the Plain of Thrace — unrolled in verdant
sweep till busked in a far-off glimmer of mist. It
was high noontide. But the heat was tempered by
a gentle breeze. I rested my lathered horse and
looked over the silent, shimmering, basking land.
Pity 'twas it had ever been desecrated by the horrors
of bloody war.
Dowrn the broken path we went, which crunched
and burnt like hot cinders. The baked rocks threw
out heat that struck the cheek like an oven blast. I
was smothered in dust, and my mouth was like an
old glue pot. On the level ; a dig with the heel
into the ribs of my horse, and in a couple of minutes
we were in the village slaking our thirst with
bunches of grapes.
CHAPTER IX.
THE ROSE GARDEN OF EUROPE.
Where the Best Attar of Roses Comes from — Kasanlik — A Rose
Garden Eighty Miles Long — The Plantations — The Process of
Distilling — Adulteration — Prices — Potency of Attar of Roses.
LADIES who are fond of the most precious of per-
fumes, attar of roses, will find, if they have the
best attar, the name Kasanlik on the label.
But where be Kasanlik, whether in Germany or
France or Italy, is a matter which not one lady out
of a thousand bothers her fair head about. Kasan-
lik, however, is a little town on the Plain of Thrace,
almost within shadow of the Balkans. The Plain
of Thrace is like hundreds of others I saw in south-
eastern Europe — absolutely flat, and the mountains
surrounding rising almost precipitously. There is
no undulation. All the valleys suggest the bottom
of dried lakes cupped by hills. The remarkable
thing is that this is the uniform topographical fea-
ture over a stretch of hundreds of miles.
Now a great slice of the Thracian plain is de-
voted to roses. In the district of which Kasanlik
is the centre there are one hundred and seventy-
three villages devoted to rose culture. Roses, roses
all the way, is the feature of the landscape. Where
in other lands the peasants grow wheat and rye
and feed cattle, here for long miles all the fields are
rose gardens. It is the biggest rose garden in the
world — eighty miles long.
The world seems dotted with roses; the air is
93
heavy with their perfume. It is not the richness

of the soil that produces the abundance. The soil
is rather indifferent, but there is a peculiar quality
about it— like the soil of Champagne for grapes —
which produces the rose most capable of yielding
an exquisite essence.
The rearing of roses is a legacy from the Turks.
They grew the roses, distilled the attar, supplied
the harems of the pashas at Constantinople with
the scent. The dilettante Ottoman has gone, and
now there are big firms which speculate in roses
as Americans speculate in wheat, and out-bid one
another in purchasing the products of whole vil-
lages before the bushes have even put forth a bud —
firms which are in keen commercial rivalry, and
have their representatives in Paris, London, and
New York.
The distilling of roses began in Persia : the
word " atar " (fragrance) is Persian. Until three
hundred years ago only rose-water was obtained.
It was about the beginning of the seventeenth cen-
tury that the method of securing the real essence
was discovered. From Persia the art spread to
Arabia, from Arabia to the Barbary States, and
from the Barbary States a wandering Turk brought
a rose tree to Kasanlik. The Rosa damascena,
grown in such quantities, is the same as the Rosa
damascena grown in Tunis, though now in decreas-
ing quantities. The Rosa alba, also grown, can be
traced, in a sort of backward route, right through
the Turkish Empire to Persia, where it is abundant.
Fifty years ago something between four and five
THE ROSE GARDEN OF EUROPE. 95
hundred pounds' weight of attar was produced at

Kasanlik. In 1904 the exact amount was 8,147
pounds. It is by an accident that rose culture on
so gigantic a scale has grown up in this out-of-the-
way part of Eoumelia. But everything is favourable.
The mean temperature is that of France ; the soil
is sandy and porous, and the innumerable rivulets
from the mountains provide constant irrigation.
There are plenty of other regions favourable to
rose-growing. No region, however, is quite so
suitable for roses needed for attar. The attar rose
is sensitive to climatic conditions. Exactly identi-
cal methods with those followed in Bulgaria have
been adopted at Brussa, in Asia Minor, but not with
success.
The rose plantations of the Kasanlik region are
not arranged in isolated plots or in narrow little
hedgerows, as in the rose district of Grasse, in
France, but in high parallel hedges, about a hun-
dred yards long, taller than a man, and with a
space of about six feet between them. The setting
of a plantation is peculiar to the locality. Entire
branches, leaves and all, from an old rose tree, are
laid horizontally in ditches fourteen inches wide and
the same depth. These boughs, each about a yard
long, are placed side by side, four or five abreast,
and form a long continuous line in the ditch. Part
of the earth taken from the ditch is piled lightly
on the branches, and above the furrow is placed a
slight layer of stable manure.
The rose harvest begins with the flowering
time, about the middle of May, and ends about the
middle of June. Conditions most favourable to the

grower are for the temperature to be moderate and
the rain frequent, so that the harvest is prolonged
for a full month. Great inconvenience is caused
if the harvest is quickly over. Gathering takes
place every day during the blossoming period.
Every flower that has begun to blow, and every half-
opened bud, is plucked. A hectare (21 acres) pro-
duces generally about 6,600 Ibs. of roses, that is
almost three million roses. These three million
yield at most 2|- Ibs. of attar. With regard to dis-
tilleries the question of water takes the lead, for
unless water is at hand distillation is impossible.
The distilling apparatus is simple. Its essen-
tial part is a large copper alembic, about 4 feet
10 inches high, resting on a brick furnace. The
alembic consists of a cistern with a peculiar mush-
room-shaped head, and a cooling tube. The cost of
the alembic is reckoned according to its weight;
thus one weighing about 163 Ibs. costs about £4 6s.
The cost of the vat into which the cooling tube en-
ters is from 2s. 6d. to 10s. The cooling tube enters
at the top on one side, and passes out into a flask
at the lower part of the other side. The operation
of distilling rose-water lasts about one to one and a
half hours, and is repeated again and again until all
the petals picked that day have been used, because
petals distilled after twenty-four hours' delay have
lost so much of their scent that they only afford an
unfavourable yield.
To extract the attar from the rose-water a
second distillation is necessary. From 40 litres
of rose-water a flask containing 5 litres is distilled.

Upon this the attar collects in the form of a yellow,
oily layer about 2 to 4 millimetres thick. It is
skimmed off by means of a little bowl in the shape
of an inverted cone, with a small hole in the bottom
to let the water, which is heavier than the attar,
pass through.
The current form of adulteration is to mix
attar of rose with attar of geranium, produced from
the Indian geranium, or Palma rosa. Adulteration
is not confined to Constantinople, whence, it may
be said, not a single gramme of pure attar is
exported. It is done in Bulgaria, sometimes by
the grower himself. Since 1888 an attempt has
been made to remedy this, and the importation of
attar of geranium has been forbidden by the Govern-
ment, so that it can only be obtained secretly. Much
more often the attar is sent on to Constantinople,
where it is adulterated in perfect freedom. Another,
and the simplest method of adulteration, is to add
some white roses to the red ones to be distilled, the
product of the white being less fragrant but much
richer in stearoptene. The attar of geranium is,
in its turn, often adulterated with oil of turpentine.
So it is within possibility that the little flask of
attar of rose you purchase in a fashionable shop may
have very little of the genuine perfume in it.
Simple and kindly-mannered are the peasants
engaged in rose culture. But the life is not so
idyllic as might be thought. There are no big rose
farms. Indeed, the merchants find it more to their
advantage to buy from the peasants who, on their
little patches, have grown roses, and by the most

primitive means obtained the attar. This provides
the merchant with security from loss. If a par-
ticular crop is damaged the peasant bears the loss.
Besides, the two or three Kasanlik merchants have
the monopoly in their hands ; they have their own
peasant customers, and have the power of fixing
the price of the attar. The humble rose-grower
can take it or leave it, but, if he keeps his attar,
where else is he to find a market? Some fortunes
have been made out of attar of rose ; but no peasants
have grown rich.
I had the pleasure of seeing over one or two of
the Kasanlik stores. The merchants are amiable.
But each took me aside and whispered in my ear :
" Of course, we are quite friendly with our com-
petitors, only I would like you to remember one
thing : ours is the only genuine attar. All the other
is adulterated. Of course, our rivals deny it, but
we know." That little speech was made in each
place. I would like to believe that all the attar
sent from Kasanlik is pure. But when, searching
for truth, I made independent inquiries, I was sor-
rowfully reduced to the conviction that none of it
is absolutely pure.
No perfume is quite so strong as that of attar.
Remember the yield is less than one twenty-fifth
of one per cent. (0.04) of the roses used. For
1 Ib. of attar more than 4,000 Ibs. of roses are
needed. The peasant gets about 18s. an ounce.
For the same thing, as sold in Paris or London, the
price is £8 an ounce.
So strong is the odour that nothing short of a

hermetically sealed jar will restrain it. A glass
stopper, however tight, will not keep it back. In-
deed, so strong is genuine attar of rose that it is
nauseating. To remedy this and make it genial to
the nostrils may be put forward as a kindly explana-
tion why it is so often adulterated and weakened.
To be in a Kasanlik store was to be in a thick and
sickening atmosphere. I put my nose over a copper
jar in which was £8,000 worth of attar, and the
smell was so powerful as to be disgusting and pro-
ductive ofheadache.
The time to visit Kasanlik is about the birth of
June. Then you can get astride your horse and
ride for two days, forty miles a day, feast your eyes
on a land of damask blooms, and breathe the scent
of millions of roses. When the wind is gentle the
roses of Kasanlik have their perfume carried fifty
miles. Anyway, Bulgarians fifty miles off have
assured me that the breeze from the Kasanlik region
has been laden with the breath of a rose garden.
The village girls are out early, piling their aprons
with roses and filling the slow and creaking oxen
carts. No Battle of Flowers at Nice ever had such
a mass of roses as deck the rude carts of Kasanlik in
June. And the brown-cheeked, black-eyed peasant
maidens always deck their hair with the most gor-
geous of the blooms.
CHAPTER X.
THE CITY OF THE PLAIN.
A Sunday Evening at Philippopolis — Individuality of the City

— A Passion for Education — Bulgarians not Speculative —
Agriculture — Industry of the Peasants — Return of the Turks
— Bulgar Characteristics — Fleeing from the Heat — Monastery
of St. Petka— A Night in the Open.
THE Plain of Thrace is flat — curiously flat — and

encompassed by high, black and jagged mountains.
All over are dotted what look like exaggerated mole-
hills— tumuli. The plain reeks vapourish m the
summer, and through the quivering haze rises a
giant molehill, not looking large in the far distance,
but on nearer view showing several hills, almost like
a crouching animal. It is a great knuckle of uneven
granite rising out of the plain. On it Philip of
Macedon reared a city. That is the Philippopolis of
to-day.
It was on Sunday night that I arrived after six-
teen hours of hard travel over dusty roads. The
horses put down their heads and raced madly along
the tortuous, cobbled streets. The driver halloed,
swung his whip and cracked it ; for however drowsy
the pace may be awray from a town, the Bulgarian
driver always finishes his journey in a wrelter, imagin-
ing, innocent man, that people will think that is the
way he has been travelling all day. Which nobody
does even for a moment think.
I was weary and aching with long travelling, and
had an irritable premonition of the kind of sleeping
100
THE CITY OF THE PLAIN. 101
accommodation that would be waiting me. Then a

lighted street, a garish cafe", the ecstatic thrill of
gipsy music ! Hotel porters tumbled into view.
There was salaaming. The proprietor appeared.
Ah, yes, the telegram had arrived ! Kooms were
ready. This way! Capital rooms, clean, neat,
simple, rather French. I glanced in a glass at my
begrimed condition — countenance unrecognisable,
hair grey with dust. A bath ! Ah, a bath was
ready ! And then a little dinner. Capital ! And a
good bottle of wine, eh? No; a pint of the local
wine. By all means ! So a change, and then to the
courtyard.
Picture the scene. A garden, lit with many
lamps. Beneath the trees innumerable tables. At
the tables sat "all Philippopolis," sipping coffee,
drinking beer, toasting one another in litres of wine.
At one end of the garden was a little stage. There
was a Hungarian band which played rhapsodically,
there was a skittish damsel in short skirts who sang
songs, there was a big basso prof undo who roared,
then there was more gipsy band, and more of the
young lady in short skirts.
It was Sunday night and Philippopolis was
enjoying itself. I suppose anything like that would
be considered wicked in England. But it did not
strike me that the folk of Philippopolis were enjoy-
ing the cool evening in anything but the most
innocent of ways.
As I sat enjoying the happiness around me, I
thought that in my own land of England, far off,
there were perhaps other ways of checking the evils
and the degradation of drunkenness besides the

closing of public houses and the shrieking denuncia-
tion of those who make no pretence to be strictly
teetotal. I mused that maybe in time my own
countrymen would get more sense, when the stand-
up bar would be abolished, wiien there would be no
private bars, no shutters to hide from others your
countenance when having refreshment, no general
atmosphere of discredit about drinking. I thought
perhaps we shall see places where a man can take his
wife, yes, and even his children, of an evening;
where they may have a little table, the husband have
his glass of ale if he wants it and his pipe, the wife
her cup of tea, and the children their cakes, and they
may all listen to a band. It is our rigorous puritanic
system which sends the workman — who has no wish
in his heart to neglect wife and bairns — to seek
relaxation in an over-crowded, ill-ventilated bar,
where he meets mates and drinks more than he
intends; finds, when it is too late, that drink is his
curse, and becomes the subject of a temperance
leaflet. A man would not drink so much if he had
some inducement to spend his evenings with his wife
and children. The gentleman we Britons call " the
foreigner " is no more virtuous than ourselves, but
he has not the drunkenness we have, simply
because the customs of his country provide he shall
drink in full view of the public, and nobody wag
the head and think he is going to the devil. I
thought this, as, in the ease of laziness after a
hard day, I watched the Bulgarians enjoying them-
selves. But I was drowsy. I went off to my neat
A BULGARIAN DANCE.
A CORNER OF OLD BULGARIA.

little room, and fell asleep to the strains of gipsy

dance music.
Philippopolis has individuality. It has certainly
more character than Sofia, because whilst Sofia has
been making itself over again in likeness to other
European capitals, Philippopolis has remained itself,
and is proud of the distinction. Its inhabitants have
something of the superior air of folks in an English
cathedral city for the neighbouring parvenu town of
go-ahead manufacture. Its commerce is not large,
but it congratulates itself on the excellence of its
productions.
An interesting institution is the Alexander
Gymnasium, which, founded in 1885, cost nearly
£26,000, and is maintained at an annual expense of
over £5,000. It gives instruction to youths from
ten to twenty-two years of age, quite free of charge,
except twenty francs per annum in the higher and
ten francs per annum in the lower classes, the money
going towards providing the poorest children with
books and clothes. The Lycee is a similar institu-
tion for girls, where they are educated on a cor-
responding plan in all subjects, except, apparently,
classics. The Bulgarians have a positive passion
for education.
What impressed me forcibly in my wanderings
through Bulgaria was the absence of people who are
either very rich or very poor. I doubt if throughout
the whole of the Principality more than half a dozen
persons can be found with a capital of over £50,000.
On all hands I heard laments that the com-
mercial expansion of Bulgaria was hindered by the
lack of capital. But if the Bulgars had it, I doubt

whether they possess the qualities necessary for
modern success in business. They are not a specu-
lative race. There is an absence of lively com-
petition. Amerchant asks a price for a thing. It
is too high, and he will not yield, though he knows
it is probable you will get the same thing cheaper
elsewhere. He does not yet grasp the advantages
of small profits and quick returns. The consequence
is that most of the big businesses are in the hands of
foreigners. Twenty years ago England led the way
in the Bulgarian market. Now England has fallen
behind. France also has not been able to hold her
own. Austria has been improving her trade re-
lationship all the time. Though, of course, the
ambitious Bulgars would like to jump to the front
as a manufacturing country, the wise spirits do well
in focusing the national energy upon the develop-
ment of its agricultural resources.
Bulgaria has immense opportunities in agri-
culture. Its size, including Eoumelia, is about that
of Ireland and Wales. Everywhere the soil is
fertile, though in places I saw tracts most difficult
of cultivation, because of the mixture of stones with
surface soil. It is a land rich in the smaller timbers ;
its vegetables and fruits, including vineyards, are
excellent ; not only are there wheat but also many
tobacco fields. Of cattle there is plenty.
Concerning the industry of the peasants I have
already written. The tenure under which they
hold their land is partly a remnant of the system
when the Turk held sway. In those old days
holders of land were obliged to pay a tithe of the

gross produce of their farms to the tax-collectors of
the Sultan. When this tithe was not paid, or the
land remained uncultivated for three years, or the
owner died without heirs, the Sultan became the
possessor. Since the Liberation, the only material
change is that the State occupies the place formerly
held by the Sultan. Under the Turkish regime,
payment was usually in kind. Of recent years the
Bulgarian Government has endeavoured to secure
payment in cash, but not very successfully. To
part with a tenth of the produce does not seem hard
to the peasant, but when he has converted the
produce into hard cash, then, in truth, it wrings his
very heart to open his purse.
All along the Turkish borderland there is a
mixture of Christian and Mahommedan villages.
Naturally, when the rule of the Sultan was broken,
there was a great rush of Turks out of Bulgaria
into Turkey, because they dreaded reprisals for
the atrocities to which the Bulgars had been sub-
jected. Now, however, that Bulgaria is more or
less settled, there has, certainly of recent years, been
a considerable reflux of Turks. Out of the three
and a half million population of the Principality
there are, I believe, something like three-quarters of
a million of Mahommedans.
I made an excursion into the mountains south of
Philippopolis — a region practically unknown to the
rest of Europe — and there saw something of the
Pomaks, or Bulgarian Mahommedans. Some
authorities are of opinion they are a separate race.
Personally, I am inclined to the belief they are just

Bulgarians whose ancestors changed their religion.
Going about the country, I got to admire the
characteristics of the Bulgars. I do not say they are
a lovable people. Indeed, their taciturnity, their
sullenness, even their uncouthness — especially the
Bulgars outside the towns — have produced a feeling
in some travellers amounting almost to dislike.
But though stolid they are solid, and they have a
virtue which is really above all price in a land so
near the Bast — they are truthful. They are all keen
on the ownership of land, and every Bulgar is a
politician.
At times the heat from the plains of Thrace
makes the atmosphere of Philippopolis as hot and
clammy as a Turkish bath. I remember one day,
having panted and perspired in the palpitating heat,
a Bulgarian friend — a journalist — and I decided to
escape by hastening to a monastery in the hills, and
there secure a night's sleep in coolness. We rode
south, where lies Macedonia.
Part of the way was along the old main road to
Constantinople. It was at least a foot deep in dust.
Any buffalo-cart or horseman was only distinguished
by a cloud of dust. Trying to overtake a cart or jog-
trot equestrian was to push through a white,
choking, blinding, tongue-coating cloud.
We were making for the little monastery of St.
Petka. There had been one of the innumerable
church festivals, and crowds of gaudily-clad peasants
were returning home from their junketings. Here
was no trifling with the garb of civilisation. The
shirts and waistcoats of the men were radiant with
ornamentation. The women all wore " the fringe,"
long and greasy ; their jackets were green, and their
wide bulging petticoats were staring red ; on their
heads, round their necks, encircling their arms, were
masses of silver decorations made of coins — a simple
way of holding wealth , easy to disperse wrhen money
is wanted, and explaining why nearly all the
Bulgarian and Turkish coins you get in the border-
land are pierced. On patches of withered, dust-
soaked grass, groups were enjoying themselves. A
man sitting on the ground droned at the bagpipes.
A big circle was formed, and in the furious heat the
peasants were slowly and monotonously stamping
round, going through the hora dance.
We got to a dirty village called Stanimika —
inhabited by Greeks who make wine and silk, and
idle their time in the vile cafes. I sipped cherry
syrup whilst my friend went out to bargain for mules
to take us to the monastery. There was much
haggling. No riding saddles being procurable, we
got pack saddles, borrowed greasy pillows and rugs
from an inn-keeper, and set off. Stirrups were
formed of rope. My mule was a huge and gaunt
animal, and when I was perched on the top of the
packing the sensation was like that of being stuck
on the summit of a camel's hump.
In the glowing warmth of the fading day, we
clambered the steep and rocky path. At places the
going was slow ; the mules had to pick their steps
gingerly up the staircase of broken boulders.
The hoofs clattered with an echo as we cantered
into the courtyard of the monastery of St. Petka,

a plain, bare-walled retreat built long ago by a
brigand who had done well in business, and wanted
to do something for the peace of his soul before
he passed into the shadow to settle his account.
Monks bubbling with greeting ran to give us
welcome, all save the chief — a short, shaky, ghost-
like old man, ninety years of age, who had lived here
for forty years, and decided twenty years ago that
descending and ascending the mountain path were
too much for his age, and had never descended or
ascended since.
I went upon a balcony perched like an eagle's
eyrie on a jut of rock. The plain of Thrace lay dun,
like a faded carpet, before me. Suddenly through
the hot breath of the atmosphere came a long-drawn
icy sigh which made the trees shiver. Through the
opaque glow crawled a leaden bar, which broke and
showed an amber sky streaked with blood. The
world was clouded with grey, the spirits of tempest
shrieked along the mountains, the trees groaned.
Then came the rain, in slow heavy blobs at first, but
hastening to a deluge. The world was obliterated.
There was nothing but an awesome cavern cracked
with lightning streaks, and shaken by the mighty
turmoil of thunder. It was grand. Then it all
ceased. A pale blue sky peeped through a cloud-rift.
The birds, which had been terrified, carolled again.
Evening came like a prayer.
I had gone to the monastery to get a night of
cool sleep. But, high-perched though my chamber
was, the night was sultry and listless, and sleep was
impossible. So I lit a lantern, gathered a rug and

a pillow, picked my way over the sleeping peasants
who were slumbering on the broad balcony, got
beyond the monastery, climbed higher, till, on the
hill, I came to soft foot-tread beneath a fir tree.
There in the open, with the fragrance of night in my
nostrils, I slept till at dawn the clang of the
monastery bell woke me once more to the beauty of
this kind old world.
CHAPTEE XI.
IN THE LAND OF THE TURK.
Adrianople — Mistaken for a Person of Distinction — The Real East

— A Mixed Population — The Mosques — A Great Fire — A
City of Terror — An Armenian's Adventure — Celebrating the
Sultan's Accession — A Turkish Exhibition — Turkish Time —
A Visit to the Vali.
IN the blackness of the night the train slowed and

drew long breaths at Hermanli. We were still in
Bulgaria, and the frontier guard was smart and
alert.
On went the train through the dark. There
was a fire on the bank. At attention stood sallow,
ill-clad, ill-washed, down-at-heel, and fezzed sol-
diers. We were in Turkey.
With groans the train pulled up at Mustapha
Pasha, ill-lit compared with Hermanli, and the
guard slouched on either side of the carriages whilst
a search was made for contraband — they crumpled
my shirts, and were suspicious about my soap-box —
and passports were inspected and returned. On
again, in the land of the Sultan. At every half-
mile, at every culvert and every bridge, blazed a
fire, and there was a group of melancholy Turkish
soldiers.
Not so long before this the Bulgarian revolution-
aries had made an attempt to benefit their friends in
Macedonia by blowing up a bridge on this line to
Constantinople. Now the Turks were keeping
watch.
I was expected at Adrianople. The train had
no
IN THE LAND OF THE TURK. Ill
hardly slowed when I was saluted by a black-

whiskered, red-fezzed man. " Sir," said he, "I
am the dragoman to the Consulate of his Britannic
Majesty." Behind him stood the Consulate kavass,
a Circassian, tall and as fair as an Englishman,
handsome in his blue uniform and gold-strapped
sword, and with the British arms on his fez. There
was a scrimmage and a babel among the Turks over
passports, and a further inspection of baggage.
The officials mistook me for a person of distinction.
They saluted and salaamed. I offered my passport.
They would not trouble to look at it ; the coming
of the effendi had been telegraphed from the
frontier ; also news came a fortnight before from
the Turkish representative at Sofia that I was ' ' a
great English lord," and must be shown courtesy.
Should I open my baggage? The officials would
not think of it. I saluted ; they salaamed. Sol-
diers would deliver it. A carriage and pair was
waiting.
Adrianople is two miles from the station. The
night was pitch. Not a soul was about but the men
on guard. They peered at the carriage, but when
they saw the kavass they shuffled to attention.
Over the cobbles we rattled through that city as of
the dead. No lights save dim flickers in the guard-
houses.
While the morning was yet fragrant I was out
in the narrow, crowded streets. Their meanness
was saved by the dome of many a stately mosque,
and the graceful and frail tapering of many a lofty
minaret piercing the blue vault.
The scenes were very Turkish in their grime and

sloth. The people were just a mob in deshabille.
All the men seemed half -dressed ; all the women
were shrouded as though to hide how negligent they
had been before their mirrors. The air was cracked
with angry shouts, hucksters in the way, mules
which would not get out of the way. There was
the shrill cry of the vendor of iced lemonade. The
glare and the uproar were blinding and deafening.
A wheel to one side and we were in a caravan-
sery. Memory of Haroun al Easchid !— here was
the real East. A great yard walled with high build-
ings, brightly painted, and with arched balconies.
The slim limbs of trees spread wide branches, so
the pavement was fretted with a mosaic of lights
and shadows. In the middle was a fountain of
marble, cracked and smeared, but the splash of
water in a sunray was coolness itself. On a little
platform squatted dignified Turks, their beards
henna-dyed, their cloaks falling loose and easy, their
turbans snowy- white — save one which was green,
indicating a haji who had made the pilgrimage to
Mecca. They all puffed slowly, sedately, medita-
tively, at their narghiles. Here was no vulgar
hustle ; here was only repose.
Next to the long, dimly-lit tunnels with shops
on either side, called bazaars. It was all weird and
garish and un-European. Then a look at the
wares. That crockery was from Austria ; all these
iron articles were German ; the cheap jewellery was
from France ; the flaming cottons were from Lan-
cashire ;the gramophones shrieking ' ' Ya-ya-ye-a-
IN THE LAND OF THE TURK. 113
ah-ak-ah ! " to attract, came from America.

Nothing was Turkish save the dirt.
The population is a medley of Turk, Greek, Jew,
and Armenian. But all the trading, the commerce,
and the banking is in the hands of foreigners. The
Turk is hopeless as a business man.
Yet an old-time veneration rests upon Adrian-
ople. Its story goes back to the time of Antinous.
It was rebuilt by the Emperor Hadrian. In the
fourth century Constantine defeated Licinius out
on the plains, and half a century later Valens was
defeated by the Goths. But the wralls of the city
were so strong that they did not capture it. A
thousand years later it fell into the hands of the
Turks, and it was their capital before Constanti-
nople became the centre of Ottoman rule. Another
five centuries, and the Eussians, without opposition,
marched into Adrianople and compelled the Turks
to recognise the independence of Greece. It rose, it
became mighty ; it has fallen from its great estate.
Solemn is the mosque of the Sultan Selim, rear-
ing its four stately minarets. Beautiful is the
minaret of Bourmali Jami, spiral in white marble
and red granite. Highest of all is the minaret of
Utch Sherifely, with three balconies, where, at the
fall of the sun, flushing Adrianople with radiance,
stand the priests and cry, echoingly, pathetically,
over the tumult of the city : ' ' There is only one
God, and Mahomet is His Prophet. Come, all who
are faithful , and pray ! ' '
The Turks hate the Christians ; the Christians
hate each other; the Jew hates both.
1 was in Adrianople during the great fire of

September, 1905, when sixty thousand persons
were rendered homeless. It broke out in the
Armenian quarter. " The Turks have done this, or
the Jews, who else? " shrieked the Armenians.
Armenians all over Turkey believed it was the dia-
bolical act of their enemies. They could not be
persuaded to believe anything else. As a matter
of fact, the origin of the fire was most ordinary —
the upsetting of a lamp. Half a dozen Christian
women were taken ill in a narrow street near the
British Consulate. " Ah, sir," yelled an Armenian
of whom I saw much, " there you have proof of
how wicked those devils the Turks are. They
poisoned the well." ;' Yes," I said, " but the well
is used by Moslem women, and how is it none of
them were poisoned? " The Armenian did not
know ; but he was not going to sacrifice the con-
viction that the Turks were the cause of the poison-
ing of Christians. Everything that happens in
Adrianople is ascribed to the religious hatred of
somebody else.
Adrianople is a city of terror. Christians,
Armenians, whispered into my ear tales of revenge
on the cruel Turks. But they did not take place.
The Turks were in constant fear of outrages, bombs
and the like, from Bulgarians or Armenians. At
sundown every Christian must be within doors.
Otherwise there is arrest and imprisonment. No
light must be burning in a Christian house three
hours after sundown, or the soldiers butt the door
with their rifles, demand reasons, and under threats
levy blackmail ; no Mahommedan can go through

the streets after dark without a lantern ; no
Mahommedan must even be in the streets after ten
o'clock without a special permit. The only sound
at night is the heavy tread of the patrol.
When the city is wrapped in dark it is like a
place in siege. One night I dined at the Austrian
Consulate. The table was spread in the little
courtyard ; the surroundings of the old Turkish
house, the drip of the fountain, the gleam of the
moon, gave a touch of romance. The hours sped
merrily. But when I was ready to go I found six
Turkish soldiers waiting in the porch to be my
escort back to the British Consulate. I felt like
a prisoner.
One afternoon I accompanied an Armenian to
his vineyard on the slopes beyond the city. There,
in the cool of the day, we plucked and ate many
grapes. The topic of conversation was the savagery
of the Turks. I was told of how, a week or two
before, several soldiers outraged a Greek woman
working in the vineyard. " Didn't you interfere? "
I asked. " Interfere! Ah, sir, you do not under-
stand. I would have been beaten to death."
" Then did you complain to the authorities? "
'What was the good? I am an Armenian. I
would have been told, ' You are a liar.' That is
all." 'Well, but suppose I caught soldiers com-
mitting an outrage and I pulled my revolver and
shot them dead, what would happen to me? "
" Nothing. You are from England. You have
your Consul, your Ambassador at Constantinople.
The Turks would hush it all up. You would not

even be arrested."
Night had just closed as we got back to the
city. My Armenian acquaintance, who was wear-
ing the fez, was stopped by a soldier at a small
bridge. " Why do you come in the dark? " asked
the soldier, raising his rifle. " I have been to my
vineyard," was the reply. " You are a dog," said
the soldier, " and I will shoot you." " I am with
the effendi," said the Armenian, turning to me.
My clothes and particularly my slouch felt hat pro-
claimed Iwas European. The soldier sulked and
let us pass. " Would he have shot you? " I asked.
' ' No ; but I should have been compelled to pay him
money, or he would have arrested me for being
out after dark. He would have fired if I had tried
to get away." "And why didn't he make you
pay ? " " He saw your hat. You are a European.
The Turks are frightened. In your travels in Turkey
never wear the fez ; better than an escort will be
your hat ; always wear it." And I always did.
It was the crack of dawn, and far off was the
roll of drums and the heavy, melancholy Turkish
music leading troops at quick march. With rattle
and rip and the sodden slip-slouch of innumerable
feet, soldiers were being marched into Adrianople.
This was the anniversary of the accession of Abdul
Hamid to the throne of the Caliphate.
The troops massed before the Konak, the official
residence of the Vali, the Viceroy. In the grey of
the new day there was something weird in the as-
ADRIANOPLE EN FETE.
COFFEE DRINKING.
semblage, the dark blue uniforms, the swarthy

faces, the red fezzes. The officers were gay with
orders on their breasts. There was the fluttering
of the blood-hued flag and crescent ; here and there
hung the green holy flag. The Vali stood on a
balcony. For a moment there was a pause. Then
the regimental bands played a stave, minor and
sonorous, like the beginning of a noble anthem,
and when the brass instruments ceased, the warrior
concourse raised the shout, " Patishahim tchok
Yacha! " (" Live long the Sultan ! "). The effect
was magnificent. The band skirled into cheerful
banging.
The main streets were decorated — by order. In-
numerable pennants fluttered. The red and the
green crescent flags waved smartly. There were
triumphal arches. The whole thing was rather
tinsel — but these things always are.
Where was the cheering populace? There was
no cheering. As for the populace, all windows and
doors were closed, and those who wanted to see the
Vali were forced up side streets and bullied by the
soldiers. With the dragoman from the British Con-
sulate as my kindly guide, and the kavass as my
protector, I had free passage. Truly I was an in-
dividual of importance ! Every soldier jumped to
the salute as I passed. But such a demonstration,
instead of giving me satisfaction, made me feel
supremely ridiculous. I wanted to laugh. Only
twice before had I ever felt the same sensation :
when as a boy I walked on to a platform to receive
a book prize for good conduct, and when I walked
up the aisle of a church to get married. Yet though

there was prohibition against peeping, it was easy
to catch a glimpse of women behind the casements,
whilst on a broad mosque wall were huddled a hun-
dred shrouded creatures, like awkward bundles with
eyes.
The Vali was about to open an exhibition of
Adrianople products. Turkey had got so far on
the road to progress as to have an exhibition. And
this was the first exhibition ever held in Turkey. It
seemed a sort of miniature Earl's Court. The chief
article on sale was cigarettes. The real Turkish
damsels who sold them were quite as persistent as
the imitation Turkish damsels at West Kensington.
The girls were Christian Turks, and their faces were
uncovered. Old and fat Turks hung round and
leered. There was tobacco in all stages of prepara-
tion. There were some very bad pictures. There
were passable local woollen goods, and much ex-
cellent embroidery. There were farming imple-
ments, but these were imported.
The place was a swelter of officials, and they
were all very fat; all wore gold and silver lace
in abundance, and had broad sashes and orders
which jostled one another. The greetings were
effusive. The salaam is deep ; then there is a wave
of the right hand to the ground, to the waistcoat,
up to the forehead, indicating that feet, heart, head,
boots, waistcoat, and fez are yours. When you
enter a room everybody does this to you, and you
proceed to do it separately to every individual. So
in a gathering assembly there is no time for any-
IN THE LAND OF THE TURK, 119
thing but salaaming. I recognised my incompe-
tence to go through the ceremonial towards thirty
stout old Turkish gentlemen. I was coward enough
to shelter myself behind my nationality. I bowed
and shook hands with the one or two that were
nearest. After a stately procession we all went
into the garden, listened to the band, and ate in-
different ices.
I was settling down to a cosy siesta when rat-tat
at the door of the Consulate. A Turkish general
in gorgeous garb had arrived. We salaamed. He
spoke English, for had he not been attache at
Washington years ago? He brought a message.
His master, the Vali, Mahomet Arif Pasha, sent
his compliments, and would I honour him with a
visit in his garden at nine o'clock? Nine o'clock
struck me as an extraordinary hour to meet a
gentleman in a garden. But then I recollected
that nine o'clock Turkish is about four o'clock
European.
Oh, the Turkish time ! The day begins with
sunrise. That is twelve o'clock. But the sun does
not rise at the same time every day in Turkey any
more than in other places. So the Turk — who
happily has much spare time — is constantly twid-
dling the lever of his cheap Austrian watch to keep
it right. It may be the best time-keeper in the
world, but the more accurate it is the less does it
keep proper time in Turkey. Indeed, a watch that
is somewhat vagrant in its moods is more likely to
be correct. The consequence is that nobody is ever
sure of the time. There or thereabouts is suffici-
ently good for the Turk. The very fact that the Turks
are satisfied with a method of recording time which
cannot be sure unless all watches are changed every
day, shows how they have missed one of the essen-
tials of what we call civilisation.
It was the most radiant crimson-cushioned
carriage I could hire in Adrianople in which I rode
out, with the Consulate dragoman and my inter-
preter, to visit the Vali. The garden of the Vice-
roy is beyond the city. All the country was
withered and parched brown ; the road was deep in
dust; the air panted hot and oven-like. Past the
guards. The trees were tall, weedy, and choked
with dust. No lawns, but rough tangled ground
and tufts of rank grass. (Let Englishmen offer
an occasional prayer of thanks for our English
lawns, the like of which are not elsewhere in this
world.)
Within the shadow of a pretty kiosk, on the
shelf of a plantation, and overlooking a tawny
little river with parched plain beyond, sat the Vali,
surrounded by his staff. He was the least radiant
of the throng. A stout, full-faced, lethargic man.
His eyes were drowsy, and he talked slowly. Only
two small orders did he wear on his breast, whilst
the coat fronts of the men about him were dazzling
with them.
The first minute or two of conversation was stiff
and formal. Then I got a peep of Turkish methods.
The Vali knew about me ; he knew when I had
arrived, where I dined last night; that my inter-
preter had been sent from Constantinople by Sir
Nicholas 0' Conor. I had been watched. The

Vali was interested in England, and was anxious to
know the difference between the House of Lords
and the House of Commons. ' Your Excellency
should come to England," I said. " Ah," he re-
plied, with a sigh, " I would give that which I wear
on my head to visit Europe, but " and he
shrugged his shoulders.
Yes, like many another Turk, he would sacri-
fice his fez, the emblem of his nationality, to get
away. High was his position, with an authority
only less than that of the Sultan himself. But he
was a gilded prisoner, sent by his imperial master
to Adrianople, fifteen years before, there to rule,
but surrounded by spies. Never, during all those
fifteen years, had he been allowed to visit Con-
stantinople, never even to get beyond the sight of
Adrianople. He was a sad man.
We talked of many things. Now and then a
general or a colonel was signalled to step forward
and join in the conversation ; but at the first oppor-
tunity they stepped back again. In the near wood a
band was playing ; and all the time* refreshments
were being provided : cigarettes and coffee, cigarettes
and ice cream, cigarettes and caramels, cigarettes
and grapes, and then more cigarettes.
At the end of an hour I mentioned what had
been in my mind. I wished to travel in the interior.
Did his Excellency think it safe? " By the might
of the Sultan all the land is tranquil," said the Vali
— " which means there are massacres somewhere,"
was whispered by my interpreter. I made a
courtesy speech on my delight at visiting Adrian-

ople. "Who drinks of the waters of Adrianople
visits it seven times," said the Vali. " Then I
look forward with delight to my next six visits," I
replied.
Bows; salaams; the band plays, and off I go
back to Adrianople in a swelter of dust.
CHAPTEK XII.
WHEEE THE "BEST BORDEAUX" COMES FROM.
Turkish Roads— A Halt— Kirk Kilise— Shipping Wine to Bordeaux
— Visiting the Governor — Etiquette — The Return Visit —
Elaborate Make-believe — A Representative of Great Britain.
THE Vali of Adrianople gave me an escort of five
horsemen for my journey to Kirk Kilise. The head-
man was a broad and burly Turk, with whiskers
which would have made a Sikh envious. The horses
were fine animals, with more than a touch of the
Arab in them — a contrast to the weedy nags I was
able to hire for myself and attendants.
Nothing if not courteous, my Turkish friend, the
head-man, shocked at the indignity I must feel at
bestriding so comical a steed, insisted I should
" swop " with a soldier. All the horses had decora-
tions of blue beads on their foreheads — to resist the
evil eye.
' ' Ah ! there is a good road all the way to Kirk
Kilise," I had been told. There was a road. It
had been made for eternity, of boulders the size of
my head, and half buried in the earth. It was one
of the most violent, liver-jerking roads I ever came
across. Indeed, it was so sturdy that nobody used
it except to cross it. The tracks wriggled along first
one side and then the other, over Mother Earth,
and when worn to slush made a little detour.
We growl at the negligence of Eastern nations in
not providing roads. The Turk does not like a set
road. It is too hard for him. He prefers his ox-
123
cart should creak along a haphazard path of his own.

I verily believe that if the Great North Koad could
be transferred from England to Turkey the Turks
would never use it, but wrould break down the adjoin-
ing hedges and make a trail across the fields. It is
no good arguing with the Turk about the made road
being the best. He will salaam, say " The effendi
always
Withspeaks wisdom of ! swords
the clatter ' ' and will
and not
clickuseOfit.muskets
slung behind the soldiers' backs, and tassels dancing
over the claret-tinted fezzes, we made a brave show
as we scampered eastward over the plains.
There was a weedy Mahommedan burial ground.
The grass was long and coarse and withered. The
graves were forlorn. Tombs were in ruin, The
ill-made slabs, with a gawky stone turban or fez to
denote a man, and plain slab to tell of a woman,
were crooked, higgledy-piggle'dy, broken and
tumbled. The wind sent a constant spray of dust
over the burial ground. It was forsaken. Here lay
the once well-known of Adrianople. But no senti-
ment had followed them. Any vanity about being
remembered was damped by looking upon these
decrepit pillars of the forgotten.
The sky was murky, the wind soughed, the land
was dreary. The Turkish villages were incoherent
jumbles of mud huts — no hedges, no flowers, no
grass even. The buffalo wallowed in slime. The
winnowing of corn was on foot-beaten patches of
hard earth. The peasants were scraggy, wan, and
ill-fed. They made a needy living by dishevelled
agriculture.
SCENE AT ADRIANOPLE.
IN A MIXED VILLAGE: TURKS AND BULGARIANS.

"BEST BORDEAUX.5' 125
The rain came with icy drip ; the wind numbed ;
wild birds screeched overhead.
We were clammy and hungry when we called
halt after five hours in the saddle. The resting-
place was Mahmoud Pasha Haskui. It was a han,
a mud-walled yard with windowless, mud-floored
chambers the size of a henroost, and with the odour
and other characteristics of a henroost. A dozen
fowls were in the chamber while I munched my
bread and drank a pint of wine — really capital native
wine, which cost 3d. In a burst of liberality
I sent for the sore-eyed old reprobate who kept the
han, and directed him to make coffee for the soldiers.
That cost 2Jd., and the soldiers saluted me for my
generosity. Give a Turkish soldier a medjedeh
(about 4s.) and he will think he ought to have been
given two. Give him a cup of coffee, which costs
a halfpenny, and there is nothing he will not do for
you. The one is a gift, the other is hospitality. He
does not reason the matter out, but the hospitality
pleases his sense of dignity. Around the han hung
woe-begone creatures in rags, out of which they
never got, for fear they would never be able to find
their way into them again.
Past noon the day bettered. The country
improved. The wastes gave place to undulations
covered with vineyards. We dashed past great tuns
of wine drawn by drowsy oxen, and big men on
ridiculously small donkeys.
We were in Kirk Kilis£ , with its twisted , quaint ,
clean, and vine-festooned streets. The town lacked
Turkish savour. Out of its twenty thousand popula-
tion a full half were Greek, and the other half about
equally divided between Jews and Turks. The Turk
is the least important. The Jew does the trading
and the Greek the wine-making. Seldom do
foreigners come — one or two a year, and then French-
men. The wine of Kirk Kilise is good. But the
Turk is a teetotaller — generally. So most of the
wine is taken to the coast, purchased by French
firms, shipped to Bordeaux, and then sold to the
world as "best Bordeaux." Bordeaux is known;
Kirk Kilise is not. But many old gentlemen smack
their lips over Kirk Kilise when they imagine they
are smacking them over Bordeaux.
I exchanged visits with the Governor, Galib
Pasha. It was all very formal and in strict
etiquette. We smoked each other's cigarettes, and
drank each other's coffee. I told him how delighted
I was to visit Kirk Kilise, and he told me how
delighted he was that I was delighted. He was a
thin, pale, nervous man, with the most restless eyes
I ever saw. They jumped about with nigh tragic
alertness, as though he were in momentary dread
somebody was about to draw a revolver and shoot.
I was introduced to some minor officials.
It was interesting to study the by-play of cere-
monial. Everybody wore the fez, and everybody,
as elsewhere, kow-towed to the ground, placing their
boots, their belts, and their heads at the disposal of
the Governor, and when he seemed to have no need
of them, proceeding to place them at my disposal,
until the arrival of other officials gave them the
opportunity of elaborately and metaphorically ex-
"BEST BORDEAUX." 127
changing boots, belts and brains with everybody
else.
No man in Turkey has his coat unbottoned in the
presence of a superior or equal. That is vulgarity.
It is offensive to cross your legs. I was told of this
later by my dragoman, for I had left my jacket
unbuttoned, and I had certainly crossed my legs.
The Governor, having heard of the ways of
Europeans, " saved my face " in the presence of his
staff by also crossing his legs. To sit well back on
your chair indicates familiarity. I noticed all the
officials, save the Governor and myself, sat forward
on the very edge of their chairs, kept their knees
together, their toes turned in, their hands drooping,
their eyes usually humble, and when paid a com-
pliment they touched their belts, their breasts, and
again their heads.
The stern formality of these official visits be-
tween the Governor and myself was oppressive.
I felt all the time like bursting through decorum
and exclaiming, "I'm jolly glad to see you; let us
for a stroll."
go The Governor impressed me. He meant to
impress me. We saw a lot of one another in the
course of a day and a half, and he never ceased in
his efforts. He assumed that I assumed — like all
ignorant foreigners — that Turks were lazy, that they
never did to-day what they could put off till to-
morrow, and would not do it to-morrow if it could
conveniently be shunted over to next week. He was
determined to undeceive me. Only he overdid it.
Kirk Kilise might have been the centre of the
Ottoman Empire, and the Governor the Grand

Vizier.
At first I thought he was merely busy. In his
reception room at the Konak we had not been talk-
ing two minutes before a secretary appeared with
a telegram. The Governor scowled, knit his brows,
scribbled something. The secretary bowed and
retired. Later a sudden inspiration. A soldier at
a signal shuffled forward. A telegram form ! He
wrote a message. Now we could talk. Soon in
came a bunch of documents. His eye danced
through them, a mark here with a pencil, a scrawl
there, something like a signature elsewhere.
Thinking I wras in the way I made fulsome adieux.
I had been back for barely ten minutes in my
little Greek hotel, and my little dragoman had
scarcely finished swearing in Greek at the proprie-
tor for its filth, and was perspiring in getting the
fly-blown best room to look less dirty, when the
Governor paid his return visit. Ah, delighted !
Coffee and cigarettes. Soldiers stood at the door-
way ; others stood in the passage. The secretary
again. Two telegrams this time. Pardon! Oh,
certainly ; affairs of state must be attended to.
Officials, officers, and others appeared. They whis-
pered. The Governor smiled ; he knit his brows.
He scribbled. We talked. Another inspiration.
He wrote hurriedly on a tablet, called a soldier,
and despatched him post haste. Documents,
sheaves of them to sign. There never was so busy
a man.
" You are learning Turkish? " he asked. "Oh,
I have already learnt Yavash" I answered with a

smile. He smiled also, and then he knit his
brows. Yavash means "go slowly." Yavash t
Yavash is the phrase most often heard in Turkey.
Foreigners are disposed to apply it contemptuously
to all things Turkish. The Governor was going to
show me that Yavash did not apply to him. He
received three telegrams and wrote six.
Would I give him the pleasure of my company
to listen to the band ? Charmed ! We went to the
public gardens, with four or five of the staff hover-
ing round and a dozen soldiers within call. The
gardens were a sandy patch with several limp and
colourless bushes. But there were chairs and little
tables and beverages to be obtained, and there was
a band. I drank absinthe from a glass ; the
Governor drank absinthe also, but from a coffee
cup. Turks are very rigorous in observance of
teetotalism. Besides, were not the eyes of half
Kirk Kilise upon the Governor and his visitor? He
raised his finger. A soldier jumped from behind a
tree. A telegram form ! The man was carrying
them, ready for emergencies. Later a telegram
arrived ; then several telegrams. Officers appeared
with documents ; he skimmed them and initialled
them. Surely no Governor in all Turkey was so
worked as Galib Pasha ! All the time his eyes were
jerking and peeping and peering for that revolver
that was never presented.
That evening a Turkish officer appeared at my

inn. Salaams ! The compliments of the Governor
and would the effendi accept so hurried an invitation

and join him at the circus ? A circus at Kirk Kilise ?
Ah, yes, a travelling circus all the way from Ger-
many. Of course I would go ; but I was travelling
light ; the only clothes I had were suitable for
horseback.
With slithering soldiers swinging lanterns we
went through the black streets. The splutter of
naphtha lamps ; the extravagant canvas repre-
sentations of men driving six horses and tinsel-
frocked damsels skipping through hoops ; the big
marquee with lamp flare and the clapping of hands
oozing through the cracks. It was all familiar.
Then came several moments when I was
startled, but behaved with as much dignity as I
could. Still, I felt I should like to roll on the
ground in ecstasy of laughter. There was a circle
of chocolate countenances capped with red fezzes.
The band blared furiously " God Save the King."
The Governor, who had a space railed off with red
rope, was standing on a blue plush carpet, in the
centre of which stood two stage property crimson
and gold king's chairs. We went through our
greetings with decorum. We bowed and bowed.
When ' ' God Save the King ' ' was finished I was
bowed into the crimson and gold chair on the right
of the Governor.
I had gone through many experiences in my
life ; but just then I was the honoured representa-
tive of Great Britain — nay, I had a sort of idea
I was Viceroy, representative of the King himself.
But I felt a fraud. I wanted to stand up on that
crimson and gold chair and deliver a speech of
explanation. I was merely a humble wanderer
with an inquisitive mind ! Afterwards my drago-
man told me the audience wras sure I was one of the
personal staff of King Edward ! That was terrible.
Still I put on my most solemn air. If ever I am
honoured with the acquaintance of his Majesty I
shall tell him the most uncomfortable half hour
I ever spent in my life was when I was the un-
witting but honoured representative of Great
Britain at a circus in Kirk Kilise.
There were cigarettes to be puffed and coffee to
be sipped. There was an elderly damsel in blue
tights who jumped through hoops. There was a
trapezist. There was a clown. And there were
the long rows of fezzed men and a sprinkling of
dark-eyed Greek women — a lethargic throng, who
certainly took their pleasures sadly.
The Governor frowned ; he knit his brows.
Telegram form ! He wrote. Behind — off the blue
plush carpet, of course — stood officers. A raised
finger, and one or other was by the Governor's
chair. The secretary — a little worn wisp of a man
— came, bowed, and presented more telegrams.
Altogether a dozen must have arrived.
The people of Kirk Kilise looked awe-struck at
their Governor, sitting meditatively in his crimson
and gold chair, his brows knit, his pencil tapping
on his knee whilst he thought. They appeared
much impressed.
CHAPTEE XIII.
IN THE BORDERLAND.
Insurrection and Reprisal — Taken for a British Secret Service

Official— The Village of Dolan— The Head-man— Sileohlu—
Bulgarians and Turks Living Together Amicably — Incessant
Coffee- drinking.
ALL through the Adrianople vilayet insurrection is

simmering, and occasionally bubbling over. The
presence of the Eussian Fleet in Turkish waters,
sent to enforce punishment on the murderers of the
Eussian Consul at Monastir in 1903, was the opening
for insurrection. Bulgarian bands broke out in the
Kirk Kilise district, and burnt five villages and
massacred their inhabitants. In two days alone,
five Turkish garrisons were defeated, the barracks
destroyed, and the soldiers killed. The important
village of Vassilikos was destroyed by dynamite.
Then came the Turkish reprisals on the Bul-
garians— chiefly innocent folk. They were awful.
Peasants ran to the forests. They were burnt out
by Bashi-Bazouks ; there was not a single old man or
woman left among them. About 12,000 refugees
were in the frontier villages in dreadful distress.
The village of Pepenka in the sanjak of Kirk Kilise
was bombarded and pillaged. Some women who
had hidden in a house to escape violation were
burned alive in it. Seventy-five girls were carried
off. The inhabitants who had taken refuge in the
mountains were surrounded and forced to return
132
IN THE BORDERLAND. 133
to the village, and there they were massacred by the

Bashi-Bazouks, who are usually employed by the
Turks when there is particularly nasty work to be
done. In regard to this outbreak, Lord Lansdowne
said that he ' ' had no hesitation in declaring that the
ruin and destruction brought about by the Turkish
soldiery were immeasurably greater than any which
had resulted from the action of the Bulgarian
bands." That is true. But the Turks were
"punishing" the Bulgarians.
The refugees from the vilayets of Adrianople and
Monastir who were at Burghas, the Bulgarian port
on the Black Sea, declared : " Although our greatest
desire is to return to our own homes, we can only do
so on the following conditions : (1) Our repatriation
must take place by means of an International Com-
mission ;(2) the funds for the rebuilding of our
villages, churches, and schools must be deposited at
a European credit establishment at the disposal of
the aforesaid Commission ; the goods of which we
have been despoiled must be returned to us; (3) a
full amnesty must be granted to everybody ; (4) most
important of all, for the future our properties, our
lives and our honour, must be secured to us by means
not of palliative, but of radical reforms, with a
Christian Governor-General appointed by the Great
Powers, and by means of a permanent international
control."
The number of refugees in and around Burghas
was 13,000, of whom two-thirds were women; to
these must be added at least 3,000 children under ten
or twelve years of age. Colonel Massy, who was
sent by the British Government to Burghas to report

on the state of the refugees, says : " They have but
their clothes — scanty ones — in the world. Most
were weeping — their husbands massacred, they said.
Many are sick, and all look miserable. In some cases
the husbands returned to the Kirk Kilise district,
being told there was not much to fear, as they
wished to see if they could make something out of
the wreck of their homes ; but news came that they
were murdered on their return. I asked them if
they would return home. They smiled bitterly, and
said that they had no homes, and if they returned
to Turkey they would be murdered unless under
European supervision. . . . The wretched
women looked miserably pulled down, many with
babies at the breast, and perhaps little but dry bread
to live upon."
One village was despoiled of its finest grazing
grounds, its forest and its fields, which were handed
over to the Moslem inhabitants of a newly-formed
village, the Bulgarian villagers being condemned to
bear the exactions of six hundred soldiers who had
not been paid for five months. These were the
soldiers called upon to restore order and tranquillity
in the district. A levy wras made on the surround-
ing Bulgarian villages to provide funds to build
barracks.
Ever since then the state of the Bulgarians in the
vilayet of Adrianople has been extremely unsatis-
factory. In many other villages Christians have
been ejected from their homes, and troops installed
in their place. These troops, being provided with
neither fuel nor fire, live by plunder, burning the

woodwork of the houses, and consuming the cattle,
grain and poultry of the Christians. Churches have
been converted to secular uses or desecrated and
destroyed, while countless cases of rape have
occurred. The result is that the Christians, ex-
asperated byfresh persecutions, are ripe for another
revolt.
I wanted to go back to Adrianople from Kirk

Kilise by a half-moon route to the north, getting as
near the Bulgarian frontier as I could.
Impossible ! The Governor of Kirk Kilise said
it was impossible. All his staff swore he spoke the
words of wisdom. But why did I want to go near
the Bulgarian frontier? That was the question put
to me politely and circuitously. Oh, because I did
not desire to return by the way I had come, and I
wanted to see as much of the country as I could !
I saw " Liar! " spring into the eyes of the Turks.
Only they were too polite to let the word touch their
lips. I was a spy ! That was evident. Under
the guise of a harmless tourist I had been sent out
by the British Government — which was too friendly
to Bulgaria and not friendly enough to Turkey — to
discover how the revolution was progressing !
The Turks bowed to the ground, assured me that
everything they could do for me would be done ; but
— it was impossible. Besides, there were bands of
Bulgarian brigands about. They were very wicked
people were those Bulgarian brigands. I said I
was willing to take my chance. Oh, and only the
previous week they had captured a Greek merchant,

and were probably then engaged in gouging his eyes
out or slicing his ears ! I was still willing to take my
chance. The Turks shrugged their shoulders. The
effendi should remember that there was no one in
Kirk Kilise who knew the way. I observed that
Turkish soldiers had good Turkish tongues, and
could ask the way. But there were no roads !
Never mind ; we would follow mountain tracks. But
the horses could never clamber up the passes ! Then
we should walk and lead the horses.
For a full day the Turkish officials were sweetly
polite. They could not be so rude as to say point-
blank I should not go. My protestations that I was a
mere sightseer they did not believe. They knew it was
nonsense that I was willing to rough it and run risks
of capture by brigands just for the fun of the thing.
I could not make a Turk believe that if I argued till
doomsday. I did not try. I simply said that I
would go, and that the responsibility would rest with
me.
The Turks — certain in their own minds I was a
British secret service official — could not let me take
the responsibility. If anything happened they
would be held responsible, ransom would be de-
manded by the brigands, the British Government
would lecture the Porte on the ill-treatment of a
British subject, there would be the deuce.
Eeluctantly the Governor — who was full of
assurances of help — said he would add to the escort
I already had from Adrianople. We stretched maps
before us, and picked a route. I sent my dragoman
into the town to hire horses. He came back with a

glint in his eyes and the news that there was not a
single horse to be obtained.
Baffled one way, the Turkish authorities were
intent on checking me another. The Governor was
full of sympathy. What a pity !
"Oh, no," said I; "I'll walk."
Walk ! He sat straight up and looked hard
at me. Yes, walk ! I told him I rather prided
myself on my walking capacities, and though it
would be slow it would be a very interesting way of
seeing the country.
He succumbed. A representative of the British
Government, who told lies in pretending to be an
unofficial traveller, could never be allowed to walk
while his escort was mounted. He sent for a man
who owned horses , and in ten minutes a bargain was
made. The man wept. What if he and his horses
were captured by the brigands? He funked the
Bulgarian revolutionaries.
We travelled over a ragged, grassless land, with
dwarfed and knotted oaks everywhere. Dip and
rise, dip and rise, the panorama changing and yet
always the same.
It was as though some fiery blast had hit the
world and burnt all sustenance out of it. We jogged
across river beds with never a drop of water to be
seen. There was no life save monster tortoises
slowly heaving their way along. We got over one
broad waterless river, the Koyundara.
We came across peasants wearing the fez, but
black in colour. These were Turks of Bulgarian
origin, who spoke bastard Greek — a remnant of

Byzantine rule. All the Bulgarians here speak
Greek.
Some villages in this region are Bulgarian and
Christian ; others are Turk and Moslem. The
Christian villages were less dirty than the Mahom-
medan villages.
On through the quivering heat till we were faint
to sickness. Thus to the Turkish village of Dolan.
The women were shrouded and in black. Even those
working in the fields stood sideways as we passed,
and held their cloaks to hide their faces, whilst
watching us from the corner of their eyes.
We dropped wearily from our horses. The head-
man of the village, in blue vest, brown pantaloons,
Turkey-red cummerbund and dirty white turban,
gave me greeting. Would I visit his poor dwelling?
It was of unbaked bricks, the floor was of hard
earth ; there was nothing to squat upon but a rush
mat. There was rice and coffee for lunch.
All the men folk of the village gathered round
and sat on their haunches and blinked in the sun.
There was no pushing at the doorway or gazing in
at the window. They wanted to see the foreigner,
but there was no vulgarity in their curiosity. When
I went out they rose and courteously salaamed. The
head-man made a little speech. I shook him by the
hand, telling him, through my dragoman, that that
was the English way of showing friendship. He
was pleased. I offered him a cigarette. He was
doubly pleased. I was about to offer cigarettes to
the twenty men standing about. My dragoman
stopped me. Let the dignity be with the head-man

that I personally had given him a cigarette ; he, the
dragoman, would hand the cigarettes to those of
lesser degree.
On again, through the panting land. The
country was bleached and arid. The heat was heavy
and drowsy. We had a local soldier from Kirk
Kilise to show us the way to Dolan. There he
turned, and at Dolan we were given another man
to take us to Sileohlu. We trotted joggingly and in
single file along the feeble track. All the land was
desolation.
The afternoon was still young when we reached
Sileohlu — a straggling place, half Turkish, half
Bulgarian. I had a headache from long riding in
the sun and having little to eat. So I called a halt,
and lay in the shadow of a quince tree, whilst my
dragoman went seeking for a place where the night
could be passed.
The leading villagers arrived, some Turkish and
some Bulgarian, Christian and Moslem. They were
living together in friendly fashion, as I found all
through the country they do, unless racial and re-
ligious strife is stirred up by Bulgarian political
propagandists, which inevitably leads to bungling re-
prisals on the part of the Turkish authorities. The
mayor and a deputation of the local district council
were solicitous I should be the guest of the village.
I thanked them, but insisted upon being allowed to
pay. Then they insisted that at least I would allow
them to do their best, so that I might take away
pleasant memories.
Here I was, a stranger, suddenly dropping into

a place I had never heard of twelve hours before, and
the head-man was eager to put aside all personal
affairs to be courteous to me. There was marked
distinction between the Christians and Moslems, and
I could not fail to notice a certain rivalry wrhich
should do the most.
The effendi had a headache ! The afternoon
would be spent in the cool of a wood. We walked
to a leafy spot, dark with the shade of many trees.
There was a marble tank, about the size of a sub-
urban dining-room, where bubbled pleasant water.
Mats were spread ; cushions were brought. Melons
were tossed into the tank, where they were chilled to
iciness. Then we ate slabs of them. A fire was lit
beneath the trees, the mayor himself was busy
coffee-making ; a mild individual , whom I christened
the town clerk, sat near and twanged melancholy
Turkish airs upon a guitar. Of coffee wre drank cups
innumerable, and of cigarettes smoked unceasingly.
My heart went out to these kind, simple-hearted
rural folk in that unknown corner of Turkey. They
never molested or pestered me. Knowing I had a
headache they kept at a distance and spoke low.
When I announced I was betfer they were un-
feignedly glad. The fire was relit, the guitar
twanged sprightfully. We drank coffee, and more
coffee, and again more coffee.
With this incessant coffee-drinking — twenty or
thirty cups a day — how can it be otherwise than that
the Turks are lethargic? Through centuries have
they drunk inordinate quantities of coffee. Every
little Turk inherits a sluggish liver. When my

advice is asked what shall be done to redeem the
Turkish nation from its torpor I shall reply : * ' The
first necessary thing is to prohibit the drinking of
any more coffee. Get the livers of the Turks into a
healthier state before you bother about their brains."
None of my friends had seen anything of the
world beyond Adrianople. Some had not travelled
as far as that. When I told them about London
they sat like attentive children listening to a fairy
tale. It had all to be interpreted by my dragoman,
but there was no rude laughter at my unknown
speech. I told them about the streets, about the
motor omnibuses, the express trains, the twopenny
tube, the telephone. A wonderful people were the
Europeans. And very rich ! Anything could be
done with money. It was because England was so
rich it had all these things ! I endeavoured to show
it was because of these and such-like things that
England was rich. No, they would not have it that
way. With riches anything could be done. If
Turks were as rich they could do the same.
The largest room of the largest farmhouse in the
village was prepared. It was just mud walls and
rnud floor. The only light was the flicker of a
curious little oil lamp. In one corner was placed
matting for my sleeping accommodation. A fire
was built in the yard, and beneath the glow of a
great moon a meal was cooked — a chicken, pilau (a
sort of greasy rice), which was delicious, black bread,
a bunch of grapes, more coffee, much more coffee,
and a flask of white wine.
I sat like a Turk, and ate like a Turk. This was

the real thing. Above my head hung long slim rifles
and cartridge belts handy in case there was an attack
by Bulgarian brigands.
Brigands ! I had forgotten all about them. I
never saw anything of them. Only I saw the
goodness of the Bulgarians and Turks living in this
little village. I laid my revolver by my pillow-side,
smoked and mused. London ! That was a place
I must have read of somewhere. I looked at my
watch. Eight o'clock ! The village was at rest
save for the occasional baying of a dog at the moon.
I fell asleep and dreamt I was captured by brigands,
who cut off my ears, and fed me on nothing but
coffee and cigarettes.
The moon was still shining, though hanging low
in the heavens, when I was quietly awakened. I
shivered with the cold. I went out into the biting
air. The soldiers, who had slept in the open, were
yawning and slouching to attend to their horses.
My good friend the mayor was superintending the
making of coffee.
It was two hours before sunrise, when I had
ordered I should be awakened, for we had a long
ride to Adrianople.
CHAPTEK XIV.
HIS MAJESTY'S REPRESENTATIVE.
A British Consulate Described — Comfort the Triumph of English
Civilisation — Home Thoughts — England Honoured in the
Balkans.
IN the hazy distance he sees himself a full Consul,

earning £800 a year, or even rising to the dignity of
a Consul-General with £1,000. At present he is
Acting Vice-Consul in his Britannic Majesty's
Levant Consular Service, and his income is £400.
It is not likely you ever heard of the quaint,
rickety, ramshackle Turkish town where it is his
duty to represent British interests. As a matter of
fact, there are no British interests, as the phrase
is usually understood. No Britons live in the
place. Whatever British trade there was has been
bulged aside by energetic Austrians or accommo-
dating Germans. Yet he writes to the Foreign
Office voluminous reports, which occasionally find
quotation in podgy Blue Books that nobody reads,
or which are dumped into the vaults of Whitehall
to mould and rot. Still, he is a cheerful young
fellow. His greeting may be of the chill, official
English kind, yet there is a sterling grip in his
handshake. Later he tells you a visitor is a god-
send.
The British Vice-Consulate in an out-of-the-way
Turkish town is a poor reflex of the glory of the
British Empire. The taxpayer at home is ever
grumbling about increased expenditure, and the
143
gentlemen in Whitehall, who have to account for

the farthings, have hearts adamant to consular ap-
peals. A small contribution called "office allow-
ance " is made towards the rent and the wages of
the kavass, or messenger; but the chief burden falls
on his Majesty's youthful representative. So when
he has paid his rent, perhaps £40, perhaps £90 a
year, furnished his house, provided himself with
two horses, hired a cook and a personal servant,
paid the wages of the kavass, fed himself and his
household, made the innumerable presents associ-
ated with official life in the East, there is not much
balance out of his salary.
The Consulate is a dingy, melancholy-looking
building, possibly up a side street that is pungent
with strange, unappetising odours, and the shrill
cries of fantastic-garbed itinerant merchants. Over
the door is a large, yellowish, lozenge-shaped, and
cheap enamelled tin showing the royal arms —
tawdry, and evidently supplied, under contract,
by the hundred. If there be an adjoining slab of
garden a flagstaff stands with the hoist-ropes im-
patiently slapping its side, and if the garden be
absent then the flagstaff is attached to the small
but inevitable balcony over the doorway. On the
King's birthday and every Sunday, a crumpled
Union Jack shakes its folds and takes an airing.
The entrance hall is bare. Heavy boots on the
bare boards make that rowdy, hollow, echoing sound
you hear when tramping an empty house. The
walls, tinted with crude blue colour wash, are un-
adorned, save possibly for a pasted bill bluntly
HIS MAJESTY'S REPRESENTATIVE. 145
informing you that British subjects abroad may
register the birth of their children at the Consulate,
for which service the Consul is entitled to charge
a fee of two shillings. On one side you catch a
glimpse, through a door ajar, of a dejected apart-
ment with a bed in a corner (the private room of
the kavass) ; on another is a drear ' ' chancery ' ' —
the official part of the Consulate; a cheap table,
with wheezy pens on a blotting pad it would be dan-
gerous to use, an unpainted cupboard, an iron safe,
where the papers are kept, a pile of dusty and
dishevelled London, Paris, and Constantinople
newspapers in a corner ; a map of the Balkan
Peninsula on one of the walls. Here sits the
dragoman, the interpreter, a quick-witted, Euro-
pean-clad but fez-wearing Armenian, who learnt
his English at Robert College, on the banks of the
Bosphorus, and finds it profitable to give his ser-
vices in return for the protection of living under the
British flag.
But there is the Vice-Consul's own room.
Consuls-General and full Consuls, especially if there
is a wife, make the home in a foreign land like an
English home. But the young Vice-Consul, with
maybe only half a dozen years in the Levant Ser-
vice, is a bachelor. His instructions from the Am-
bassador at Constantinople are of the "come-here,
go-there " order. His stay may be for a couple of
months, it may be for two years. Severe and
frugal are his wants, with no accumulation of
' ' truck ' ' to cost much money carting about from
one part of Turkey to another.
146 PICTURES FROM THE BALKANS
Some day, when the British taxpayer allows

the Foreign Office to be generous, a Consulate will
be provided by the home Government, and perhaps
£100 will be spent in supplying a few necessaries
available for the resident Consul, whoever he may
be: a carpet or two, half a dozen chairs, a couple
of tables, some pots and pans, an iron bedstead, a
wardrobe, a bath.
Till that time comes his Majesty's representative
must fend for himself. He may have been hur-
riedly transferred from a distant post. He arrives
with a couple of trunks. He stays at a Turkish
inn till he has been through the bazaars and bought
or hired some furniture, and written to the English
stores at Constantinople for a frying-pan and a tea-
pot. He tries to keep his expenses down. Why spend
money on furnishing when in a month or two he
may be hustled off elsewhere, necessitating the sale
of his possessions at a sacrifice? — for he does not
know who his successor is likely to be, or whether
he would be inclined to buy his belongings.
Yet this little sanctum of the Vice-Consul has a
pleasant savour. You find there what you will find
nowhere else in the city, not even in the home of
the Vali himself : comfort. Comfort is the triumph
of English civilisation. The people of other nations
think they have it, but they lack the faculty of under-
standing what it is. In the United States you get
an imitation of English comfort, pleasant but still
an imitation. Compare a refined American home
with a refined English home. As far as money
goes the American home is more luxurious than the
English home. Luxury, however, is not comfort.
So there is about the English home, appreciated by
Americans as quickly as anybody, that "indefin-
able something " which is summed up in the one
word — comfort.
And the young Englishman, because it is in his
nature rather than from set purpose, makes himself
comfortable. Though he went from the public
school to the 'Varsity, and straight from the 'Var-
sity into the Levant Consular Service, he has with
him the sense of comfort. During the half-dozen
years he has been in Turkey he has learnt about
prayer rugs, embroideries, tapestries. After much
haggling in the bazaars he has purchased precious
pieces, which hang upon his walls in lieu of pic-
tures. He develops a pretty taste in ancient arms,
flint-lock pistols chased in silver, sabres of Damas-
cus steel, the blade inlaid with gold, the handle
studded with coral and turquoise, the scabbard of
embossed silver. He teaches a Turkish carpenter
to make a lounge ; he throws a Persian rug over it ,
and there is a divan comfortable indeed. He gets
a couple of long-bodied, well-padded English easy
chairs from Constantinople — things which the Turk
insists throw the human body into most undig-
nified and ungentlemanly postures. He has his
stack of pipes, and he must have his English 'baccy.
Pieces of embroidery hide the bare deal table where
stand his photographs, some in little silver frames
— not Turkish, but of the kind sold by the thou-
sand in a hundred shops in Eegent Street or Oxford
Street — but most are unmounted. You need not
ask which are the photographs of the mother or the

old dad. The position of the pictures tells you.
There are groups of young fellows in cricketing
flannels, taken before the Vice-Consul exchanged
the pleasures of English sport for the work of repre-
senting his country in a Levantine town. Since he
is a straight-built, healthy Englishman, you notice
the photographs of sweet and smiling English girls,
sisters, the friends of sisters, girls who possibly
looked kindly into the eyes of the young English-
man, who maybe think of him as living in gorgeous
Eastern style, or maybe have let him slip from
memory altogether. And the Vice-Consul, sitting
alone in that comfortable room — with no bright
restaurant to dine at when he "gets the hump,"
no theatre nor music hall to fly to, no pal with
whom to play billiards, no countryman to speak
to — must let his thoughts wander to the old land,
and if his thoughts make his heart a little sore and
the things seen by his eyes a little blurred, he is
none the less a strong man for that. Though when
he finds himself at it he will probably swear, whis-
tle, and load another pipe. He'll have out his horse
in the morning, go off for a gallop, and shake up
his mopish liver.
There are compensations. No Englishman is
ever so much an Englishman as when away from
England. In London he will abuse it ; but let
any man endeavour to abuse it in his presence in
Constantinople ! The Vice-Consul knows the name
of England stands high in the Balkans. The Turk
remembers that when the Eussians were at San
Stefano it was England that prevented them enter-
ing Constantinople. To-day, when all the nations,
except Germany, are worrying Turkey, and Austria
and Eussia are greedy to gobble up the Balkans,
the Turk knows that England, though meddlesome,
has no territorial hunger. At home the Vice- Consul
would pass along the street unnoticed. In Turkey
he never goes out without officials saluting him and
the soldiers on guard at the Konak presenting arms.
He calls upon the Vali, the Governor. When
the visit is official and not merely courteous, he puts
on his frock coat and silk hat — articles he brought
out from England six or eight years ago, and which
are apt to look old-fashioned to the man fresh
from London. As, among the half-dozen Consuls —
Eussian, French, Austrian, Italian, Greek, Servian
— he is the only one who can speak freely in Turkish,
he is appreciated by the Vali. He sips syrupy
coffee, and puffs cigarettes, and complains that
Christians in some adjoining village are being
harshly treated by the authorities. The Vali is very
sorry to hear it, promises to attend to the matter and
have the Christians better treated — which they rarely
are. The British representative formally calls on
all his consular confreres, and within twenty-four
hours they all formally return the call. But there
is little friendship between the Consuls. They
spend most of their time watching each other,
spying upon one another through their dragomans,
and writing reports.
The Vice-Consul keeps his eyes and his ears
open. Much depends on himself and the faculty to
weigh the value of the prejudiced stories against the

Turk told him furtively by Armenians or Bulgarians
or Greeks. If he keeps pace with the times he wrill
have a typewriter, so that his report may be mani-
folded. Otherwise he laboriously writes four copies
— one for the Foreign Office, one for the Ambassa-
dor, one for his Consul-General, and a file copy for
himself.
He is really an ambassador in miniature. His
work is diplomatic rather than consular. He has a
hundred opportunities of showing what brains he
owns. Often he is little more than a boy, and his
thoughts might yet be in the cricket or football field.
His countrymen scarcely know of his existence.
Yet he is one of the army of educated but expatriated
Englishmen who sit in lone houses in strange cities
in far-off lands, and at fitting times remind the
Asiatics of the majesty of Britain.
CHAPTEE XV.
THE TURK AS RULER.
Virtues of the Turk— The Sultan's Point of View— The Two Turkeys
— The Reform Party — Universality of Corruption — Abuses
of Taxation — The Peasant — The Turk Incompetent to Rule.
" THE Turk is the only gentleman in the Balkans."

This was a remark made frequently to me as
I travelled. It was generally made by Englishmen.
Then came the remark that the Turk was quite
incompetent as a ruler, and the sooner it was recog-
nised by Europe that he is incapable of being either
tinkered or coerced into what others consider good
government, the better it will be.
Most Western men and all Western women shud-
der at the Turk as a nasty, unclean creature. Sen-
suality is thought to be his chief quality. The
untravelled European, indulging in an imaginary
picture of a Turk, conceives him to be fat and
greasy and lecherous, with no thoughts above the
pleasures of the harem.
The Turk is no saint, but he is as moral as the
average Englishman or American or Frenchman.
It is exceptional for a Turk to have more than one
wife. As for the ladies in the harem — a fact which
stirs the ribaldry of the vulgar — the system is prefer-
able to the promiscuity which disgraces Christian
European cities. If comparisons must be drawn, I
venture to say the average Mussulman is quite as
moral as the average Christian.
151
I don't discuss the merits or demerits of the

Mahommedan faith, but, writing personally and
impartially, I have had proof of " real Christianity "
in many a Moslem land: courtesy, kindliness, hos-
pitality. The Turk is a most strict adherent of the
observances of his faith. Clean of body he generally
is. He is no one-morning-a-week worshipper. He
is never too busy to pray at the appointed hour.
He never gets drunk.
Where we Christians of the West often make a
mistake is that we persist in abusing the Turk be-
cause he does not view Turkey from our standpoint.
We forget, or at least we ignore, that he is Eastern,
that he has traits of mind entirely different from,
and frequently incompatible with, our own. It may
be we are entirely right and he is entirely wrong ;
but the Turk has his point of view, and it is from
that point of view — rather than from wilful vicious-
ness — that he acts. It is well to be fair and just,
even to the Turk.
Measure him by European and Christian stan-
dards and he is wanting. But he is neither a
European nor a Christian. He is a Turk, and above
all things he is a Mahommedan.
That the rule of Turkey is out of shape with the
sentiment of Europe is true. That the two will
never mix is clear. That the methods of Turkish
government in the Balkans must cease is inevitable.
The centre of Government, the Imperial Palace,
is lacking in wholesome administration. It is not
that the Sultan, Abdul Hamid, is not solicitous con-
cerning the welfare of his empire. He is probably
THE TURK AS RULER. 153
the most hard-worked and perplexed man in Turkey.

When I saw him at the Yildiz Kiosk he struck me
as a man racked with cares and anxieties. The
stories about debauchery can be dismissed as sen-
sational fiction. That he does not readily yield to
the demands of the Powers is not to be wondered
at. He knows that there are rapacious Powers,
and that the diplomatic advice given him will often,
if adopted, be one step nearer the disruption of the
Turkish Empire, to the aggrandisement of some of
his hungry neighbours. You cannot convince a
man of your good intentions when he knows you
intend to despoil him.
Further, the Sultan has never had an oppor-
tunity to judge the political situation on its merits.
As far as his talks with the foreign Ambassadors
go it is a case of " pull devil, pull baker." Abdul
Hamid has much shrewdness and vast suspicion.
He has had no broad intellectual training. From
his youth he has been surrounded by Circassian
slaves and black eunuchs. The whole Government
is riddled with the burro wings of cliques. The
Sultan prefers to surround himself with strong
ministers. A strong minister falls, not because the
Sultan fears his strength, but because, so intricate
and subterranean is Turkish intrigue, proof is soon
provided by rivals that the Minister is plotting. It
is a trait of the East to be convinced that the action
of every man is dictated by motives of personal
advantage. You cannot argue against it. It is
inherent.
We use generalities in talking of Turkey — and
generalities are misleading. There are two Tur-

keys :the Turkey of the official classes and the
Turkey of the people. We know little of Turkey
as a nation, but draw conclusions concerning
it from the corruption of the official circles.
And whilst corruption is deep, rank, atrocious, we
must remember it is the system of government
which is at fault. Indeed, Turkish administration
to-day has corruption as its mainspring. It is not
secret, reprehensible, a thing which makes the Turk
shudder. It is the ordinary and natural thing. If
a man pays a high official £5,000 for a post worth
£500, both understand that the money will be re-
couped by "squeezing" somebody else. It is
open traffic, speculation, meaning there is to be
cruel grinding, and that not one quarter of the taxes
are ever expended on the purpose for which they
are levied. All very wrong, of course; but it has
been so long the way of doing things that it is ex-
ceedingly difficult for the Turk to imagine how it
can be done otherwise.
I recall talking with a high Turkish dignitary on
this very subject. He had travelled much and was
acquainted with other countries.
Suddenly he asked : ' ' Do you think it is Christi-
anity which makes other countries less corrupt? "
"Well, perhaps," I observed hesitatingly,
" You have lived in America? " he questioned.
"I have."
" And do you think that much-abused Turkey
is any more corrupt than municipal government in
America? "
Eeluctantly I was obliged to admit I did not.

" Ah ! " he said hurriedly, " and America prides
itself on being a Christian country. We are cor-
rupt, and we admit it ; you Western people are more
corrupt, but you don't admit it. Mahommedans
are more honest than Christians."
There is a strong and growing reform party in
Turkey. But all government is essentially conserva-
tive. Every man who wants change — however
genuine are his convictions that the change would be
beneficial — is in antagonism to the existing govern-
ment. There is one of the great stumbling-blocks
to improvement in European Turkey. All edu-
cated Turks, away from the official class — and many
of that class also — realise that the present condition
of affairs in the Balkans cannot continue indefinitely.
They recognise that Turkey can only remain part
of Europe by getting into line with the rest of
Europe. Every step, however, in that direction is
a step to revolution, and the sympathy of the rest
of Europe is behind it. Accordingly, we have to
recognise this primal fact : the Sultan and the
Turkish Government — shortsighted, or even blind,
if you will — are fighting for their existence in re-
sisting the reforms which to us, standing aside, seem
so reasonable.
Our sympathies rightly go out to the Christians
living under Ottoman rule. But the oppression of
the Christians is not all due to religious antipathy
on the part of the Mahommedans. It is also due to
politics. Mourad Bey, one of the most enlightened
men, deeply anxious for the welfare of Turkey, said :
' ' I affirm with all the energy of which I am capable

that before the advent of the first consular agent,
and, above all, of the first missionary among us,
the Christians of the East were more tranquil, more
free, and more happy than to-day." The Sultan,
ignorant and superstitious, sees in all the movements
to improve the lot of the Christians deep designs to
effect the smash-up of his Empire. And, within
limits, he is quite right.
Whilst Europe is perfectly justified in placing
many of the Balkan troubles at the doors of Abdul
Hamid, we have to remember his upbringing, his
environment, and the traditions of the Caliphate.
It is easy to say " Clear him out of Europe." But
he is in Europe ; he is master of a considerable
section of Europe ; we have to deal with him as
an autocrat. All civil and military, and nearly all
religious, power is in his hands. The country is
divided into vilayets or provinces, ruled by Valis who
draw small salaries but become exceedingly rich.
The law is confused and conflicting. There is the
sheri, or sacred law of Mahommedanism, and
the civil and commercial law, based on the Code
Napoleon. Christian evidence is never accepted
against that of a Moslem. Theoretically it is ac-
cepted, but in practice it is not. All appointments
to offices are in the hands of superior officials, rising,
step by step, to the Sultan himself. It is only
because the summit is reached in the Sultan that
he himself does not pay for his dignity. Everybody
beneath pays in some way or other.
The gathering of taxes is pernicious. Collection
is farmed out to the highest bidder. For a lump

sum down — he usually pays much more to the Vali
than the Vali hands on to Constantinople — the col-
lector isempowered to demand one-tenth of a man's
crop and invariably gets much more because he
assesses the crop at far above its value. If the
farmer makes any bother about the valuation he is
prohibited from gathering the crop at all, so that
he has nothing but ruin before him. The conse-
quence isthat the peaceful, law-abiding, and hard-
working Turkish peasant, slaving from dawn to sun-
set, barely gets sufficient from the sale of his crop to
keep life in the bodies of himself and family. "If,
effendi," a peasant said to me one day, "I finish
the year's work with a profit of a medjedeh (about
4s.) I thank Allah !"
The tax-gatherer squeezes every piastre out of
the peasant ; his superior squeezes the tax-gatherer ;
the Vali squeezes the superior ; the court clique at
the Yildiz Kiosk squeezes the Vali. Further, the
peasants have to deal with the zaptiehs, or police-
men, poor creatures, irregularly paid and rarely fed,
who can only keep themselves alive by exactions
from the already wretched agriculturists. I use
the word " wretched " from the European point of
view. The Turkish peasant, like other Turks, is a
fatalist. He accepts whatever comes. I usually
found him quite happy and singing, though he is
born to constant, grinding labour. Taxes, in dis-
tricts where there have been public improvements,
such as railways, are collected by the Department
of Public Debt, representatives of the foreign
bondholders, competent men as a rule, certainly

just, who avoid the bloodsucking which is elsewhere
so general.
It is the Turkish peasant — as Turkey has practi-
cally no manufactures — who bears the financial bur-
den of the Empire. The officials, like parasites,
live on one another, from mighty dignitaries at Con-
stantinople down to the meanest who squeezes the
life out of the peasant. Yet the peasant, as I have
said, is invariably happy, and only halts in his work
so that he may kneel, place his forehead on the
ground, and thank Allah for His goodness.
The point not to be lost sight of, however, is
that the Turk is by nature incompetent to rule.
For the five hundred years he has been master
of the Christian population he has never shown a
recognition that the position implies responsibility.
His ideas have travelled no further than that by
right of conquest the soil is his, and he is justified in
living on the labour of the conquered. Despite his
slouch there is something of the nobleman about
the Turk. He never lacks dignity. In mixed
towns of Turks, Bulgarians, and Greeks, the Turks
are easily marked by their cachet of distinction.
The Turk has not and will not assimilate with
Christians. The Christians are inferior; Allah has
placed them in subjection ; massacres are useful
things to enable the Mahommedans to get possession
of things the Christians have no right to. The
Turk's moral sense is dulled by his fatalism : kismet,
and by the degraded position of his women.
Everybody is suspicious of everybody else. A
tremor of fear runs through all the official classes.

A rich man is afraid to proclaim his riches, for
those in authority would soon trump up charges to
despoil him. The policy of Turkey is to sit still
and do nothing. When anything is done under
compulsion it is done slowly. Yavash, yavash! is
the guiding principle of Turkish administration, at
the beginning, at the end, and all the time.
CHAPTEE XVI.
UNDER THE EYE OF BRITAIN.
Drama, the Centre of the British Sphere of Influence — British
Officers Wearing the Fez — An Expedition into the Hills —
Spies — Enmity between Greeks and Bulgars — Philippi —
Memories of Greeks and Romans — St. Paul's Visit — Kavala
— Skittish Turkish Ladies — Where the Tobacco for Egyptian
Cigarettes is Grown — A Moslem Monastery — Birthplace of
Mahomet Ali.
WHERE Macedonia begins or where it ends is in-

definite. But travelling from Constantinople to
Salonika you halt at the little town of Drama.
Drama you know to be in Macedonia because here
are stationed the British officers engaged to assist in
the reform of the gendarmerie and generally keep
an eye on the differences between Turks and
Christians.
Drama is the centre of the British sphere of in-
fluence— the least important sphere because it is
the quietest part of disturbed Macedonia — just as
Seres is the centre of the French sphere, Salonika
of the Eussian, Monastir of the Italian, and Uskup
of the Austrian.
I found both Turks and Christians appreciated
the British representatives. The Christians appre-
ciated them because England stood for Christianity
and they knew England was their friend. The Turks
appreciated them because, as the officials told me,
the British officers treated them as equals. In the
Monastir region there was kindliness toward the
Italians. But I was told that at Seres the French
160
UNDER THE EYE OF BRITAIN. 161
treated the Turks as inferior, at Salonika the Kus-

sians tried to bully them, whilst at Uskup the
officials realised too well that Austria wanted terri-
tory much more than to bring peace to that unhappy
region. Germany, as the avowed friend of the Sul-
tan, has no hand in the pacification of the country.
I drove through the narrow, noisy, vine-sheltered
streets of Drama, beyond the town, past the bar-
racks, where, in view of disturbances, reserves, called
out from the surrounding villages, were squatting on
their haunches — quiet, decent fellows. So to a
square whitewashed building alliteratively dubbed
by its present occupants " Murzsteg Mansion."
Colonel Fairholme, the political representative, was
at home on leave, but I received greeting from
Major Gore-Alney and Captain Smyly. Though
appointed by the British Foreign Office, they were in
the pay of the Turkish Government. It gave one
a little jump to meet British officers, in khaki uni-
forms and with South African medals on their breasts,
wearing the crimson fez. An English soldier with
a Turkish fez seems a curious combination.
Murzsteg Mansion is sparsely furnished : a table
or two, a few chairs, some camp beds, indiarubber
baths, a pile of reports, military accoutrements, a
heap of old novels, here and there a photograph, and
in the place of honour an autograph portrait of King
Edward — a kindly unexpected remembrance from
his Majesty to his soldiers far off in little-known
Macedonia maintaining the reputation of Britain
for justice.
A good work these British officers were doing in
the region round Drama. The Turkish gendarmerie

were under their eye. They got offenders dis-
mis edthey
; secured promotion for those who were
worthy. With few attendants they went on trek
away in the wild hill lands northward, toward Bul-
garia, through bandit-infested districts, enduring
hardships, with long riding and miserable accom-
modation, investigating disturbances between Turks
and Bulgarians, or, more often, between rival
Christians, exercising by their presence a good effect
on the people, putting the authorities in awe, and
carefully reporting to the Ambassador at Constan-
tinople the trend of affairs.
For several days I stayed with Major Gore-Alney
and Captain Smyly, and had opportunity of seeing
their work. It is not work that is sufficiently start-
ling to attract attention in the newspapers, nor
to receive mention in Parliament. When people talk
about the easy life of the British officer it is well
to think of the men at Drama — and there are thou-
sands of such men in other solitary parts of the
earth — living alone, doing their duty, with no
dinner parties, no drawing-room chat, no theatres,
but finding simple relaxation, after hard riding in
the scorching sun, by sitting in canvas chairs, smok-
ing their pipes, and watching the moon sail into an
almost velvety sky and hang over the plain where
are the ruins of Philippi.
With Captain Smyly as cicerone I had the satis-
faction of a little expedition into the adjoining hills
where trouble had been. As escort we had three
gendarmes, one a famous capturer of brigands. He
tracked one notorious character for weeks through

the mountains, and never ceased till he had his head
in the saddle-bag.
We rode across the red sandy plain, where the
vegetation was shrivelled, toward hills bare, fierce,
uninviting, except that in dips it was possible for the
peasants just to scratch a living.
In the maize fields we saw Bulgar-Macedonian
husbands, wives, and children working from dawn
till dusk, and never knowing there was anything
particularly wrong in the world till the Bulgarian
Komitajis came along and compelled them to join
the revolutionary movement.
All the villages are sworn to reek with insurrec-
tion on the signal being given. Hidden somewhere
in the neighbourhood are arms. The Bulgars had no
difficulty in bringing them into the country. They
knew that the Turkish soldier turns in at sundown
and, being frightened of the dark, is not disposed
to be on the move again till daylight. Accordingly
the " bands " always moved at night. Now, under
the direction of the British officers, patrols are
frequently made at night, and revolutionaries are
caught red-handed. They get short shrift.
Here is a Bulgarian village ; there is a Greek
village ; over yonder is a mixed village. In the
mixed village the Greek priest had made himself
more than usually disliked by the Bulgars. He and
his two daughters were murdered — nobody knows
by whom !
Spies are everywhere. The system of espionage
is truly Oriental. News reached Constantinople
that the prisoners in Drama gaol were improperly

treated. A distinguished hodja, or learned man,
arrived at Drama, and, befitting his position, he
was invited to stay with the Governor. He dis-
ap eareda; watch was missing ; chase was given ; he
was caught and thrown into prison as a thief and
an impostor. That was just where he wanted to
go. He was a spy sent from Constantinople.
We passed a well. It had been erected by a
good Bulgar, and there was an inscription mention-
ing the fact. The Greeks in the village smashed it,
and when the Bulgar was dying they gathered round
the house and howled derisively.
All through Macedonia I never heard a good word
for the Greeks. The Turks chaffingly call them
" the runners," because of the way they skedaddled
before the Sultan's troops in the Turko-Greek War.
Yet Greek talk is unusually bloodthirsty. One day,
whilst Greeks were fraternising in Drama, someone
shot a dog in the streets. The Greeks were terror-
stricken, held one another, and then barricaded the
door. They thought a Bulgarian " band " had coine.
One village we visited wras mixed Turk and Bul-
garian. The twelve hundred inhabitants were
starved creatures and were in considerable dismay
when our horses clattered among them. There had
been some political murders of Bulgars. Whilst
Greeks were blamed it was fairly clear the crimes
were the work of fellow Bulgars who were not satis-
fied with the enthusiasm for revolution , and possi-
bly suspected that tales were being told to the Turks.
Whilst Captain Smyly was making investigation the
head-men of the village, Turk and Bulgar, crowded

round. We were both rather astonished at finding
three or four Bulgar ' ' teachers ' ' who had selected
this woebegone village for a holiday place. We
knew well enough they were spies for the Bulgarian
revolutionaries — and they knew that we knew.
Due south from Drama is the ancient town of
Kavala, on the coast. To reach it is a swift four
hours' ride. Going there one rides across the Drama
plain and through miles of tobacco fields and past
all that remains of the city of Philippi.
The only habitation at Philippi is a decrepit
mud-floored coffee-house where horses can rest and
the traveller light a cigarette. The slithering Turks
in the dirty shed knew nothing about the faded glory
of the city. The step was a piece of marble with
a Eoman inscription. Blocks of inscribed marble
were scattered about. One side of the stable is
part of a gigantic cube of marble, erected, as far as
can be deciphered, in honour of the victorious
Eomans after the battle of Philippi, B.C. 42, when
Augustus and Antony defeated the republican forces
of Brutus and Cassius. Staples have been driven
into the marble so that halters may be attached. I
asked the Turks what the pillar meant. They
blinked and said it was to the memory of a great
Turkish general !
Not much remains of Philippi. The few ruins
are the mute witnesses of a little world which lived
and prospered on this spot for a period of nigh thirty
centuries. The first inhabitants were probably
Thracians who mined for gold in the neighbouring
mountains. They built a town to protect themselves

from invading tribes who wanted the gold. Eleven
centuries before the Christian Era the town was
called Datus, or Datum. That town prospered
until the fourth century B.C. So great was the
fame of the gold mines that the desire of the
ancient Athenians was to annex the place. This
was often attempted, and finally, in 360 B.C., the
Thasians, stirred up by the Athenian Callistrates,
seized Datus, and gave it the new name of Krenides.
But this appellation and the stay of the Thasians
only lasted two years. The original inhabitants
made constant attacks to regain their possessions,
and forced the Thasians to seek the aid of Philip of
Macedon, who had long coveted Datus. He took
advantage of this opportunity to capture it. Philip
enlarged the town, adorned it with wonderful build-
ings, and renamed it Philippi after himself. The
gold mines were developed by him to such an extent
that they yielded him a revenue of a thousand talents.
For an hour I wandered among the ruins. I
found the remains of Philip's theatre on a slope of
the Acropolis. A few goats were munching the tough
grass where, long before Christ came, the people
shouted at the sports.
On the plain, noble and solitary, stands a rem-
nant of the Eoman domination, maybe the ruins of
a temple. But there are no worshippers now. Only
a peasant came up and offered me coins he had found
in the fields.
Ten years before I had visited Tarsus, in Asia
Minor, the birthplace of the Apostle Paul. Later,
on the island of Malta, I went to the spot where

Paul was wrecked. Now at Philippi I found the
ruins of a temple which was the place where the
Komans imprisoned Paul. St. Paul visited Philippi
three times. I sat on a tumbled piece of masonry
and read in the Acts the account of those visits.
Now Philippi as a city is dead. The men who
have built a cabin out of its ruins know nothing
about it. They huddle and puff at cigarettes and
make coffee for the traveller.
I rode toward Kavala. This was the great Via
Egnatia running from Dyrrachium to Byzantium.
Along this road came Ignatius, Bishop of Antioch
under Trajan, on his way to martyrdom in the am-
phitheatre atKoine.
Clashing were my thoughts as I jogged along. I
overtook a dust-smothered, ramshackle old four-
wheeler. In it were two Turkish ladies, cloaked
and heavily veiled, so that only their lustrous eyes
could be seen. They were young and good-looking.
And here was a Giaour, not elderly, and on horse-
back ! A Giaour is used to looking upon the faces
of women ! They pulled aside their veils and with
laughter let me see their countenances. It was a
challenge : Were Christian ladies as pretty as Mos-
lem ladies?
I laughed as I raised my hat and gave my horse
the spur and scampered past. Wicked young
Turkish ladies ! They would never dare the impro-
priety of showing their features to a Turk. But a
Giaour did not matter. And the fat old blear-eyed
Turk on the coach-box saw nothing of the adventure
of his charges. Yes, through the long train of cen-

turies many maidens have laughed on that Philippi
road and are now gone into the great limbo of the
unknown.
A zigzag rise, the summit of a range, and then
quaint Kavala, on a tongue of rock sticking impu-
dently into the rich blue of the -ZEgean Sea, the
island of Thasos not far away, and then in the dis-
tance, like a little cloud rising to the heavens,
Mount Athos the holy.
The way down the coast-side to the town is
crooked. The road is mended with marble; the
dust is marble ; heaps of marble are on the banks
for repairs. The sun touches the marble and makes
it glisten like myriads of diamonds.
Kavala, resting on the sea, double walled, held
to the mainland, it seems, by a willowy aqueduct,
is occupied by Turks. But Kavala has grown, and
behind the neck of the peninsula spreads fan-wise
a Greek town. The Greek quarter is not distin-
guished.
To reach the Turkish quarter one goes through
a not over- wide stone gateway. Kavala is all
climbing rocky stairs and coming down rocky
stairs. No vehicle is possible. It is all bends
and corners and shady passages and mosques and
minarets and peeps of the blue sea and basking sun-
shine. The colour is Neapolitan. Frowsy and
creak-jointed Turks, who ought to be reading the
Koran, wrap splash-tinted sashes round their waists,
have turbans of white or green, and baggy breeks
that are vermilion. The atmosphere is hot and
UNDER THE EYB OF BRITAIN. 169
slothful. It is just the place for a Turk. It makes

even an Infidel feel like a Turk.
My hotel was a poor thing to look at. But it
was a good place to stay at. It is kept by a stout
German dame, called Kathe. Every European who
visits Kavala knows Kathe. She is a mother to
them all. She cooks — and is the best cook in Mace-
donia. She knows how you like your food and sees
it is served clean.
I was having an omelette when I looked across
the room. English voices! Captain Hamilton, a
son of Lord Claude Hamilton, dressed as a Turkish
officer, engaged in the reform of the gendarmerie,
a Belgian officer with an eye on the police, and Mr.
Teofani, of cigarette fame.
Cigarettes ! The only cigarettes you are sup-
posed to smoke in Turkey are Regie, the Govern-
ment monopoly. But nobody in Kavala ever smokes
Regie cigarettes. Every cigarette in Kavala is con-
traband and is good. The best tobacco in the world
is grown on the plains at the back of Kavala.
Egypt, though it sends us cigarettes, does not grow
an ounce of tobacco. It imports the best from
Kavala. In 1905 about one thousand tons were
exported from this little port, and the value was
about one million pounds sterling. The Govern-
ment takes a clear ten per cent, royalty. Only
the dust and scrapings go to the making of Regie
cigarettes.
A tremendous business is done in smuggling.
The humour of the situation is that most of the
Kavala officials are steeped to the eyes in smuggling.
Ostensibly they do their best to check it, but

manage to secure a considerable profit by failing.
Captain Hamilton is hard on smugglers and
officials. There is death for one and dismissal for
the other. All round the hills are gendarmerie posts
to watch for smugglers. An official got Captain
Hamilton to change a post from a place where he
was assured no smugglers ever came. He did so.
But he caused a watch to be set. A great bale of
tobacco seized was addressed to the very official
who had got the soldiers removed. The former
came from Smyrna eight years ago. His salary was
£13 a month. He has now retired, having saved
£40,000 out of his salary.
Kavala has many poor. I went to the imaret
or poor-house, where the needy, the halt, and the
blind crawl three mornings a week to receive rice
and soup. They cringe in the alleys for hours
whilst the odour of food comes wafting to them from
the kitchens. They eat gluttonously whilst a priest
reads from the Koran, though nobody pays any
attention. Eight thousand pounds' weight of rice
comes every month from Egypt, a legacy from
Mahomet Ali Pasha, who was born at Kavala in
1769. Mahomet Ali was a Napoleon in his
way. He would have annihilated the Greeks as
a nation at the beginning of the last century had
not the European Powers stopped him. He looked
to Egypt and the Nile basin as a region where he
could become emperor. His invasion of Syria
startled Sultan Mahmoud. Russia was willing to
help in crushing him, but England and France
A CORNER OF DRAMA.
NEARING A DISTURBED VILLAGE.

appeared on the scene and compelled terms to be

arranged. Mahomet All became governor of Syria.
He plotted ; the Sultan tried to smash him, and was
smashed himself. Mahomet Ali frightened Europe.
So the Powers intervened again. He resigned all
claims to Syria, but Turkey was compelled to yield
to him and his heirs the pashalik of Egypt. Having
given Turkey so much trouble, he now has a hodja to
read daily prayer for the peace of his soul , whilst the
poor of his native town eat the rice he willed to them.
Sprawling on a rocky eminence is the medrasa,
or monastery, where are three hundred men pre-
paring to be Moslem priests. They come poor at
the age of fourteen or fifteen, and after a stay of
thirty years are allowed to marry. The courtyard
is shady with orange trees. The balconies are broad
and cool. The thick-walled cells are simple and
with little slats of windows looking out upon the
bluest of seas.
I was an Infidel, " a dog of a Christian." I had
stood for a casual moment at the monastery gate
when a white-turbaned priest hastened forward.
Would I enter and rest? I was pleased, and he
seemed delighted. Other priests came. They
showed me their cells ; they gave me a cushion by
one of their slat windows. They brought sweet-
meats and coffee and cigarettes. I could only speak
to them through my interpreter. They wanted to
talk politics. There is no freedom of the Press in
Turkey, and all that is learnt comes through official
channels. They knew a revolution was breeding.
They knew how great England was. They knew
England was friendly to Turkey. They knew it

was England who kept Russia out of Constan-
tinople but
; now, why did not England compel
Bulgaria to stop her menacing attitude? England
was so rich ! Why did not England give money to
Turkey to buy arms to fight the Bulgarians? Why
were the Bulgarians to be allowed to have Mace-
donia— the Turks recognise Macedonia is ultimately
to be lost — when it is Turkish territory? And
Russia was behind it all ! Did I not think it was
Allah who helped the Japanese to defeat the Rus-
sians so that Russia might be stayed in its designs
on Turkey?
Maybe — possibly — one could not say ! But, I
added, as the Turks had obtained this land by the
sword , might they not lose it by the sword ; and was
it not possible Allah was angry with Turkey and
intended to help the Bulgarians? They shrugged
their shoulders.
The city of Kavala is now the training-ground
of Mahoinmedan priests. No Christian church is
within its gates. Yet — such are the vagaries of
time — when Paul and Silas came and converted
the inhabitants to Christianity it was given the
name of Christopolis. In the early Middle Ages
Christopolis was important as a halting-place on
the main road from Constantinople to Rome. It is
the eastern key to Macedonia. The name Kavala
was probably found for it by the Genoans,who made
it a commercial centre. The fine position of the
town attracted their attention in the thirteenth cen-
tury, and they made an alliance with the people
KAVALA.
OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF KAVALA.

against the Venetians. The Italians called the

place Cavallo, from its likeness to a horseshoe.
Kavala fell into the hands of the Turks in the four-
teenth century. They immediately destroyed it,
but Suliman the Magnificent afterwards rebuilt it
and got Jews from Hungary to settle there. It was
the growth of tobacco which attracted the Greeks
who live in the outer town.
All over are evidences of the affection of
Mahomet Ali for his birthplace. He rebuilt the fine
aqueduct so that the whole of the town, inside the
walls, has abundant water, whilst those outside the
walls, Christians, are put to enormous expense in ob-
taining water which has been diverted from their
part. Moreover, by his will he left a large sum
to be used to lighten the taxes of those who live
within the walls. Those outside, as a consequence,
pay heavier taxes. This does not increase the
friendly feeling between Moslems and Christians.
The export of tobacco is the staple industry. In
the warehouses hundreds of girls were engaged sort-
ing the leaves and packing. The season comes
quickly. Labour is at a premium. But at other
times of the year there is slackness and distress.
Just before I was there Kavala had been indulging
in the civilised luxury of a strike. The tobacco
workers wanted more pay. It was refused, and
they declined to go to the factories. Having
nothing else to do, they proceeded to riot and smash
factory windows. The strike was speedily settled
by the authorities throwing the ringleaders into
prison and keeping them there.
CHAPTEK XVII.
THE CONDITION OF MACEDONIA.
The Different Parties — Decrease of the Moslem Population —

Nationality not a Matter of Race — A Hotbed of Intrigue —
The Macedonian Committees — Austria and Russia as Watch-
dogs—Greece the Tool of the Sultan— Where the Future
of the Balkans is Likely to be Decided.
IT has been pointed out that there is no distinct

race that can be called Macedonian. Roughly
the population is about 2,000,000. A third of these
are Turks. Of the remaining two-thirds Sofia will
tell you the tremendous majority are Bulgars ;
Athens assures you the preponderance is with the
Greeks, whilst both Belgrade and Bukharest have a
claim for Servians and Eoumanians.
Servians and Eoumanians do not count, and one
is not far wrong in saying Bulgars and Greeks are
about equally divided. In the thousands of villages
which dot the country, some Bulgar, some Greek,
some Turkish, some mixed, the different races and
people of different religions live amicably until poli-
tics are brought along to stir ambitions and jeal-
ousies, Bulgars and Greeks against each other and
the Turks against both.
The industrious qualities of the Bulgar and Greek
and the natural indolence of the Turk have an effect
on the population. By some people the decrease of
the Moslem population is ascribed to the gross im-
morality of the modern Turk. Personally, I think
174
THE CONDITION OF MACEDONIA. 175
he is yielding to the pressure of a superior race,

particularly the Bulgarian. I heard allegations
made, especially at Monastir, that the Turks kidnap
Christian children and bring them up as Mahom-
medans. There is a well-known case where a
soldier sold a couple of children in the market-place
for four shillings. They were bought by a Bul-
garian Christian who knew them to be the little ones
of an acquaintance who had been massacred. There
was an uproar by correspondents. Christian con-
suls were indignant ; newspaper writers brought
tears to the eyes of Christians at home with the
pathetic stories they had to tell. Anyway, the
authorities gave instructions that no more Christian
children were to be brought to Monastir, but were to
be sold in the villages ' ' where there are no prying
consuls or correspondents."
Very roughly I have given equal division to
Greeks and Bulgarians of the Christians in Mace-
donia. By doing so I lay myself open to severe, and,
I do not deny, legitimate criticism. For there is
nothing more difficult than to say any particular
Macedonian village is Bulgarian or Greek. There
are Bulgarians who speak Greek, Greeks who speak
Bulgarian. There are Bulgarians who speak Bul-
garian but belong to the Greek Orthodox Church
and are counted Greek in nationality, and there are
Greeks speaking Greek who belong to the Exarchist
Church and thus are Bulgarian in nationality. Even
with this confusion it might after a time be possible
to say, " This village is Greek and that village Bul-
garian." But people who call themselves Greek
this week will swear they are Bulgarians next

week.
Nationality in Macedonia is a matter of fear,
politics, and religion. Race has comparatively little
to do with it. Language does not help you much,
because most Macedonians are bilingual, and they
change their tongue when they change their party.
Again, you meet peasants with Hellenic or Bulgar-
ian sentiments who can speak nothing but Turkish.
So, while for convenience sake we say the
Christian bitterness is between Bulgarians and
Greeks — meaning the Bulgar and Hellenic races
who receive support from Sofia and Athens — we
must make the endeavour to remember, in examin-
ing the Macedonian mess, that the country is not so
much divided into rival peoples as into hostile
parties. When, therefore, I speak of equal division
between Bulgars and Greeks I have race in my
mind and not the numbers of those who are totalled
up as supporters of one propaganda or another.
This being so, no country should be easier to
govern than Macedonia. The rivalry for predomin-
ance ought to have made the task of balancing
claims and yielding to neither quite simple. But
the Turk breaks down in administration.
The only thing that happened was that by op-
pression everybody was made discontented, Mace-
donian Turks as well as Macedonian Christians.
The downtrodden Turks had nobody to appeal to.
The Christians had ears tuned to listen to the revolu-
tionary talk of the Komitaji, Bulgarian and Greek,
who, under the plea of safeguarding their Christian
brethren, are really animated by desire to make

Macedonia a part of Greece or an extension of Bul-
garia or an independent country, with Greek or
Bulgar as top dog, whichever happens to secure the
position.
Were the Christians in Macedonia — Hellenes or
Slavs — to combine against the Sultan they could
clear his rule out of the country in six months. The
reason they do not is that they have a greater hatred
toward each other than they have in common against
the Turk.
Macedonia is a hotbed of intrigue. The cry of
protest which comes to us against Ottoman malad-
ministration and the appeal for an extension of our
Christian sympathy to Christians in the Balkans is
too often an exploitation of discontent for political
advantage. Many of the massacres of poor
Christian peasants in Macedonia by the Turks have
been the consequence of assassinations by Bulgarian
Komitajis, who stirred up reprisals in the hope that
they would be vile and that Europe would intervene.
Nothing more cold-blooded is recorded in history
than the manner in which sections of Bulgarians
— however much they may have stayed their hands
during the last two years — pressed the revolutionary
cause on the attention of the world. Massacres
of Bulgarian Christians were provoked, so that by
making others the victims of Moslem ferocity the
Komitajis might move toward the realisation of their
political ambitions.
Sir A. Biliotti, formerly British Consul-General
at Salonika, thus summarises a copy of " Kegula-
tions ' ' found in the frock of one of the captured

Bulgarian " bandsmen." Members of the various
Komitajis were
to accuse the troops of offences they did not commit; to
exaggerate such offences as they may have committed ; to
colour their other actions so as to make them appear as of-
fences to
; persuade the villagers to go en masse and lay com-
plaints first before the Consuls, afterwards before the Vali ; to
murder all "harmful or useless Christians" and to put the
blame on the most likely Turk, bekji, seimen or other ; to admit
to membership of a band only such as have previously com-
mit ed a murder by order of the band, whereby the latter is re-
lieved ofall suspicion and the former is compromised ; to levy
contributions regular and irregular from each village ; to choose
in each village " terrorists " who shall keep the population in
subjection, act under the order of the band, and relieve the
latter of the duty of murdering such as may require it ; to
maintain the utmost secrecy concerning the possession of arms
and information.
M. Schopoff, Bulgarian Agent at Salonika,

stated to Sir A. Biliotti that there was a vast num-
ber of young Bulgarians who, on finishing their
two orto three
them return years'
to theirschooling,
homes andthought
work initthe
beneath
fields
as their fathers did, and that it was from among
these that the Committees recruited for the bands.
He estimated the number of these loafers in Mace-
donia at 20,000.
I have no right to say that many members of the
Macedonian Committees are not actuated by worthy
motives. But it is clear from a careful consideration
of the Macedonian problem that in actual work
the Committees forget they are Christians and are
little more than relentless proselytising politicians.
In the beginning the Committees had high aims.

Turkey had shamelessly neglected her obligations
under the Treaty of Berlin. There was petty per-
secutionBulgarian
; Christians crossed from Mace-
donia into Bulgaria proper and told their tales of
woe. Then followed raids by armed bands of Bul-
garians into Turkey. In time associations were
formed in Bulgaria and secret committees in Mace-
donia to aid the Bulgarian cause. In time came
a congress and the formation of the ' ' High Com-
mittee," having for its object the securing of
political autonomy for Macedonia, and pledged, in
order to secure it, to take any action " which may be
dictated by circumstances."
The consequence was that peaceful Bulgarians in
Macedonia wrere forced into the revolutionary move-
ment, compelled to secrete arms, made to contri-
bute to the maintenance of the "bands," and
were put to death if they reported to the Turks, or
were massacred by the Turks because they were
revolutionaries. However oppressive the Turks had
been, however zealous were good Bulgarians to
save their fellow - countrymen and co - religionists
in Macedonia from oppression, the revolutionary
movement, as it is in Macedonia to-day, is the
outcome of terror and murder. There are excep-
tions, of course, but the Bulgarian Macedonians
help the "bands," not because they regard them
as brothers, but because they are afraid of assassina-
tion if they do not help them.
Witness, then, the peculiar situation. The Porte
treats Christians in Macedonia exceedingly badly.
The Bulgarian Christians adopt assassination as a

remedy. The Turkish Government retaliates and
massacres those who are innocent of revolution or
who have been forced into the movement. Christian
Europe is horror-stricken at the barbarity of the
Turk. Sympathy is given to the Bulgarian move-
ment. The Bulgars think Macedonia is for them.
The Greeks start a movement of their own. Greek
' ' bands ' ' meet Bulgar ' ' bands ' ' and cut one
another up. The Turk is lectured on having a
wretched Government to allow such things to take
place. The Turk, to check rebellion, sends out
troops and slaughters a " band " and burns the vil-
lages which have harboured it. Then the Turk is
abused for massacring Christians. Was there ever
anything more tragically comical?
When the whole country was in a welter and
massacres were rife, in 1902, Europe shook itself,
decided something must be done, and appointed
Austria and Russia — the two countries who do not
want peace in the Balkans, but hope to benefit in
territory during a general Balkan conflagration — as
watch-dogs.
All Europe barks at the Sultan except Germany,
who is passive. The one country now on friendly
terms with Turkey is her late enemy, Greece. The
Greeks have for twenty years claimed that if Mace-
donia goes to a Christian Power, all the country
south of Uskup must go to Greece with the whole of
the vilayet of Adrianople. The Turco-Greek War,
however, rather damped down Hellenic ambitions.
Still, no opportunity is lost of showing that Mace-
donia is a Greek land. To prove numerical superi-

ority over the hated Bulgarians, all Macedonians
who do not belong to the " schismatic " Bulgarian
Church are counted as belonging to the Orthodox
Greek Church. That the Bulgarians should have
broken away from the Greek Church was perfectly
natural, because the Patriarchate, instead of being
above race, tried to Hellenise the Balkan peninsula.
It was the revolt of nationality rather than a differ-
ence in creed which led the Bulgarians to make the
severance. There is little difference in the service
except language, and the influence of both Churches
is political rather than moral.
The Greek and the Bulgarian Churches are at
enmity. The Sultan, seeing that European sym-
pathy was with Bulgaria, was astute enough to en-
courage the Greek movement. That brought rival
" bands " into Macedonia, not to wage war on the
Turks, but on the Bulgarians, who were coercing
Orthodox Bulgarians to become Exarchists. This
did two things : it caused the Christians to kill one
another and it reminded the Powers that there were
other Christians besides Bulgarians in Macedonia.
Turkey made all sorts of concessions to Greece, con-
cluded commercial treaties, and, more important,
upheld the Greeks in South Macedonia in wresting
churches and schools from the Exarchists. Greece
is the tool of the Sultan in complaining to Europe
that the Porte would have made an end of the
brigands long ago if it had been allowed liberty of
action by the Powers.
The Balkan States cry out for Turkey to be dis-
possessed of Macedonia. If that were done a Euro-

pean war would be precipitated. Neither Austria
nor Kussia would allow Bulgaria or Greece to have
it, and Germany would take care that neither
Austria nor Russia got it. While the Greek priests
do the bidding of Greek politicians, Greek poli-
ticians get their orders from Abdul Hamid, and
Abdul Hamid is governed by the long-armed policy
of the German Emperor. The future of the Balkans
is more likely to be decided at Berlin than else-
where.
The European Concert, to maintain the status
quo in the Near East, is a futility. There is no
status quo. In the diplomatic wire-pulling one
country is ever securing an advantage over the
others. Russia formerly had it ; Great Britain had
it recently ; Germany has it now.
CHAPTER XVIII.
SALONIKA.
Mount Olympus at Sunrise — Ancient and Modern Greeks — Albanians
— Women of Different Races and their Dress — The " Con-
verts "— English Manners and Others — The Turks of Salonika
— The Art of Driving Bargains.
I SHALL ever think that at the Mount Olympus
Hotel in Salonika I had the best room. Perhaps
every other wayfarer was assured he had the best
room — just as at Chamonix it is understood that
every bedroom window looks out upon Mont Blanc.
Anyway, at the break of day, when the quay was
awakened into the life and colour only to be seen
in the East, it was pleasant to throw back the
shutters, look across the way to where the quaint
caiques were bobbing on the burnished bosom of
the sea, and then away, over a pat of mist resting on
the waters, to the crest of Mount Olympus flushed
with rose by the young sun.
It was indeed pleasant for a modern pilgrim
like myself to fill lungs with crisp ozone, stretch
idly in pyjamas in a deck-chair on the balcony, whiff
a Kavala cigarette, and think of the ancient Greeks
who thought Olympus touched the heavens with its
top, thought that there was neither wind nor rain
nor clouds, but an eternal spring, where the gods
wantoned and where Jupiter held his court. That
was when the world was young, life was poetry, and
the Greeks were brave.
183
Beneath my balcony were modern Greeks, sit-

ting at little tables on the pavement, sipping their
five-o'clock-in-the-morning coffee, smoking, chatter-
ing, quarrelling, reading Greek papers, enjoying the
Graphic , which is found in every Salonika restaurant
— crowds of them, mostly podgy, wearing European
clothes and the obligatory fez.
There is a row. Two Greeks jump to their feet ;
their black eyes flash ; their tongues clip insult.
They press their hands to their waists as though
searching for stilettos. "Bah!" to each other.
They move apart, breathing fire. It is war to the
death. Then one weeps and peevishly picks up a
stone and throws it girl-like at his foe. His foe
runs away. And this is the up-to-date manner in
which Greek meets Greek !
One afternoon I went on a little yachting excur-
sion. The breeze was sprightly, the sky clear azure,
the sea merry. I got a good view of Salonika, a
white and clean city making a curve with the bay,
rising on a sharp slope, and then suddenly checked
by walls and turrets. Mosques and minarets pro-
vided picturesque points. It was all entrancing,
and yet somewhat like a scene to be occasionally
noticed on the drop-curtain of a theatre.
Salonika has its distinctions. Near the quay,
where are the big hotels and boulevards and the
syrup-sipping and the horse tramcars, is a touch of
Europe. Within the town the streets narrow and
are covered ; the bazaars are gloomy and Oriental
and smelly — the more Oriental the more smelly.
There is the aroma of the East. At one part of
SALONIKA. 185
Salonika you can get a nice French dinner. You

can jump on a tramcar and in five minutes you are
in another land, where there are no chairs and
tables, nothing but mats and Turkish food and the
heavy narcotic smoke of turbaned Moslems puffing
narghiles.
The population is hotch-potch. When you get
above the poorer class, garb alone is no aid to decide
nationality. Everybody speaks Greek and most
know Turkish. But you have to note the features,
the eye, the walk, the general manner, to decide
whether this man be a Turk, a Greek, an Armenian,
a Bulgarian, or a Jew. The shifty eye tells the
Armenian, the swagger of demeanour proclaims the
Greek, the quiet alertness reveals the Jew. They
are all Turkish subjects, and all have to wear the
fez.
But here are men of distinction, .tall, swarthy,
proud in their carriage. These are Albanians, with
quilted white petticoats, black caps, silver-braced
coats, and a couple of revolvers stuck in the girdle.
They are the dread of the Turk. They are part of
the Turkish Empire, but they do not recognise
Turkish authority. They do as they like. They
pay what taxes they choose. If an Albanian kills
a Turk, of course the Turk provoked him. Turkish
authorities will do anything to conciliate the Al-
banians.
The beautiful women are Greek. They are tall,
carry themselves gracefully when young, dress well
in the Parisian style, and are decorative and amus-
ing in the little gardens by the sea-front where at
sun-down everybody gathers to listen to indifferent

music and drink indifferent lager beer. The stal-
wart, big-boned, plain-featured women in red skirts
are Bulgarian.
But the most striking costumes are those worn
by the middle-aged and elderly Jewish women —
not by the young Jewish women, for they, following
the example of their Greek sisters, prefer last
month's Parisian style. But this garb worn by the
Jewesses is peculiar to Salonika. Three or four
hundred years ago great crowds of Jews were driven
out from Spain. Many came to Salonika. Now,
whilst the fashion of costume has changed all
over Europe, the Jewish women of Salonika, on
passing the age when •" the latest thing " attracts,
wear the precise costume that was worn in Spain
before the persecution. From mother to daughter,
through long generations, has the style of this
quaint garb been passed, a symbol and a remi-
niscence of how the Jews were hunted by the
Christians before they found refuge in a Mahom-
medan land.
Being a mere man I hesitate even to attempt a
description. At first shot I would say the Salonika
Jewess is like a middle-aged and portly Geisha girl
wearing a smoking cap. At second shot I would
say she looks like one of Tom Smith's Christmas
crackers on end with a head sticking up. For third
shot take this : a plain Jewish face and the hair
brushed smooth, but the plait twined about a low-
crowned crimson fez. The jacket is zouave, gener-
ally satin, silver slashed. It is open in front, show-
SALONIKA. 187
ing a flowered, or a white, but generally a green,

soft, cross-bosom covering, leaving much of the
bosom bare. Around the throat are ropes of real
pearls; tassels of pearls rest upon the breasts, and
at the back you will find two heavy green bands with
clusters of pearls in size and quantity proportionate
to the wealth of the owner. Pearls are the one
ornament, and the Jewish woman gives a fair indica-
tion of the position she holds in Salonika society by
the quantity she wears.
Another class of women, differing not only in
costume but in caste, and peculiar to Salonika, is that
of the Deunmeh (convert). Two hundred and fifty
years ago a man appeared among the Jews and pro-
claimed he was the real Messiah. The Turks put
him to the test by ordering him to perform a miracle.
This was impossible, and he acknowledged he was
not the Messiah. Then this Jew turned to Mahom-
medanism and, as he had great power over his fol-
lowers, they did the same. Now the Turk has a
great contempt for the man who changes his faith.
The consequence was that these Deunmeh, though
Moslem in religion, were not allowed to marry into
Moslem families, and, though the converts are Jews
by race, no Hebrew man or woman would demean
themselves by an alliance.
So the Deunmeh have been a class apart. They
have had to marry amongst themselves, and this
they have been doing for two hundred and fifty
years. Altogether they do not number more than
ten thousand, and their headquarters are at Salonika.
The fact that the Jewish-Mahommedans are
ostracised by both Jews and Turks, and so live

in isolation, has had the effect of making them
witful, keen, the sharpest of business men. The
Deunmeh are amongst the richest people in
Salonika. Certainly those I saw were cultured,
well-bred, and had an aristocratic air not to be found
among the others.
The Deunmeh ladies have faces pale and pensive
and with the delicacy of alabaster; their eyes are
large, dark, and dreamy; they are tall, handsome,
and lackadaisical. The way they compromise the
severity of dress incumbent upon them as Mahom-
medans with the characteristic fondness of Jewish
women for finery is ingenious. They always drees
in black, and the head-covering is a thin shawl.
But the cut and the adornment of the dress are
exquisite ; the head-covering is tastefully arranged ;
forearms are bare ; black fans are wafted and held
up — not too rigorously when the lady is beautiful
and knows it, which she generally does — so that the
face be hidden from the eyes of men. There is
nothing but black in the dress of the Deunmeh
ladies, but their grace and ingenuity make it dis-
tinctive.
Then there are the Turkish-Mahormnedan ladies,
who never appear in the streets save swathed in
plain black or blue gowns, keep their faces covered,
never walk with their husbands, never sit in the
gardens listening to the band, are kept in the
harem, and have no man to talk to besides the
husband. I was told that the Mahommedan ladies
eat their hearts out in envy of their Christian and
SALONIKA. 189
Jewish sisters who can dine with their men friends,

go carriage drives, visit the cafe chantant in the
evening. They see that the Infidel treats his
women folk with consideration.
" Ah," said a Salonika man to me, " the Turk
will never break down the barrier between him-
self and the Christian in the matter of the freedom
allowed to women. A Turkish woman would
willingly sacrifice her nationality to have the liberty
she sees Christian women enjoy."
There are three Sundays a week in Salonika,
Friday for the Moslems, Saturday for the Jews, and
Sunday itself for the Christians. Or rather there is
no Sunday at all, for there is never a day when you
notice any cessation in business.
Much of the business is done at the cafes. If
you want a man you go to his favourite cafe* and not
to his place of business. Some cafe's are busy in
the mornings and others busy in the afternoons,
and all are busy in the evening. The Salonikan
loves the shade. At one hour a cafe will be packed.
The sun creeps along the pavements over the mass
of little tables. Gradually customers go to the
tables on the other side of the road and leave deserted
the sun-baked side.
Dining at home is not popular. The Greeks like
to sit beneath the trees and have dinner served from
the adjoining restaurant. And they are charming,
gay, and courteous. I should have liked them very
much if I had not had the misfortune to see so
many of them eat. Their table manners were
atrocious ; they made noises over their soup ; they
messed the food; they held their fingers and forks

pointed starwards, and they shovelled vegetables
with their knives.
The more I travel the more I am convinced that
the manners of England are the best, and I have
been in near forty different countries. I do not say
the English way is the best just because it is the
way I am used to or because it is different from
foreign countries. I say it because I have always
noticed that among the better classes of all countries
the wray accepted as best is toward what is regarded
as best in England.
Now though the Turks are a minority of the
population of Salonika, they are the ruling class.
The wonder is that the quay is so long and so fine.
It must have been built by foreigners. It was de-
cided alittle time ago to widen the front. All that
was done wras to get one man to go to the outskirts
of the town, load a wheel-barrow with debris, wheel
it to the quay, and tipple it into the sea. A friend
of mine calculated it would take four hundred years
at that rate for the necessary quantity of material
to be procured. When there is a road to be repaired
part of the work will be done. Then everybody will
get tired and no further progress will be made for
perhaps a couple of years. The Turk, wThen you
talk to him, will argue it is rather a bad thing to
keep a road in repair. Keeping a road in repair
occupies only a few men. Let it get very bad and
then a great number will be required. Further, the
higher officials like a road to get beyond repair.
Then a large sum will be needed to make another
SALONIKA. 191
road, and the heads of departments get their

" squeeze."
For a great port — looked upon with greedy eyes
by Austria, and to be the ultimate possession of
Germany, so Berlin thinks — Salonika does its trade
in a rather haphazard way. The Greek flag flies
most often from the masthead of incoming steamers.
British vessels number maybe thirty in a year.
Cotton, tobacco, and opium are found more profit-
able than cereals. Fezzes and cigarette papers
come from Austria. About £20,000 worth of cigar-
ette papers alone, mostly of inferior quality, comes
yearly from Austria.
The visitor will hardly have put his nose into the
dark, shadowy bazaar before he is politely bowed to by
some Armenian or Greek or Jew who keeps a store of
antiquities. Foreigners are notorious purchasers of
rubbish, and all alike are supposed to be inordinately
rich.
You plead you are not interested in antiquities
— which is not truthful — and that you have no
money to purchase if you were. The Jew smiles,
bows, and would not trespass, would not dream of
forcing a purchase, but thinks the distinguished
visitor would regret it if he departed without seeing
his collection, which everybody knows is the best
in the city. Please ! So you go to the shop. If
you are a novice or show the slightest enthusiasm for
anything, you are " done." If you are an old hand,
you set your writs against the dealer's wits, bring
" bluff " into play, and exercise an exemplary and
dilatory patience.
This was my personal experience, for I did not

mind dawdling a few afternoons, pretending to be
blase, but keeping an eye open for bargains. The
place was a higgledy-piggledy mass of old Albanian
guns of which I could have bought a hundred at a
Turkish lira (about a sovereign) apiece. Silver carv-
ings— and the silver very bad — chains, lamps, orna-
ments, lay about, dusty and black with age. It was
like a litter in a scrap-iron store. The Jew declared
everything to be silver. I scraped one piece and
showed it wras plated on copper. Well, well; he
had been deceived by the ruffian from whom he
bought it! What would I give? Nothing! My
eye was on something else, a quaint silver bowl
inset with turquoise. Like the expert he was, he
saw. Ah ! what would I give for that? What did
he want? Three lira! I tossed it aside, saying
it was not worth more than a medjedeh (about four
shillings). Oh, no, no ; two lira : well, then, one lira.
" If you have anything really good let me see it,"
I said, " otherwise you are wasting my time." He
had got me !
His eyes gleamed. I was a customer. Step
upstairs ! Pardon the wretched place ! A chair,
and a cup of coffee and a cigarette ! It was a real
pleasure to have an English gentleman. "But I
don't say I'm going to buy," I observe. "Oh, no,
just look ; I quite understand, just look."
The place is piled with carpets, some old and
good, most new and bad. He wants me to buy
the new and bad. I tell him I can buy the same
things at the same price in London. Silver? A
SALONIKA. 193
sword ! A silver scabbard, beautifully worked, and

with coral inset in the handle. Only twelve lira !
I offer three. Oh, the gentleman is joking, and the
sword is put away — but not far. Embroideries?
Oh, yes, there are some exquisite embroideries from
Asia Minor, from Khodes, from elsewhere. I give
reluctant admiration. But the price — why, the Jew
must think me foolish, or with more money than
sense. How much for that piece? Five lira — no,
just for luck and to get a sale he will sacrifice him-
self and let me have it for four lira, though it wrings
his heart to do so ! I offer one lira ! Ah, the gen-
tleman is joking again.
In my inward soul I am determined to have cer-
tain things. But there must be no eagerness. I
politely inform the Jew he is too rapacious, and that
I don't think I'll buy anything. "Oh, sir!" I
rise to leave. I finger the embroideries I fancy.
He understands. I examine the silver sword again.
He understands also. I see a pretty Greek cast.
Oh, yes, very pretty, but it would smash before I
got it home. I pick up the turquoise-studded bowl,
likewise one or two other silver bowls which take
my fancy. They are used by Turkish ladies in
the bath for laving the water over their shoulders.
I think they would do nicely as finger-bowls in my
own house. But I drop them after a casual glance.
Sorry there is nothing which pleases ! Won't I
come again ; he is quite certain we should come to
a bargain? Well, maybe, but I won't promise. So
I depart.
The next afternoon I happen to stroll through
the bazaar, showing interest in things I would not

purchase. "Oh, sir, please, please come as you
promised." It is my friend the Jew. I look at
my watch. I have no time ; at least I have only half
an hour. We go to the shop. More coffee and
more cigarettes. All the things in which I had
shown interest are on one side. I at once reject
several articles and say I would not have them at
a gift. The others ! We go through them again.
At last I get together precisely the things I want,
rare embroideries, bowls, sword, cast. Why, the
price — and he has come down — is thirty-eight lira !
And I did not intend to spend more than ten. Ten
lira ! He picks out several things he will let me
have for ten lira. Oh, no, I would not have those !
He assures me that never had he been so willing
to make a sacrifice ; he loves gentlemen from Eng-
land ;they are so much nicer than men from other
countries ; indeed, he had become fond of me ; he
did not want to make any money, he just wanted
me not to be disappointed when I got home that
I had let such a chance go. And when was I
leaving Salonika? In two days' time. I jump
up. I have an appointment and I am behind my
time. I cannot make any purchases. Perhaps I
will look in again? But his prices are so extortion-
ate ! No, it is no good coming round to my hotel !
I'm dining out. Good-bye ! But let him keep the
things on one side on the odd chance I may look in
again.
A day goes by and I never approach the bazaar.
The next day I saunter along with a friend. I pass
SALONIKA. 195
the store, but the Jew hears of me, and comes run-
ning, panting. Please, please; his heart has been
hungering for me ; will I not step into the shop and
have a cup of coffee? And when am I leaving?
To-morrow morning! Ah, and I have not bought
anything. The same things are again brought out.
My friend knows much about Turkish antiquities.
We discuss values in English. It is on his advice I
do not boggle over particular articles, but offer a lump
sum for the lot. It is the total sum which touches
the Jew's imagination. He would like to sell the
things on which there would be a profit and keep
the others. But I won't have it ; it must be a
fixed price for the lot. Well, well ! He muses and
calculates and looks all the things over. Twenty-
five lira he will accept, and he pulls a wrry face. I
offer ten lira. He shrugs his shoulders. He
is sorry. I say I'm sorry. We rise to leave and
glance cursorily at other things. He will take
twenty lira ! No, it is too much. I pretend to be
indifferent; he is openly sad. Some day, when I
again visit Salonika, I'll call on him again ! Good
afternoon ! We leave the shop. " I want them,"
I say to my friend, " and I'd better give him the
twenty." ''Wait a second," is the answer. The
Jew runs up. " It is ruin, but you shall have them
for sixteen lira." " That's his bottom price to-
day," observes my friend. All right! The dealer
dances with joy. He is full of delight. He will
take a cheque. Everything will be brought along to
my hotel in an hour. Ah, he knew he could make
a bargain 1
" If you could have stayed for another two days,"

said my friend to me, " you would have got them
for twelve lira, and I fancy I, who live here, could in
time have got them for ten."
Anyway, that is a sample of how business is done
in Turkey. No one ever asks a fair price ; he asks
the biggest price, quite independent of value. If
you are ignorant and pay it, that is your look-out.
As a rule twice as much is asked as the dealer is
prepared to accept, and he knows you offer half as
much as you are prepared to pay. Much time is
spent by him in reducing his figure, and you in in-
creasing yours. It is the custom.
An acquaintance of mine, who had lived many
years in Turkey, went into a Bond Street shop to
buy a pair of gloves. " How much? " " Three
shillings and sixpence, sir." "I'll give you two
shillings," said my acquaintance. The only reply
was a glance and the sharp closing of the box. As
the attendant put it away he remarked, " I said
three and six." The returned Englishman remem-
bered he was not in Turkey. He laughed and ex-
plained and bought his gloves.
CHAPTEE XIX.
HILMI PASHA, " BONHAM'S BABIES," AND SOME

STORIES.
The Viceroy of Macedonia — Major Bonham and the Gendarmerie

School — "Bonham's Babies" — The Salonika Explosions —
Tales of Greek and Bulgarian "Bands."
HILMI PASHA, the Inspector-General of Macedonia,

is one of the most striking and remarkable of men.
He stands between Turkey and the European
Powers. It is his duty to conciliate Europe, but
yield as little as possible. I am sure he has the true
interests of Turkey at heart, and would be glad to
see the Macedonian problem settled ; but he realises
the absolute hopelessness of the task which his Im-
perial master has set him.
I was introduced to him by the British Consul-
General at Salonika, Mr. E. W. Graves, who has
the widest, most acute appreciation of Macedonian
affairs possessed by any foreigner. Hilmi Pasha
is tall and thin, but with a feverish vitality.
He wrould be thought haggard were it not that the
eyes — large, piercing, inquisitorial — are full of fire.
They attract and they rivet.
Hilmi is a tremendous worker. He is at his desk
at daybreak, sees secretaries, dictates despatches,
receives a constant stream of callers, smokes endless
197
cigarettes, drinks innumerable cups of coffee, never

takes exercise, keeps on working till midnight.
He is a nervous man. All the time he is speak-
ing his long fingers are twitching almost convul-
sively. He speaks rapidly, but never dogmatically ;
always with an appeal to your intelligence, as a
sensible man, that the view he presents is the cor-
rect view. If you did not see him in a fez you would
imagine him to be a Jew. There is a Semitic touch
about his features. He has the Hebraic nose, but he
is really an Arab.
Formerly he was Governor in Yemen, and ruled
with a rod of iron. Now he rules Macedonia with
a skill that is wonderful. Though ever under the
eye of foreign representatives, he is never lacking in
suavity, whilst constantly guarding the interests of
the Sultan.
For three years Hilmi Pasha has been Viceroy in
Macedonia. With all the jarring elements, he
knows better than anyone how futile have been the
endeavours to secure anything in the nature of abid-
ing tranquillity. He would retire from all the brain-
racking complications were he not commanded by
the Sultan to remain at his post.
Now one of the troubles in Macedonia is that the
soldier police, the gendarmerie, are ignorant, illiter-
ate, and so badly and irregularly paid that they must
live by blackmail, and that they never find out who
commits a crime if it is made worth their while not
to do so. To remedy this there has, under foreign
pressure, been established at Salonika a Gen-
darmerie School. It is under the charge of Major
MAJOR BONHAM.
SOME OF lk BONHAM'S BABIES."

BONHAM'S BABIES." 199
Bonham, a highly capable officer possessing the rich
faculty of persuading the Turks to do what could
never have been secured by dictation. The recruits
are jocularly known as " Bonham's Babies." He is
a genial father to them, and the affection felt for
him by the raw, sheepish-looking peasants who are
brought in from the mountains to be licked into
shape is not without its amusing side.
But Major Bonham has hardly a fair chance.
Karely has he a man under his charge for longer
than four months. It is, therefore, little short of
amazing how during those four months a hobblede-
hoy can be straightened up, taught to march in the
German style, and have some character put into
him. But there is the fear, and indeed the prob-
ability, that when such men get back to their vil-
lages, and especially under the influence of their
soldier associates — who have a contempt for new-
fangled European ways — they will speedily relapse
into their old dilatory slouch.
I spent a morning at the school. The poor
physique of the men impressed me. Yet these were
the best that could be picked. Of the last batch of
300 peasants that were brought in, 90 per cent, were
rejected because of their lack of staying power.
Though the material is bad, Major Bonham is
pleased with the results. The Turkish authorities
have no enthusiasm for what is being done at the
Gendarmerie School, and it is with reluctance that
they provide funds for its maintenance. The men
themselves, however, are keen. They are worked
hard, but they never get kicked, and they value a kind
word. Major Bonham has established a mess-room

for the Turkish officers. Till this big, cheery Eng-
lishman came the officers had no place but the cafes
in which to spend their spare time. Now they have
a large decorated and carpeted room. There are
plenty of newspapers. They drink nothing but
water, and they devote their evenings to learning
French.
It inclines one to smile to go into the classrooms
and find between two and three hundred Turkish
men learning to read and wrrite — great big fellows
laboriously and awkwardly making Turkish pothooks
and slowly going through the Turkish equivalent
for C-A-T, cat. But they learn quickly, and as soon
as they master the simplest words their interest is
stimulated by being given stories to read. They
take turns to read. Thought and attention are cul-
tivated bysomeone being called upon to repeat the
story from memory. There is mirth at the mud-
dlers. But interest never flags. The more promis-
ing men are retained as instructors to the new-
comers. The others, at the end of a few months,
are drafted to frontier outposts. But I believe the
benefits of the school soon ebb and disappear.
These gendarmes — who are distinguished by
wearing light blue jackets, in contrast to the dark
blue worn by those who have not had European
training — reside in districts which are periodically
dotted with outrage. Whatever is done will be mis-
represented byeither Bulgarians or Greeks.
The Salonika explosions will not have faded from
public recollection. A number of Bulgarians, while
SOME STORIES. 201
driving past the Ottoman Bank, suddenly threw

some bombs at the soldiers and gendarmes employed
to watch it. Three soldiers were killed. Three of
the conspirators were also killed and three wounded.
The Bulgarians fired the bank with dynamite, at-
tempted to destroy the Turkish Post Office, threw
bombs in various parts of the town, and put out the
gas. It was found that an underground passage had
been made from a shop on the other side of the street
to the bank, and a mine, loaded with dynamite and
connected with the shop by electricity, constructed.
It must have taken months to make this passage.
The earth was carried away in handkerchiefs and
small paper parcels and thrown into the sea or else-
where at a considerable distance from the spot. A
complete plant for the manufacture of bombs was
discovered, including thirty-six quarter-pound jars of
nitro-glycerine.
After the outrage between thirty and forty Bul-
garians were killed by the Turks through resistance
to arrest or in attempted flight. The participation
of a Bulgarian merchant of wealth and position in
the outrages proves that it is hardly possible for any
Bulgarian of whatever standing to escape the
clutches of the Komitaji.
Following the events at Salonika, all the Bul-
garian schoolmasters in the province of Dede
Aghatch put on deep mourning for forty days.
At the village of Banitsa, near Seres, two
'bands" were surrounded by troops, and after
severe fighting most of the "bandsmen" were
killed, as well as most of the male inhabitants who
were in the village at the time. Some thirty or

forty women were violated and most of the houses
burnt, only twenty-two out of 170 being left stand-
ing. In the sanjak of Seres 1,600 houses were
burnt. Of these only 109 were Turkish ; all the rest
were Bulgarian. At the village of Konski three
peasants were tortured by the Turkish officers
searching the village for arms. They were stripped,
bound, and laid upon their backs on red-hot embers,
while a woman was burnt on both arms. All this
was by way of retaliation on the Bulgars for the
Salonika outrage.
Mr. Consul-General Graves, writing to the Brit-
ish Foreign Office, stated that almost all the crimes
committed by the Bulgarians had been provoked by
attempts on the part of the Patriarchists (Greeks) to
profit from the present misfortunes of the Bulgarians
by recapturing schools and churches which had passed
into their hands. The Bulgarians, of course, retali-
ated. Later he wrote that among the documents found
on the body of a Bulgarian revolutionary were ' ' half
a dozen copies of a petition drawn up in Bulgarian
and Turkish to be signed by the inhabitants of Patri-
archist villages, asking to be placed under the
spiritual jurisdiction of the Bulgarian Exarchate."
There were also instructions in cypher as to the
means to be employed in forcibly obtaining signa-
tures to these petitions.
In the village of Osnitsani an old man of sixty
was decoyed out of his house by a ' ' band ' ' wearing
the gendarme uniform. They demanded lodging for
the soldiers, who, they said, had just arrived in the
SOME STORIES. 203
village. The old man was killed with knives near

the church ; there were sixty-five wounds on his
body. Before killing him the " band " tortured him
inhumanly, split his skull, drove the knife through
his ears and eyes, and ended by throwing a heavy
stone on the head of the victim, already beaten into a
shapeless mass. A fortnight before, the poor old
man, who was the most learned and most important
Christian in the district, had gone to the episcopal
chief, his eyes filled with tears, and had stated that
agents of the Komitaji had demanded from him,
with threats of death, the seal of the village, in order
to seal a petition addressed to the Exarch that the
village might detach itself from the Patriarchate !
In two villages between Salonika and Yenije a
Bulgarian ' ' band ' ' was called in by the Greek vil-
lagers in consequence of the oppressions and ex-
actions ofthe Albanian guards, shepherds, and other
hangers-on of several large Turkish landowners in
that district. A fight took place, in which the
Albanians lost three killed. "It is, indeed," says
Mr. Consul-General Graves in reporting this occur-
rence, "a curious inversion of the natural order of
things by which the insurgent band is called in to
punish or avenge the crimes of the nominal pro-
tectors of life and property, while the last to appear
on the scene are the military and police, who content
themselves with reporting the dispersal of the
rebels."
Colonel Verand, the chief of the French repre-
sentatives inMacedonia, has stated that he and his
officers were much impressed by the barbarous ruth-
lessness of the Komitajis and by the powerless-

ness of the Turkish authorities to protect those who
had incurred their vengeance.
The Turkish Ambassador in London told Lord
Lansdowne at the latter end of 1904: "It was
notorious that for some time past ' bands ' formed in
Greece came to carry out their designs in certain
European provinces of the Turkish Empire. The
Greek Government . . . tried to represent the
incursions of these ' bands ' as reprisals for misdeeds
committed by Bulgarians against Greeks." Despite
their assurances to Turkey, the Greek Government
found themselves unable to take measures to prevent
these incursions, and meanwhile a Macedonian Com-
mittee founded in Greece openly issued revolutionary
proclamations, and fresh "bands" were formed
to render the movement more active. Collisions
were constantly occurring between the Turkish
troops and Greek "bands," while the Bulgarian
" bands " made savage reprisals on the Greek. At
Vladovo three Patriarchists were murdered by Bul-
garians because they would not refuse to pay the
hejaz duty (on bringing and selling wood from the
forest) as the Bulgarians directed, but continued to
bring in wood. A few days later another Bulgarian
" band," furious at their loss of four killed and three
wounded in a fight with a Greek " band " that day,
entered the village of Girchista, and murdered the
Greek schoolmistress and six other persons.
These stories are not mere tales brought to my
ears. They are all taken from reports written
by British Consuls to the British Foreign Office.
CHAPTEE XX.
MONASTIR.
The Cut-throat Part of Europe — Murder a Commonplace — Massacres

by the Turks — Bursts of Ferocity and Bursts of Philanthropy
— Outrages by Greek and Bulgarian " Bands " — The Risings
of 1903 — Audacity of the Komitajis — Relations between
the Bulgarian and Turkish Governments.
THE town of Monastir, capital of the vilayet of

Monastir, lies in Macedonia just about half-way be-
tween Bulgarian and Greek territory. North, the
majority of the Macedonians are Bulgar ; south , the
majority are Hellenes. The villages meet, cross, and
mix in the Monastir vilayet. The reason, therefore,
we hear so much about disturbances at Monastir is
not because the Turks there are more wicked than
Turks elsewhere, but because there is a persistent
feud between Greek and Bulgarian political re-
ligionists.
A winding railway line runs from Salonika to
Monastir. There is one train a day, and it crawls
leisurely through a picturesque land. All the little
stations are pretty. Each has its flower garden, and
each station house is trailed with gorgeous creepers.
There is plenty of fruit to be bought ; lads sell jars
rilled with chilled water. There are Turks and
Greeks and Bulgarians, all merry, greeting friends,
seeing friends away — quite a happy country scene.
Yet this is the cut-throat part of Europe !
205
Monastir is an undistinguished, motley sort of

town of some 60,000 inhabitants, 14,000 of them
Greek, 10,000 of them Bulgarian, four or five thou-
sand Albanian, two or three thousand Jew, and the
rest Turk.
There is a sufficient variety in costume — but after
a month or two the jostling of differently clad races
ceases to attract the eye. Monastir is- an ordinary
Turkish European town, even to the attempt at a
garden where the richer Turks and Bulgars and
Greeks come and sit at little tables and drink beer
and listen to a string band composed of girls from
Vienna.
Everybody is jolly. Murder is so commonplace
that it arouses no shudder. In the night there is the
little bark of a pistol, a shriek, a clatter of feet.
" Hello ! somebody killed ! " That is all.
But though geniality reigns, you notice things
which make you think. Half the population con-
sists of Turkish soldiers. Night and day they are
about. On all the neighbouring hills you see mili-
tary encampments. A caravan of mules laden with
maize comes in from the country, and each four
mules are convoyed by a soldier with a gun ready.
Monastir goes about its business. But it stands
on the fringe of a fearful massacre. Bulgarians are
in a minority, and are avoided by Greeks and Jews.
In the cafes plots are hatched. A man whispers in
your ear. Last night two Bulgarians were stabbed
to death ! Hush ! they deserved it. Had not the
Bulgarians put poison into the communion wine at
the Greek church?
MONASTIR. 207
One murder a day is about the average. Some-

times all is quiet for a week. Then half a dozen men
are wiped out and the average is maintained. The
Greeks have warned the Bulgarian residents in Mon-
astir that for every Patriarchist murdered by the
' ' bands ' ' in the country they will murder two Bul-
garians in the town.
Sarafoff , the insurgent Bulgarian leader, is press-
ing the peasants so hard for contributions that they
are forced to sell their cattle at ten to fifteen shil-
lings a head in order to satisfy him. At Prilip,
which I visited, a Moslem youth returning from his
farm with his mother was murdered by Bulgarians ;
his mother was impaled alive and afterwards muti-
lated in the most barbarous manner.
The number of Turkish troops in Macedonia is
something like 150,000. This means that practically
the wThole male population in several parts of Turkey
has been forced to leave its home and its ordinary
work to take part in the concentration in these pro-
vinces. Such a state of affairs produces the most
terrible misery.
At the village of Moghila, near Monastir, after
the destruction of a " band," both Bashi-Bazouks
and soldiers proceeded to strip the dead of their outer
garments, footgear, and arms, and lacerated the
corpses with knives and bayonets. Almost every
house in the vicinity was sacked. The Turks car-
ried off whatever suited them, and cut into ribbons
the new sheepskin coats and other garments they
could not take away. Corn and other foodstuffs
were scattered on the ground and burned. Finally
about a dozen cottages were set on fire with

petroleum.
The village of Smyrdesh was wholly destroyed
by the Turks on the pretext that the inhabitants had
provided the Komitajis with means of subsist-
ence. Out of a population of 1,200, 140 men,
women, and children of the village were killed, and
out of 286 houses only twenty or twenty-five were
left standing. The booty carried off was large, com-
prising all kinds of stores and household goods, as
well as cattle, horses, and the sacred vessels in the
church. A family of seven persons was massacred,
and the corpses were piled one atop of another in the
fireplace.
In some villages in the Monastir district the Bul-
garian population has seriously contemplated a
change of religion as the only means of securing
comparative immunity from the Turk's oppression —
because the Turk is, for the time being, favourable
to the Greeks. On the other hand, a sister of an
Orthodox (Greek) priest, a woman of seventy, was
tortured by a Bulgarian Komitaji, who cut off
pieces from her feet and stuffed them into her mouth
until she died. She was suspected of having given
information to the authorities of Sarafoff's presence
in Smyrdesh.
Mr. James McGregor, late British Consul at Mon-
astir, reported that in the rising of 1903 the Turkish
troops, consisting of eleven battalions, and accom-
panied by several hundred Bashi-Bazouks, fought
with about 400 insurgents, and were let loose on the
village of Smilevo, which they sacked and burned,
TURKISH SOLDIERS AT MONASTIR.
A GOOD TRADE IN DAGGERS

MONASTIR. 209
leaving only four houses standing out of 500. More

than 2,000 of the inhabitants sought refuge in the
forests, and of those who remained in the village
twenty-one elderly men and sixty or seventy women
and children were cut to pieces, and forty young
women were carried off to Mussulman villages, where
they were kept for a week.
The dreadful autumn of 1903, when the Bul-
garian insurrection broke out in Macedonia, has left
deep traces. Then the insurgent forces were com-
puted at 32,000 men, armed and drilled. Bridges
were blown up and bombs thrown. Krushevo was
occupied by insurgents, against whom the Turks
and Bashi-Bazouks came in force. After defeating
them the troops entered the town, massacred
seventy-seven people, burnt and pillaged 570 shops
and houses ; hundreds of people were ill-treated
and beaten and women were violated. Of course,
the Turks caught none of the insurgents, who de-
camped from one side of the town as the Turks
entered at the other. The pillage and destruction
continued four days. The Bulgarian quarter was
spared, owing, it is said, to bribes given to the
Turkish soldiers. The rest of the inhabitants,
mostly Greco-Vlachs, were ruined, and were
naturally incensed at the Bulgarians escaping the
general destruction. It was suspected by the
Greeks that the Turkish commander was in league
with the insurgents, and had of set purpose at-
tacked the Greek inhabitants. The mere investiga-
tor cannot say. Things are so cross-grained in
Macedonia.
Six hundred women and children from villages

close to Monastir, who arrived in a deplorable
condition, were not allowed by the authorities to
enter the town. After the representations of the
English Consul, Hilmi Pasha provided them with
bread and sent them to a neighbouring village, and
finally to their own villages. The local authorities
of Kastoria, where the troops made a clean sweep,
were ordered to provide timber for the reconstruc-
tion of the ruined houses. A mill was built in each
village at public expense, assistance was to be given
in the harvesting of the crops, all stolen live stock to
be restored and paid for, and the taxes for the cur-
rent year to be remitted. Thus the Turkish authori-
ties alternate between bursts of ferocity and bursts
of philanthropy.
The sum distributed by the Porte for the restora-
tion of the destroyed villages — of which so much
was made by the Turkish Government — amounted
to about fifteen shillings per family. The villagers
in many cases refused it, as they were unable to
undertake the obligation to rebuild with such utterly
inadequate means. Later, Mr. McGregor reported
that, in some parts of the Monastir Vilayet at any
rate, the Turkish Commission, although slow and
face to face with many difficulties, seemed to be
honestly endeavouring to carry on its task in the
most satisfactory way.
The whole country is a complicated mass of dis-
order. That the Turks are guilty of savage excess
in the " punishments " is true. But it is difficult
whilst criticising them to feel much sympathy for
BULGARIANS SLAIN BY GREEKS.
HOW THE TURKS PUNISH A VILLAGE.

MON ASTIR 211
our "brother Christians." In one village near

Monastir a Greek ' ' band ' ' fell upon a Bulgarian
house in which a wedding was being celebrated, and
killed, in the space of twenty minutes or so, thirteen
men and women, and wounded five or six others.
Turkish officials were only despatched to the spot
on the following day, although there was a military
post within earshot. A few days later a Bulgarian
" band " murdered a number of Patriarchists out
of revenge.
Then I heard of the case in which a family of
four Greeks, two of them women, were murdered
by a Bulgar "band," which compelled another
member of the family to take a letter to the
Kaimakam (local Governor) stating he was the
author of the four murders. A " band " at Prilip,
under the leadership of an amnestied political
prisoner, killed a notable of that town, wrenched
out his nails, put out his eyes, and finally decapi-
tated him. The same day a rich man of the place
was cruelly maltreated, while his old mother was
outraged and then hanged.
What is done by the Turkish troops is the result
of instructions from Constantinople. But when there
is an endeavour to reach a conclusion whether what
is done by the Greek and Bulgarian ' ' bands ' ' is
with the sympathy, active or passive, of the Govern-
ments at Athens and Sofia, one is stepping on very
delicate ground. As to Greece, my own opinion is
that the ' ' bands ' ' are not only winked at by the
Greek Government, but are actually encouraged by
the Turkish Government. At present there is no
quarrel between Turkey and Greece, and it is " play-

ing the Turks' game " for the Greek " bands " to
kill Bulgarians. As to the Bulgarian Government,
it is, officially, anxious to check the incursions of
" bands " into Turkish territory. But so strong is
public feeling in Bulgaria in support of the revolu-
tionary movement, so ardent to do all that is pos-
sible to free the Bulgarian Macedonians from their
oppressors, so anxious indeed for Bulgaria to cross
swords with Turkey in war, that the position of
the Government at Sofia cannot be otherwise than
compromising.
It was thought that when Europe intervened to
force Turkey on to the path of reform, the Sofia
Government would call off the revolutionists. Note
what Boris Sarafoff, the insurgent leader, writes :
" You ask me whether this was not the moment to
abandon our revolutionary activity, now that Europe
has taken up the cause of the Macedonians. We
reply that we should regard ourselves as traitors to
our unhappy country were we to discontinue our re-
volutionary propaganda before we have convinced
ourselves that our cause has appreciably benefited
by the intervention of Europe. . . Europe has
repeatedly intervened diplomatically in Turkey . .
but each time the result has been not reforms, but
a general massacre of the Christians. . . We de-
mand the reforms which the Treaty of Berlin
guaranteed to us. Turkey will not grant them to us
without the armed intervention of Europe. It is
for this reason that we have taken up arms." The
revolutionaries want war.
MON ASTIR. 213
Even the Turks have thought war the only solu-

tion. After the risings of 1903 in the Monastir and
Adrianople Vilayets, Mr. Fontana, the British Vice-
Consul at Uskup, wrote: " The common theme of
conversation in Turkish cafes and meeting places
among both officers and civilians is the unbearable
state of things as at present existing ; and a senti-
ment of concentrated illwill towards Christians in
general is gradually making itself felt. . . Officers
and men are sick and tired of their present weary
incertitude . . and they say that war, at what-
ever cost, would be infinitely preferable to the ex-
isting deadlock. Officers and upper-class civilians
inscribed as Have make no secret of their determina-
tion, in case of war with Bulgaria, to burn, on the
march to the frontier, every Bulgarian village they
pass . . and to destroy every town and hamlet
as far as Sofia."
During the insurrection the Porte were con-
stantly accusing the Bulgarian Government of
fomenting and encouraging the rebellion, in spite
of their reiterated and categorical repudiation of
having done so. There can be no doubt that Bul-
garia and Turkey were within an ace of war.
Troops were massed by both nations on the frontier,
the Turkish being a very large force. As far as can
be ascertained, the Bulgarian Government was quite
sincere in its denial of having given encouragement
to the insurgents, and certainly took far greater
precautions on that side of the frontier than the
Turks did on theirs to prevent ' ' bands ' ' or con-
traband of war being smuggled across. After
repeated representations the Porte at length con-

sented to withdraw their forces on condition that
Bulgaria disbanded the reservists who had been
called out, in the proportion of one Bulgarian regi-
ment to two Turkish regiments.
After the repression of the Macedonian insur-
rection Sarafoff went to Sofia, where he received an
enthusiastic reception from an immense crowd. It
might have been thought that the Bulgarian Govern-
ment would have found means to prevent this de-
monstration, even if only for the sake of appear-
ances. The Government refused to take any action
against the other insurgent leaders who took refuge
in Bulgaria, on the ground that they had committed
no offence in that country, and, therefore, unless the
Ottoman Commissioner lodged a formal complaint
which would be heard in a court of law, and must
be supported by evidence — which, of course, could
not be produced — it had no grounds for proceeding
against them.
The audacity of the Komitaji is illustrated by the
fact that a revolutionary theatrical troupe arrived
at Philippopolis, and gave out that the perform-
ances were to represent revolutionary scenes in
Macedonia and the Adrianople district, and that the
proceeds were to be devoted to "an even yet more
active struggle against our persecutor and enemy,
the Sultan." The performances were not interfered
with by the police, as the Prefect thought it in-
advisable toprohibit them lest the revolutionaries of
the troupe should spend their time in more violent
pursuits, to the detriment of public order !
MONASTIR. 215
Friction has existed between the Turkish and

Bulgarian Governments. General Petroff has said
on behalf of the Bulgarian Government that " so far
as Bulgaria was concerned there was complete calm ;
but he could not guarantee how long this would last
if the Ottoman Government continued its present
policy of provocation. The vexatious treatment of
Bulgarian merchandise in Turkey, the refusal of
visas to Bulgarian passports, the system of persecu-
tion in districts like Seres, where no outbreak had
occurred, and the support afforded to the Patriarch -
ists in their attempts to force the Exarchists to join
their Church, were part and parcel of a policy under-
taken for the purpose of pushing matters to a crisis."
During 1905 the official relationship between the
Porte and Sofia became diplomatically " correct."
In 1904 an Agreement had been signed between
Bulgaria and Turkey, the conditions of which paved
the way for a distinct improvement in the relations
between the suzerain and vassal States. Sir George
Buchanan, the British Agent at Sofia, who is de-
cidedly friendly to Bulgaria, says: "The Agree-
ment, it is generally recognised, has raised the
prestige of the Government both at home and
abroad, and has placed Bulgaria in a more advan-
tageous position than that of any other Balkan
State with regard to the Macedonian question. . .
The journals of the National and Tsankovist parties
speak, on the contrary, of the Agreement as a
shameful surrender, from which neither the Bul-
garians nor the Macedonians will reap any bene-
fit. It is, they assert, contrary to the national
aspirations, and imposes on the Principality obliga-

tions which it can never fulfil [re the punishment
and deterral of revolutionary bands] , and which will
consequently be a fruitful source of future con-
flicts with Turkey." Sir Nicholas O'Conor, British
Ambassador at Constantinople, says: "Several
hundred prisoners have been released in the
Adrianople vilayet. . . As to the wisdom of re-
leasing at the same moment so many persons con-
nected with the revolutionary movements, doubts
may well be entertained, especially after the ex-
periences ofFebruary, 1903; but, at all events, the
Turkish Government has fearlessly accepted the
only condition that rendered an agreement with Bul-
garia possible at this moment." Higher Turkish
officials in Monastir professed great satisfaction with
the conclusion of the Convention, but it only intensi-
fied the chronic discontent prevalent among the
Mussulman masses.
Bulgaria, while insisting she has performed her
part of the bargain, is grumbling about the proce-
dure of the Porte. General Petroff says the reforms
are still non-existent, and all, therefore, Bulgaria
can do is, by maintaining a correct attitude and by
faithfully fulfilling her obligations under the Turco-
Bulgarian Agreement, to deprive the Porte of every
pretext for shifting the responsibility for the non-
execution of the reforms from its own shoulders to
those of the Bulgarian Government.
It has been stated by the Turkish authorities
that Sarafoff caused a large quantity of fezzes to be
introduced, vid Sofia, into European Turkey, to-
MONASTIR. 217
gether with costumes resembling Turkish uniforms,

made in Bulgaria, in the hope that thereby the
crimes of the Bulgarian " bands " would be at-
tributed toTurkish soldiers, and also with the view
of deceiving Turkish troops when the ' ' bands ' ' were
pursued by them.
All of which goes to prove that discontent in the
Balkans, though diplomatically cloaked over, is liable
to burst forth again at any moment.
CHAPTEK XXI.
THE QUAINT CITY OF OCHRIDA.
Among Brigands — Attacked by Goat-dogs — The Dogs Dismayed

— A Grateful Albanian — Resna — Melons, Melons all the Way
— Hard Life of the Albanian Peasants— A Thirsty Ride-
Water at Last — A Young Turkish Soldier and his Devotions
— Ochrida— The Chief of Police and his Horse— A Hot-bed
of Intrigue — Healing Water.
THE main street of Monastir was swathed in the
Cimmerian blackness of two hours before dawn.
But there was the sharp click of horse-hoofs, and
the shiver and neigh of cold and impatient animals.
The clang of a sabre, the thud of a rifle-butt, the
clink of spurs came with the muffled talk of deep
Turkish throats.
When I pressed back the shutters of my room in
the Greek inn where I stayed the thought came that
the place was in siege. The flicker of my lamplight
fell upon a jangle of unmounted horsemen, tawny
complexions in sad contrast to the crimson of the
fezzes which all wore. The lightened gloom was
punctured with the glowing points of many cigar-
ettes— for the Turkish soldier, though he may lack
food, is for ever twirling or puffing a cigarette.
This was the escort which had been sent by the
Vali of Monastir. I was going into the fastnesses
of Albania. But there were other travellers pro-
218 a day's journey on the
ceeding as far as Ochrida,
THE QUAINT CITY OF OCHRIDA. 219
way. We joined forces and escorts. And when,

after munching a poor breakfast by candlelight, we
got away with the first glint of approaching day,
we must have awakened half Monastir with our
clatter, the scramble of hoofs on the cobbles, jolting
of accoutrements, and sharp shouts of the soldiery.
The road was well marked. It curved to the
sweep of a long range of bald hills. Goatherds, men
living almost the life of the goats themselves — lank,
sallow, half -frightened children of the wilderness,
wearing cloaks of whole sheepskins — looked wist-
fully from the little fires by which they were crouch-
ing for warmth ; they called off their dogs, which
are half wolf, from the bare-toothed and snarling
resistance they offered to our advance, jumping
savagely before the horses as though they would
grip them by the throat.
The morning shewed that across the valley the
hills rose in soft cadence. Among the tree-clumps
nestled villages, picturesque in the landscape, but
forbidding on close acquaintance. Those hills, like
the hills we hugged, were dun and unfertile; but
the crevices and chasms, watered by the thousand
rivulets of the mountains beyond, were streaked
with the vivid green of prolific vegetation.
"Oh," said the captain of the guard, " this is a
dangerous place. All the hills are infested with
brigands. We are now approaching the village of
Kazanihu. All the people are brigands. But you
are safe — none dare attack when there is an escort
of troops !''
If the villagers were brigands they were the most
wretched specimens of their profession imaginable :

weasel-eyed, slinking creatures, with no flesh on
their bones and the scantiest of rags on their backs.
I doubted if they had the courage to attack a mule
caravan.
"The brigands have gone into the hills," ex-
plained the captain ; " we may see some later. You
have a revolver? "
I fancy he was endeavouring to demonstrate that
the life of a single foreigner would not be worth
twopence if it had not been for the protection pro-
vided by himself and his soldiers.
Whilst the horses were getting ten minutes' rest
before being put to a long climb into the hills I went
for a saunter. I had not gone a hundred yards be-
fore two brutes of goat-dogs came bounding toward
me, yelping and meaning mischief. I fingered my
revolver. Naturally the first instinct was to shoot.
It is remarkable what a lot of thinking you can do
in five seconds when hard pressed. I remembered
first a bit of serious advice given me by a British
Consul, never to shoot a dog belonging to an
Albanian goatherd unless you are prepared immedi-
ately afterwards to shoot its master before he has
time to shoot you. Secondly, I recollected having
read somewhere — goodness knows where — that a
dog will never attack a human being who is sitting
down.
With infinitesimal faith, but with the alacrity
of a Japanese gentleman in comic opera, down I
flopped. Incidentally I may remark that I prepared
for catastrophe by whipping out my revolver, intent
on settling dogs and master if there were need. Sad

to relate, however — in the interests of dramatic
episode — the dogs evidently thought, as I subse-
quently concluded also, that I presented an ex-
tremely ludicrous appearance. Any way, they halted
at about five paces, and stood in strained attitude
and with bristling hair, showing their teeth at my
collapsed self.
How long squatting on one's haunches is
effective in restraining the bloodthirsty propensities
of an Albanian dog I don't know. But the
goatherd, with gun slung behind his back, came
scampering over the rocks, using, I daresay,
Albanian language to its full abusive extent on the
dogs which had behaved so reprehensibly to a meek-
eyed foreign gentleman. He was so characteristic
a hillsman — and all the billies and nannies were
racing over the rocks as though anxious to afford any
little service in their power — making quite a picture,
that I levelled my camera at him. Ignorant hills-
man ! He thought it was some infamous invention
with which a " dog of a Christian " intended to in-
flict punishment on a faithful Mahommedan. He
did not corroborate the warlike reputation of his
race. Instead of swinging his gun into position
and opening fire on his own account, he clasped his
hands and pleaded I would check my wrath. I
realised that much, though I could not understand a
syllable he grunted. Up ran my dragoman full of
respectful indignation that I had strayed from him-
self and the soldiers, and breathing furious curses
in Turkish on all Albanian men, dogs, and goats.
The Albanian, through my dragoman, was profuse

in apologies, and hoped the effendi would not have
him punished by the soldiers. When I assured him
that he had done nothing except the right thing,
and followed this up by my usual peace-offering
of a cigarette, the poor fellow seemed as grateful
and as obliged as though I had rescued him from the
bastinado.
As, in the glowing heat of a cloudless day, we
climbed slowly, many Albanians were met. They
were not wearing the cotton kilt in which they
are depicted in pictures, but white, tight-fitting
trousers of blanket-like material, with a broad, black
stripe down the side of either leg. Their shirts were
full and loose, and their caps were white or black
and of collar-box shape — a little evidence, as the
fez was not worn, that Turkish supremacy was not
acknowledged. As a rule they rode neat, quick-
stepping ponies. Better proof than the terrorising
language of the captain of the escort that danger
was about was afforded by the fact that instead of
their rifles being slung behind the shoulder, they
were invariably lying across the lap of the horseman.
From the summit of the bleached hill, with not a
blade of grass on the way, a rich plain was re-
vealed. The dull, leaden breast of Presba Lake was
on the left, and the little town of Kesna just dis-
cernible on the right : welcome to the eye, for hunger
had set in, and Kesna was to provide a meal and a
rest in the heat of the day for a couple of hours.
It was Saturday, market-day, and the Christian
villagers from the hillsides, mostly Bulgarian, some
Greek, had the market-place choked with produce.

The Turks were few ; the Albanians were in the
hills. But here was one of the phenomena of
Macedonia — for Albania lay much further on — a
mixed town of Bulgarians and Greeks. Politically
they are at daggers drawn, and occasionally at dag-
gers sheathed in one another. It was not, however,
murder which now concerned them ; it was the sale
of melons.
Every market-place I visited in the whole of the
Balkans was half -piled with melons. It almost
seemed as though the people, emulating Sydney
Smith's report that the inhabitants of the Scilly
Isles eke out a precarious living by taking in one
another's washing, maintained existence by pur-
chasing and eating one another's melons.
The place was a hubbub of barter. It was dirty,
and, of course, it was picturesque. It was easier
to note the difference between the Greek and Bul-
garian women than between their men-folk. Not
only wrere there distinctions in attire, but there
was difference in physique. Like peasants all the
world over, they were heavy, stodgy, and with little
intelligence in their countenances.
Occasionally, I know, it is possible to catch a
glimpse of a pretty peasant girl. But working hard,
which comes early in life, with cares, brood of
children, and labour in the fields from sunrise to sun-
drop, wears and tears, and by early middle age the
women are haggard and worn. They have that set
despondency of feature which you ever find with
those who labour close to the starvation limit.
There are no improvement committees in this

region, no scientific enquiries into physical de-
generacy. The people have the mute contentment
of ignorance — except where politics and religion are
concerned. Half the children born in Macedonia
die of malnutrition.
A level but big-bending road makes round the
hills from llesna to Ochrida. A near cut is over the
hills by a faintly-marked mule-track. It was by this
road we went. We scampered across a basin of a
plain, struck the hills abruptly, and started climb-
ing. The way was up a jagged, broken tangle of
rocks. We sat forward in our saddles, and gripped
the manes of our horses whilst, with strained
sinews, they made the toilsome ascent.
We passed through a medley of vegetation and
barrenness. We pushed up clefts of rock which
had in them the pant of an oven, and we sheltered
in leafy glades where there was cool and the trickle
of water. On a brow of scarped sandstone we
wheeled our horses, looked to the valley from which
we had ascended, looked beyond the shimmering
lake to where the world was cut off by a long range
of red and arid rocks.
Horses and riders wrere in a lather, pressing a
slow wray up that mountain side, beneath the fierce
onslaught of a midday sun. Again we reached a
patch of woodland. The trees were all crooked and
gnarled. They were bent and twisted by the fury
of a thousand gales. We endeavoured to ride
through, but the trees stretched long arms of
branches as though determined to wrest us from the
A ROUGH ROAD.
saddle. We crouched, keeping our cheeks to the

necks of our horses. That did not suffice, for there
were Turkish curses when a bough secured one of the
soldiers in its grasp. For a long distance we walked.
Then to the bald highland, with not a shrub, not a
blade of grass, the ground crumpled earth that burnt
to the touch. With a challenge to ourselves that
there should be no stop till the summit was reached,
we kept steadily to our work. There was no urging
of the horses. They took their own gait, ploddingly,
ceaselessly, and covered with the spume of exertion.
Not a breath of wind tempered the furnace heat.
The water in our canteens was lukewarm and nasty.
When it gave out, mouths became gluey. The one
wish of my heart was to have a good long gulp of
cold spring water. One of the soldiers knew there
was water ahead, and that gave us patience.
On the summit of the mountain we halted a brief
moment to enjoy the blessed satisfaction of a gentle
breeze. I believe there was a magnificent panorama
of high-tossed mountain ranges to be obtained from
that spot. Personally I had no particular interest
in panoramas of high-tossed mountain ranges.
Water was what I wanted. The horses must have
sniffed water. They did not race, because the de-
clivity was too steep, but they hastened, slitheringly,
hardly able to keep their hoof -hold among the debris
of stones which mountain torrents had washed into
the path.
So to the brook in a shady dell, where the water
gurgled with silver call to the thirsty traveller. We
drank deep and often, and rested. After the furious
glare on the far side of the range it was welcome to

loosen cartridge belts and sprawl upon the ground
in easy attitude. The captain of the guard, myself,
and my dragoman lolled in the luxury of laziness,
whilst the Turkish soldiers slowly walked their
horses beneath the trees, patting them, talking to
them, before allowing them to drink. Then they
tied the animals to branches, squatted, produced
their pouches, and rolled cigarettes, not for them-
selves, but always for each other, so that they might
exchange with courtesy. They, too, put aside their
carbines and their cartridges, and stretched them-
selves within the shade. In the fragrant lush of
a sultry afternoon most of the men, after their eight
hours' ride, fell into the sleep of the tired.
There was one young Turkish soldier who at-
tracted me. He was as well-set, and almost as fair,
as an Englishman, and might, indeed, have been
mistaken for a British " Tommy," were it not that
he spoke nothing but Turkish, and wore the red fez.
Later he became my servant during the rough
journey through Albania ; and although many of my
intentions had to be expressed in pantomime, he
was quick-witted and rarely failed instantly to grasp
what I wanted. The first thing that turned my
eyes to him was that he had an exceedingly fine
horse. No two men could have been closer friends
than that Turkish soldier and his steed. When-
ever there was a halt and the soldier rested, the
horse was close to him, having his nose patted and
being talked to.
In the drowse and the stillness of the afternoon
my Turkish " Tommy " quietly separated himself

from his fellows, and walked down the brook-side
till he came to a patch of green. I watched him
with idle curiosity. He produced from his jacket a
piece of linen, not much bigger than a pocket-
handkerchief. This he carefully washed — indeed, I
thought he was utilising a spare half-hour for wash-
ing. He removed his heavy riding-boots and washed
his feet. Again I thought he was performing a
simple act of ablution. He was very careful the
handkerchief should be clean and spread on the
greenest spot of grass. Very careful, also, was he
that his feet should be clean.
All the preparation was for prayer. He stepped,
barefooted and clean, toward the little improvised
prayer-carpet. His face was toward Mecca. He
clasped his hands before him and prayed ; he knelt
and prayed again ; he lowered his forehead to the
prayer-carpet, and with flat palms outstretched upon
the ground he prayed a third time. When his
prayers had ceased he folded his little prayer-carpet
and stowed it within the breast of his jacket. It
was an impressive little scene, this pious Turkish
' ' Tommy ' ' taking opportunity during a midday rest
to go through the devotions of a true Mahommedan.
A shout of command and the soldiers were up,
swinging their carbines across their shoulders,
springing into the saddle, and off. There was a
break in the trees; we could look, as though from a
darkened room, out upon the sun-splashed scene be-
yond. There was a pleasant maze of hills, and soon
we were riding amongst them at a jaunty pace.
That pace had soon to be slackened. There was

the descent to be made. So broken was the way,
choked with boulders, that no horse could be put to
it. We dismounted and walked. The whole hill-
side was a turmoil of detached rocks and innumer-
able mountain streams. There were gullies choked
with sodden slaty refuse. To walk through it was
like walking through the yard of a coal mine on a
rainy day. We jumped from ledge to ledge, halt-
ing at times to allow the more slow-going and more
cautious horses to catch us up.
Ochrida edged into sight. A little rock-perched
place by the great lake of the same name, and
behind it a beautiful valley — like all the Balkan
valleys, absolutely flat — every yard of it under
cultivation ; a prayer-carpet of fertility and thank-
fulness.
We got somewhat ahead of our companion
travellers from Monastir. They had their own
guard ; and not knowing when they would appear,
we decided to push on to the city. We arranged
ourselves in dignified order. Two of the escort
with rifles balanced on their thighs rode ahead.
Then came the captain and myself with my drago-
man in close attendance, whilst two by two the re-
mainder of the guard followed behind. I daresay
we made a very imposing array as, with our horses
at a gallop, we scampered into the town, bringing
the inhabitants out with a rush to see us, whilst
affrighted mothers, like affrighted mothers all the
world over, were in shrieking terror that their little
Jimmies and Susans and Freddies and Betsies would
be trampled to death by the horses. I don't think

we killed a single child.
The streets were little more than alleys, paved
with huge cobbles, and with enormous overhanging
houses on either side. With tremendous hullabaloo
we went through the town. We were met by the
Chief of the Police, accompanied by a body of gen-
darmes, who had heard the news and were hasten-
ing out to give us greeting. The Chief of the Police
was an exceedingly smart young fellow. But he
was mounted on the most tempestuous brute of a
horse I have ever seen outside Wyoming. The
Chief and myself got through our salaams easily
enough, but when we endeavoured to shake hands
that fiery, untamed brute of his seemed to resent
the arrival of an alleged Christian, and endeavoured
to vent its hatred on the horse which was carrying
me by trying to kick it into an adjoining coffee-
house. My animal retaliated. For about thirty
seconds the air scintillated with hoofs.
It was the proper thing that the Chief and myself
should ride together through the streets to the lodg-
ings which had been got ready. The way was so
narrow that we were constantly bumping with our
shoulders into the walls, cannoning our horses into
one another, and providing another display of kick-
ing. The mounted police and the soldiery following
made a roar like a train in a tunnel.
There was no hotel. But some relatives of the
dragoman at the British Consulate at Monastir, Bul-
garians, kindly placed their residence at our dis-
posal. The dragoman was a Greek, but had mar-
ried a daughter of this Bulgar household — proof, in

this corner of the world, that love laughs at political
and racial animosities. Our Bulgarian hostess was
in her widowhood. A few months before her hus-
band had been murdered in the street by a Turkish
enemy.
The house was by the lake-side. There was a
vine-festooned balcony, and here, on the two nights
of our halt, we dined. As we sat and smoked and
looked out upon the lake, with a full moon over-
head, we agreed that the surroundings were much
more Italian than anything we had expected to find
in Macedonia.
Viewed from a short distance, Ochrida looks like
a mediaeval town, such as is represented in old plates.
It is strongly walled, with the houses cramped and
packed within the walls, but desolation beyond.
Only, at one side, the wall seems to have fallen
away and the town fallen after it, right down to the
edge of the lake. It is a disjointed, higgledy-pig-
gledy place, sinister and dark at night, the very spot
where a romantic story of filibustering could find a
picturesque locale, and where the dark corners seem
specially made for lurking assassins.
Ochrida is a hotbed of intrigue. Nothing goes
right, for Greeks and Bulgarians are ever plotting
against each other, always lying concerning every-
thing that takes place, and the muddling Turk who
rules gets no thanks from either side.
Perched on the rocks above the town are the re-
mains of an old castle, with walls fifteen feet thick,
but now all tumbled and ramshackle. The Romans
ON LAKE OCHRIDA.
METHOD OF IRRIGATION NEAR STRUGA.

THE QUAINT CITY OP OCHRIDA. 231
were undoubtedly here — indeed, I came across some

Koman remains — but no doubt the castle had its
busiest days when the Servian Empire came south.
A wretched body of dirty Turkish soldiers were in
camp within the fortress. They had little tents,
which were rather more foul than the tents of a
gipsy encampment. They looked as though they
never washed. Their clothes were greasy and torn,
and their boots wofully down at heel. I talked to
the men. They told me their pay was a medjedeh a
month, they had not received anything for six
months, and during their four years of service their
pay had slipped twenty months in arrear.
Whilst we were sitting amongst the ruins a
couple of bent and decrepit old women hobbled up
from the town. One was ill, and had come to search
amongst the wild vegetation which grew about the
crumbled walls for a tiny trickling stream of which
she was quite confident she had only to drink a few
drops and she would be made well again. The
soldiers found the place. The water was a muddy
ooze. The old cripple gathered a little in a shell,
drank it, confessed she felt much better, and hob-
bled away again absolutely convinced of the miracu-
lous qualities of the water. I could not discover
the origin of the belief concerning the virtue of this
particular trickle of water. But faith in its efficacy
is general amongst Turks, Greeks, Bulgarians, and
Albanians, and doctors' bills are saved by hauling
the sick ones to this spot to drink the precious liquid.
A quaint old church, that of St. Clement, stands
on a lower slope not far away. It is a squat build-
ing, constructed entirely of thin red bricks placed on

end, and the tower is low and octagonal. The mother
church of St. Clement stands further off, but it was
seized by the Turks, who changed it into a mosque,
and the Christians were compelled to build another.
The interior, dark and damp, has about it the aroma
of the mysterious. Little light niters through the
cob webbed, high-perched windows. The ikons and
the silver decorations are all old but tawdry, and the
priest who showed me round gave me a broad hint
that if I cared for anything I could have it in return
for a suitable present. I was not, however, a pur-
chaser. Probably on this very spot stood a Eoman
temple. Indeed, two of the pillars are unquestion-
ably Eoman, and amongst the rubbish outside I
noted a marble slab on which there were traces of a
Eoman inscription.
The great lake of Ochrida, with the far limit
just discernible in clear daytime, is in places
pleasantly wooded. On little promontories are
Greek and Bulgarian monasteries, where daily they
praise God and hate their brother Christians.
CHAPTEE XXII.
THE MOUNTAINS OF ALBANIA.
Lake Ochrida — Struga— A Nation of Dandies — Why the Turks

Provided an Escort — Confidence of Albanians in the English
— A False Alarm — Kjuks— A Beautiful Prospect — A Start at
Daybreak — A Perilous Descent — Roman Bridges — Rudi-
mentary Roads.
WEST of Ochrida I entered into Albania proper.

In the course of a day's horse ride I passed from
Bulgarian villages to where there were only Greek
villages, and by night-time I was in a country which
was purely Albanian.
The first stage, as far as the town of Struga, is
along the northern shore of Lake Ochrida. A good,
broad, but dusty cart-road joins the two places, and
cattle and charcoal-laden mules and horsemen are
always to be met.
There are plenty of boats on the lake, rather
gondola-shaped, propelled with huge, shovel-like
oars. Curiously, sails are never utilised on any of
the Ochrida boats. However excellent may be the
breeze, and however long the journey, taking some-
times a full day, the whole distance is done by
oar-pulling. This is not because the natives lack
the intelligence to take the advantage of sails, but
because the mountain gales are so sudden and
tempestuous that in an instant a boat with canvas
might be swamped.
233
The old-fashioned water-wheel utilised for irriga-

tion is often to be seen. To a sort of treadmill are
attached twenty or thirty tin cans. A man, as he
works the treadmill with his feet, turns the wheel
which raises the water, which is spilt into a trough
and carried off to the adjoining fields. It is a simple
combination of healthful exercise with usefulness.
A man can take a pleasant four or five hours' walk
before breakfast and never get any further than
home.
In Struga are few Bulgarians or Greeks. The
dominant population is Turkish. A more striking
people are the Albanians. The men are tall and
dark, and have handsome, regular features. There,
and, indeed, all through the country, the Albanian
struck me as something of a dandy. He loves his
jacket to be braided with silver and gold. His kilt
is usually spotlessly clean. His shoes, often of red
leather, have a huge puff-ball on each toe, which did
not strike me as beautiful, but which the Albanian
himself thinks particularly " swagger." The brace
of revolvers carried at his waist are invariably carved
and inlaid, whilst if he prefers a gun it is long and
slender and also carved and inlaid, often with pre-
cious stones, with an inset gold inscription running
along the barrel.
Beyond Struga the country became wild. There
were no villages, and few people were met. By a
gradual rise through sparsely wooded country we
struck into the hills. We halted at a little caracol,
a kind of outpost, where rest some dozen Turkish
soldiers to keep a ready eye for brigands in the hills.
THE MOUNTAINS OF ALBANIA. 235
After that came hard work crossing a range rising

some 3,500 feet above the lake, and called Cafa
Sane. We led our horses. The scenery was like
a Scotch moorland — humped, and for miles covered
with bracken.
Thus to a high-placed plain, where we met
plenty of tall, fearless-eyed Albanians. Farmsteads
were to be seen, but no villages. The Albanian pre-
fers the solitary life of his own little farm among the
mountains, though it may be many miles from a
neighbour. When he drives his buffalo into the
fields to plough the soil he always takes his gun with
him. He never knows who may be coming along.
We were now in a bandit-infested land. The
captain of my guard began to show nervousness,
though I confess that I personally, getting a little
weary of sitting long hours in the saddle, would
have enjoyed a brush with these gentlemen. I hap-
pened to know, or I thought I knew, a little fact of
which the Turks who accompanied me were ignorant.
They took the utmost precautions — too zealous pre-
cautions, Ithought — to save me from capture. I
knew well that in the Greek-Bulgarian country
I might have been a fairly useful prize to one of
the revolutionary " bands," not because of my sym-
pathies with their movements, but on account of the
thousands of pounds at which I might be valued and
which could be squeezed from the Turkish Govern-
ment. But here I was all right.
Let me explain. I paid nothing for the escort
which accompanied me. The Turkish authorities
did not give me the escort because they desired to do
any personal honour to myself. I should have pre-

ferred to travel alone with my dragoman. Had
I done so the Turks knew there was a large
possibility I might have been captured by one of
the revolutionary " bands " in the hills, that there
would probably have been a rumpus, and that I
should not have been released until the ransom, be
it £6,000 or £12,000, or whatever else the sum, had
been paid. The Turks, therefore, provided the escort,
first, to save themselves from the rebuke that their
country was so unsettled that a peaceful traveller
could not pass through it; secondly, because they
preferred to spare soldiers to accompany me to being
called upon to pay a heavy sum of money in ransom.
This was all right from their point of view so
long as I was in districts where " bands " were at
work. It did not, however, apply in the least when
I got into the wildest part of European Turkey.
The fact is that the Albanian has his hand against
every Turk because he is his hereditary enemy.
But he has no quarrel at all with Europeans. Cer-
tainly he has no quarrel with anybody who comes
from England. In the Albanian mind there is a
firm belief that England is the friend of their
country. I talked with many peasants ; and al-
though at first they did not know whether I was an
Austrian, a German, an Italian, or a Frenchman,
the instant they knew I came from England I
noticed a change of demeanour and an anxiety to
do me honour.
All Albanians may be said to be brigands in re-
gard to Turks. Though brigands wrere in the hills,
I was quite certain they had no evil intentions

towards myself, for though an Albanian will kill you
he will not thieve from you. Had I and my drago-
man worn the Turkish fez, I daresay we might have
had an encounter with the brigands. But the hill-
men, who may have watched us from a distance,
knew perfectly well it was a European going through
the country, and they had no desire to offer molesta-
tion. I pleased myself with thinking, and have
often thought since, that instead of the Turkish
soldiers saving me from attack, it was myself who
saved them from the leadstorm of Albanian rifles.
Be that as it may, the captain of the guard was
careful. He always had two, and sometimes three,
of his smartest men about a couple of hundred yards
ahead keeping a sharp look-out. Whenever there
was a bend in the way the soldiers spread so that no
opportunity was presented for myself to be picked
off. It was all very interesting, and to me rather
amusing. It recalled the days when, as a little
chap,
fellows.I used to play "robbers" with my school-
Once there was a moment of excitement. We
were on a patch of level country, when suddenly
round the back of a wood wheeled half a dozen
Albanians armed to the teeth. The advance guard
pulled rein, swung round their horses, unslung their
rifles, and stood in their stirrups ready for eventuali-
ties. Iconfess that, as these hillsmen came dashing
along, my hand wandered to my hip pocket where
my revolver was carried. The soldiers spread as
though to be ready to open fire. But the Albanians,
warlike though they appeared, had no warlike in-

tentions. They rather enjoyed the fright of the
Turks, of whom, however, they took no notice,
although they gave me a smile and a salute as they
rode by.
Like a white speck in the distance we saw our
resting-place for the night. It was a new han
which had been built at a spot called Kjuks. It
looked the most romantically situated spot imagin-
able, resting on a ledge of rock, overlooking a beauti-
ful valley, and with an interminable view of moun-
tain tops.
With the fall of the sun and the valleys deepen-
ing into gloom, and all the mountain peaks flushed
rosy, it was one of the most exquisite scenes conceiv-
able. What a place for a holiday ! Only in these
degenerate days we like to take our appreciation of
scenery with the additional prospect of a good
dinner, or in the comfortable enjoyment which fol-
lows a good dinner. There was no good dinner
at Kjuks. Charming though the han was at a dis-
tance, close at hand it was just like any other han.
It was a big, dirty, badly whitewashed barn. The
kitchen was a fire on the earthen floor. There were
apartments with windows, but no glass in the
windows. There was no furniture, nothing but
dirty boards. I took three of the rooms : the largest
I gave to the soldiers, another I gave to the captain
of the guard and my dragoman, and I kept the other
to myself. We made tea and drank much of it,
though it was smoky. Then an hour was spent in
bargaining for three chickens to provide food addi-
tional to the gritty rice which the soldiers were carry-

ing in their saddle-bags.
I could have raved about the scenery if only I
had been staying at a comfortable hotel. The
colouring of the leaves in the wood which trailed
down to the noisy river would have been worth
ecstatic description. I could have gone into rap-
tures over the conformation of the grey and creviced
rocks, standing like solemn castles guarding the
way. I could most certainly have burst into a
rhapsody in regard to the crimson haze over the
mountains — if only I had been sitting on a hotel
verandah with no other care in the world than to
hear the gong for dinner. As it was, I smoked my
pipe, admitted it was all very beautiful, promised
myself I would come again when some hotel com-
pany had built a palace on the eminence, and then
went to the kitchen to see how the boiling of the
fowls was proceeding.
The only illumination I had was a candle stuck
in a crack in the floor of my room, and the floor
itself served for seat and table. The soldiers sat
downstairs in the murky, vagrant light of the fire,
singing doleful Turkish love-songs. With my boots
as a pillow, and my hands in my pockets for
warmth, I took my sleep.
I doubt if, in travelling, there is anything more
eerie than journeying through a strange land in the
mysterious light which hangs over the world at
dawn.
Traveller, dragoman, and soldiers were all in a
shiver as, in the darkness, we set out for Elbasan,
which we had promised ourselves we would reach

that night. We had climbed high the night before to
reach Kjuks. Now in the black of the morning
we had to climb further. None of us spoke. We
were too cold to speak. The leaders kept within a
dozen paces. We had to ascend broken clefts of
rock. Though now and then the animals hesitated
and pawed, they put forth effort. Day came with
the thinnest haze hanging over the world and clouds
still resting in the great black ravines beneath us
which looked like monster graves.
The descent was zigzag. The torrents of in-
numerable centuries had worn out chasms, so that
our route cut into the sides of the mountain, cut
out again, dropped, and then seemed to slice further
in. At the bends tumbling stone had obliterated the
track. Karely at such points was it more than
twelve inches wide. At first one held breath, whilst
the horse, picking its way as though on a tight-rope,
walked round a precipice edge where was a sheer
drop of a thousand feet. The heart jumped into
one's mouth when a horse belonging to one of the
soldiers slipped. I dared not turn round, for fear
of disturbing my own horse. For an instant there
was the excited struggle of the animal regaining
hold. Instinctively we halted till the frightened
beast regained its nerve.
On another occasion wre were making our way
along the edge of a crevice where the path was soft
and uncertain because of a tumble of slaty shingle
which had slid from the mountain top. I happened
to be leading, letting the reins hang loose, for I was
confident the horse could pick its way much better

than I could guide it. I turned my face to the
slaty wall because to look into the gulf, which
seemed to fall from my very knee, made me feel
positively sick. Just then a defiant shepherd's dog
appeared and raised a barking protest. The horse
stopped dead. Had it reared in fright I should
never have been able to tell this story. To have
pressed the horse on might have led to disaster.
My Turkish " Tommy," who was away at the back
of some seven or eight other horsemen and on safer
ground, slipped from the saddle, climbed into the
rocks, crawled somehow overhead and past me, and
with stones drove the dog off. Then we went on.
In a second or two we were on safe ground. It had
been amongst the most tense two minutes of my
life. My dragoman was as pale as paper, and if a
mirror had been handy I probably should have found
I was not looking particularly pink.
At other places the road was through a defile,
just wide enough at the bottom for the horses to
find a tread, and rising slantingly to a dozen feet
above the head. Now and then were patches of
cobbled way, which seemed to begin anywhere and
end nowhere. These were remnants of two thou-
sand years ago, when the Eomans were in posses-
sion of the country. All through Albania we came
across pieces of Eoman way. Sometimes we lighted
upon them abruptly, and lost them with equal
abruptness. Occasionally they led to a precipice
side and then disappeared, telling that the country
had altered somewhat since they were built. Fre-
Q
quently the modern track diverged from that made

by the ancient conquerors ; but up a hillside could
be seen the stone path like a broad, grey ribbon
stretching over the hills. Broken and hazardous
as was the route I happened to be following,
it was the highway across Albania, running from
Macedonia to Durazzo on the coast ; and along it,
though now deserted, a mighty army of long dead
and forgotten had travelled in the story of over
twenty centuries.
The Turks had done nothing to improve this
road. It was just as Nature and the Eomans had
left it. At one place we seemed to make a sharp
drop amongst black rocks. The winding, zig-zag-
ging track had been worn for so many hundreds of
years that a channel was cut out of the rock which
was knee-deep when walking. Though the place was
just a mass of knuckled rocks, it would have been
impossible even for a blind man to miss his way,
so well had the feet of countless generations worn
the path.
That path led into the valley, where flowed the
muddy Skumbi River, purling on its way toward the
Adriatic. It led also to a bridge, built by the
Romans, well arched, and as serviceable to-day as it
was when they used it.
I saw a number of these Roman bridges in
Albania. Some were useful as ever they were;
some were in part decayed, with slabs and boulders
gone into the stream ; others had broken in twain.
But I never saw a bridge which the Turks had
repaired. There were great sections of ancient
m
bridges, partly stretching over rivers as though ap-

pealing to one another to be joined. The mending
would not have cost much ; would often have saved
making detours of miles to find a fordable point.
Not in a single place did I see a piece of road that
was serviceable in joining one town with another.
I did see roads, however, which were monu-
ments of futility. Between the Skumbi bridge and
Elbasan the country is fairly level. Here were evi-
dences of heroic, but silly, efforts to make a way.
The authorities gave instructions to all the inhabi-
tants of the region that they were to give four days'
work a year to provide a good road to run from
Elbasan to Struga. At the present pace it will not
be accomplished for four thousand years, and will
then not be any good. I saw this road-making
going on, but only in those places which happened
to be the easiest to travel over. The ground was
smooth and level. It looked quite nice. A little
rain, however, would turn the whole thing into
slush. Then would come a mile or two of district
where the people had not done their four days'
work, and no vehicle could possibly travel along.
Then there would be a mile of road made by the
Government : plenty of earth thrown up like a rail-
way embankment, with chiselled granite culverts,
which were quite needless because they allowed
escape for tiny streams you could jump across at
their worst, and now all dry. Turkish officials at
Elbasan were pleased with this "carriage way,"
as they love to call it. They overlooked the fact
that before the carriage way could be reached from
Struga there were some forty miles of wild moun-

tains, and before it could be reached from the
Elbasan side the Skumbi Eiver had to be forded at
least five times, and the route along a hillside was
no wider than a footpath. When I suggested that
the difficult, rocky parts should be attacked, the in-
variable reply was, " Yes, but that is the hardest
part, and so we don't do it.'*
A year or two ago an Italian engineer was en-
gaged to oversee the making of a road. He began
on an easy slope in the hills, and spent a million or
two of medjedehs cutting out a broad way. It
started from nowhere, and it ended where the rocks
began. Then the Turks thought the engineer had
better return to Italy. As it is, the patches of road
are sheer waste. Nobody ever uses them, because
they are not so easy to travel over as the rough track
which has been worn haphazard.
As things are now, even when the Skumbi Eiver
is reached there is much rank scrub to be pushed
through, and there are many torrents to be waded, to
say nothing of the several miles to be splashed up the
bed of a dribbling stream, before the minarets of El-
basan rise above the trees which encircle the city.
On the day we reached Elbasan we had been in
the saddle for fourteen hours.
CHAPTER XXIII.
ELBASAN.
The Central Town of Albania— Albania like Scotland and the High-
lands in the Sixteenth Century — Chronic Guerilla Warfare
— Elbasan — Twenty or Thirty Murders a Week — Ducks as
Scavengers — Albanian Silk — The Best Hotel at Elbasan - A
Single-minded Landlord— Mr. Carnegie's Fame.
WEEE the Albanians to cease their vendettas, stop
their clan wars, and cohere into a nation, Elbasan
would be the capital. It is the most central town in
Albania. But there is little chance of that taking
place so long as the present blood courses in the
veins of these mountain warriors.
Like hillmen all the world over, they are much
more independent, defiant, and even aggressive than
peoples who live on the plain. To the north, in the
Dibra district, a Turk's life is not worth the toss
of a medjedeh, so fierce is the hatred of the Alban-
ians in that part. Further south the rancour
against the ruling power is not so strong, and ebbs
the further south one goes, until down near the
Greek frontier it practically disappears.
A week of hard travelling by horse will take one
from the northern parts to the southern. In the
course of the journey will be found very striking
differences in feature. The northern men are
shorter, more swarthy, and have the quick, black
eagle eyes of those who 245are ever on the watch to
give offence or to repudiate insult. Present-day

Albanians are a mixture of races — Italian, Greek,
Slav, Bulgar — whose ancestors in the olden times,
driven by the conquerors of Macedonia, fled to these
mountains, whither they could not be pursued, and
where, although they had common interest in re-
sisting aggression from the outside, they have never
allowed to die out the flicker and often the flame of
tribal animosity.
Seeking for a simple parallel, I might say that
the condition of Albania is not unlike that of the
Highlands of Scotland in the sixteenth century, when
the clans were at constant feud with one another.
Many a time I thought of similarities between
Albania and Scotland. There are parts of the
country reminiscent of the Highlands. The pas-
sionate love of country is a characteristic of both.
The alertness of the Scotch Highlander to resent
insult is only equalled by the quickness of the
Albanian to shoot anyone who may disagree with
him. The quilted petticoat of the Albanian is cer-
tainly similar
could hear thetowail
the of
Highlander's kilt. inAndtheif hills
Albanian music you
you might, without much stretch of the imagination,
fancy you were listening to the skirl of the bagpipes.
Albanians acknowledge the authority of their
own Bey, or chieftain, whilst they repudiate the
authority of the Turks. The head of the clan will
inflict punishment on any clansman who offends
against the common good of his tribe. Every valley
lias its emu -bey, and most valleys are in a con
dition of war against one another. Clansmen are
ELBASAN. 247
afraid to cross the ridge of mountains into neigh-

bouring valleys for fear of falling a prey to an
enemy's bullet. This fact caused me inconvenience
because I found it difficult to secure guides who
would show the way over the mountains to some vil-
lage or town I was anxious to reach, because either
they did not know the route or were afraid of the
consequences.
The clan feuds were so disturbing that a few
years ago some of the great Beys did meet at
Elbasan and make a truce. The order that a
member of a rival clan was not to be shot on sight
had its effect for a time. You cannot, however,
make an Albanian behave otherwise than as an Al-
banian. Now the truce has lapsed, and guerilla
warfare is again the rule.
So self-contained are these valleys, with such a
lack of communication, not only with the outer
world, but with each other, that in the course of
half a day's ride I frequently noticed distinct
changes in details of costume. For instance, in one
valley the men would wear tight-fitting, thick felt
caps, looking for all the world as though they wore
white smoking caps. In an adjoining valley the
men would wear tight-fitting linen skull caps, whilst
still further on were men with black felt caps.
Not only are the Albanian clans in a state of per-
petual conflict with each other — if they were able to
join forces they could clear the Turks out of Albania
in a year — but members of the same clan are en-
gaged in constant vendetta. Albanians occasionally
die from ordinary disease, but most of them die from
differences of opinion. When a man kills his enemy

he must flee to the mountains, because it is the duty
of the nearest of kin of the dead man to sally forth
with gun and stalk the murderer till he kills him.
Sometimes he gets killed himself. Then the family
of the dead men wage war on the family of the man
who shot first. The vendetta begins, and lasts for
years. Straight face-to-face fighting is not neces-
sary. A bullet from behind a boulder or a stab be-
tween the shoulders in the darkness of night are con-
stant methods by which wrongs are avenged. There
is nothing very unusual in finding a murdered
Albanian ; indeed, it is so usual that the Albanians
take it all as a matter of course. They know
nothing about courts of law and such-like methods
of settling differences. Their instincts are primi-
tive : a man offends you and you remove him by
killing him.
Elbasan is a town of some twenty thousand
people. There is plenty of room for quarrelling. A
murder in the streets is rather more common than
a street fight is in an English town on a Saturday
night. The Chief of Police, a Turk, told me there
were twenty or thirty murders every week. He
added that not one murderer in ten is caught and im-
prisoned bythe authorities. It is not the " game "
for the Turks to meddle. When a man is killed his
friends like to have the settling of the account with
the murderer, whilst if he is thrown into prison,
not only do they feel they have a distinct grievance
against the meddlesome Turks, but the friends of
the captured man have also a grievance in that he
ELBASAN. 249
was not given fair play, allowed to escape or take

his chance in the vendetta.
To put it quite plainly, the Turkish authorities
are in dread of an Albanian outbreak. They will
do anything for peace and quietude. This explains
why they do not make many endeavours to collect
the taxes which are exacted from other Turkish
subjects. Even if an Albanian kills a Turk they
find ready excuse by declaring there has been serious
provocation. The Sultan conciliates the Albanians
by having his bodyguard at Constantinople com-
posed of Albanians. He breaks the power of the
Beys by inviting them to Constantinople, making much
of them and covering their breasts with decorations.
There is no stricter monopoly in Turkey than the
tobacco Regie. For a Turk or an Armenian or a
Bulgar or Greek to infringe the Government
monopoly is to run risk of being cast into prison.
The Regie at Elbasan is defied. Tobacco is openly
sold. The soldiers of my escort did a little
trade in it. Their bread-bags they loaded with
tobacco, stuffed their pockets with it, even their
pistol holsters, so that they might take it back into
Macedonia and sell at a profit. I know they went
on short commons in the matter of food so that their
bags could be used in this illicit traffic. The captain
of the guard knew what they were doing. They
grinned when they saw that I realised it also.
Afterwards I heard that each of them made a profit
of about two medjedehs, because there is a demand
for such tobacco, it being much superior to that
obtained from the R£gie.
In most Turkish towns the scavenging of the

streets is left to the dogs. In Elbasan this useful
sanitary function is performed by ducks. There
are hundreds and thousands of them in the streets,
belonging to nobody and picking up a precarious
livelihood from the refuse which is cast into the
alleys of the bazaars — for drainage is a thing that
is expensive, and which, therefore, the Albanians
can get along very well without. The much-talked-
of Oriental odours of the Eastern bazaars are, in hot
weather, not so productive of poetical sentiment as
fanciful writers would indicate. There are no
windows to the shops; rather, the shops are all
windows, with no glass, but the proprietor sits in
the centre, hammering copper pots in which the
inhabitants can stew their meals, or sharpening dag-
gers with which they may settle their differences.
Everyman carries a dagger — usuallytwo. Thewomen,
closely cloaked in black, slither along with downcast
eyes. If any man is so foolish as to let his approv-
ing eye fall upon one of these ladies a quick and
sudden death by stiletto at the hands of her male
folk is the consequence. If she acquiesces, and is
inclined to soft glances, the only difference is that
both get killed. I made no experiments myself,
but I was assured that Elbasan is the most danger-
ous town in all Europe in which to make any
endeavour toward flirtation.
Do not suppose that the people of Elbasan have
nothing else to do than quarrel. Some of the finest
silk in Europe is manufactured there. All the fields in
the vicinity are given over to the rearing of silkworms
ELBASAN. 251
on mulberry trees. There are no big factories, but

the manufacture is carried on by the women of the
households, who do the weaving, casting the shuttle
from hand to hand. The weft is not so close as in
silk produced by modern machinery in France, and
it is impossible to obtain a piece more than some
thirty-six inches in width. But there is a quality
and a distinction about the Albanian silk which none
of the silk of more cultured manufacture possesses.
What the price would be in a European market I
cannot say ; but in Elbasan itself I obtained the
finest possible material at about two shillings a
yard, and then I fancy I was paying twice as much
as an Albanian would have paid. The trade with
outer countries is disjointed and fragmentary. A
merchant proceeding to Monastir on the one side,
or Durazzo on the coast, will take a mule-load of the
silk by way of speculation. So after he has had his
profit and the purchaser has made his, and the man
who trades with Trieste has secured his share, and
the Trieste man has passed it on to the dealer in
Vienna, and the Vienna merchant has doubled the
price, and the shopkeeper has made his legitimate
profit, the lady who desires a frock of Albanian silk
must pay a considerable figure for it.
There is no regular trade or any other communi-
cation from Elbasan. I wanted to despatch letters.
I was told that about once a week the post went to
Monastir, but it did not go unless there were
plenty of letters to take; whilst the Durazzo route,
which was much the quicker way to get a letter to
England if it eould be started on its way at once, was
more uncertain because the conveyance was more

haphazard, and no one could say within a couple of
months when letters would be despatched.
I had been told by the officer of my guard that
there was one good hotel at Elbasan. I stayed at it.
It was a loft-like place, with a broad, dark passage
way leading into a courtyard, where caravans and
muleteers rested. It abutted upon a narrow, evil-
smelling roadway. A covered balcony was on the
first story, and right over the doorway was an
old oil-tin, occasionally filled with brownish water,
which was the only washing accommodation in the
place. The result was that when one was doing
ablutions the slops were spilt on anybody who might
be coming in at the main entrance. There was no
channel to carry off the stuff; the neighbourhood
might, therefore, without exaggeration, be described
as unwholesome.
By paying the excessive price of about two shil-
lings a night I got an apartment to myself. The
planks in the floor were warped, providing ready en-
trance and exit to the innumerable rats with which
the place was infested, and giving me casual glimpses
of the horses, pigs, ducks, and hens in the stables
beneath. It reeked with the odour of a byre.
During the two days I was in Elbasan it rained a
lot. The weather was sultry, and I was not at all
surprised at a chronic headache.
The landlord of my inn was a big, deep-throated
Albanian who had met Europeans elsewhere, and
displayed his gratification at the opportunity of
showing his acquaintance with the world to fellow-
ELBASAN. 253
Elbasanites by bringing troops of his friends, in-

sisting on shaking hands with me and getting me
to shake hands with all of them. It became so
monotonous that at last I was obliged to get a couple
of soldiers to guard the stairs. Nothing, however,
could restrain the curiosity of my host. When I
stripped to the waist and proceeded to have a wash
and a shave he stood by the doorway narrating all I
was doing to a crowd of his fellows who blocked the
way in the street below. He spoke only Albanian
and Turkish ; but he would stand by the hour with
head cocked attentively on one side listening to my
dragoman and myself conversing in English.
1 ' Wonderful ! wonderful ! " he constantly exclaimed
in Turkish ; for how on earth two people talking
such gibberish could be intelligible to one another
was something he was incapable of understanding.
When I made notes in my diary he looked at me
with the amazed eyes of one witnessing the perform-
ance of an adroit acrobat, in that I wrote from left to
right instead of in the usual sensible Turkish way
of from right to left. When he knew my weakness
in diet was well-made Turkish pilau, he brought
three of the cooks from adjoining cavernous restaur-
ants, struck an attitude, pointed to me, and informed
them that here was the honour of their life — to
make pilau which was much beloved by the effendi.
1 ' Wonderful ! wonderful ! ' ' he exclaimed when I
opened a tin of sardines. He ran and told all his
friends about it, and probably to this day it has not
been decided how the fish got into that tin.
Amongst the eatables I had with me was a Dutch
cheese. That filled him with the greatest astonish-

ment of all. He looked at the red thing, turned it
over, shook his head, and sighed, "Wonderful!
wonderful ! ' ' Would the great and distinguished
effendi let him taste it? He munched a piece.
" Wonderful ! wonderful ! " said he. Then he told
my dragoman he was more convinced than ever that
the English were a great people, when they could
grow melons like that !
Most of my time in Elbasan I spent as the guest
of the principal Albanian gentleman in the town, a
young man whose knowledge of languages outside
Turkish and Albanian was limited to Italian. He
had never been abroad — not even to Italy. One
thing he knew about England was that good guns
were to be bought there. The possession of a
double-barrelled gun of English manufacture was
the ambition of his life. Of course, the English
were a great people — because they were rich ! When
I assured him that we were not all rich, that some
of us were very poor, he suddenly asked, rather
inconsequently, "What about Carnegie?" Here
was a gentleman in the very heart of wild Albania
who knew that Mr. Carnegie was a person who
spent most of his time writing cheques for anybody
who might desire them. Did I know Mr. Carnegie?
No, I had not that honour. Was it likely that Mr.
Carnegie would ever come to Elbasan? Possibly,
but I did not think it at all likely. Did Mr. Car-
negie speak Turkish? He might do, but I doubted
it. Was not Mr. Carnegie a man who gave away
money and money and money — and he threw wide
BAZAAR SCENE.
CASTLE OF AN ALBANIAN BEY.

ELBASAN. 255
his arms as if to indicate Mr. Carnegie's illimitable

millions. Oh, yes ! Then if Mr. Carnegie really
wanted to be the hero of the Albanian people — as
great as Gladstone or Byron — let him send a million
of money to the people of Elbasan, so that they would
never have to do any more work. I replied that the
idea was a good one, if Mr. Carnegie could be per-
suaded. But why not to Elbasan as well as to any
other place? I really could not say, except that per-
haps the Pittsburg multi-millionaire had been so
busy that he had never had time to think of the
modest claims of Elbasan upon his munificence.
For two hours my friend the Albanian talked
about Mr. Carnegie and the obligation under which,
it appeared, he was to send money to Elbasan. The
conversation was only concluded when I made the
solemn promise that if ever I met Mr. Carnegie I
would lay before him the claims of Elbasan. Which
I will.
CHAPTEK XXIV.
THE ALBANIANS.
Albanian Ferocity and Chivalry— A High Sense of Honour —

Language — Religion — Customs — Lack of Unity — Outrages.
THE Albanians may be divided like the Scotch. The

Highlands of the North are inhabited by clans ; in
the more fertile Lowlands of the South the clan
system disappears.
And as the Scots, centuries ago, whatever their
differences were, met on common ground in hatred
of the English, so the Albanians find unity in one
sentiment — hatred of the Slavs.
The surrounding nations have been so afraid
of them — because of their ruling, inextinguishable
passion for fighting — that Albanians have been
much left to themselves. The absence of roads,
the perilous mountain passes, the tribal jealousies
have made each little region, clasped in nigh im-
penetrable mountains, self-contained.
A fierce chivalry is everywhere. A woman can
travel safely in Albania because she is weak. The
Albanian, however, would no more hesitate to
shoot a man for a fancied insult than he would
hesitate to shoot a dog that barked at him. There
is a stern independence.
The Albanian has no art, no literature, no
256
THE ALBANIANS. 257
national politics, no "Albanian cause," no indivi-

duality as an Albanian in contradistinction to neigh-
bouring races — except that, above all, his honour is
sacred. But within his honour is included much.
He is not a thief — though he is entitled to the be-
longings ofthe man he kills. He will not take the
advantage of robbing a man who is gunless. That
touches his honour. He will not touch a woman,
for by the law of tradition he is entitled to
shoot a man who interferes with his womenkind.
So he keeps both his eyes and his hands off the
women of others. It is not fear of consequences that
makes him moral — the whiz of bullets is no deter-
rent to the Albanian — but his honour is touched by
the reflection that in attacking a woman he is at-
tacking somebody who cannot retaliate.
Again, an Albanian's word is even better than
his bond. My experience showed that when an Al-
banian said " I'll do it," he never failed in the per-
formance. He will lie volubly in endeavouring to
obtain the better of a bargain, because he is con-
vinced that you also are lying, and that, therefore,
you and he are on equal ground. When the bargain
is made he is on his honour, and for his own sake,
not for yours, he is honest.
The language is formless and bastard. There
is a national alphabet, but it is hardly ever used.
In one part of the country Latin characters are em-
ployed, whilst in another part Greek characters are
common. In some districts much Italian is incor-
porated into the language, in other districts much
Greek, and in others much Slavonic. The conse-
quence is that Albanians living fifty or sixty miles

apart have the greatest difficulty in understanding
one another. Further, there are marked racial dif-
ferences between the Gheg Albanians, who live in
the wild north, and the Tosk Albanians of the less
rugged south. You would conclude they were dif-
ferent nationalities. So they are. Indeed, it would
be quite easy to prove that the Albanians are not
one people, but half a dozen peoples. They are the
children of desperate races, defiant and outlawed,
who were neither exterminated nor absorbed by the
conquerors, but retained their independence by
secluding themselves in the fastnesses of the Alban-
ian mountains.
The tribes of Albania have no common religion.
Some are Moslem in faith, and some Christian.
There are both faiths to be found in the same clan.
The most important of the northern tribes, the
Mirdites, is Christian: Roman Catholic. Down
south the Albanians are Christian, and, being con-
tiguous to the Greek frontier, favour the Orthodox
Church. The Moslem Albanian is influenced by
his Christian neighbours. He drinks wine, and is
particularly fond of beer — I was able to get bottled
lager from Munich — and he swears by the Virgin.
The Albanian is ignorant and superstitious. He
believes the hills are inhabited by demons, and is
convinced that the foreigners, especially the Italians,
only want to push out the Turks to get possession
of the country themselves. They hate dominance,
and would rather have the purely nominal rule of
the Turk than the stringent rule they might expect
THE ALBANIANS. 259
from Italy or Austria. The agriculture is poor, and

is pursued with no intention further than to supply
immediate needs. There are no manufactures, ex-
cept the little silk-weaving at Elbasan. As for
trading, it is not understood.
The customs of the Mirdites and of the Tosks vary
considerably. The Mirdites attempt some semblance
of government, but all that is done is decided
by the chiefs of the more powerful clans. Their
laws are Spartan-like, and often cruel. A curious
thing is the practice of having adopted brothers.
Two men swear to be brothers. The relationship
is regarded as so fraternal that the children of either
are not allowed to come together in marriage. The
Tosks are more industrious than the Mirdites, and
some of their Beys rise to comparative wealth.
Though the Albanian would like to throw off even
nominal subjection to Turkey, it is this subjection
which prevents the whole land becoming a cock-pit
of murder and pillage between the clans, and it also
keeps off the Italians, who certainly would like to
capture the country. So Albania does not count
for much in the Balkan problem. Of course, in a
general Macedonian uprising the people could and
would harry the Turks. But as they cannot com-
bine, they have no political influence.
It would be strange if in so warlike a land there
were not outrages. The first consul sent by Servia
to Pristina was murdered by the Albanians within
six months because he refused to take his de-
parture at their behest. Because of personal dislike
they expelled the Turkish governors of Pristina and
Prisrend The Turkish authorities took no notice.

Three noble Albanians at Nich, after a copious
dinner, took their guns, and started firing upon the
farmers. One was killed outright, and another
wounded. Some days afterwards two of them violated
the pregnant wife of another farmer. They gathered
the children round a large fire, made them sit down,
and then, arming themselves with shovels, threw
the embers upon their arms and legs. Sofia, an
Albanian bandit, chief of a band of ten men, de-
manded from the Mayor of Doumuntze 575 francs
for the ransom of the village, in default of which
the village would be burnt. Sofia had exacted the
same amount of ransom the previous year. At the
same time he invited a rich man whom he had
carried off the year before to pay a second ransom
of 575 francs under pain of death. Finally, the
Mayor, under pain of death, had to supply fifty
dozen Martini cartridges. In a vineyard near Uskup
a Christian passed by a band of fifteen Albanian
Moslems who were smoking and drinking coffee.
Said one of them, " Suppose we kill him? " The
Christian was killed.
CHAPTEK XXV.
BEE AT.
A Dismal Journey— Berat at Sunset — A Fever-breeding Town —

Koritza— A Specimen of the Eastern Christian— Good-bye
to Berat.
ALMOST due south from Elbasan lies Berat. How

far the distance is as the crow flies I do not know.
In the East you never reckon by distance, but by
length of time. By hard riding, and with only two
halts of half an hour each, the journey was accom-
plished in fourteen hours. With the exception of
the last half-hour it rained during the whole of the
time.
We were to have started at two o'clock in the
morning. The Albanian guide, whom I had hired
to show the way, and my dragoman and myself were
ready. The Turkish soldiers, however, were not
eager to turn out into the rain and the dark. Two
days' halt in a town like Elbasan, where there were
the attractions of the coffee-houses and cheap
tobacco, had demoralised them.
When the men who acted as advance guard were
ready some of us made a start. The guide, on an
ambling nag, which made a terrible fuss in progress,
but never seemed to go very fast, led the way
through the dark alleys of the city, whilst we were
challenged alternately by ducks and soldiery.
261
Beyond the city I cried a halt to let the soldiers

catch us up. We sat with bent heads and backs
toward the slashing rain, waiting for the laggards.
At the end of half an hour, as there were no signs
of them, I sent back the guide. He gave spur to
his nag, and disappeared into the darkness. Soon
came the sound of shouting from the city, and one
of the guard raised an answering yell. Up rode the
captain and his men, swearing they had been
scampering all over Elbasan trying to find us. We
were ready to go on; but we had lost our guide.
Another half-hour was wasted before he came back.
We were cold and wet, and I was in no amiable
temper at the waste of considerably over an hour
before a real start was made.
A disconsolate crowd we were during the first
hour or two. Nobody spoke. The only sound was
the splash of horse-hoofs in the mud.
Daylight came slowly and with no joy. The
country was flat and swampy, cut by innumerable
racing streams, which growled angrily over huge
boulders. Frequently the curve of a stream had to
be followed for half a mile before a place could
be found to ford. The waters rose higher than the
girths, even up to our knees, and there were
moments when the animals, uncertain of their foot-
hold in the icy swirl, were like to lose balance and
bring disaster.
I do not know how many times we crossed
streams or the same stream in serpentine twist. In
heavy rains the whole of the valley, a couple of
miles wide, can be no other than a river. There
BERAT. 263
were patches of willows, but the track was over mud-

banks and stretches of grey cobbles.
Rain was continuous. I was wearing a much-
advertised macintosh, but even that got soaked
right through. The soldiers were muffled and
heavily cloaked. They were too melancholy even
to smoke cigarettes — which showed they were
melancholy indeed. We stood in the rain within
the shelter lent by onr horses, and munched sodden
bread for our midday meal.
There came a crack in the clouds, and far to our
left we could see the crest of Tomorica, the great
mountain of Central Albania. But the rain settled
down again, and shut out the view. Then, of
course, our guide lost his wray. It was little wonder
he should, in that wilderness of desolation. But
all the Turks and the solitary Briton cursed him
for an ignoramus. He led us up streams, made us
climb steep mud-banks, made long detours. Then
he confessed he had never been to Berat before, but
thought he knew the way from wThat some mule-
teers in Elbasan had told him.
By the pocket compass I knew the direction,
and my maps showed that the valley would lead to
Berat. For an hour we floundered. At last we
struck a trail which we followed. Then we fortu-
nately met a peasant with a couple of mules. He
put us on the right way. Instead of following
the valley we could take a cut over a spur of the
hills which would save us three or four hours. We
found the short cut. It was a piece of the old
Eoman path, made of huge boulders, but worn into
cups with centuries of wear, so that there was

imminent danger of one or more of the horses break-
ing a leg. It was as steep as a stair, completely
overhung with trees. We were compelled to bend
our bodies until cheeks rested on the manes of the
horses. So close-knit were the trees that at some
points the passage was almost as dark as a tunnel.
It is to be hoped that the Roman legions, when
they travelled this way to Berat, found the path
more easy than the Turkish soldiers and myself
found it that wretched drizzling afternoon. The
one satisfaction was the firm knowledge we were
on the right road.
On the mountain top the rain ceased, the clearest
of blue skies was revealed, and down below us the
valleys were filled with billowy clouds.
The evening of that soaked day made recom-
pense. Our way was through continuous slush.
Being inured, we did not mind. We raised a shout
when Berat hove in sight. It is not a city you
come across casually. It raises its walls from a
great knuckle of black rock which guards the en-
trance to the valley. With the sun shining full
upon it, it looked the kind of battlemented city
one finds in illustrations of mediaeval chivalry.
But Berat has outgrown itself, and, like Ochrida,
tumbles down a slope to the River Arum, on the
muddy flats of which, and near a fine specimen of
a Roman bridge, it stretches itself.
Gloriously impressive though the upper city looks
in the glow of the setting sun, all romantic thoughts
disappear during a walk within its gates. The foul-
BERAT. 265
ness of the upper city is only equalled by the dis-

gusting condition of the lower. I was told there
had been no rain for three months ; now there had
been a couple of days' downpour. The sun blazed
upon the mass of damp filth, and the conditions
were vile indeed. The upper town is inhabited by
Albanian Christians, whilst the lower town is chiefly
occupied by Albanian Moslems. Each section
seemed to be desirous to outrival the other in mak-
ing the place a stew-pan of fever.
Perhaps it is because for a couple of days
I was racked with fever, and only secured relief by
hastening to the hills in desperation of pain, that
my recollections of the place are not quite so genial
as I admit I should like them to be. I had the
customary foul sleeping accommodation, and my
diet consisted largely of quinine. I should have
made my escape the first morning had it not been
that I was almost prostrate, and because it was
impossible to find anybody willing to act as guide
over the mountains to Koritza, lying to the east.
Austrian maps which I carried indicated that there
was a way. I saw the Governor of Berat, but he had
never heard of a path. I told him I was making
my way back to Monastir. What I could not make
him understand was that I was anxious to go by
land. His constant argument was, why not make
for the coast, to Valona for instance, and there find
boat which would take me round to Salonika quite
comfortably in a week, and another day would land
me at Monastir by train? It was so easy, so com-
fortable compared with the trials of crossing the
mountains, which, he assured me, nobody had ever

accomplished. I interviewed muleteers, rather
awkwardly I confess, because it was by means of
double translation — through my dragoman who
spoke Turkish, and then through the captain of the
guard, who spoke both Turkish and Albanian,
while the muleteers spoke Albanian only. The in-
formation lost much in the transit, especially as the
captain was not at all desirous of making the
journey. He, though protesting he was willing to
follow me anywhere, was positive there were no
villages, that no food was to be obtained, and that
with the rains the precipitous paths would be quite
impossible for the horses.
Very reluctantly, therefore, I had to abandon
getting across to Koritza by the way I wanted,
which I calculated could have been done, allowing
for the extremely mountainous and broken state of
the country, within three days.
When, a week later, I arrived at Koritza by
another route, everybody there assured me that the
journey between Koritza and Berat was quite usual,
and that, although muleteers took three days, any-
body willing to travel fast could easily have accom-
plished itin two ! This is the kind of discrepancy
which makes the endeavour to understand the
Eastern mind so difficult .
Most people I talked to were certain the only
way I could get back to Monastir was by the way
I had come, or to go to Valona and thence travel by
boat. However, I learnt there was a road which
ran from Valona to Janina (in Epirus), and I knew
ALBANIAN GENTLEMEN.
AN ALBANIAN FARMER.
BERAT. 267
quite well from reading and from maps that there

was a track from Janina to Koritza. It seemed to be
beyond the Albanian mind to understand that al-
though it might be impossible to get to a place
direct, the journey could be accomplished by a land
detour.
So I was delighted when I found a man who was
willing to guide me, in a day, from Berat to
the Valona- Janina road. But he was a Christian,
and, I am sorry to say, like so many Eastern
Christians, a liar. First of all he insisted that as
he was running risk of his life he must be paid five
Turkish lira for the hire of three horses and him-
self as guide. That was an extravagant sum in a
country where horse hire is cheap. I was desirous
of starting at once, in the middle of the day, but he
swore by his religion we could not possibly get to
a sleeping place that night. A soldier attendant at
the Governor's residence was sure there was a han
four or five hours' journey further on. He was
sneered at ; that han had been in ruins for years.
Then I learnt that the reason the good Christian,
who wanted twice as much as would have been
excellent pay, did not desire to start until the next
morning was because he had no horses of his own,
but some ponies were expected in with loads from
the south that would have to start back unladen
the next morning, and he was trying to conclude
a ' ' deal ' ' to send myself and my dragoman upon
them to the Valona road in charge of the peasants,
who, of course, knew the way, of which he, person-
ally, was entirely ignorant. He would have given
perhaps a couple of lira to the men, which would

have been excellent pay, and have pocketed three
lira himself. When I learnt the truth I fancy I
bundled him rather unceremoniously out of the
place. Later he came whining round, saying he
could arrange to have me shown for two lira. I
told him I would not let him have anything to do
with the journey if he was willing to take me for
a medjedeh. Then he wrhined about being a brother
Christian. I told him that one of the reasons I
would have nothing to do with him was that he
was a Christian, instead of being an honest Mahom-
medan like his fellows.
As soon as it was known I had made up
my mind to bargain with the incoming caravan
myself I had owners of ponies tumbling over
one another to let me have the hire of animals.
I picked up one man, got his solemn word
he was no Christian, and hired him and three
ponies for three lira. A very excellent fellow he
proved to be. Though my limbs ached and my head
was in a buzz with fever and quinine, I insisted on
starting in the middle of the afternoon. It was
heaven itself to breathe fresh air after the stinks of
Berat. Within three hours the fever had gone, and
I was glad to have bidden good-bye to Berat and its
pestilence.
CHAPTEE XXVI.
EOUGH EXPERIENCES IN THE MOUNTAINS.
A "Refuse-heap of Nature — Benighted— A Dangerous Path—A

Cheerless Night — Cigarettes for Breakfast — On the Mountain
Top— The Down Grade— Permet — A Short Cut over the
Mountains to Liaskovik — Turkish Courtesy — Albanian
Wedding Festivities— A Turkish Bride — A Sixteen Hours'
Ride — Koritza again — An Antiquity !— Back at Monastir.
THOUGH it was a blessed relief to escape from pesti-

ferous Berat, there was no room for enthusiasm in
regard to the track we were following. It was no
wider than a sheep trail, and at places was indefinite.
We should assuredly have gone wrong had not
the Governor of Berat given me an Albanian
gendarme who had been that way before. He had
a fresh horse, and we moved as briskly as the broken
country would permit, because we had only four
hours of daylight, and he promised to land us, before
darkness fell, in the han where we were to sleep.
We followed Indian file, pushing our horses to
the utmost, up shallow river beds and through
defiles which rose like frowning walls on either side.
Though, when we reached a hill ridge, there was
revealed an impressive vista of sombre mountains,
we seemed to be travelling over a refuse heap of
Nature.
There was nothing definite ; the slopes were
cracked ; patches of bleached grass alternated with
269
bog. Then came a declivity covered with loose

stones, which, when started by a horse's hoof, went
clattering to the valley below.
For four hours we travelled quickly through that
gaunt and weird part of the world. We had met no
one ; we had seen no hut. Darkness enfolded us.
Our guide never ceased his pace as he spurred across
rivers and hugged the side of the hills.
A night of pitch blackness. It was impossible
to see a dozen yards. The wind soughed and
shrieked over the mountains. There was the patter
of rain, the sudden blaze, of lightning, the boom of
thunder. The vivid flashes showed our dangerous
way, and lit up the country with the eerie glare of a
magnesium light.
It was up precipitous hill and down steep dale
that we went. Dwarf trees scrubbed us with their
branches as we hastened along. We crossed a river
where the water surged frothingly to the girths.
Across a swamp we went slowly, with the horses
plunging to the knees in the mire.
' ' How much further to the han ? ' ' was the de-
mand. Ten minutes on.
We followed for a full half-hour. " How much
further to the han? "
Another five minutes ! We followed for three-
quarters of an hour. Still nothing but desolation
on every hand.
The Turkish soldiers began swearing at the
length of an Albanian ten minutes. We climbed to
the hills again, and once more began a fearsome
descent. A blaze of lightning showed the path was
EXPERIENCES IN THE MOUNTAINS. 271
down a rocky ledge with a dangerous precipice on

one side. I have never laid claim to being a courage-
ous man. I was not courageous then. I slipped
from the saddle, and decided to walk. I think the
Turks were glad of an excuse to do the same.
Picking our wray, we lost it, and got separated.
It was only by shouting that we kept in touch
with one another. It wras a good thing that the
night was pitch, for had we been aware of the
dangers of the route we should have hesitated to
pursue it. It was not so difficult to leap from a ledge
of rock to boulders, but the trouble was to compel the
horses to follow. How we escaped disaster will be
a wonder as long as I live.
When some of us got to a swampy hollow we
waited for our fellows. It was raining. We were
in a wretched condition whilst exchanging halloas
with the men who could not find a track. We lit
matches, and by the tiny flare gave indication to
our friends where we were. The Albanian guide
assured us that the han was only a minute or so
away. He was comparatively correct, for, after a
long paddle through swamp with willows reaching
to our cheeks, we heard the swirl of a river, forded
the turbulent stream, reached higher ground, and
suddenly came upon the han.
We clamoured at the outer gate for admission.
All was stillness. Looking over the wall, as I was
able to do from my saddle, I distinguished someone
crawling along in the dark. I shouted to my drago-
man in English ; the dragoman shouted in Turkish
to the captain of the guard, and the captain of the
guard shouted in Albanian to the guide. At last the

old Tian-keeper, who had imagined he was being be-
sieged bya Greek " band," was made to understand
we had no evil intentions. But he kept us shivering
for long before he appeared with a dim light and
opened the han gates. I was glad to throw myself
down in my wet clothes upon the mud floor whilst
the old man got some sticks and lit a fire which
nigh reeked us out of the place. With the excep-
tion of munching some sodden bread we had in our
bags, there was no supper. We all fell asleep
where we lay.
We were on the move again at half-past three
in the morning. The only breakfast any of us had
was cigarettes. Even cigarettes, when you are
cold and clammy, are welcome and refreshing. For
hours we followed the river, splashing along its
muddy banks, and frequently fording it. My drago-
man told me that in the space of that morning we
had crossed the river thirty-one times. In places
were chasms of black rock. What struck me as
peculiar was that the rocks were cracked exactly as
though the rock-side was a mass of black bricks, the
cracks in most places being absolutely regular.
When we first struck the river it was a tremend-
ous volume of water. We tracked it into the hills
until it became a trifling trickle.
It was bitterly cold. We were chilled to the
marrow. When morning came, and at last the sun
reached us, we were grateful. We were above the
clouds. To look back from our height was to see
hunchbacked mountains rising out of the sea of
cloud. Occasionally came a break, and we gazed

into darksome ravines. They brought to my recol-
lection some of Dore's pictures. But we had not yet
reached the summit of the range. We corkscrewed
among the broken hills like going upstairs. Indeed,
some of the way was just as steep as the stairs in an
ordinary house. But there was no balustrade ;
nothing, if the horse missed his footing, but a
tumble into the clouds below.
I shall never forget the morning we were able
to stand on the top of that mountain. Behind us
were the black ravines ; ahead was a mass of billowy
cloud, whilst beneath we could gain peeps of a sun-
lit valley. Away beyond the clouds was another
great range of grey mountains.
Down we went into the clouds, which touched us
like a sea-fog; down, until we got amongst the
shepherds, shaggy and uncouth; down, until we
reached fields of maize and saw Albanian huts ;
down, until we actually struck a road — a poor thing,
but still a road — and reached a han. There we had
a couple of hours' rest. We were worn with long
riding and no food, and did not object to the dirty
rice which we were able to procure from the soldiers
in charge.
We were now on the road which comes from
Valona, making for Janina toward the Greek fron-
tier. It was pleasant to jog along comfortably with
no ragged hillsides to climb. We were thankful
when, in the late afternoon, we came in sight of the
town of Premedi or Permet, which seems to have
been stuck
s out of the way in a crevice of the Nime-
retchka Mountains, a tremendous, imposing range,

charmingly wooded near its base. The townspeople
sighted us from a distance, and as we crossed the
narrow cobbled bridge several hundreds were
gathered to witness our arrival.
Permet is quite a pleasant little town, and
though it was inconvenient being followed about by
gaping crowds, the Turkish officials who called upon
me were kind, and helped to hire horses to proceed
further on the journey. Here again, however, just
as at Berat, I had the utmost difficulty in gaining
information about the way. I had been travelling
S.E. from Berat, and I wanted to reach Koritza,
which was in the N.E. I knew well about the great
road which comes up from Janina through Koritza,
making for Monastir. I was assured that the only
way would be to journey further south until I hit
that road, and then my way north would be without
difficulty.
Money will do most things, and I was able to
get hold of a man who assured me he knew a short
cut over the mountains to the town of Liaskovik,
which would save the better part of a day's journey.
Off we went ! It was nothing but a peasants' foot-
track, but after rny experience of what Albanian
horses could do, I had no hesitation in putting
them to the work of climbing this range.
The scenery was charming, and much like that
of the Austrian Tyrol. The valley, cut by a pretty
stream, was backed by the Nimeretchka Eange,
with clouds trailing the mountain tops. The weather
was good and bright. It was curious, after climb-
ing the hills for long hours, to come upon little cups
of cultivation, as it were, tiny patches where the
Albanians grow their maize. I believe many of the
Albanians prefer to live in these fastnesses rather
than down in the apparently more agreeable valley,
where they would be subject to attack by other
clansmen.
Sunshine has a good effect on the spirits. Al-
though we were grimy and unshaven, and in a land
of brigandage, we cared nothing, but sang as we
rounded shoulder after shoulder of the hills until
Liaskovik came into sight. All the country about
seemed burnt and barren ; so the dark trees in the
Liaskovik gardens were pleasant to the eye.
It was Sunday afternoon when we arrived, and
as the trading inhabitants are Christians all the
shops were closed, the Albanians had on their
best Sunday garb, and were out promenading the
narrow streets. Again I had evidence of Turkish
courtesy. The Kaimakam (local Governor) had
heard by telegram of my coming. He had sent a
party of horsemen down the Janina road to meet
me, but as I had come over the hills this additional
escort was missed. Further, the Kaimakam had
unkindly turned some Greeks out of the best room in
the local inn, had actually had it washed, and had
had the place decorated with curtains of outrageous
pattern. This Turkish official was quite a pleasant
young man. We had a walk together, whilst he
waxed enthusiastic about the future of Liaskovik —
what a magnificent health resort it would make,
because it was so high and dry, and because of the
sulphur springs in the district, and the sport of

shooting bear, pig, goats, and partridges, to be had
within half a day's journey.
In our walk we came to an outlying bunch of
houses where festivities were in progress over a
wedding which had taken place some weeks before.
A month or six weeks of junketing always follows a
wredding. The picturesquely garbed peasants were
gathered in front of their little houses. There was
the twanging of guitars and the shrill music of reed
instruments. The Albanians danced and postured
and sang, and were the lightest-hearted people on
earth. Though poor, they were full of courtesy. I
watched their happiness from a distance. Soon
they sent one of their number with a tray bearing
Turkish delight and mastic. The Turkish delight
was not particularly pleasant to the palate, and the
mastic burnt one's throat ; but the kindly greeting
to the stranger was there, and I appreciated it.
When I turned to go the dancing stopped, every-
body stood, and the musicians played a good-bye
air.
That afternoon Liaskovik was in the throes of
much excitement. The son of the Bey was taking
to himself as wife the daughter of a rich pasha of
Koritza, and the damsel was expected to arrive at
sundown that evening. The young couple had
never seen one another, for the marriage had been
arranged by the relatives. There was, however, as
much jubilation and band-playing as though the
wedding were the triumph of long years of affection
between the pair The groom and about a hundred
of his Albanian friends, all in Albanian garb and on
horseback, had ridden earlier in the day along the
Koritza road to give the young lady welcome. I
went out to witness the arrival. It was an exciting
scene. There was a rush of horsemen : the Alban-
ians were in their most picturesque coats, with silver
girdles, and kilts dancing, the tassels of their red
fezzes on the constant swing, their red shoes stuck
in high stirrups — thin Albanians, fat Albanians, all
clinging to their animals as they came pell-mell,
beating into one another, through the streets of
Liaskovik. Then a procession of ramshackle lan-
daus, dusty themselves with the two days' journey
from Koritza, but not so dusty, it seemed, as the
guests they were bringing, who were masked in
dust, but smiled through it all as they returned the
innumerable greetings of the townspeople. At last
came the carriage with the bride. It was the most
tumbled-about old four-wheeler I had ever set eyes
upon ; but it was tricked out with coloured
streamers, whilst on the top was a kind of red
bedquilt. The windows were closed, but one was
broken. Inside sat a tiny figure wrapped in red.
She was shrouded, except the upper part of her
face. Her eyes looked affrightedly on the strange,
howling, turbulent mob that filled the streets and
gave her raucous welcome. Poor little Turkish
bride !
The following day I did the longest ride of my
life. We were in the saddle at one in the morning,
and it was half-past seven that night before our
tired horses took us into Koritza. Excepting a halt
of two hours, between nine and eleven in the morn-

ing, we were on the move practically the whole of
the time. I fancy the Turkish soldiers used vigor-
ous language in regard to myself for bringing them
out in the middle of the night, for, as I have said, if
there is one thing the Turk hates it is to travel in the
dark. I was given the customary stories about the
brigandage in the district. I do not know how many
men had been picked off who had presumed to travel
out of broad daylight. My reply was that I did not
want to break through their habits, but that I was
going on, and that they could come on later if they
wished. The moment they realised I meant what
I said they were willing to sacrifice their lives by
accompanying me and resisting the attacks of any
brigands who might be on the road.
The country opened out and was pleasantly un-
dulating, but without any striking features. Dur-
ing those sixteen hours we trotted along without
any adventure.
At Koritza I heard through my dragoman that
it was possible to pick up interesting antiquities in
the town. I sent for the men who were supposed
to have valuables. They brought me wretched
newly-made Austrian rugs and villainous Greek oleo-
graphs. Imade them understand I wanted antiques,
and nothing but antiques. One man was struck
with a sudden inspiration. He had a wonderful
antique, two thousand years old at least ! It was
Greek — it was Eoman — he did not know what it
was, but it was very, very valuable! It was the
head of a bull, small, wonderfully cut in precious
metal — a most valuable antique ! I was interested,

and asked him to bring it to me. He did. It was
wrapped in a handkerchief ; he unfolded the precious
thing. It was just an ordinary tin-opener with a
bull's head — such as you can purchase for 4Jd.,
but with the blade broken ! Some traveller had
thrown it away because it wras useless.
More difficulty about horses. I desired to cross
country to Kastoria. Quite impossible ! There was
no road, and what road there was would take two
days. And then, when I learnt there was a very
good road, there were no horses to be obtained.
The fact of the matter was that between Koritza
and Kastoria Bulgarian revolutionary bands were in
the hills, and the owners of horses were not going
to run any risk of having them captured. They did
not mind the foreigner being seized, but they had
qualms of conscience about their animals.
So once again I changed my route, and made
back to Monastir by following a road along the
western side of Lake Presba. I did not regret it,
because the way was pleasant, and the scenery really
beautiful. The lake-side road was fringed with fir-
trees ; little farmsteads were by the way ; there was
shade under the vines, and grapes were a penny a
bunch. On Presba Lake are a couple of pretty
little islands, and on these islands are Greek monas-
teries. It would have been a delight to spend
a month in this exquisite spot, boating on the
charming waters, and visiting the grottoes by the
lake-side.
In the course of that day I left behind the
country of the Albanians, and got back into Mace-

donia, where the population was Bulgarian. The
men of my escort were pleased to turn their horses
into the lake and let them splash in the cool water.
My dragoman and myself rode on ahead. We
were going through a wood, and came to a bend,
when we suddenly encountered a priest on a pony
having conversation with a Bulgarian. The fact
that the Bulgarian was armed was proof he was
a revolutionary. The two men were a little startled
at a couple of European-clad individuals approach-
ing them. We saluted them pleasantly, and I
managed to get a photograph. Within a minute
along came the Turkish soldiers. When the Bul-
gari n ' ' bandsman ' ' sighted them he stood not upon
the order of his going, but went at once. He sprang
into the adjoining wood and disappeared. The
priest became particularly meek, and sent his pony
ambling along, pretending he was altogether too
religious a person to be connected with the revo-
lutionary movement.
We reached Kesna that night, and were back
at Monastir by the middle of the next day.
AN ALBANIAN PEASANT.
PRIEST AND BULGARIAN INSURGENT.

CHAPTEE XXVII.
A NIGHT ALARM. USKUP. THE FINISH.
Difficulties in Hiring— A Disturbed Region — Taking Refuge in a

Harem— A Midnight Visit from a "Band" — At Uskup—
War the only Solution of the Macedonian Problem — A
Gloomy Forecast— Germany's Designs.
THOUGH the Turkish officials were courteous, they
always endeavoured to head me off from going
through a disturbed district. Yet they constantly
protested that the country was quiet. The Vali of
Monastir assumed I would return by rail to Salonika.
In conversation about the Bulgarian "bands," he
assured me the country to the north, which had
been the scene of so much disturbance, had, by the
valour of Turkish arms, been reduced to quietude,
and was now as peaceful as England itself. When,
therefore, I stated my intention of striking across
country till I hit the Salonika-Uskup railway he was
disconcerted. True, there was a carriage road, but
it was little used ; the sleeping accommodation was
vile, and he was certain that after my rough ex-
periences inAlbania I should prefer the comfort of a
railway train ! I politely ignored all this, said I
had heard much about the beauty of the scenery,
and, as it would probably be some time before I
should be in Macedonia again, I preferred to go by
road, especially as it would occupy no longer time
281
than if I went by rail. Bather reluctantly he con-

ceded the point, and promised that I should have
an escort of four mounted soldiers.
Being well aware that an attempt would be made
to frustrate me by instructions to the owners of
horses to say they had none to spare, I hastened back
to the Greek inn and sent out my dragoman to bring
in one or two men who owned horsee and vehicles,
which by courtesy were called landaus. They were
quite willing, especially when they knew there was
to be an escort. Still, as the country was troubled,
and there was no saying what might happen, they
refused to take me to the nearest point on the rail-
way, a day and a half of quick travelling, for the
usual charge of a lira and a half. They would
accept nothing less than four lira, although that was
more than I should have paid to travel first-class by
train. Ultimately the bargain was struck for four
lira. I arranged for a vehicle and three horses to
be ready at daybreak the next morning.
That night I dined with Mr. Wilkie Young, who
was in charge of the British Consulate at Monastir.
During dinner my dragoman sent a message that
there was trouble, because all the horses in Monas-
tir seemed to have been stricken lame. I took that
as an endeavour to squeeze an extra lira or two
from me. When, however, at midnight I returned
to my inn, I was met by my dragoman, who with
dismayed countenance informed me the driver with
whom I had made the bargain would not go at all.
Feeling nettled at what had been done — for I knew
instructions had come from the officials to put
A NIGHT ALARM. 283
obstacles in rny way — I sent to the police headquar-

ters, got two gendarmes, and made them fetch the
driver, -who first pleaded he had no horses, then that
his horses were worn out and could not possibly do
the journey under three days, and finally that he
would not make the attempt for ten lira because
there were so many "bands" about. Then,
though it was two o'clock in the morning, I sent a
message to the Vali reminding him of his promise
to give me an escort, and saying that I intended to
start in a couple of hours, and expected the soldiers
would be in readiness, but that I was having incon-
venience because the driver had it in his head there
was the likelihood of encountering a " band," which
the Vali knew was impossible, and then I courte-
ously hinted that I should create a row if he did not
exercise his authority and compel the driver to fulfil
his bargain. The result was a command that the
driver should be ready, for the gendarmes would be
at the inn by four in the morning.
I lay down for an hour's sleep. The gendarmes
came. But there was no sign of vehicle or driver.
The stable was found, with horses and a carriage
ready, but no driver. I decided with my dragoman
we would drive ourselves, and let the owner take his
chance of payment and recovering the animals.
Then there crawled out of a dark corner a weazened ,
consumptive old creature who said he was the
brother of the driver, who could not do the journey
because his wife was ill, but that he would come
with us instead.
So, after the customary vexatious delays, we
284 PICTUKES FROM THE BALKANS.
made a start. We struck north through a pleasant

valley, watered by the river Karusu. There were
plenty of mule caravans, but all were accompanied
by troops as escort. Before midday we reached
Prilip, a nicely-wooded town with a mixed popula-
tion, chiefly engaged, it seems, in political squabbles
and in settling them with the dagger. From there
we made for the mountains. The disturbed state of
the land was evidenced by the fact that even
peasants were accompanied by soldiers. Every few
miles was a caracol, where a bunch of gendarmes
were on the constant watch for revolutionaries.
The scenery was magnificent, but what was more
interesting was to halt and have chats with the
soldiers concerning their conflicts with the " bands."
Yonder was the village of Macova, where, only
three days before, twelve houses had been burnt by
a "band," because it was supposed the villagers
had given news to the soldiery of their presence in
the neighbourhood. Over there was the village of
Orovsji, where a Bulgarian " band " had been sur-
rounded and seven of them killed, though four of
the soldiers also lost their lives in the enterprise.
All through the afternoon I was never lost sight
of by the soldiers at one caracol or another, despite
the fact that I had four mounted horsemen with me.
The instant we were sighted soldiers came from the
caracol, watched from the neighbouring hills, and
kept us in view until soldiers further on picked us
up. It was exciting. With my usual ill-luck, how-
ever, no Bulgarian "band" made its appearance.
Owing to the innumerable halts and the almost
A NIGHT ALARM. 285
tearful request of the escort not to make any en-

deavour to travel in the dark, I was compelled to
pull up for the night at a little place called Isvor.
It was a Bulgarian village, and, as I learnt after-
wards, a somewhat risky spot to halt at. As an
additional precaution I discovered that of the four
men who accompanied me only one was a Turk, one
was an Albanian, whilst the other two were Bul-
garians in Turkish employ.
The han was nothing but a mud hovel, filled
with smoke, and I had no relish to spend the
night there. I sent two of the Bulgarians into
the village to make some arrangement with a
peasant to let me pay for the use of a room. It was
then the Turkish soldier came to me, and, through
my dragoman, urged that I should avoid staying
at a Bulgarian house, for the risk wras too great :
he and his Albanian mate would be powrerless if an
attempt were made to capture me for ransom pur-
poses. Ihad got so weary of such stories that I
paid no heed. The Bulgarians, however, came
back with the news that no Bulgarian would take
me in, nor supply me with food, because as I was
accompanied by troops they would fall under the
suspicion of the "bands."
As fortune would have it, I was endeavouring to
cheer my disconsolate self with a pipe, as there was
to be no supper that night, when an old fellow came
down to the stream-side to water his cattle. He,
under the expectation of a couple of medjedehs as
reward, had a suggestion. He was half -Bulgarian,
half -Albanian, and was in charge of a tower belong-
ing to an Albanian Bey, to which the latter had

been in the habit of bringing his ladies in the
summer-time. The Bey, however, was supposed
to have Turkish sympathies, and therefore for the
last three or four years he had left Isvor alone and
had taken holiday with his ladies in some other
part of Macedonia. The old caretaker was certain
the heart of the Bey would be delighted if ever he
heard that an effendi from England had made use of
the tower.
We went to it. It was a big, square erection
of three stories, built of boulders, except the top
story, which was of wood. There were no windows
to the lower story, only a doorway, with the door
heavily studded with iron and guarded by a thick-
walled courtyard, the gate of which was also iron-
studded. We made ourselves prisoners for the
night. I could not help laughing, however, at seek-
ing refuge in a harem from capture by revolution-
aries. This was the second time in my life I had
been a visitor to the harem of an Oriental. The
first occasion was in Persia, eight or nine years
before, and all the poetry which had been in my
mind about the gorgeousness of a harem wras dissi-
pated when I was shown over it during the absence
of the ladies, and found it a very tawdry and gim-
crack place. This tower of the Bey, however, served
the double purpose of place of refuge as well as
harem. It would be difficult, indeed, to force an
entrance.
The best room was finely carpeted ; there were
couches with silken cushions, and on the walls were
A NIGHT ALARM. 287
huge mirrors and gaudy pictures. The old man

cooked some rice whilst I dictated a letter, to be
handed some day to the owner, expressing my
apologies for having taken possession of his resi-
dence for a night, and my thanks. After we had fed
on half-cooked rice, the soldiers lay down to sleep in
the lower apartment, whilst my dragoman and my-
self occupied the upper. I threw open the little case-
ment which shutters the women's part of a Moslem
residence, so that we might enjoy the cool and de-
licious air.
Perhaps I had been sleeping for a couple of
hours when my dragoman hurriedly awoke me with
the whispered ' ' Listen ! there are horsemen out-
side. It is a ' band ! ' "
I crept on tiptoe to the open window, and
there, sure enough, in the heavy darkness could be
discerned some five or six horsemen. It was evident
several men on foot were endeavouring to break
open the door which guarded the yard. I got out
my revolver. The dragoman slipped down the
narrow stairs, and quietly awoke the soldiers. They
came up stealthily, bringing their rifles.
The interesting occasion had come when an at-
tempt was being made to get hold of me. I knew
there was no personal danger to myself, unless it
might be from an accidental bullet. Besides, with
our protection we were more than a match for the
half-dozen men below. We watched them in the
dark for maybe a quarter of an hour. They were
fumbling at the gateway, conversing in mumbling
tones, but not getting much " forrader."
It became tiresome crouching and waiting for

something to happen.
"Perhaps," I had said to the soldiers, "they
will clear off if we let them know we are ready for
them."
Then one of my escort shouted something, and
at the same moment fired his gun over the heads of
the revolutionaries. The horses jumped at the gun-
crack. The attackers moved off, and disappeared.
We waited to see if they intended to return. But,
as all was silent, I lay down and went to sleep
again.
At daybreak I asked my dragoman how he had
slept.
" Not at all, not at all ! I was afraid those Bul-
garians would be returning and setting fire to the
tower. Let us get away ! "
We went on. By nine o'clock we were in Keu-
prulu, a Turkish military centre, with a railway
line, a station, and a passable restaurant. There,
whilst we were enjoying a Turkish breakfast fol-
lowed by cigarette-smoking and coffee-drinking, as
the guests of the Turkish officers, I was able to
realise I had struck civilisation again. A gramo-
phone was screeching out " The Honeysuckle and
the Bee."
At midday came the train from Salonika. A
couple of hours later I was at Uskup, with cordial
welcome from Mr. Ryan, in charge of the Consulate,
enjoying the luxury of a bath and a sprawl in a long,
low, padded basket-chair, specially invented for the
convenience of lazy Britons.
THE FINISH. 289
At Uskup I had opportunity of another interview

with Hilmi Pasha. " Ah ! " he said to me with a sigh,
" I am investigating lies, lies — nothing but lies ! "
He recognised that the Powers meant well in
the intention to take under their charge the financial
control of Macedonia , so that taxes might be gathered
fairly and expended properly. But he indicated
rather than said it was all toward the exasperation
of Turkey, who wanted to do the right thing, but
wanted to do it in the Turkish way. I tried to read
between the lines, as it were, and I saw the thought
that many Turks would prefer the conflict of war to
the badgering and the wire-pulling of different
chancelleries to which the Porte is subjected.
It is regrettable to state, but I have never met
an individual whose opinion was worth anything
who believed that the intervention of the Powers,
the rebukes to the Sultan, and the coddling of Mace-
donian finance can do more than stave off the
terrific explosion of war which is apparently, alas !
the only solution of a terribly perplexed problem.
That Bulgaria — taking advantage of the revolu-
tionary propaganda which is officially repudiated —
will, before long, pick a quarrel with Turkey there
is little doubt. Prince Ferdinand is against war ;
but popular passion will be too strong for him.
Greece will throw in her lot with Turkey, and Servia
will probably come to an arrangement with Bul-
garia. The influence of France and England will
succeed, possibly, in keeping off the interference of
the other Great Powers, though Turkey will as-
suredly have a financial ally in Germany.
At present Bulgaria is zealously preparing her

armaments, as Japan, through long years, prepared
for the conflict with Kussia. There is the difference
that whilst Kussia did not really expect war, Turkey
does, is also preparing, and in many quarters is
eager. To imagine that Bulgaria — admirably t even
superbly equipped as she is— will march through
Turkey is, in my opinion, a huge mistake. I cannot
resist the conviction, however, that in the end Bul-
garian arms will prevail.
It will be when Bulgaria requires the full fruits
of her victory that a grave crisis for the peace of
the whole of Europe will occur. Neither Austria
nor Germany, nor Eussia, nor perhaps Italy, will
acquiesce in the creation of another Power in the
Near East. Eoumania and the smaller States, like
Montenegro, with no greater political ambitions
than to be left alone, cannot be expected to be silent
onlookers while holding the knowledge that their
ultimate fate will be absorption. Albania will blaze
with insurrection.
That the picture I draw is black and pessimistic
I realise. But it is no blacker than the picture
which is in the mind of every diplomatist who under-
stands the Balkan problem at its true value. There
is a glimmer of hope, as I have hinted in another
chapter, that a solution may be found in a great
Balkan Confederation, with the Turks a party to
that Confederation. But that, it may be, is a
counsel of perfection.
At present Germany stands outside. She will
have no hand in the reform of Macedonia and the
THE FINISH. 291
restriction of the power of the Sultan. The attitude of

Germany is sinister. Her policy is that of the long
arm. Her price for aiding Turkey will be first con-
cessions, then protectorates, then possessions. But
with Turkey defeated she realises, as everybody
realises, that the Balkans will be a hell-pot of
anarchy, and she expects to be the Power which will
subjugate the rivals. Over their weakened bodies
she will march to the Mgean. But who can doubt
it must be a bloody road she will travel?
INDEX.
Alexander, Prince of Bulgaria,

70
A. Archimandrite of Studenitza
monastery, 49
Abdul Hamid, Sultan, as a Army, Bulgarian, 74
ruler, 152, 156 Attar of Eoses, Best, 93; its
Adrianople, Description of, adulteration, 97; quality and
111; its population and his-
tory, 113; great fire of 1905, price, 98trade in Servia, 61
Austrian
114; a city of terror, 114; B.
celebrates anniversary of ac-
cession of Sultan, 116 ; exhibi-
tion at, 118; Vali of, 120; Banitsa, Turkish outrages at,
unsatisfactory state of Bul- 201
garians in, 134 Bashi-Bazouks,
133 Massacre by,
Albania, Mountains of, 233;
Roman remains in, 241; Belgrade, Appearance of, 18;
roads in, 243; its present Servian officers in, 20, 32; its
condition, 246; its language, picture gallery, 33; its Par-
257; lack of trading in, 259; liament House and Parlia-
outrages in, 260 ment, 37-46
Albanians, Dress of, 185, 222; Berat, Description of, 264; filth
description of, 234, 236; their of, 265
hatred of Turks, 245 ; mixture Biliotti, Sir A., on massacres
of races, 246, 258 ; clan feuds, of Bulgarian Christians, 177
247; Turks' dread of, 249; Bonham, Major, and Macedo-
their ferocity and chivalry, nian gendarmerie, 199
256; their religions, 258 British Consulate in Turkey,
Alexander, King of Servia, Description of a, 143-150
Assassination of, 20, 26; British trade in Servia, 61
character of, 22 Buchanan, Sir George, on
T*
294 INDEX.
Turco-Bulgarian agreement Draga, Queen, Assassination of,

(1904), 215 20, 26; her character, 23
Bulgaria, History of, 69; rival Drama, Description of, 160;
factions in, 73; its army, 74; description of Murzsteg Man-
conscription in, 75; education sion at, 161; espionage at,
in, 76; Old, 77; lack of capital 164 E.
in, 103; foreign trade in, 104;
agriculture in, 104; revolu-
tionary feeling in, 212; ris- Egyptian cigarettes, 169
ings of 1903, 213; preparing Elbasan, 245; murders in, 248;
her armaments, 290 ducks act as its scavengers,
Bulgarian and Turkish Govern- 250; its bazaars, 250; its silk
ments, Relations between, manufacture, 251; its hotel,
215 252
Bulgarian " bands " in Mace- Elections, Irregular, in Servia,

donia, 204, 211 40
Bulgarian insurrection of 1903, European Concert
F. a futility,
132, 209 182
Bulgarian language, 69
Bulgarian Mahommedans, 105
Bulgarians: sturdiest of Bal- Ferdinand, Prince of Bulgaria,
kan races, 7; methods pur- 71, 73
sued by " bands " of, 8 ; char- Fontana, Mr., on Bulgarian
acter of, 69, 71, 75, 106 risings of 1903, 213
Burghas, Bulgarian refugees
at, 133 G.
C.
Gabrova, Description of, 88
Galib Pasha, Governor of Kirk
Cafa Sane range, 235 Kilise, 126
Christians, Oppression under Gendarmerie School at Salo-
Ottoman rule of, 155 nika, 198
Church of Forty Martyrs, 83 George, Black, of Servia, 21
Cigarettes, Egyptian, 169 Germany, Attitude of, 290
Coffee drinking in Turkey, 140 Girchista, Bulgarian outrage
Conscription in Servia, 64 at, 204
Consulate, Description of a Gjuritch, Archpriest, 44
British in Turkey, 143-150 Gore-Alney, Major, at Drama,
Convicts, Servian, 36 161
D. Graves, Mr. E. W., British
Consul-General, 197, 202, 203
Deunmeh class at Salonika, 187 Greek " bands " in Macedonia,
Dolan, Village of, 138 11, 204, 211
INDEX. 295
Greek movement in Macedonia, 125; Governor of, 126; circus

180 at, 130
Greeks disliked in Macedonia, Kjuks, Description of, 238
164 Konski, Turkish outrages at,
202
H. Koritza, 266, 278; Bulgarian
revolutionary
279 bands near,
Hamilton, Captain, at Kavala,
169, 170 Krushevo, Turkish outrage at,
Hernianli station, 110
209
Hilmi Pasha, Viceroy of Mace- L.
donia, 197, 289
I. Lansdowne, Lord, on Bulgarian
insurrection of 1903, 132
Insurrection, Bulgarian, in Liaskovik, Sunday at, 275;
1903, 132 wedding at, 276
Isvor, 285; disused harem at,
286; midnight visit from a
"band/' 287 Macedonia, Barbarities in, 2;
J. tract of Turkish territory, 5;
race animosity in, 6; Turks
Jewish dress at Salonika, 186 in, 9; Greek "bands" in, 11,
202, 211; Servian and Mace-
K. donian "bands" in, 14, 204;
espionage in, 163; Greeks
Karageorge (Black George), 21 disliked in, 164; condition of,
Karageorgovitch (see Peter, 174; nationality in, 176; hot-
King of Servia) bed of intrigue, 177; revolu-
Kasanlik, 93; rose plantations tionary movements in, 179;
at, 95; rose culture at, 97; Greek movement in, 180; its
time to visit, 99 gendarmerie, 198; Bulgarian
Kastoria, Eaid by Turkish "bands" in, 204, 211; num-
troops on, 210 ber of Turkish troops in, 207 ;
Kathe, Dame, at Kavala, 169 Bulgarian insurrection of
Kavala, 165; description of, 1903, 209; complicated mass
168; tobacco grown at, 169; of disorder, 210 ; malnutrition
its poorhouse, 170 ; its mon- of children in, 224
astery, 170; its history, 172; Macedonia, Viceroy of, 198
strike at, 173 Macedonian Committees, Work
Kazanihu, Inhabitants of, 219 of, 178
Keuprulu, Description of, 288 Macedonians, Kinds of, 5 ; un-
Kirk Kilise, 123; description of, fit for self-government, 16
296 INDEX.
McGregor, Mr. James, Reports O'Conor, Sir Nicholas, on

by, 208, 210 Turco-Bulgarian Agreement,
Macova, Outrage at, 284 216
Mahomet All Pasha, 170, 173 Olympus, Mount, at sunrise,
Mahomet Arif Pasha, Vali of 183
Adrianople, 119 Orovsji, An affray at, 1; out-
Massy, Colonel, on Bulgarian rage at, 284
refugees at Burghas, 134 Osnitsani, Outrage at, 202
Melons in Balkans, Abundance
of, 223 P.
Moghila, Turkish outrages at,
207 Parliament House, Servian, 37;
Monastery at Kavala, 171 debate in, 39 ; appearance of,
Monastery of St. Petka, 106, 40; payment of its members,
108 42; gestures and speeches in,
43
Monastery of the Transfigura-
tion, 84 Pasha, Galib, Governor of Kirk
Monastir, Children sold at, 175 ; Kilise, 126
its situation, 205; its inhab- Pasha Mahomet Ali, 170
itants, 206; prevalence of Pasha Mahomet Arif, Vali of
murder at, 207; refugees re- Adrianople, 119
fused entrance to, 210; Pasha Hilmi, Viceroy of Mace-
donia, 197, 289
author's difficulties in hiring Pashitch, M. Nicholas, 44
horses at, 281
Mount Olympus at sunrise, 183 Pass of Shipka, 87, 90
Mourad Bey on Turkish oppres- Pavichevitch, M., Servian
sion of Christians, 155 Minister of Interior, 45
Mustapha Pasha station, 110 Peasant, Turkish, Condition of,
157
N. Pepenka, Bombardment and
pillage of, 132
Nimeretchka mountains, 273, Permet, Situation of, 273; de-
274 scription of, 274
O. Petchitch, M., Servian Minis-
ter of Justice, 44
Peter, King of Servia, 20, 25, 30
Obrenovitch dynasty, 21 Petroff, General, on Turkish
Obrenovitch, Milan, 22 treatment of Bulgaria, 215;
Ochrida, Situation of, 228; its on Turco-Bulgarian Agree-
Chief of Police, 229; de- ment, 216
scription of, 230; Church of Philippi, Remains of, 165; its
St. Clement, 231
history, 166; St. Paul's visits
Ochrida, Lake, 232, 233 to, 167
INDEX. 297
Philippopolis, Sunday night in, peasant state, 59; an agri-

100; its Alexander Gymna- cultural country, 60; foreign
sium, 103; its heat, 106; re- trade in, 61; village life in,
volutionary theatrical troupe 62 ; taxes in, §3 ; conscription,
at, 214 64; travelling in, 65
Pig-rearing in Servia, 61 Servian " bands " in Macedonia,
Pomaks, or Bulgarian Mahom- 14
medans, 105 Servian convicts, 36
Presba, Lake, 279 Servian oflfoers, Personal ap-
Prilip, Outrages at, 207, 211; pearance of, 20
description of, 284 Servian soldiers, Personal ap-
pearance of, 35
R. Servians, Character of, 32, 59,
«4; their dress, 34; a demo-
Regie cigarettes, 169 cratic people, 63
Besna, Saturday in, 222 Shipka, Pass of, 87, 90
Roads: in Turkey, 123; in Shipka village, 91
Albania, 243 Sileohlu, Village of, 139
Rose garden of Europe, 93 Skoupshtina, The Servian, 37
Roses, Distilling of, 94, 96; Skumbi River, 242, 244
plantations of, 95 Smilevo, Turkish outrage at,
Roumanian " bands " in Mace- 208
donia, 14 Smyly, Captain, at Drama, 161
Russia and Bulgaria, Relations Smyrdesh, Turkish outrage at,
between, 70 208
Sobranje, The Bulgarian, 72
S. Sofia, Albanian bandit, 260
Sofia, Description of, 66
St. Sofia, Church of, at Sofia, 68 Stanimika village, 107
Salonika, 183; description of, Stephen, King of Servia, Re-
184 ; its population, 185 ; dress mains of, 50
at, 186; Deunmeh class, 187; Stoyanovitch, M., Servian
business at, 189; its trade, Prime Minister, 45
191; its bazaar, 192; Gend- Struga, 233; its population, 234
armerie School, 198; bomb- Studenitza monastery, 47-58
throwing at, 201 Sultan Abdul Hamid as a ruler,
Sarafoff, Boris, Bulgarian in- 152, 156 T.
surgent leader, 207, 212; en-
thusiastically received in
Sofia, 214 Tax-gatherer in Turkey, 156
Seres, Outrages at, 202 Teofani, Mr., of cigarette fame,
Servia, History of, 21; irregu- 169
lar elections in, 110; real Thrace, Plain of, 93, 100
298 INDEX.
Tirnova, Description of, 77; Turkish and Bulgarian Govern-
lodgings in, 79: its streets, ments, Relations between, 215
81; famous for lawsuits, 81; Turks, Massacre by, 133; in
its history, 82 Macedonia, 9 ; virtues of, 151 ;
Tobacco, Best grown, 169; incompetent to rule, 158;
smuggling, 170; monopoly in their dread of Albanian out-
Turkey, 249 break, 249 U.
Turco-Bulgarian Agreement
(1904), 215
Turkey, First exhibition in, Uskup, Albanian outrage at,
118; time in, 119; roads in, 260 ; Hilmi Pasha at, 289
123 ; coffee-drinking in, 140 ; a
British Consulate in, 143-150;
corruption of official classes,
Village life in V.Servia, 62
154 ; growing reform party in, Y.
155; tax-gatherer in, 156;
condition of peasant in, 157;
its policy to do nothing, 159; Young, Mr. Wilkie, British
how business is done in, 196; Consul at Monastir, 282
tobacco monopoly in, 249; Z.
scavenging in towns of, 250;
expects war with Bulgaria, Zadruga, or Servian communal
290 village, 62
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1 _ CTURES

JOHN FOSTER FRASER

"By Joseph Hocking.

MABIE, TODD 6 BARD,

Professor B.E. Shore

"We can almost see new cities rising up as

JOHN FOSTER FRASER

WITH MAP, COLOURED FRONTISPIECE

CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED

An Affray at Orovsji — Civil War between Rival Christian

A Russian Town made Clean — Military Officers — The Mark of

The Most Famous Monastery in Servia — The Archimandrite

Memorials of the Great Fight — Traces of Turkish Days — The

A Sunday Evening at Philippopolis — Individuality of the City

Insurrection and Reprisal — Taken for a British Secret Service

Virtues of the Turk— The Sultan's Point of View— The Two

Drama, the Centre of the British Sphere of Influence — British

The Different Parties — Decrease of the Moslem Population —

Mount Olympus at Sunrise — Ancient and Modern Greeks —

HILMI PASHA, " BONHAM'S BABIES," AND SOME STORIES.

The Cut-throat Part of Europe — Murder a Commonplace —

Among Brigands — Attacked by Goat-dogs — The Dogs Dismayed

Lake Ochrida — Struga — A Nation of Dandies — Why the Turks

A Refuse-heap of Nature — Benighted — A Dangerous Path —

the Mountains to Liaskovik — Turkish Courtesy — Albanian

Primitive Method of "Wheat Threshing in Bulgaria . . 108

Major Bonham; Some of " Bonham's Babies" . . .199

The Author's Route through Albania 234

Map of the Balkans, showing the Author's Route

19 Long East 20 of Greenwich 21

MAP OF THE BALKANS.

scant attention is because the barbarities have been

I asked an innkeeper in a village near Koritza, on

Great Bulgaria, and an extension of Servia, with

But Britain? The Christian populations in the

Monastir. " True, these people talk Bulgarian or

that the war of extermination waged by Christians

it remembered that when Bulgaria broke away from

volution when the signal was given. But there were

listen to his tale of woe, and no Orthodox or Ex-

nationality. Nationality is decided by the Church

fired a few houses just to remind the peasants they

FATE OF CHRISTIANS SUSPECTED BY A REVOLU-

guiltless of violence. This is not because the

" We know it, we know it ! " was the quick ex-

If one must balance criminality, the weight of

nothing is recognised by everybody who has any

develop ; and in that development and consequent

A Russian Town made Clean — Military Officers — The Mark of a

WHEN you have got south of the Danube, crossed

borne from Paris to Belgrade by the agency of

eye can escape a military officer. The officers are as

disgrace brought upon their country, have been care-

began. The Obrenovitch dynasty was overthrown.

tives. When he found the Senate opposed to his

princesses. Would he agree? Yes; and he left the

The Emperor Francis Joseph wanted definite in-

promising sovereign, but really to cause disruption

blood ; but in vain. They found another aide-de-