An Observer in the Near East

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Wildest Albania—Warnings not to attempt to travel there—I decide to go, and take Palok—Prince Nicholas of Montenegro bids us farewell—On the Lake of Scutari—Arrival at Skodra—Passports, rabble, and backsheesh—Photographing the fortress in secret—Treading dangerous ground—Albania the Unknown.

Before leaving London various insurance companies had flatly declined to accept the risk of “accident,” because it was known that I intended visiting Albania.

Indeed, no company in the City would insure me, and at Lloyd’s the premium quoted was exorbitant. This was the reverse of reassuring. Northern Albania I knew to be the wildest and most savage country in the East, and the Accursed Mountains, which I wanted to visit, were held by brigandish tribes, who shot the traveller at sight or held him to ransom. So little is known about them that they had always held a peculiar fascination for me.

I searched through the journals of the Royal Geographical Society for many years past, but found little mention of Northern Albania, while of books of actual travel in that region there were none. These facts had decided me to accept the risks, whatever these might be, and go into those wild, inaccessible mountains which bear the name of Accursed.

Everybody warned me of danger. Friends in England constantly urged me to “take care of myself,” as though that were possible when in the midst of a hostile tribe; and in fact there seemed to be a conspiracy on the part of friends, strangers, and officials to prevent me penetrating the Land of Mystery.

42When I mentioned my intention in Cettinje, everyone, as I have already said, held up their hands and raised their eyes. It was sheer madness, they declared. Nobody’s life was worth a moment’s purchase outside the town of Skodra—or Scutari, as it appears on our maps. Outside—beyond Turkish control—well, I should not be allowed to travel a couple of miles before I had a bullet through me from behind a rock at the roadside.

Everybody had some weird or horrible story to tell about the savagery of the Hoti, the Kastrati, the Skreli, and other savage tribes inhabiting those high, misty mountains beyond the Montenegro border. The one or two Albanians—tall, muscular fellows in white felt skullcap, tight white woollen trousers heavily braided with black, and a kind of black bolero with long fringe—whom I had seen in Montenegro were certainly a sinister-looking, forbidding lot. But I had come to the Balkans to investigate and to learn the truth; therefore the more I was urged not to attempt to go into the mountains, the firmer was my determination to do so.

His Royal Highness, Prince Nicholas himself, had at one of the audiences he granted me seriously queried the advisability of undertaking the journey. Almost daily on the Albanian frontier were raids into Montenegrin territory, and the whole border was constantly terrorised by the Albanian bands, who shot the Montenegrins wherever found. Indeed, the market at Podgoritza, where men squatted with loaded rifles over four or five fowls or a basket of apples, was sufficient to tell me the truth; while the daily talk of that town was of fighting with the wild race who live across the border. The Montenegrin hates the Albanian, and has surely good cause to do so. Many a comely Montenegrin maiden—and some of them are exceedingly beautiful—has been captured in those night raids and carried across into Turkish territory, to be heard of no more. And many, too, are the reprisals by the Montenegrins; mostly, however, with serious losses to themselves.

Palok, whom I had engaged as my guide, had, he said, been born in Skodra, or, as we call it, Scutari, which causes it to be confounded with the city on the Bosphorus. He also 43declared that he was well known there, and the fact that he also spoke Italian caused me to accept his services.

When I asked Fevzi Pasha, the Turkish Minister in Cettinje, for a passport for Skodra, or “Scutari d’Albanie,” as it appears on the visa, he granted it, but not without words of caution. “In Scutari you will have nothing to fear,” he said. “I will give you a note to the Governor of the town. But do not go into the country. If you do, you’ll be shot like a dog.”

I thanked him, but had no intention of taking his well-meant advice.

At half-past three one dark morning I took Palok, and we drove out on the road that wound high up across the great lonely mountains to the little town of Ryeka, whence a small steamer plies down the Lake of Scutari to Skodra. The drive was cold and weary, through a barren waste of rocks, but the bright autumn sun was up ere we reached Ryeka, and just as I boarded the big canoe with long, upturned, pointed prow, which takes passengers and baggage down the sluggish stream to the boat at the entrance to the lake, I saw, on the road above, a fine military figure in pale blue, riding a splendid white charger and followed by an officer.

In a moment every head was bared. It was Prince Nicholas, who was staying at his palace at Ryeka, taking his morning ride.

He espied me, pulled up, and shouted down in Italian—

“Hulloa! Good-morning! Then you are off to Albania after all, eh?”

“Yes, Monseigneur,” I responded.

“Did you get my message last night?” he inquired, referring to a confidential matter.

“Thank you, Monseigneur, yes.”

“Very well. Only be careful of yourself, you know, and when you get back, come and tell me all about it.” And, laughing, His Royal Highness waved his hand with a merry “Bon voyage!” and cantered away, while my half a dozen fellow-travellers in gold-braided costumes regarded me in wonder that their Prince should stop and converse with me—a perfect stranger.

44Down the silent river, between steep green hills we glided. Choked by the tangle and rot of weeds, it was the haunt of thousands of waterfowl, and, as we passed, the herons rose with a lazy flapping of wings,—a stream that might well be haunted by the fairies, for the water was unruffled and the silence deep and complete.

Boarding the little steamer, the Nettuno, lying at the mouth of the river, we were soon out in the great green lake, with the high mountains looming grey in the far distance. As we steamed due south, the barren mountains of Montenegro were soon left behind. At Virpasar and Plavnitza we picked up passengers, a fat Turkish peasant woman carrying two baskets of fowls, and three young Montenegrins, fully armed with rifles and revolvers. Because she was not yet in Turkey, the woman wore no veil; yet in the evening, as soon as Skodra came in sight, she produced her veil, and carefully adjusted it, laughing with me the whole time, and wound it until only her bright dark eyes were visible.

From Virpasar an Italian company is now building a railway to the Montenegrin port of Antivari, so that in a couple of years the lake will be connected with the Adriatic, and form the much-needed trade route for Montenegro. The Servians, indeed, are hoping also to use Antivari as their Adriatic port, and thus be free of the excessive Customs dues and other oppression placed upon them by Austria-Hungary. When in Belgrade, M. Stoyanovitch, the Servian Minister of Commerce, explained to me the several schemes for the construction of a railroad from Krushevatz, in Servia, by way of Novi-Bazar, Ipek, Podgoritza, and Ryeka, to join the Italian line at Virpasar, and so to the Adriatic or to San Giovanni di Medua. Servia must secure a port, and this line, whenever made, will be a most paying concern, for by its extension from Stalacs—on the main Belgrade-Sofia line—to Orsova, it would receive most of the exports of Southern Russia to Western Europe.

The mere handful of lake-side dwellings which now constitutes Virpasar will, ere many years have passed, grow into an important trade centre, and upon the great silent lake, 45surrounded by those high sheer mountains where the eagle and the pelican are now the only signs of life, big passenger and freight steamers will soon ply. The railway, which must be built ere long, will quickly bring a civilising influence upon Northern Albania; therefore, if one wishes to see it in all its wildness, it must be seen to-day. In another decade the Albanian brigand—the real thing out of the story-book—will be only a matter of history.

The calm, bright day was perfect. The surface of the great lake was like a mirror, and the fringe of giant mountain constantly changed in colour—grey, blue, purple, and rose—as the hours wore on, and the sun sank westward in all the crimson glory of the death of the autumn day.

Now and then, with our rifles, we took pot-shots at the pelicans, but with little result. A young Montenegrin killed one, and the huge bird came down with a great splash into the water. At last, in the falling twilight, we cast anchor at the head of the Boyana River, which empties itself into the lake, and then, boarding another high-prowed canoe, where a Turkish soldier sat over us with a loaded rifle, we were rowed slowly up to the low line of ramshackle buildings, which was our first sight of Skodra.

With our farewell to the Nettuno we had said good-bye to civilisation, as represented by sturdy Montenegro. We were in Albania, the wildest and most turbulent country in the East.

We landed upon some slimy steps amid a perfect babel of shouts. Hundreds of unwashed Turks and Albanians were awaiting us, all shouting in a language of which I understood not one word. Every man, armed and of ferocious aspect, seemed ready to make short work of both Palok and myself. Indeed, so unpleasant is the landing at Skodra, that Palok himself had already sent a message to a friend of his—a typical brigand of the first water—to give the Customs officer a tip, and so make pleasant our path through that dark, evil-smelling hole where the Turks collect their dues. Palok’s friend, whom I only saw on that one occasion, and whose name I could not ascertain, had managed to secure from somewhere 46a mustard-coloured ramshackle fly, the upholstering of which was in ribbons. The driver, in his white fez, with dirty white baggy trousers and yellow tunic, came forward and saluted me with deep obeisance, while I was explaining to the passport officer—a ragged, consumptive youth—that my name was not “We, Sir Edward Grey.”

The chief of the Customs was a long, very thin, white-fezzed Turk with large silver-mounted pistols in his belt, very tight white trousers, a gold-embroidered jacket, and pointed slippers that turned up at the toes in the most approved style. He was a real live Bey, so Palok told me, but he was not averse to receiving tenpence as a tip. Later, when I left Scutari (or Skodra) again, I gave him ten Austrian crowns, for I had in my bag a couple of thousand cigarettes, which, by Turkish law, are prohibited from leaving the country. His charge for winking at the contravention is five crowns a thousand!

Turkish Custom Houses are weird places, and it is no wonder that the British Ambassador at Constantinople is just now pressing for some reform. Your belongings are not only thoroughly examined and heavily assessed for Customs—if you won’t tip—when you enter Turkish territory, but the same happens when you leave. Woe-betide those who dispense with the services of a discreet dragoman and do not tip. All that you may have bought in Turkey will be found liable to duty. Gold embroideries will be weighed, and anything that has the Sultan’s monogram upon it—as so many embroideries have—will be at once confiscated.

The man in the fez is grave and inexorable. His attitude is as though he would scorn the offer of a bribe and throw you into prison for daring to insult an official of His Imperial Majesty. Yet outside the Custom House he keeps a crafty ragamuffin who is ready to accept a four-franc piece on his behalf, and for that he will pass a thousand pounds’ worth of goods with only a pretence of search! The Custom House at Galata on the Bosphorus is a case in point. There are five officials there who share the spoils from the traveller.

Yes, the land of the Crescent is indeed a quaint country. 47The corruption of Turkish Customs officials is no doubt due to the frequent non-payment of their stipends. They must live, and do so by accepting bribes. I afterwards spoke to certain high government officials at Constantinople about it, and they admitted that they knew bribery existed extensively, but at present were utterly unable to suppress it.

Over the ramshackle Custom House, a dark hole without a window, frowns a shattered fortress containing one or two antiquated guns, a photograph of which I afterwards obtained surreptitiously, and which appears in these pages. Had I been discovered, I might have spent an unpleasant year or so in a Turkish prison. But even that offence, so heinous in Germany, France, or Austria, I suppose I could easily have expiated with a few piastres of backsheesh. In Turkey you can do anything—if you are prepared to pay.

Upon that filthy crowd around the Custom House at Skodra, upon those crumbling buildings, upon that old white fortress, upon the tower of Skodra itself, a mile away, the centuries of progress have made no impression. Here is the country of a mediæval people, the life of an age long ago past and forgotten.

While our fellow-travellers were squabbling, arguing, shouting, and cursing the wild, dirty mob who now filled the Custom House, we, with our baggage—canvas bags, specially made to sling on mules for mountain travelling—ascended into the mustard-coloured conveyance and were driven along a country lane, very English in its appearance, with bramble hedgerows and ditches; yet the high, thin minaret of a mosque before us, and the carefully latticed windows of a house, preventing the women-folk from being seen from the roadway, and giving the place an air of mystery, showed us to be in the land of His Majesty the Sultan—in Albania the Unknown.

Fired at in the street of Skodra—My comfortless inn—Panorama of life—Armed bands of wild mountaineers in the streets—The Sign of the Cross—Scutarine people—The fascination of Skodra—In the den of my friend Salko—Making purchases—Short shrift with swindlers—Some genuine antiques—Ragged and shoeless soldiers of the Sultan—Men shot in the blood-feud—“It is nothing!”

I had not been in Skodra half an hour before a man fired at me with his revolver.

It was my welcome to Albania, and I confess that I drew my own weapon from my belt, prepared to defend myself.

I had arrived at the han, or inn, a poor place dignified by the name of Hôtel de l’Europe, washed, and descended to the street, when, on emerging from the doorway, somebody fired his pistol right in my face. The flash startled me, and in an instant I was on my guard with my back to the wall. In that brief second all that I had heard of the insecurity of Albania flashed back.

My assailant—a tall, ragged-looking, middle-aged Turk in a scarlet fez—laughed in my face and uttered some words that I did not understand. He saw my weapon shining in the dim light, and pushed it away with a laugh. His manner struck me as friendly, so I dropped my arm; whereupon another man, in passing, also fired, then another and another, until, ten seconds later, everybody in the street was firing indiscriminately, and bullets were flying in all directions.

I held my breath. Had the place actually revolted against the Turk just at the moment of my arrival? If so, I was in luck’s way. I knew that the Albanian hated the Turk, for 49Palok had told me that the revolution was only a question of time, and that one day his people would drive them out of Skodra. The place was once Servian, and captured by the Turks in 1479. Yet the Albanian still looks upon the Turk as a miserable intruder, and intends one day, ere long, to drive him out.

Around me, on every hand, pistols were being fired, the flashes showing red in the night, and I stood breathless, wondering what was happening. The man who had fired in my face was grinning at my alarm, when Palok dashed out to me.

“Signore! Signore!” he cried, in Italian. “It is nothing! Don’t be alarmed. It is only the vigil of the fast of Ramadan. It is our way of celebrating it!”

By that time every man in the whole town was firing off his revolver. The din was deafening.

“Very well,” I laughed. “Then I’ll celebrate it too,” and, raising my arm, I also emptied my weapon in the air.

The grinning Turk who had first fired and alarmed me saluted me by touching chin and forehead, and then we laughed together. It was certainly fortunate for him and for myself that I had not let fly, but he did not seem to heed at all the danger of firing suddenly upon a foreigner ignorant of what was about to happen.

The han, with the dignified name of “hotel,” was certainly an uncomfortable place. Cold roast pork, a trifle “high,” was all I could get to eat, and this was washed down by a light red vinegar, which was probably at one time wine. For five days running I had that very same pork served twice a day, until I sent Palok into the bazaar to buy me other supplies. A narrow camp bed, an iron washstand with tin fittings, a pail and a deal table, comprised my furniture, the best accommodation that Skodra could afford.

Yet the town is perhaps one of the most interesting in all the Balkans, and its people the most strangely mixed and wearing a greater variety of Eastern costume than even in Constantinople itself.

The bazaar, down by the river, is full of quaint types 50and most interesting. Its uneven pavement is quite as unclean and slippery with the dirt of ages as are the streets of Constantinople, but its dark little sheds are filled by workers, silver and copper smiths, embroiderers, armourers, weavers, jewellers—in fact, one sees every trade being carried on in the same primitive way and with the same tools as in the Middle Ages.

Skodra is not a town of progress, for there telephone or electric light is forbidden; machinery of every kind is against the law, and neither newspapers nor books are allowed to enter Albania. Therefore in those crooked streets of the bazaar the traveller is back in mediæval days, and the town of to-day is just as Florence was in the days of Boccaccio or Dante. Like the mediæval Florentines, many of the men from the mountains shave their heads, leaving a tuft of bushy hair at the back, which is cut square at the neck. With their tight-fitting black-and-white striped trousers, black woollen boleros, their belts filled with cartridges, and a rifle over their shoulders, they are a fine, manly race, with swaggering gait, clean-cut features—mostly Catholics, who spit openly at the lean, ragged, ill-fed soldiers of the Sultan.

They come down from the mountains in armed bands, and walk through the town, a dozen or so together, in complete defiance of the Turk. With men upon whose heads a price has been set—known brigands or murderers, indeed—I have chatted and drunk coffee in the bazaar, all wild fellows who know no law except their own, and who do not acknowledge the Turk as their ruler. When I inquired of Palok the reason of their immunity from arrest, he replied—

“Why, signore, if the Turks captured one of these, the whole of Northern Albania would rise as one man. The tribes would sweep down from the mountains and sack and burn Skodra within twenty-four hours. Life in this town is very uncertain, I can tell you. One never knows when the rising will take place. All is ripe for it, and when it comes, then woe-betide the Turk and all the Moslems. Have you not noticed the Sign of the Cross over the doors of the Christians? Is that not significant?”

51The Albanian tribesmen are mostly Catholics, together with some Orthodox; yet they combine religion strangely with war. They go to the Catholic Cathedral in Skodra with loaded rifles, which they place before them as they kneel and pray, and before murdering their enemy they will go and ask Providence to assist them.

The town Christian of Skodra is, for the most part, a very excellent fellow. Palok, whom I found was well known, introduced me to many of them, and in that wild land I received very many charming kindnesses from perfect strangers.

The costume of the Scutarine men is distinctly quaint and curious. A short dark red jacket, the front and sleeves of which are so completely braided with narrow black braid as to almost hide the foundation, and edged with dozens of oblong brass buttons; a pair of wide, dark blue baggy breeches reaching to the knee; a round flat fez with a huge blue silk tassel that falls about the shoulders; a bright, striped silk sash; their legs in white cotton stockings and feet in patent leather dress-shoes. Such is the dress of the average Christian one meets in Skodra.

The attire of the women is even more extraordinary. They veil, just as do the Mohammedan women, and only uncover their faces when they go to church. For the most part they are beautiful when young, with clear, delicate complexions, handsome features, and dancing black eyes; but after seventeen appear to soon lose their beauty and become prematurely wrinkled and old. The outdoor dress is generally made of the same dark red cloth as the men’s jackets, so completely embroidered as to appear black. Indeed no Scutarine, either man or woman, goes out in a dress unless it is covered with embroidery. In every street you will see a dozen men squatting cross-legged in a little dark shop, busily plying the needle upon the narrow black braid, and applying tiny pieces of green cloth among the braid as additional ornament. Often the braiding is a marvel of needlework and design, and some of the outdoor costumes of the women, though exceedingly ugly, are ornamented in such a manner as to amaze the Western eye.

52Female outdoor attire is, of course, of the divided skirt order, trousers of thick braided cloth so clumsy that the wearer can only walk with difficulty, a long cape, richly embroidered on the shoulders and reaching to the hips, with a square kind of sailor collar that is raised and pinned to the crown of the head. From the bridge of the nose to the knee falls the white veil, like the Moslem women, while from the sash are pinned gaily coloured silk handkerchiefs, which, appearing below the cape, lend additional colour to the most unwieldy and ugly of all the dresses of the East. The wearer cannot walk, but can only waddle with difficulty.

The streets of Skodra are, however, a perfect panorama of costume. In the dark entries the shuffling Mohammedan women, white-clothed from head to foot and veiled, look ghostly and mysterious; the Mohammedan unmarried girls with the striped red-and-white veil wrapped about them; Albanians from the south in short, stiff cotton skirts like exaggerated kilts; Turks in greasy frock-coats and discoloured fezes, strolling slowly, fingering their beads to pass the time through Ramadan; fierce tribesmen from the mountains in all sorts of different costumes, fully armed and ready to shoot in an instant at discovering an enemy even there in the crowded bazaar; unveiled country women in short, coarse, black homespun skirts, wearing great iron-studded belts and savage ornaments in brass, copper, and gold; giggling girls from the mountains four or five days distant, dressed in their gorgeous gala dresses, laughing as they bargain with the voluble keepers of the tiny shops in the bazaar.

Skodra fascinates one. There is no European influence here: not a soul is in European dress. It is the unchanging East—the same life that has existed here for centuries. The Turks are, however, fanatics, and Palok will not allow me to smoke a cigarette in the street in the daytime, for in the fast of Ramadan the Mohammedans abstain from all food, drink, and tobacco from four in the morning till the gun fires on the fortress at sunset.

Upon Palok’s advice I even wore a fez, so as not to be too conspicuous.

53When I asked the reason, he simply grinned, shrugged his shoulders, and said—

“The signore believes Skodra to be a safe place. But it is not always so. Why run unnecessary risk? And a fez is very comfortable.”

So after buying a fez, I took it to the ironer, a white-bearded old Turk, who pressed it and shrunk it and combed out its tassel with great ceremony, and then I assumed the distinctive mark of the Sultan’s subjects, evidently to the great relief of the faithful Palok.

On our first visit to the bazaar Palok discovered a friend. He was a very tall, thin-legged Albanian, in a white fez, a white woollen bolero, and the usual black-and-white woollen trousers and turned-up shoes of raw-hide and interlaced string. In one of the narrow, tortuous ways of the bazaar, on a kind of platform before a small ramshackle booth, where rope and twine were displayed, he was squatting cross-legged, staring into space and awaiting customers.

Suddenly espying Palok, he seized his slippers, which stood near him, and sprang out upon the filthy pavement. Next second the pair were clasped in embrace, and after many mutual words of warm welcome in Albanian, I was introduced.

The seller of string looked me up and down critically until his eye caught my revolver in my belt, and then, apparently satisfied with my appearance, he touched his chin and brow in salutation.

We ascended to the little platform, and a box was brought for me to sit upon. A shout into the narrow alley brought me a cup of Turkish coffee.

“This is my friend, Salko,” Palok explained, in Italian, after the pair had been apparently discussing me. “Mio buon amico. One of the best men in the bazaar. For eight years we have been parted, and how pleased I am to see him again.”

Salko interrupted, whereupon Palok said—

“My friend apologises, signore, that he cannot take coffee with you, or offer you a cigarette. It is Ramadan, you know.”

I offered Salko my case, and, taking a cigarette, he placed 54it aside until after sunset, touching his chin and brow and laughing merrily.

I wanted to buy several things in the bazaar—a piece or two of old silver, if I could find it—and some antique embroideries which Palok had told me I could find. He told Salko this, whereupon he shouted outside to a passer-by, and in a moment the news was all over the bazaar, and all sorts and conditions of men appeared with various things for sale: beautiful silver-mounted and gem-studded pistols and swords, old silver ornaments, embroideries of the sixteenth century, genuine antiques of all sorts, old jewellery—in fact, in a quarter of an hour Salko’s little shed-like shop presented the appearance of that of an antique dealer.

Two gorgeous Turkish ladies’ costumes attracted me. The trousers were of silk, and interwoven with real gold and silver thread; the boleros of rich crimson velvet, wonderfully embroidered with gold; the sashes gay; and the little fezes, with golden sequins, smart and coquettish. They were the real thing, and could be worn at a fancy-dress ball in England with certain success.

I liked them, for they were the genuine thing. Dresses such as they were are not made nowadays. Turkish ladies of to-day prefer the lighter stuffs of the Franks, silks from Paris, and figured gauzes from Germany. Those dresses had once graced the harem of some great Pasha—perhaps, indeed, that of the Sultan himself. So I allowed Salko to bargain for them.

I watched, and was amused.

The man who had them to sell apparently asked a price that was exorbitant, whereupon my friend, with a wave of his hand, ordered him to pack them back in the bundle.

High words followed, and I expected every moment the pair would come to blows. The vendor was a round, fat-faced eunuch, with an ugly scar across his brown cheek. And while the controversy was in progress, the others who had wares to offer squatted about and advised each side as to how much the costumes were really worth. Then at last both sides got at loggerheads, hard words were used and insulting gestures; fists were shaken, and angry scowls exchanged, 55until I momentarily expected that there would be a free fight and bloodshed.

One man I noticed who had not spoken was fingering the hilt of his knife, as though itching to join in the fray.

“I’m going out of this,” I told Palok, whereupon he only laughed.

“There’s really nothing to fear, signore. It is always so. They ask double, and Salko is teaching the fellow manners. You are a foreigner, and you don’t understand.”

I admitted that I did not.

The argument continued, and in the end the fat-faced eunuch was bundled out by Salko into the dirty alley and his goods thrown after him.

Nobody smiled. Such treatment seemed usual, and on the following day I bought the dresses.

The next was a little old Turk with a long white beard, who had an old silver ornament for sale, one of those triangular boxes which women wear round their necks containing scraps of the Koran, supposed to protect them from the influence of the Evil Eye.

Though he came meek and humble, Salko glared at him. No. The Englishman was his guest, and he would see that only what was just was paid. He took the ornament from me, and weighing it in his hand, judged its worth. Two other men agreed, and the old man, without being consulted, was handed the money and told to be gone.

Assuredly business methods are quaint in the town we Europeans call Scutari.

Another after another—shopkeepers, all of them in the same category as Salko himself—was interviewed. Those who offered rubbish were promptly ordered out. And so, before me, seated upon my box, was unfolded the treasures of the bazaar.

And assuredly some of the curios offered were fit to grace any museum. Seldom does a foreigner visit Skodra, therefore it still contains many real antiques; and there being no sale for them, prices are not exorbitant. It is, indeed, one of the few places left where one can obtain anything worth having.

A long, lean Christian, in his flat round fez and enormous 56tassel, offered me nine early Greek gold coins that had only a week before been discovered in a tomb. I doubted the tomb part of the story, but I was afterwards shown it half a mile away, and could also have bought the actual vase in which they had been found. I am not a collector of coins, so I declined them. One day, however, those coins will, no doubt, find their way into one of our European national collections, for they were so perfect that they looked as though just fresh from the matrix.

I was turning over in my hand a number of antique gem rings, when of a sudden, just outside, not a dozen yards from where I sat, there was a loud shout, followed by a pistol-shot. Then more shouting, and a little crowd gathered. In alarm I sprang to my feet, and I saw outside a mountaineer, in white felt skullcap, lying in a pool of blood with part of his face blown away.

A man in black-and-white trousers stalked past, flourishing his big pistol and threatening to shoot anybody who dared to stop him. He was the assassin.

“It is nothing, signore,” Palok declared, reseating himself. “Only the blood-feud. The men were in sangue, and have met. In such cases one must always die. The man who shoots first gets the best of it,” and he grinned.

For fully five minutes the man lay in the filthy gutter without a hand being placed upon him to see if life were extinct. Then it occurred to somebody to see. He was pronounced dead, and a couple of men carried away the corpse. No police or guard put in an appearance, and the life of the bazaar went on as though nothing unusual had happened.

But nothing unusual had happened. Such assassinations occur every day, and nobody takes any heed of them. The blood-feud is part of the Albanian creed, both Mohammedan and Christian.

It is not, however, pleasant to have a man shot dead before one’s eyes, nor does it tend to inspire confidence in one’s own personal safety.

This was my first experience of the murderous instinct of the wild Albanian, but ere three days I had still other opportunities 57of reflecting upon Palok’s remark that Skodra was not so safe a place as it looked.

Indeed, the town itself is, at intervals, threatened with massacre. Every now and then rumours fly round that the mountain tribes are about to descend upon the place and drive out the Turks. Then everybody retires to their houses—each residence has high walls, and is more or less a fortress—the bazaar is closed, the shops are barricaded, and the ragged soldiers of the Sultan assemble under their greasy-tunicked officers—and wait.

The blow for liberty has not yet been struck by the Albanians, but it will assuredly come ere long.

I wanted to investigate, and get at the truth. That is the reason why those high, blue, misty mountains that I could see afar from the narrow, crooked streets of Skodra held me in such fascination; that is why I disregarded all advice to the contrary, and determined to visit the Albanian at home in his rocky fastness.

That same night, after Salko had bargained for me, I was eating my evening meal—of pork—when another shot sounded out in the dark, unlit street.

It was nothing, I was told by Palok five minutes later. A man had been found dead in the darkness. That was all.

The average number of assassinations in Scutari is about three per day. Nobody cares, for justice is nobody’s business except that of the dead man’s brother, or his next-of-kin.

True, there is an Imperial Court of Justice, a lath-built shed with gaping holes in the roof. Its steps are moss-grown, and its windows mostly broken or devoid of glass.

Outside the place, after midday, the brave defenders of the Ottoman Empire, those shoeless men with their ragged uniforms dropping off them, sell their ration of bread to the passer-by in order to get money to buy cigarettes. They remain unpaid, and their bread is their only source of income. And upon the protection of these Skodra has to rely.

Is it any wonder that when sinister rumour runs through the bazaar, everybody shoulders his rifle and sits on his wall, prepared to defend his own home?

My friend Pietro—Visit to his house—His wife and sister-in-law unveil and are photographed—Scutarine hospitality—Forbidden newspapers—I get one in secret—The Turkish post office—I want to visit the Accursed Mountains—Difficulties and fears—The Feast of the Madonna—Christians and Mohammedans—My first meeting with the dreaded Skreli—Shots in the night.

Those bright, sunny autumn days in Skodra will live for a long time within my memory.

Though a stranger in that half-savage place, where law and order are unknown, I received perhaps more genuine hospitality from perfect strangers than in any other place in the Balkan Peninsula.

Through Palok’s introduction I quickly found myself among friends, who exerted their utmost in order to entertain me, and went out of their way, even in face of their own national customs and beliefs, to oblige me. The Albanian idea of hospitality is old-world and charming. A case in point was one of my friends, a wealthy Scutarine merchant named Pietro Lekha, whose portrait is here reproduced. He was a Christian, and spoke a little Italian. At first, when I was introduced to him in the bazaar, he was silent and taciturn, apparently regarding me with some suspicion; but very soon this wore off, and we became the best of friends. We took coffee together constantly, and he gave me exquisite cigarettes. In Albania there is no régie, as in other parts of Turkey, therefore one can choose from the peasant-women the very best light tobacco in leaf, have it cut, and 59afterwards employ professional cigarette-makers to manufacture you cigarettes. I did this, and sent a quantity of cigarettes of the very first quality to England, far milder and sweeter than any to be purchased in Constantinople—or anywhere else in the world, for the matter of that.

Finding that I was taking photographs, Pietro became interested. He accompanied me on my expeditions, and we had spent some days together before I dared to inquire about his wife, the veiled lady whom I had once had pointed out to me in the bazaar.

Palok had told me that Pietro’s brother had, three months ago, married the most beautiful girl in Skodra, and that he and his young wife lived at Pietro’s house. A bold thing then occurred to me—to beg permission to photograph them.

I knew well that these people were averse to having their photographs taken; nevertheless I very discreetly broached the subject one day when sipping coffee with Pietro.

He gave me no decided answer. Indeed, he declared himself ready in any way to serve me, but as to photographing his women-kind—well, it was against all custom. What would his friends say if they knew?

I dropped the subject, rather crestfallen. I wanted to be invited to his house and to meet his wife and sister-in-law, both of whom were declared to be very beautiful. Yet he seemed in no way inclined to so far extend his hospitality. I spoke to Palok and urged him to use his power of persuasion, with the result that two days later I received an invitation from Pietro to call upon him at his house at three o’clock to take coffee, and further, he added—

“If you really wish to bring your camera, you may. I have spoken to my brother, and he will let you take a picture of his wife, providing you give your undertaking not to make any copies for sale, or to show it here to people in Skodra.”

I willingly gave the undertaking, and at the appointed hour, accompanied by Palok, we rang at the big gate in a high white, prison-like wall that enclosed my friend’s dwelling, and were admitted into the garden, in the centre of which stood a great square house.

60Pietro came forward to greet me, a picturesque figure in his Scutarine dress, the flat fez with big tassel, the embroidered coat, baggy trousers, and white stockings. The ground floor was devoted to stables, but above we found ourselves in a large square apartment with divans. Upon the floor were beautiful Eastern rugs. On one side was the big, gaudily painted dowry-chest, and here and there small low tables. The room, with its heavy hangings, was very cosy, and over everything was the sweet odour of otto-of-rose. In one corner was a great brass brazier, and upon a chiffonier were a few European knick-knacks, evidently household treasures. The only picture on the wall was a small oleograph of the Madonna.

A rush-bottomed chair was produced for me, while Pietro and Palok squatted cross-legged upon the divans. Then the servant was sent to inform the ladies of our arrival.

Presently both wife and sister-in-law entered, gorgeous in silk and gold, the most striking costumes I have ever seen off the stage. White gauze veils were wrapped about their heads and corsage, leaving only their eyes visible; and thus attired they saluted me and, with Pietro acting as interpreter, welcomed me.

Afterwards they retired, and at Pietro’s order reappeared without their veils. The younger woman was indeed lovely, with a fair white skin, beautiful soft lines of beauty, magnificent black eyes, and lips that puckered into a sweet, modest smile when I involuntarily expressed my surprise at her marvellous good looks. I had heard that Albanian ladies were beautiful, but I certainly never expected to be presented to such a type of feminine loveliness.

Over her bare chest hung strings of great gold coins, while across her brow were rows of sequins. Her richly embroidered dress, the jewels in her ears, the bangles upon her arms, all enhanced her great personal beauty, while she stood before me, her face downcast in modesty—for except her husband and his brother no man had ever beheld her unveiled.

At that moment her husband entered, and I congratulated him upon the possession of such a beautiful wife. Then we 61all laughed together, and descended to the garden, where I was allowed to take photographs of her, veiled and unveiled, as well as of Pietro’s wife, who was, of course, much her senior, and who, although she had lost her youthful beauty, was still very charming.

Returning again to the upstairs salon, we all sat round, while the newly-married beauty brought us first lemonade, then delicious Turkish coffee in tiny round cups upon a great gilt tray, followed by rakhi, that spirit so dear to the Turkish palate, and afterwards real rahat-lakoum, or Turkish delight.

Then, after an interval, veiled again once more, the beautiful young woman brought me a cigarette and lit it for me, afterwards wishing me adieu and modestly retiring.

All was done with such perfect grace and modesty as to create a most charming experience. It was, to say the least, novel, to sit there with those squatting Albanians and be waited upon by the prettiest girl in Skodra.

Pietro told me that newspapers and books being forbidden, anyone found in possession of them was at once arrested. He, however, gave me surreptitiously a copy of the Rome Tribuna, which had been smuggled in a day or two before; and it was welcome, being the first newspaper I had had for several weeks.

Truly Skodra is a strange place. I had occasion to go to the Turkish post office one day. It was, I found, a wooden shed. Inside was a low, filthy truckle bed, a small table—at which sat a consumptive youth in a fez—a broken chair and a large iron safe, the door being secured by a piece of string being tied about it!

Of drainage there is none. Sewage runs down the centre of most of the streets, especially in the bazaar, and its odour is the reverse of pleasant on a sunny day. In the neighbourhood of butchers and slaughterers the gutters run with blood, which the dogs lap and enjoy, and near the stalls of fruiterers and vegetable-sellers the piles of refuse rot in the sun and decay.

Yet everywhere, both in the streets of the Mohammedan quarter and in those of the Christians, are interesting sights 62at every turn. When night falls the place is dark and mysterious, for there are no lights save that issuing from the chinks of a door or from the windows of a barber or a coffee-seller. Through the windows of a mosque, perhaps, can be seen the swaying figures of Turks at prayer, faint in the dim oil lights, while in the blackness of the street the patrol passes, a dozen Turkish soldiers with loaded rifles, headed by one man carrying a lantern. The place is insecure after nightfall, even to the Scutarines themselves, therefore nobody ventures out, and by nine o’clock every house is bolted and barred.

At that hour, it being Ramadan, the Turk was feasting and taking his ease, while opposite the han where I lived a Turkish soldier would come nightly and sing weird prayers under the window of the Governor of the vilayet, that perfectly useless official, whose authority extends only to the confines of the town itself, and who fears to exercise it lest he should rouse the slumbering ire of those fierce tribes who live in the Accursed Mountains above.

Many strange sights I witnessed and many strange things I heard in Skodra.

Men, fierce mountaineers who, in some cases, bore across their countenances marks of sword or gun-shot wounds, told me their stories—exciting narratives of love, war, and the blood-feud. All were Albanians, and believed Skodra to be the finest capital in the world. England, because it carried on no political intrigue among them, like Austria and Italy, they did not regard as a Power. Mine was a country far away, I was told, and therefore perfectly harmless. Hardly anybody had heard of London. Those who had, declared that it could not be so large or so beautiful as Skodra.

The days I spent there were with the one object of obtaining, by some means, permission from one or other of the mountain chieftains to allow me to travel in the country.

Palok had promised to endeavour to arrange it for me, and so had Pietro, but by their manner I saw that they considered any such attempt a piece of sheer folly, and far too hazardous. They were too polite to tell me so, but I read 63in their faces that they did not intend me to go, if it were possible to prevent me.

Therefore surreptitiously I had recourse to my faithful friend of the bazaar, Salko, himself a member of the fierce tribe of the Skreli, who had more than once terrorised the town. When, through an interpreter, I one evening explained my desire, he rubbed his chin doubtfully and wagged his head. He would do his best, but it was dangerous—very dangerous, he declared.

And yet, he went on, the thing might perhaps be managed. An Albanian of the mountains, though he might be a brigand and annoyed the Turks, and though he might shoot Turkish soldiers like dogs wherever met, was nevertheless a man of his word. If I was promised safe escort, then I might go into the mountains without even my revolver, for no harm would come to me.

Yes; he would promise to see what he could do. But it was difficult, and it would take time. In the mountains they had no great love of foreigners.

To the coming Feast of the Madonna many men from the mountains would arrive, and there would be opportunity to speak with them. No; he would say nothing to Palok—if I so wished. Therefore I waited, and hoped.

Now the celebrated Madonna of Loretto was, before the Turkish occupation of Skodra, at the little ruined church near the Boyana River, and even now down to the annual festà come representatives of all the various tribes, men and women, from sometimes a week’s journey distant, filling the streets with a perfect panorama of colour and costume.

The Feast of the Madonna is indeed the day to see Skodra at her best.

You may travel the whole of Europe, from the Channel to the Urals, or from the White Sea to the Bosphorus, and you will never see such a variety of types and of costume as during the two days of that feast.

That clear sunny morning the whole town was agog. The Christians had it to themselves, for while they feasted the Mohammedans fasted. The two peoples keep distinctly 64apart during religious festivals, and Turkish soldiers, their blue uniforms green with age, greasy at the collar, and often shoeless, patrol the town, ready to fire on the people at the least provocation. At least, so they say. If, however, they did fire, then woe-betide them! Every man goes armed in Skodra, and the garrison would certainly be wiped out were the alarm once given to those wild fellows up in the mountains.

All is orderly, however—all brilliant. The streets are full of Christians from the country, the men tall, thin-legged fellows, with black-and-white striped trousers and black furry bolero, carrying loaded rifles upon their shoulders; and the women in the various gay costumes of the tribes, each wearing profusions of gold coins strung across their breasts, heavy gold earrings, and the younger married ones with dozens of gaudy silk handkerchiefs suspended round their heavy brass or iron studded girdles, presents to them on their recent marriage. Most of the katunnare (peasant-women from the plains) are dressed in a short black homespun skirt and bodice combined, reaching to the knees and embroidered with red. Around the waist is a heavy hide belt about five inches broad, studded with iron, and with two big polished cornelians to form the buckle. Some are of antique silver of beautiful workmanship, and others, more modern, are gilt. These women wear nothing on their heads, but the gaily-dressed malzore (women of the mountains) wear a bright silk handkerchief arranged very much in the same manner as the women around Naples. The malzore are extremely good-looking, and all carry a small embroidered sack over their shoulder, for in Skodra on the night prior to the Festà of the Madonna every Christian house is open to receive visitors and give them food and shelter, whoever they may be. So these little sacks contain humble presents to the hosts.

Pietro met me in the street as I was going to the Cathedral, and told me that on the previous night he had given food and beds to twenty-eight mountaineers of both sexes. Albanian hospitality is certainly unbounded.

As I strolled through the narrow lanes of the Christian quarter towards the Cathedral, and the gaily-dressed chattering 65women in groups hurried forward to get a place within, I was struck with their neat and clean appearance. Their finery was in no way dingy or dusty, and yet many of them had been a whole week on a journey through perhaps the roughest region in the whole East.

How different was the festà to that I had known in the Italian towns!

About the Cathedral there is nothing unusually attractive—a big bare edifice with high square campanile in modern Italian style. It stands in the centre of an open space, surrounded by great high, fortress-like walls, entered by a strong gate with huge iron bars—significant that one day ere long it will be held against the Turks. No Mohammedan ever passes those gates. Even the military patrol lounge outside, leaning on their rifles.

Within the enclosure I found a great crowd of peasant women; females of the town, veiled with gauze so fine that one could almost see their faces; Scutarine men in their best jackets and baggy trousers; and the swaggering, white-capped warriors from the mountains, men of the Miriditi,—so dreaded by the Turks that they are allowed to carry their rifles with them,—of the fierce Skreli, the Hoti, and the Kastrati.

The Skreli, with the Miriditi, are allowed to carry their rifles because the Turks hold them in fear. The authorities know full well that to arouse their ire would be to bring destruction upon the whole vilayet, for they hold the communications, and if the tribes revolted, as they no doubt would, then the army of the Sultan would have a very hard task to suppress the rebellion.

So while the Kastrati and the Hoti—also dwellers in the Mountains of the Accursed—the Klementi, the Shiala of the foot-hills, and the others are compelled to leave their rifles at the entrance to the town, the Skreli and the Miriditi stalk along in armed bands of twenty or thirty through the streets to the church, grinning defiance at the Turks, who are supposed by Europe to be their masters.

Under the trees around the Cathedral the wild, fierce men, who would hold the traveller to ransom or shoot him with 66less compunction than they would kill a shepherd-dog, were squatting in rings with their rifles before them, gossiping. Every man wore a belt full of cartridges and a bandolier across his shoulders—sometimes even two. War and religion are strangely mixed in Skodra.

Into the dimly-lit Cathedral I managed to squeeze, and there, kneeling on the stones and filling the whole place right out into the grass enclosure, were men of all grades, from the peaceful Scutarine merchant to the wild tribesman, and women with their faces uncovered bowed towards the brilliantly lit altar, where the thin-faced Italian priest mumbled the prayers.

The sight was strangely impressive; the silence unbroken save for the low voice of the priest and now and then the clank of arms.

For two days in the year, to celebrate the Christian festival, the brigand tribes from the mountains come down, notwithstanding that upon the heads of many of those sinister-looking men before me the Turks had long ago set a price. I stood gazing at that kneeling throng, to whom, though devout and humble in God’s house, murder was deemed no wrong.

The service ended, a great procession was formed, and headed by four fine stalwart men of the Skreli with loaded rifles, made a slow tour from the altar outside and round the enclosure, while an orchestra in a band-stand opposite played selections. The sight was curious—those armed men ready to protect their priests in case of sudden onslaught by the Turks.

During the whole morning I took many photographs, and in the afternoon, when I returned, I found the orchestra playing operatic music, which was being listened to by the tribesmen with marked attention. They are, I afterwards found, devoted to music. The programme ranged from selections from La Bohème and Carmen to the “Segovia” valse and our old melodious friend, “The Honeysuckle and the Bee.” The latter air quickly became popular among the tribesmen, who picked it up and began at once to whistle it.

67Slowly fell the mystic twilight of the East. The glorious afterglow had deepened into grey, and night was creeping on quickly when fire balloons were sent up, and then gradually the whole Cathedral became outlined in fairy lamps against the steely sky, even to the utmost point of the high square tower. Men and women gazed upward, and crossed themselves.

Later, while walking back with Palok, we encountered a group of armed tribesmen talking excitedly, shaking their fists, and apparently quarrelling. Palok joined the crowd, and inquired what had happened. Then, turning to me, he said—

“Oh, it is nothing, signore. The town of Kroia has revolted. The Turks sent soldiers yesterday, but they were Albanians, and would not fire on the people. To-day some artillery arrived, and thirty people have been killed—mostly women. A man has just ridden in with the news. It is nothing. We are always fighting the Turks at Kroia. There will probably be a massacre to-night.” And he deftly rolled a cigarette as he spat in defiance of the hated Mussulman.

Later that night I was awakened from sleep by a shot below, and, taking my revolver, went to the window. The night was black, and I could discern nothing.

I heard men’s voices raised in the street below, and suddenly saw the red flash of firearms and heard a second report.

Then all was quiet, except receding footsteps.

The shots disturbed nobody, or if they did, nobody opened door or window. The town was asleep, and by the distant sound of a tom-tom I knew that the hour was half-past three; for the music was calling upon the Faithful to eat, preparatory to the day’s fast.

What had happened? All was silent, therefore I closed my window and slept again.

In the morning I was told that it was “nothing.” Two men of the Shiala had been found dead outside.

Was it the blood-feud? I asked.

Palok only raised his shoulders and exhibited his palms.

“It was nothing, signore—really nothing.”

Vatt Marashi, chief of the Skreli tribe, invites me to become his guest—Our start for the Accursed Mountains—Rok, our guide—Independence of the Skreli—Brigandage and the bessa—A night under a rock—My meeting with Vatt Marashi and his band—The Skreli welcome—How they treat the Turks—Vatt’s admissions—I become the guest of brigands—A chat in the moonlight.

While seated on the box in Salko’s dark little stall in the bazaar he introduced his friend Rok to me.

A middle-aged tribesman in the regulation costume of tight white woollen trousers heavily striped with black, black bolero with deep woollen fringe, and a felt skullcap, once white, but now not overclean, he squatted opposite me and touched chin and brow in salute. His loaded rifle lay before him on the ground.

He eyed me critically up and down, my pigskin gaiters apparently receiving his admiration.

“Rok, here, is of the Skreli, a fearless fighter of the Turks and one of my best friends,” Salko went on to explain. “I have told him of your earnest desire to go and see our country; that you are neither Austrian nor Italian, but English and not a spy. Our friend is returning to-day, and has promised to speak to Vatt Marashi, our chief, on your behalf.”

“Tell the honourable Englishman that if he comes to us he must be prepared for a rough life. We live in the mountains,” Rok said through the interpreter, laughing pleasantly as he lit the cigarette he took from my case.

Coffee was brought, and we sealed our compact of friendliness.

69If Vatt Marashi, the renowned chieftain who so often held travellers to ransom, and whose influence was so dreaded by the Turks, consented to allow me to visit him, then Rok would return, he promised, and be my guide.

For half an hour we chatted and smoked. Then the burly mountaineer rose, slung his rifle over his shoulder, touched chin and brow again, grasped my hand warmly, and stalked out on his three days’ tramp to the wild region in the mountain mists that was his home.

I waited on in Skodra, and, to my great delight, he one morning reappeared with a message from his chief that, providing I took only Palok, and had no escort, he would be pleased to welcome me and show me all the hospitality in his power. I need fear nothing, it was added. I was to be guest of Vatt Marashi, chief of the Skreli. He had issued the order to the tribe. Any who dared to insult or injure me should pay for it with their life. Therefore I should be given safe-conduct, and need not have a moment’s anxiety.

By this, Palok, who had been entirely opposed to the attempt, became reassured, and soon after noon, with a mule packed with my lightest baggage, we set our faces out across the great rolling plain that lies between the town and the high wall of blue distant mountains—the wildest corner of all Europe. They are a series of fastnesses, in which any small army would at once be massacred and where a large one would starve.

We were a merry trio as we marched forward in the bright autumn sunlight, but about a kilometre beyond the town the road ended in a ford, where we crossed a wide shallow river, and then straight across the plain and past several tumuli to where a defile showed in the mountains. The ancient Bridge of Messi, built under the Venetian dominion, was crossed, and then we had our first experience of the road in Albania—a rough, narrow way gradually ascending, almost too bad even for mules.

Nobody who has not visited Northern Albania can have any idea of the wildness of those bare grey rocks, of the roughness of the tracks, or the savagery of life there. Northern Albania 70is to-day just as it was under the Roman Empire. The might of Rome has waned, the Servian has come and gone, the Venetian has been swept away, and the Turk is now nominally master. But the country has never, through all the centuries, been annexed, and those wild tribes, descendants of the savage people who inhabited those fastnesses before the days of Greek dominion, have never been tamed. The Northern Albanian is the last survivor of mediæval days. He has no written language—indeed, his alphabet, with its many soft and hard “ssh” sounds, has never yet been determined—therefore he has no literature and no newspaper. Thin, wiry, and muscular, he wears raw-hide slippers, in which he moves with cat-like, stealthy tread—a habit survived from prehistoric days—while his very dress is protective, rendering him at a short distance difficult to discern, so like is he in colour to the rocky background. He looks as though he had just stepped down from a mediæval Florentine fresco, with his head half-shaven, hair long at the back and cut square across the shoulders.

He is entirely unchanged ever since the Turk found him, except that of late he has adopted the breech-loading rifle and a particularly heavy pattern of revolver. The black furry bolero which he wears, without exception, is the sign of mourning for his great prince, Skender Beg, who died in 1467, after being at war with the Turks for over twenty years; therefore with him fashions do not easily change, and “latest novelties” in dress are unknown. Great are the changes that have come over the world during the past thousand years or so, but Northern Albania has remained unaffected by them, and is still in a measure in the lowest depths of barbarism. The Turk does not rule. The wild, inaccessible country is under the various independent tribes, ruled by a chieftain according to unwritten laws which have been handed down orally from remote ages, and one of the fiercest and most independent of these chiefs was Vatt Marashi, the man whose guest I now was to be.

Compared with the tribesmen, the Albanian Christian of Skodra is a puny person. The mountaineers are a barbaric, 71lawless people, without any education save the schools established by Italian and Austrian monks as part of the political propaganda; for, truth to tell, both countries have recently conceived the idea of turning Northern Albania to account for their own purposes on the day of the downfall of the Turk. Therefore both Powers are frantically exerting every effort to curry favour with the people, a fact which is glaringly apparent even to the rough, uneducated tribesmen themselves.

The Northern Albanian may be entirely uneducated and a barbarian, but he is at heart a brigand, and is certainly no fool.

My friend Rok was particularly intelligent, and as we toiled along over those rough, rock-strewn paths he gave me much information about his country, and declared that both Austria and Italy were equally their enemy.

After sundown we rested at a point high up above a dark gloomy defile, where a stream wound away towards the plain, and there ate some slices of cold mutton and black bread with a glass of rakhi, our three rifles lying at hand in case of sudden emergency.

I had noticed the queer, sinuous, almost uncanny way in which Rok walked. His movements, at even pace whatever might be the state of the path, were stealthy. Indeed, he almost crept along, for his feet fell in silence, and with his rifle ever ready, his keen black eyes were searching on every side for the enemy which he appeared to expect to meet at every turn.

Sometimes as he walked in front he would halt, and closely scan a mass of tumbled rocks, as though he had suspicion of a lurking enemy, then thoroughly satisfying himself, he would go forward again without glancing back. He was certain that no enemy was in his rear.

From his movements and natural caution I could plainly see that we were traversing a country not altogether friendly, and when, as we sat over our evening meal, I asked Palok, his reply was—

“The Shiala are not on very friendly terms with the Skreli just now. But it is nothing, signore—nothing.”

We went forward until darkness closed in, and then lay 72down to sleep under an overhanging rock almost on the face of a sheer precipice, a place in which Rok told us he often stayed on his way down to Skodra. He humorously called it his han, or hotel.

To light a fire would be to attract hostile attention, and the cold up there was intense. I tried to sleep, but was unable, therefore I rose and sat outside in the bright, glorious moonlight and kept watch, while Rok curled himself up like a dog and snored soundly in chorus with Palok.

There, in the East, the full moon seems to shine with greater brilliance than in Europe, and beneath its white rays those bare, rugged mountains looked like a veritable fairyland. Only the cry of a night-bird and the low music of the stream far below broke the stillness of the Oriental night, and as I sat there I reflected that I was the first Englishman who had ever been the guest of the redoubtable chieftain, Vatt Marashi, the man whom the Turks so hate—the man of whom blood-curdling tales had been told me both in Montenegro and in Skodra, and whose fame as a leader of a wild band had not long before been proclaimed by the London newspapers.

For hours I sat thinking, sometimes of my good fortune, at others of my perilous position alone in the hands of such a people. But I had heard that, notwithstanding their barbaric customs, an Albanian’s word was his bond. Therefore I reassured myself that I should not be the victim of treachery, and reported to Constantinople as “missing.”

Slowly at last the moon paled, and I grew sleepy. That terrible road had worn me out. Therefore I woke Palok to mount guard, and flung myself down in his place and slept till the sun, shining in my face, awakened me.

Through the whole day we went forward again, over a path so bad that I often had to scramble with difficulty. I tried to ride the mule, but it was out of the question, so I walked and stumbled and was helped over the rough boulders by my companions. The Skreli country was surely an unapproachable region.

That night we slept again in the open, but in a spot less 73sheltered. Then forward again with the first grey of dawn until, just before noon, Rok halted in the narrow track which wound round the face of the bare grey mountain, and, drawing his revolver, fired three times in the air.

The shots reverberated in a series of echoes. It was a signal, and almost ere they had died away came three answering shots from no great distance, and I was told that we were now in the Skreli region, and there was nothing more to fear.

In Podgoritza, in Cettinje, in Skodra, and in Djakova I had heard terrible stories of this fighting race, and of Vatt’s fierce hatred of the Turks. Yet everyone had told me that, the chief having invited me, I need have not a moment’s apprehension of my personal safety.

So I went forward, reassured, to meet my host.

Half an hour later I came face to face with real brigands—brigands who looked like an illustration out of a boy’s story-book—the men who had so often held up travellers and compelled the Turkish Government to pay heavy ransoms.

They were about twenty, certainly the fiercest and most bloodthirsty gang I have ever set my eyes upon. Dressed in the usual skin-tight white woollen trousers with broad black bands running down the legs, a short white jacket, also black-braided, the sleeveless woolly bolero of mourning, hide shoes with uppers consisting of a network of string, and small white skullcaps, each man carried in his belt a great silver-mounted pistol of antique type and a silver-sheathed curved knife, while around both shoulders were well-filled bandoliers, and in the hand of each a rifle. Like Rok, the heads of all were shaved, leaving a long tuft at the back in the mediæval Florentine style.

With one accord they all raised their rifles aloft and shouted me welcome, whereupon one man stepped forward—a big, muscular fellow with handsome face and proud gait—the great chief Vatt Marashi himself.

Attired very much as his followers, his dress was richer, the jacket being ornamented with gold braid. The silver hilt of his pistol was studded with coral and green stones, probably emeralds, but he carried no rifle. Jauntily, and laughing 74merrily, he approached me and bent until his forehead touched mine—the Skreli sign of welcome.

And all this in Europe in the twentieth century!

Was I dreaming? Was it real? I was the guest of actual brigands, those men about whom I had read in story-books ever since those long-ago days when the weekly Boys of England formed my chief literature.

Vatt Marashi, holding my hand the while, addressed me. What he said was interpreted into Italian by Palok as—

“You are welcome here to my country—very welcome. And you are an Englishman, and have travelled so far to see us! It is wonderful—wonderful! You live so far away—farther than Constantinople, they say. Well, I cannot give you much here or make you very comfortable—not so comfortable as you have been down in Skodra. But I will do my best. Come—let us eat.”

I returned his greeting, whereupon the whole crowd of us walked along to a spot where a cauldron was standing upon a wood fire, and out of it my host, myself, and Palok had pieces of boiled chicken and rice, which had specially been prepared for my coming.

The object of this meal, I afterwards learnt, was to cement our friendship. The Albanian code of honour is astounding, even to our Western ideas. A word once given by those savage tribes is never broken, and if the stranger eats the food of the Skreli, even though he may be an enemy, his person is sacred for twenty-four hours afterwards. While the food remains undigested he may not be injured or captured.

And so while I ate with this wild chieftain, his band squatted round, apparently discussing me.

It was probably the first time they had seen an Englishman, Palok explained, and they were at first inclined to regard me as a secret agent of the Government, until later that afternoon their chief assured them to the contrary.

Then that wild horde became, to a man, my devoted servants.

Vatt, the Baryaktar (from the Turkish bairakdar, or standard-bearer), unlike most Albanians, is fair-haired, above 75the average height, extremely muscular, with a constant smile of hearty good-fellowship. His eyes are fierce and barbaric; nevertheless he is pleasant of countenance, and I certainly found him, from first to last, a staunch and excellent friend.

Lord of those wild, rugged mountains, his word was obeyed with a precision that amazed me. A striking figure he presented as, with me, he marched at head of his bodyguard, his chest thrown out proudly, his head up, his keen eyes ever searching forward like every Albanian of the hills, one of the wildest rulers of wildest Europe.

On every side, as we went forward to the tiny cluster of little houses that formed the village where I was to be quartered, were bare grey limestone rocks without a single blade of grass, a desolate mountain region into which no foreigner had penetrated save when captured and held to ransom. Through centuries have that same tribe ruled that barren land, and no conqueror of Albania has ever succeeded in ousting them.

“You have, no doubt, heard down in Skodra terrible things about me,” he said, laughing, as, later on, we walked together. He had rolled me a cigarette and given it to me unstuck. “I expect you feared to come and see me—eh?”

I admitted that I had heard things of him not altogether satisfactory.

“Ah!” he laughed, “that is because the Turks do not like us. Whenever a Turkish soldier puts his foot a kilometre outside Skodra, we either take away his Mauser and send him back, or else—well, we shoot him first.”

“But they say that your men capture travellers.”

“And why not?” he asked. “We are Christians. Is it not permissible for us to do everything to annoy those devils of Turks? But,” he added, “if they say that I treat my prisoners badly, they lie. Why, they get plenty of food and are well treated. I give them some shooting if they like—and they generally enjoy themselves. But I know. I too have been told that the Turks say I once cut off a man’s ears. Bah! all Turks are liars.”

76“Then it is only to annoy the Turks that your men commit acts of brigandage?”

“Of course. The ransom is useful to us, I admit, but we live by our flocks, and our wants are few. We are not like the people down in Skodra. We are better, I hope.”

“And do you always watch the roads on the other side of the mountains yonder?”

“Always. Our men are there now, all along the route between Ipek and Prisrend. Who knows who may not pass along—a rich Pasha perhaps.” And his face relaxed into a humorous smile at thought of such a prize.

And then I marched along, my rifle over my shoulder—a brigand for the nonce like my host.

Surely it was one of the quaintest experiences of a varied and adventurous life.

The tiny house in which I was given quarters had an earthen floor and consisted of two rooms, the ceilings and walls of which were blackened by the smoke of years. The owner was an old man with his wife and daughter, the latter being a pretty young woman of about nineteen, dressed in the gorgeous gala costume with golden sequins, the same that I had seen down at Skodra during the festà. She had on her best in my honour, I suppose, and her husband, a good-looking young fellow five years her senior, seemed justly proud of her. His name was Lûk. I named him Lucky, but he did not appreciate the wit. He was, I found, one of the chief’s bodyguard who had come to greet me at the confines of the Skreli territory, and proved a most sociable fellow, ever ready to render me a service.

“These good people will look after you and make you as comfortable as they can,” my host said, when he had introduced me to them. “I have to go along the ravine, but will return in time to eat with you this evening. You like good cigarettes? I will send you some.” And he shook my hands, and turning, went out, stalking again at the head of his ferocious-looking band.

The bedroom, occupied in common by the family, was given over to me. My bed on the floor was a big sack filled 77with dried maize-leaves. It was not inviting, but Palok, having examined it critically, declared it to be “cosi cosi,” and having slept out a couple of nights, I was compelled to accept his verdict.

The girl in the sequins boiled us coffee over the fire, and with her father and husband I sat outside the house in the golden sunset, smoking and chatting. Both were full of curiosity. England was to them a mere legendary land, and they had never heard of London. When I mentioned it they declared that it could not possibly be so large as Skodra.

I told them of Cettinje and other towns in Montenegro I had visited, but they held all Montenegro in contempt, for were they not always raiding over the frontier? Lûk declared that he had walked in Podgoritza openly, and in the marketplace shot a man with whom he was in gyak, or blood-feud.

“I walked out again, and no one dared to stop me,” he added, with pride. “It would have been worse for them if they had.”

“But the Montenegrins are no cowards,” I ventured to remark.

“Certainly not. They are very brave, but they dare not follow us here. They always get lost in the mountains, and once they lose their way they lose their lives,” he added, with a grin. “Our men killed four over yonder mountain a few days ago.”

“The blood-feud?”

“Of course. It arose out of that.”

From the half-dozen other poor mountain homes came forth men, women, and children, who grouped around us, watching in curiosity. According to Palok, rumour had at first gone round that I was a prisoner, therefore they had refrained from coming forth to see me. Now, however, they knew the truth, they welcomed me as their guest.

Just before it grew dark the Baryaktar returned, followed by the bodyguard, without whom he never seemed to move. They did his bidding, executed his orders, and were ever at his beck and call—the picked men of the tribe.

While Vatt squatted on the floor I sat upon my suit-case, 78and together we ate a kind of mutton stew, rather rich, but not unpalatable. There was an absence of table cutlery, therefore we ate with the aid of our pocket-knives and fingers. Now and then the old woman would pick a tit-bit out of the pot and hand it to me with her fingers. I was compelled to accept the well-meant hospitality, even though her hands were not particularly clean.

The hot dish was tasty, but I could not manage the sour black bread, for it was mouldy, and gritty into the bargain.

It was a weird picture, the interior of that lowly hut, lit by the dim oil lamp of almost the same type as used by the early Greeks. The uncertain firelight glinted upon the gold of the dresses of the chieftain and of Lûk’s pretty wife, and threw, now and then, into relief those strangely unfamiliar faces, the barbarians of an age bygone and forgotten. The very language they were speaking was, as an unwritten one, utterly incomprehensible and unintelligible to any but the born Albanian.

I rubbed my eyes—on account of the smoke—wondering if it were really only a very few weeks ago that I had driven a motor from London down to Windsor, that I had seen The Catch of the Season, and trod the red carpet of the Savoy afterwards.

And to-night I was actually having supper with real live brigands of the mountains!

Lûk produced a bottle of rakhi, and Vatt Marashi lifted his tin mug to me. I took a little of the potent spirit in the bottom of my own drinking-cup, and tossed it off. It was not half as bad as I expected.

Then the chief took me outside the house, and in the clear moonlight we sat down with Palok upon a big rock to chat.

He rolled me a cigarette of most excellent Turkish tobacco—of his own growing, he told me—lit one himself, and we sipped the coffee brought to us by Lûk’s wife.

The scene spread before us was superb—a magnificent panorama of mountains, some tipped with snow, white and 79brilliant under the moonbeams. Below us, the valley was a great chasm of unfathomable blackness.

With my strange host I chatted upon many subjects, and found him far more intelligent than I had believed. Keen-witted, quick of perception, just in his judgment, and yet filled with an intense hatred of both Turk and Montenegrin alike, he explained to me many things of great interest.

He told me of the glorious traditions of his sturdy race and of the prince of the Skender Beg family, who, they hoped, would one day come back to rule them.

“We, the chieftains, hold authority from him,” he declared. “Oh yes, he will come some day. Of that we are quite certain.”

“Englishmen have never dared to come here, have they?” I asked, with some curiosity.

“Only once—a year or two ago. I discovered three of your compatriots poking about in the rocks and chipping little pieces off. I had them captured, and brought to me. At first I thought I would hold them to ransom and make the Turks pay. But they were evidently poor fellows, for their clothes were worn almost to rags, and they had very little money. So I gave them their money back and sent them with an escort down to the plain, forbidding them to enter our country again. I wonder why they came, and why they were chipping the rocks?”

I told him that they were evidently mining prospectors; that Englishmen travelled all over the world to discover minerals; and that a mine in his country would be a source of great wealth. But my explanation did not appeal to him. He could not see why they were chipping off those pieces of rock. It was not flint, otherwise they might have wanted them for gun-locks. No, the trio were distinctly suspicious characters, and he was glad that he had expelled them.

“Have you ever held Englishmen to ransom?” I inquired.

“One. Five years ago. He came here shooting—after bears, I think. He was evidently a great gentleman, for his guns were beautiful. The Turks paid promptly.”

“Because he was an Englishman—eh?”

80“Most probably,” he laughed. “Are they afraid of you English as they are afraid of us?”

And soon afterwards he bade me good-night, and left me to throw myself down upon my mattress of leaves and listen to the snoring of Palok and the assembled family in the adjoining room.

I had thought Skodra barbaric, but here I was in an utterly unknown corner of the earth, in an absolutely savage land—a land that knows no law and acknowledges no master; a land that is the same to-day as it was in the days of Diocletian and of Constantine the Great—Albania the Unchanging.

The Skreli a lawless tribe—No man’s life safe unless the chief gives his word—Vatt prophesies a rising against the Turks—Our walks and talks—Our meeting with our neighbours the Kastrati, and with Dêd Presci their chief—A woman who avenged her husband’s death—The significant story of Kol—Manners and customs of the wild tribes—Farewell to my good friend Dêd—An incident a fortnight later.

The bright sunny days I remained with the Skreli were full of interest.

On every hand, from Vatt himself down to the humblest of his tribe, I received only the greatest kindness and hospitality. If I went out in Vatt’s absence, a dozen armed banditti followed me, mounting guard over me; for, as they told me, one never knew what little “accident” might happen. With the tribes of the Shiala and the Pulati they were not just then on particularly friendly terms, and there had been a series of sharp encounters a week ago. Having given their word to be responsible for my safety, it behoved them to take precautions.

I walked with Vatt Marashi every day, making long excursions through the mountains by the secret paths known only to the tribe.

Would I care for some sport? If I cared to come next year and bring a friend, or even two, he would let me shoot. My friends would always be welcome, and I could assure them of their safety. There was plenty of game, and lots of bears, lynx, and wolves. I should tell my friends in England, and come back for a month or two. I promised that I would, 82for in our walks I saw quantities of game. My friend shot several eagles, but I was not successful in bagging one.

As he was stalking at my side one afternoon, his argus eyes everywhere and a cigarette in his mouth, I returned to the subject of the Turks and their “occupation” of Albania.

“Bah!” he exclaimed, with a sneering curl of the lip. “They dare not come here. We, with the Kastrati, the Hoti, the Klementi, the Pulati, and the Shiala, are masters here. We have held the land always, and shall hold it still. We acknowledge no law except our own, and pay no taxes to anybody. The Turks, when they conquered Northern Albania, thought they could crush us. They tried to, but soon discovered their mistake. So ever since that they have left us severely alone, and retired into Skodra. They know full well that when we unite with our brothers, the Miriditi, in the south, then Skodra will be at our mercy.”

“And if the Sultan sends his soldiers here?”

“Well, and what then?” he asked, with a flash in his eyes. “Do you think we fear them? Many of them are Albanians, and would not fight us. Again, you have experienced the road here. What would an army do here? We should pick them off as fast as they came up. There are forty thousand of us Skreli alone, remember, without all the other tribes. If a Turkish army came in here, depend upon it, it would never get out again.”

“And is there likely to be a rising against the Turks?” I inquired, much interested.

“Why, of course. The revolt will come one day ere long—when we are ready. We can, however, afford to wait at present. Turkey will soon have her hands full with Bulgaria and Macedonia, and then—well, we shall help Bulgaria, and in a week there won’t be a Turk in Skodra.”

“You mean there will be a massacre?”

For answer he shrugged his shoulders.

“And after the revolution?”

“After we have driven out the Turk we hope to obtain our independence under either France or some other far-off country—England, for instance. Austria and Italy are, 83through their priests, conducting a strenuous propaganda all through Northern Albania—so strenuous as to be ridiculous. They foolishly think that we are like children, and that we do not discern their ulterior motives. Oh, it is very amusing, I can tell you! We accept their schools and their money, and put our fingers in our cheeks, for we don’t intend to have anything to do with either Power when the rising comes. We will help Servia or Bulgaria, or even Montenegro, to drive the Turk from Albania, but we will not lift a finger for either Italy or Austria. The secret agents of both Powers are always endeavouring to penetrate here among us and carry on their propaganda. But we do not want them, and will not have them. More than one has of late—disappeared.”

“Shot?”

He smiled in the affirmative.

“It is true,” he said, “that we kill—and kill often—for the vendetta—for espionage—and in the frontier disputes with Montenegro. Alas! we have here but little of the bessa (truce). But you must remember we are not like you English. The people have no government, except myself. I make the law, and they obey. We are Christians. We believe in God and in the Virgin, and soon we will drive the Mohammedan fanatics from our land.”

He spoke with an air of conviction, and, judging from my observations while I was guest of his tribe, I believe that when war between Turkey and Bulgaria comes—as it must come one day before long—these wild people will sweep down upon the Turks and play frightful havoc with them.

Skodra is often alarmed, and the people retire into their houses and bar their doors because the tribes are believed to be coming. One day they will come, and when they do those open drains in the streets will run with blood. The sign of the cross upon the Christian houses is in preparation for the day of vengeance.

My walks with Vatt Marashi, though often very fatiguing, were full of interest. He was never tired of making inquiries regarding England and England’s power. Did the Sultan recognise England as an independent state, and did we send 84an Ambassador to the Sublime Porte, like Austria and Germany? He knew that England once had a Vice-Consul in Skodra—but he committed suicide, it was said, poor fellow.

Nothing very extraordinary, I remarked inwardly. Doomed to live in such an out-of-the-world place as Skodra would be sufficient to drive any European to take his life. Of brigandage, Vatt Marashi told me that they held up but few travellers nowadays, and only, indeed, when there was necessity. Yet a year or two ago they held the worst reputation of any of the tribes.

One day while we were climbing the rocks—for Vatt and his bodyguard thought that they might get a shot at a bear—there was a sudden alarm. The hawk’s eyes of my companions espied strangers, and a sudden halt was called. In a moment we were all under cover of the rocks. Every man unslung his rifle, and Vatt himself, with knit brows, drew his big pistol with silver butt, while I crouched behind a rock with my rifle ready, expecting something to happen.

Nothing, however, did happen, for a few moments later there were shouts from the opposite side of the defile, answered by my companions, who came forth and waved their rifles over their heads as sign of greeting.

Vatt, replacing his pistol in his belt, spoke in a loud, sharp voice, and received an answer. Those mountaineers can throw their voices long distances, and be heard distinctly, a fact I often noticed.

Then Palok told me that the strangers were of the neighbouring tribe, the Kastrati, and that their chief, Dêd Presci, had come to pay Vatt a visit.

For me this was fortunate, for it gave me an opportunity of meeting the other ruler of Northern Albania; for next to the Skreli the Kastrati are most powerful in the Accursed Mountains.

Half an hour later we met our visitors. Dressed very similarly to my companions, they wore white tassel-less fezes instead of the little white skullcap, and the black stripes down their trousers were somewhat different. The two chieftains touched foreheads, and I was afterwards introduced. 85Dêd Presci, a round-faced, pleasant man, rather stout and burly, his hair cut in mediæval style, gripped me warmly by the hand, saying—

“I heard that you were in Skodra during the festà. Some of my men told me there was an Englishman. But I never expected to meet you. Perhaps you are coming across to see me—eh? If so, you are quite welcome.”

“I may come next year to shoot, with a couple of English friends. May I visit you then?”

“Most certainly. You have only to warn me of your coming through one of our men down in Skodra, and I will give you safe escort,” was his reply. “If you are fond of sport, you will find plenty with us. Only bring a tent, and perhaps some provisions; for our food is not what you foreigners are used to.”

“Then I shall return one day before long,” I promised.

“Do. You need fear nothing, you know. We never betray a friend.”

“Or forgive an enemy,” added Vatt, laughing.

“Especially if he be a Turk,” I remarked; whereat both chiefs laughed in chorus.

That evening I ate with the pair in a small lonely house on the mountainside, and the moon had long risen before Palok and I returned to Lûk’s.

My photographic camera was, from the first, regarded with a good deal of suspicion, and it was with very great difficulty I persuaded anybody to have his picture taken. Many surreptitious snap-shots I took with a small “Brownie” camera, for unfortunately I had run out of films for my own larger Kodak. But I was able to secure some photographs, which now appear in this volume.

Early one morning, soon after sunrise, I was walking with Lûk and Palok when a young woman passed us.

“That is Mrika Kol Marashut,” Lûk remarked.

“And who is she?” I asked.

“Mrika—the woman who carried on the blood-feud,” was his answer. “Two years ago she was the most beautiful girl of our tribe, and had a dozen men ready to marry her. She 86married Lez, a smart young man from the Pulati side, and one of the Baryaktar’s bodyguard, like myself. A month after their marriage Lez was treacherously killed by his brother, who lived down by the White Drin, and was violently in love with her. When she received the news she became half demented by grief. But, by slow degrees, she formed her plans for the blood-feud, and having no male relatives, resolved to take it on herself. She therefore left us and was absent nearly a year, during which time she persistently followed her brother-in-law first to Ochrida, in Macedonia, then to Skopia, Prisrend, and many other places, always awaiting her opportunity to strike the blow. This came one afternoon when her husband’s assassin was walking in the main street in Skodra, and she took Lez’s pistol from her belt and blew his face away. It was valiant of a woman—was it not? But not only that,” he went on. “Having killed the murderer, she went straight to his parents’ house, three days’ journey, and shot them both dead. Since then she has been back with us, for poor Lez’s death has been avenged. I was sorry he died,” he added regretfully, “for he was one of my dearest friends.”

Murder is hardly a crime in Albania, for life is cheap—very cheap. An enemy or a stranger is shot like a dog, and left at the roadside.

Palok told me of an incident which truly illustrates the utter disregard the Albanian has for other people’s lives. He was once with a man of the Hoti—on the Montenegrin frontier—who had just obtained a new rifle, probably from a murdered Turkish soldier. While he was inspecting it a man passed close by, a stranger, whereupon the man with the new gun raised it to his shoulder, took aim, and fired. The stranger fell dead. Palok remonstrated, but his companion merely said that he was testing his gun’s accuracy. Was it not better, he asked, to test it that way, instead of waiting till face to face with an enemy?

The assassin is never punished, except by those who take up the blood-feud. If the murder takes place in a town the guilty one escapes to the mountains, or gets away into Macedonia, or into Servia, where he earns his living by sawing 87firewood. Every few years the Sultan issues an irade “for the pacification of the blood,” as it is put, and the murderer then returns. He pays a small tax to the Turkish Government, after which he cannot be arrested; and if he pays about three hundred crowns to the relatives of his victim, the blood-feud is at an end.

This, of course, does not apply to the mountain tribes. They care not a jot for the Sultan or for his irades. There is no law—save that of the blood-feud, the vendetta falling upon the murderer and upon his next male relative. Many were the curious facts regarding the blood-feud and the Albanian laws of hospitality told to me.

A case in point was that of a young man named Kol, a friend of Lûk’s, a tall, wiry youth, of somewhat sinister expression—a typical bandit out of a book-illustration.

I was talking to Lûk about the hospitality extended by the various tribes to each other when Kol passed, and he beckoned him, saying—

“He has just had a curious experience in the Klementi country. Let him relate it to you.”

So at Palok’s invitation the young fellow accepted one of my cigarettes, placed his rifle against the wall, and flung himself down upon a small boulder near us.

He blew a cloud of smoke from his lips, stroked his knees with his hands, and looked at me with considerable curiosity, wondering why I should want to know his story.

“The stranger is interested in your adventures with the Klementi. Tell him all about them.”

“Bah!” he said, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. “It was nothing—mere chance—luck, if you like to call it so. There is nothing to tell.”

“But what there is interests the Englishman. He is the Baryaktar’s guest, remember,” Lûk remarked.

“Well,” said the young man reluctantly, “I was in blood-feud with a man of the Klementi, and went over there to kill him. I laid in wait one evening, and as he drove home his sheep I shot him from behind a rock. He had killed my father, therefore I had a just right to avenge his blood. My 88shot, however, aroused the whole valley, and I knew that I, the only stranger, would be suspected and killed. Therefore I sped away down the valley in the darkness till I reached a poor little house. An old woman was there, and I craved food and shelter for the night. She gave me food at once—for, like ourselves, the Klementi never send a stranger empty away. I was hungry, for I had crossed into the Klementi region in secret, and dared not seek food lest my presence became known to the man I intended to kill.

“Scarcely had I eaten the meat the old woman had given me when there came the sound of voices outside, and to my horror I saw four men carrying the body of my victim.

“‘See!’ they cried to the woman who was befriending me. ‘One of the Skreli has killed your son!’

“Then I knew that it was the murdered man’s mother who had given me shelter. A moment later the men, among whom was the elder brother of the victim, discovered me.

“‘See!’ they cried. ‘There is your son’s murderer. We will kill him!’

“I stood with my back to the wall, knowing well that my last moment had come. The dead man’s brother raised his rifle while I drew my pistol, prepared at least to fire once more before I died. I was caught like a rat in a trap!

“The old woman, however, seeing my position and my helplessness, cried—

“‘No. Though he has killed your brother, you may not touch him. He is beneath our roof; he has eaten our bread, and our protection must remain over him till to-morrow’s sunset. Remember, my son. It is our law.’

“The man dropped his rifle, and his friends drew back at the old woman’s reproof.

“‘Go!’ she said to me, after glancing at her son’s body. ‘You have eaten our bread, and therefore you cannot be harmed.’

“‘Yes, go,’ added my victim’s brother. ‘Till to-morrow’s sundown I will not follow. But after that, I shall track you down, and, before Heaven, I will kill you.’

89“Need I say that I took up my rifle, and leaving the house travelled quickly all night and all next day, until I returned here? But,” added Kol, with a slight sigh, “we shall meet one day—and he will most certainly kill me.”

Is there any other country in the world where such a code of honour exists? I am inclined to think not.

Had I been in the midst of a highly civilised people—a foreigner wandering in the wilds of Yorkshire, for example—I certainly should never have received the many charming kindnesses that I did at the hands of those rough, uncivilised tribes. Climbing like cats up the mountainsides as they did, I was often compelled to lag behind, being unused to such walking. But, laughing merrily, those armed banditti would take me by the arms and help me up the steeper places; they would roll cigarettes for me, carry my rifle when I grew fagged, and fetch and carry for me like children.

My neat Smith-Wesson hammerless revolver was constantly admired, as being a much more handy and serviceable weapon than their own big pistols—Austrian-made revolvers fitted to antique silver butts that had once done service to flintlocks. My Browning repeating revolver, with its magazine holding eight cartridges, was declared a marvel of ingenuity, and on many occasions Vatt and his men amused themselves by firing with it at targets.

Once he remarked, with a grim smile, that it would be a handy weapon against the Turks. Where could he get one? Was it costly?

And when I promised to send him one through our mutual friend in the bazaar down in Skodra, as souvenir of my visit, his joy knew no bounds.

A month later I fulfilled my promise, sending it across from Sofia, and have since received an acknowledgment of its safe receipt.

I wonder whether he has yet used it against the hated Turk? Whether or not, he no doubt struts about with it in his belt, a greater chief than all the others, because he possesses the very latest and deadliest of weapons.

When one evening I told my host that I had still a long 90way to go—through Bosnia, Herzegovina, Servia, Bulgaria, Roumania, and Macedonia—and that I must bid him farewell, his face fell. He seemed to genuinely regret.

“But you will return soon,” he urged. “You will redeem your promise, and bring your friends to shoot. Bring that friend you told me about who shoots tigers in India. I want to see what sort of shot he is. And the friend who shoots partridges and pheasants.”

I promised that I would go back to him before long.

“Remember, there will be no danger—none. Tell your friends that Vatt invites them, and that they are free to go anywhere—anywhere,” he said, waving his hand over the wild panorama of mountain and valley that is his indisputable domain.

Next day I rose, packed my small belongings, and with a little present to Lûk and to his pretty wife prepared to leave, when, judge my amazement to find Vatt and his bodyguard outside, and to hear that the chief had decided to accompany me right down to Skodra!

This indeed he did, and when we arrived in the town held by the Turks he strutted down the main street with me, apparently proud of his guest, and in open defiance of the scowling ragged soldiers in dirty red fezes.

Though a deadly enemy of the Turks, he openly defied them. As we walked along the streets there came close behind us twenty of his faithful followers, armed to the teeth and carrying their rifles ready loaded in case of trouble.

But there was no trouble. The Turks of Skodra are wise enough to let the Skreli severely alone.

Trouble will, however, come one day before long, and then alas for the subjects of the Sultan. The Albanians will avenge the blood of the Christians now spilt daily in Macedonia, and the Turk will be driven back southward—or at least what is left of him.

I parted from Vatt at the door of my so-called albergo. He took a glass of rakhi with me, and afterwards, with a hearty hand-grip, he told me not to forget my promise to return. Then he left me, stalking at the head of his armed band, who 91one and all wished me bon voyage, and he went down the street on his return to his mountain home.

But the irony of Fate followed. A fortnight later I found myself riding with a strong military escort on the other side of the mountains, where I had been so hospitably entertained—along the frontier of the Skreli country.

It was growing dusk, and we were passing through a deep ravine, our horses stumbling at every step, when of a sudden the crack of a rifle startled us.

Next instant a dozen rifles flashed fire in the deep shadows to our left. The Skreli outposts were sniping at us!

In a moment we had all dismounted and sought cover, and for fully ten minutes returned their fire vigorously, while the officer of the escort kept up a volley of imprecations on the heads of my late hosts, who were, of course, in ignorance that they were firing upon “the Englishman.” We were too far off each other to do much harm, therefore we simply blazed away. I was crouched behind a rock with the muzzle of my rifle poked through a convenient crack, and fired towards the spot where the flashes showed.

A good deal of powder and bad language were expended, until at last our friends on the other side of the valley, apparently thinking we were too far away, ceased firing, and we of course did the same.

It was a mutual truce. For ten minutes longer we waited in order to see what would happen. Then, leading our horses, we crept carefully along on our way northward, out of the range of our friends’ guns.

Those moments were exciting, however, while they lasted, yet they were not without their grim humour.

93

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108

The diplomatic circle in Belgrade—Studying both sides of the Servian question—Austrian intrigue—113 known foreign spies in Belgrade!—An illustration of the work of secret agents—Quaint Servian customs—Pauperism unknown—Servia to-day and to-morrow.

The stranger’s first impression of Belgrade is that it is a rather dull Russian town.

Coming from Bosnia and Albania, one misses the quaint costumes and the life and movement in the streets, the fierce men with rifles, and the veiled shuffling women. The Turk, though he has a mosque here, is unseen.

At Semlin—or Zimony, as the Hungarians call it—the last town on the Austrian side of the Save, one’s passport is carefully examined and registered, not by the Servians, to allow you into the country, but by the Austrians, to allow you to pass out!

As bearer of despatches for His Britannic Majesty’s Government, I had no difficulty either with passport or luggage; otherwise, with the Customs War raging, I might have suffered considerable delay. Crossing the river, I ere long found myself in comfortable quarters in the Grand Hotel in Belgrade—comfortable indeed after the rough life and hard fare in Northern Albania.

My letters of introduction having been presented to the Servian Cabinet Ministers and members of both political parties, and having called upon Mr. Beethom Whitehead, the newly appointed British Minister, I quickly found myself in the centre of a very smart and merry diplomatic circle.

120To His Excellency M. Nicholas Pachitch,—the Premier and strongest man in Servia; to Madame Pachitch; to His Excellency Dr. Milenko Vesnitch, Minister of Justice; to Madame Vesnitch, an American and one of the most charming and beautiful ladies in Belgrade; to M. Stoyanovitch, Minister of Commerce; to Commandant Yossiphovitch, aide-de-camp to His Majesty; to Colonel Tcholak-Antich, the Royal Marechal; to the Minister of Finance; to M. Drago Yankovitch of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; to Mr. Alexander Yovitchitch, late Servian Minister in London; to Colonel Christich, his wife, an Irish lady, and Miss Annie Christich; to Mr. C. L. Blakeney of the British Legation; and also to Mr. Beethom Whitehead, the British Minister, and Mrs. Whitehead, I owe a deep debt of gratitude for their kindness to me socially, and their invaluable assistance during my inquiries.

There are but few English in Belgrade—not more than two or three residents. But at the hotel I was fortunate in finding my friend Mr. A. M. Tucker, Servian Consul-General in London, who with his wife was in Belgrade in connection with a financial undertaking. Mr. Tucker is an official who has rendered many services to the Servian Government.

Moving in the official set, I was soon able to see for myself the social life in Belgrade, which I found very bright and very entertaining. In the mornings the streets are filled with well-dressed ladies and gallant officers, in perhaps the smartest uniforms in Europe. The hour of the siesta is from one till three, then at five the cafés overflow till seven. Someone is always giving a dinner or reception, and bridge is played everywhere; for in no other city in Europe has it “caught on” more than it has in Belgrade.

The British Legation is, of course, the smartest house among those of the diplomatists, and that of Madame Vesnitch among the Cabinet Ministers. French and Italian are the languages spoken in society.

The city of Belgrade is in a transition state. Already in many of the principal streets fine new buildings have been completed, and many are now in the course of construction. 121The roads, it must be said, are execrably paved, so uneven that driving is a torture. But the reason they have not been repaved during the present régime is because a new drainage system is about to be carried out, and when this is done they will be asphalted and converted into boulevards. The natural situation of “Beograd”—or the White Fortress—is magnificent, high up on a hill at the junction of the Save and the Danube. Behind rises the extinct volcano of Avala, where, according to one tradition, a great treasure is hidden, and to another that the mountain is rich in gold and silver deposits.

The centre of life in Belgrade is the gay café of the Grand Hotel. From five to seven in the afternoon everyone is there, card-playing, smoking, sipping slivovitza (plum gin) or drinking bock, and listening to the excellent band, while the inner hall is filled with smart ladies and their cavaliers. Save the peasantry one sees about the street, the oxen drawing primitive carts, and now and then a man wearing a fez, there is little that is Eastern in Belgrade, save the slightly dark complexion and cast of features of the Servians. For the most part the women are very handsome, but they seem, like most Eastern races, to lose their beauty at an early age.

Though I made it my duty to hear and study both sides of political questions in Belgrade, and though I spent many hours with those in fierce opposition to the present régime, I must say that I received on every hand the greatest kindness, while everybody seemed ever ready to render me a service.

The Servians are a highly intelligent and thoughtful race. The young officers in the streets are not of the ogling, giggling genus one knows so well in Germany, France, and Italy, but though smarter in appearance than either nation, they are serious, polite, and gentlemanly to a degree. The King, when speaking to me of military matters, pointed out a curious fact, namely, that so intelligent was the average Servian recruit that in six months he usually learnt what in France took him eighteen months.

In feminine circles it struck me that there was a great extravagance in dress. I saw the very latest Paris hats and smart, well-cut gowns, which bore evidence of the expensive 122couturière worn by the wives of struggling officials, and I learnt that about ten pounds was no uncommon price for a hat. All classes seem to vie with each other to dress well, and in the brilliant salons at night one sees some of the smartest gowns in Europe.

As regards cooking, I fear I cannot say very much that is favourable. That at the Grand is decidedly poor, save perhaps the dishes of delicious sterlet; and of the various restaurants I tried, the only one which reached excellence was that kept by an Italian, one Perolo, who was for many years chef to King Milan. There one can dine well—if one knows what to order. The younger diplomatists dine there in a room together, entrance to which is forbidden, save to a few chosen ones.

The diplomatic circle do a good deal of entertaining. The British Minister and his wife give large dinner-parties every Tuesday, which are very delightful functions; while each Thursday afternoon Mrs. Whitehead—who is a very charming hostess—is at home. The Foreign Office have certainly been happy in their choice of Mr. Whitehead to fulfil the very difficult and onerous task of renewing diplomatic relations, for he is a skilled diplomatist, and has been for many years in St. Petersburg, Brussels, Tokio, Constantinople, and Berlin, where he was, until recently, Councillor of Embassy. He also speaks Russian.

The Legation is one of the most tasteful houses in Belgrade, and is filled with highly interesting collections from Japan. The German Minister, Prince Max Ratibor, with his wife and stepdaughter, the young Princess Taxis, also give a good many smart entertainments.

The capital is, of course, a hotbed of political intrigue, and all foreigners arriving are suspected of being secret agents. They are watched, their correspondence often opened, and their business in Belgrade thoroughly investigated and reported upon. At first the stranger resents this kind of thing. On my arrival I found myself constantly watched, but as soon as it was known who and what I was, the surveillance ceased.

I mentioned the matter to one of the high police officials, 123whereupon he explained that in Belgrade alone he held a list of no fewer than 113 known secret agents of Austria! “We therefore keep secret agents for our own protection. Can you blame us?” he asked.

In the diplomatic circle one hears everywhere a cry of “shame” upon the false news which, being supposed to emanate from reliable sources in Belgrade, is really manufactured across the Save at Zimony by irresponsible journalists in the pay of Austria. The Servian officials actually gave me the names of some of these gentlemen.

In the English newspapers one reads constantly telegrams from Vienna, generally to that very irresponsible and sensational journal the Zeit, declaring that there are all sorts of plots in Servia against King Peter. A short time ago this journal actually had the audacity to say that the Crown Prince was insane! Such telegrams should be read with entire disbelief, for they emanate from certain Hungarian journalists who were expelled from Belgrade on account of the false news despatched from there, and now live across the river at Zimony, whence they continually launch their tirades against Servia and the Servians.

What I read from time to time in the English papers regarding Servia is so utterly opposed to the truth—and in our most responsible journals, too—that it often utterly amazes me.

There is a scheme on foot started by an English company to build a large new hotel in Belgrade—which is badly wanted. The Grand is full to overflowing all the year round, and strangers are nightly turned away. It is, I believe, intended to build the hotel on English lines, with a few private sitting-rooms where the traveller can be quiet and rest in peace away from the turmoil and clatter inseparable from a huge garish café.

The streets are usually broad, straight, and if not actually handsome thoroughfares, are well adapted for improvement and the erection of larger buildings. Most of the suburban houses are of a ground floor only, which strike the Englishman as curious; for as the windows are on a level with the street, there is an utter lack of privacy in family life. Servians of 124both sexes, I noticed, are great cigarette-smokers, and Servian cigarettes I found were the best in the Balkans.

The pleasantest promenade is the Kalemegdan, the pretty gardens situated behind the old fortress which commands the junction of the Danube and the Save, while on the bank rises the Neboyscha (the fearless) tower, of which many terrible tales are told of the days of the Turks. In the Kalemegdan, adorned with bronze busts of Servian poets and savants, smart Belgrade promenades every afternoon and admires the beautiful view from the Fikir-Bair (“the slope of dreaming”), the smart uniforms of the officers lending the necessary touch of colour to complete a charming scene.

The religion is, of course, Greek Orthodox, with the independent Servian Church, while the population of Servia is about three millions. Some of the characteristic traits of the Servians are curious and interesting. Every Servian family has, each year, its saint’s day, and in every Servian drawing-room one finds a small wood panel with the image of that saint painted thereon. The day usually falls upon that of some great fête such as that of St. Nicholas, the Archangel Michael, etc., which are perhaps the two most fêted. The day in question is called the Slava (fête of the patron saint of the family). The saint fêted by the head of the family is also fêted by his wife, children, and servants.

Some days before the fête the priest visits the house for the benediction of water placed in a basin, after which he sprinkles with a bunch of basil all members of the family, as well as various rooms, and the image of the fêted saint.

All the household regard the week prior to the fête as a fast. The eve of the day of the Slava the lamp is lit before the image of the saint, and is burnt for two days. A couple of days before the anniversary a tasty dish is prepared, called the Koljivo, mainly composed of wheat, nuts, and almonds. Those families, however, who fête the Archangel Michael do not prepare this cake, for the people believe that the Archangel still lives, and cakes are only offerings to the dead.

On the morning of the fête the head of the family lights a taper, and the priest, after a ceremony, cuts a kind of bread 125specially prepared and bearing a cross; after which he sprinkles wine upon it and upon the Koljivo.

Everybody, from early morning, salutes the head of the family with the words, “Sretna slava” (a happy fête), and grasps his hand. If the visitor is a man, he embraces the husband; if a woman, the wife. The daughter of the house offers the Koljivo to the guests, and everyone takes a spoonful of slatko—a kind of fruit preserve—brandy and coffee. At noon, wine is also drunk. To the houses of the better class telegrams and letters arrive all day. In the country districts the day is given up to eating, drinking, singing, and toasts.

The fêted saint is considered to be the protector of the family, to whom daily prayers are said and mediation asked with the Almighty.

Next to the Slava, the fête most widely celebrated is Christmas. There is a Servian couplet that runs—

After a long fast, the Servian people await Christmas impatiently. It is a day of feasting in the whole country. Two days before Christmas Day—old style, of course—roasts are prepared, consisting of a lamb and a sucking-pig. On the morning of Christmas Eve one of the boys of the family goes into the forest and cuts the Christmas log or Badgnak—a usage which was recognised in the old days in France. Choosing a young tree, he recites a prayer and cuts it down, while another lad is careful that the first branch cut does not fall to the ground. He clutches hold of it, and it is placed in the milk, so that good cream shall be produced, or upon the beehive, that the bees may bring good honey. The bringing home of the Christmas log is attended by many quaint ceremonies.

That evening, while the family is at supper—which mostly consists of fruits—the head of the house takes three nuts in his right hand, and throwing them towards the east exclaims, “In the name of the Father”; then three others, which he 126throws to the west saying, “and of the Son”; and then three others he throws to the north, adding, “and of the Holy Ghost.” Then with three others he makes the sign of the cross, and throwing them to the south, exclaims “Amen.”

With the dawn of Christmas Day visits commence, the first person generally to arrive being a young man neighbour, known as the polaznik. He embraces the master of the house, makes the sign of the cross upon the Yule-log, and wishes good luck to the household. In the Christmas cake is placed a piece of money, and the person to whom it falls will have good fortune all the year.

The Easter feast comes third with the Servians, and is a great occasion for egg-breaking, one egg being broken against the other. Each visitor receives an egg, and the fête lasts three days. The gipsies, of whom there are very many in the Balkans, go from house to house at Easter, singing and wishing good fortune to the householders, receiving, of course, money in return for their good wishes.

There is also an extraordinary institution among the Servians called the pobratime. It often occurs that two persons of the same sex love one another very dearly, and regret that they are not allied by relationship. In such a case they go through a solemn ceremony, and become pobratimes, or brothers by election. It is the same with both sexes. In many cases religion or nationality does not count, for there are numbers of cases where a Serb has chosen for pobratime a Turk or an Albanian. In some cases the ceremony is a grave and solemn one before a priest. Sometimes, indeed, the two persons make a slight cut in each other’s hands, and suck each other’s blood, so becoming blood relations. This custom is, strangely enough, very prevalent among the more savage of the African tribes. The pobratimes remain faithful and devoted one to the other until death.

Belgrade resembles no other European capital for several reasons. There are no poor quarters of squalor and misery, and pauperism is unknown. During the whole time I was in the capital not a single person solicited alms. During the last thirty years land in the vicinity of the city has quadrupled 127in value. Each house is generally occupied by one family, and almost every house has a pretty garden or courtyard. For many years there has been constant rebuilding, and nowadays houses are usually built of brick in preference to stone—although there is a Brick Trust in the country. A good granite is also employed, and the new buildings are mostly ornate and handsome.

Modern Belgrade is well planned. The Rue Terasia and the Rue Prince Michel run on the highest part of the plateau and form the main artery of traffic, while from these two streets diverge other thoroughfares, on the one side leading to the Danube, and on the other to the Save.

Viewed from the Danube, the panorama of Belgrade is a fine and imposing one. A commodious quay is badly required for the ever-increasing river traffic, but plans have already been prepared, and shortly the work will be put in hand. High above the river runs the pleasant promenade in the Kalemegdan Gardens, leading to the old fortress with its time-mellowed red brick bastions, now turned into a prison. The position of the city is certainly well adapted to expand into a really fine, handsome capital, as it must become in the near future. It is the centre of intellectual life of Servia. The Library and Museum testify to the literary tastes of the Servians. The Museum is very rich in antiques, and contains a highly interesting numismatic collection. Both science and art are well cultivated in the Servian capital, which is also the headquarters of the Metropolitan Archbishop, the courts of Cassation and of Appeal, the État Major, the Military School, the Faculties, and the Ecclesiastical School.

The capital of Servia therefore occupies a most favourable position, and is designed to become a very important centre of commerce. Its situation being at the junction of the Save and the Danube, at the head of the railway which unites the European capitals with the Black Sea ports, as well as with Salonica and Constantinople, it cannot fail to be the gate of the whole commerce of the Orient. It is, indeed, the Gateway of the East.

Nisch, in the south, is the town second in importance. 128In 1874 it contained only 12,000 population, while to-day it has more than 30,000 inhabitants. Standing as it does at the junction of the Oriental with the European railways, all the merchandise to or from Turkey passes through it: either by way of Sofia, or by Usküb and Macedonia. The old Turkish quarter has been recently destroyed, wide streets built, and the town thoroughly modernised and brought up to date, while there are several comfortable hotels. The country around Nisch is noted for its excellent light wines, which, having tasted, I can recommend. In Nisch, as in many other parts of Servia, there are many openings for the profitable employment of British capital.

The Servian Government is anxious to promote commerce and industry throughout the kingdom. It is ready to give facility and encouragement to foreigners—and especially the English—to exploit the wealth that undoubtedly abounds, and it will treat them honestly, justly, and well.

Country life presents many interesting features. The Servian is much more industrious than the Roumanian or the Bulgar, and consequently is much more the master of his own household. The house of the Servian peasant is generally constructed of brick, situate in the valleys and ravines, and is usually of one storey only. There are generally three or four rooms, the larger one being used as a common sitting and dining room. The furniture of the common room is very simple—a table, chairs, and settle and wardrobe; while upon the whitewashed walls are coloured religious prints. The other rooms are covered with bright-coloured Servian carpets, and in some villages of the Machva and the valley of the Morava—where the peasants appear to live in greater comfort—I found Viennese bent-wood furniture. In the poorer districts the house often consists of one room only, and is often constructed by the peasant himself. Each house has its little garden, cultivated by the women or the old folk, where vegetables are grown, more especially cabbages, of which there is a great consumption in various forms, often preserved as a kind of choucroute. Fresh-water fish is also a staple article of diet, while caviare too is plentiful.

129In my journey through Servia I was struck by the prosperity of the peasant and his high intelligence everywhere. The country, especially in the more mountainous districts, is most picturesque, and the quaint costumes of both sexes are highly interesting. Time was when there were many brigands in the more remote districts. An officer of my acquaintance who has explored practically every corner of Servia told me an amusing episode that quite lately occurred to him. He was riding one day in the mountains in a far remote part of Servia, many miles from a town, when he overtook a rather evil-looking man, who scowled at him. He passed the time of day and inquired the road to his destination. Then he added, “I’ve heard there are brigands round about here. Is it true?”

“Brigands!” exclaimed the man. “Well, we used to be brigands. But nowadays the law is so strict that I and my comrades have given it up!”

The costume of the Servian peasant-women is quaint and of interest. It consists of an ample skirt of wool or silk and a corset on which, over the chest, is placed a piece of white gauze crossed. Over this is a kind of bolero of tanned skin with the fur inside, cut lower than the waist at the back, and open in front. Upon it are often gold or silver embroideries. Upon the head is worn a small scarlet fez, around which the plaited hair is coiled. The fez is often embroidered with seed pearls, which descend from generation to generation and are often worth twenty to thirty pounds. Then, lastly, there is the apron, which is part of the national costume, and is of wool, hand-embroidered in gay colours, many of them being of quaint and original design.

In the towns both men and women now adopt European costume. In the country every peasant possesses a gun, and shooting as they do from childhood, they are mostly very fine shots. They love the chase, and shoot everything they can, for the country is full of all kinds of birds and animals.

There is a good deal of superstition among the peasants, who are an imaginative people, who believe in vampires, evil spirits, and witches, and have many extraordinary legends and sayings concerning them.

At the New Konak—I sign His Majesty’s birthday-book—The audience-chamber—King Peter greets me, and we chat over cigarettes—My private audience—His Majesty and English capitalists—Great openings for British enterprise—The King gives me some instances of paying concerns, and tells me many interesting facts—His Majesty invites me to return.

As I drove into the wide gates of the New Konak one evening in November to have private audience of His Majesty King Peter of Servia, sentries saluted, idling detectives bowed, and the lines of blue-and-gold servants drawn up in the entrance all bent low with one accord. The royal palace is, indeed, well guarded.

In the large inner hall was a wide horseshoe staircase, which I ascended. On every hand was a regal splendour, all in excellent taste and all very new, for the palace built by King Milan has been renovated since 1903, when the former royal residence of such tragic memory was pulled down. Its site is now a pretty lawn.

At the head of the stairs the Royal Marechal, Colonel Tcholak-Antich, a young man in bright blue uniform and many decorations, met me. With the usual etiquette he told me his name, I told him mine, and we shook hands. Then he said, “His Majesty is anxious that you should sign his birthday book,” and he led me to the big council-chamber, where at the head of the table he opened a beautiful book, which I signed upon the proper page.

I was at once conducted to the audience-chamber, the 131double doors of which—to prevent eavesdroppers—were closed behind me, and I was left alone to await His Majesty. The room, of fine dimensions, seemed, under the myriad electric lamps, ablaze with gold. The beautiful gilt furniture showed well against the carpet of crushed-strawberry, the damask of the upholstery matching the carpet and being brocaded with gold. Several fine modern paintings were upon the walls, and in the centre of the magnificent apartment a large settee and several fine gilt chairs set against a big gilt Renaissance table.

Scarce had I time to glance at my surroundings when the long white folding-doors at the end of the room opened, and there entered a slim, alert figure in a dark blue military uniform—a keen, dark-eyed, grey-moustached man with a pleasant smile and hand outstretched—His Majesty.

I made my obeisance, and took the proffered hand. “Come,” said the King kindly in French, seating himself at the table, and motioning me to a chair opposite him. “Well,” he commenced, “you know I have lived in London, and I have heard of you, Monsieur N——,” and he went on to say some highly gratifying words concerning myself; then producing a big silver box of most excellent Servian cigarettes, gave me one, held the match for me, and also smoked himself. He was, I noticed, quick, smart, and shrewd, with both figure and bearing that greatly reminded me of Lord Roberts, his general’s dark undress uniform being relieved by one touch of colour, the crimson-and-white ribbon and white enamelled star of Karageorge.

Then, when we were comfortably settled, I explained to him my reasons for visiting the Balkans.

“You are very welcome here in Servia,” His Majesty said. “You have been kind enough to say generous things about our country. All we ask of you is not to flatter us—only inquire the truth for yourself. We Servians have our faults—all nations have. But it must be remembered that we are a young nation—like France was after the war of 1870. The Press of Europe have not been altogether fair to us, for very many false statements have been published regarding our people, 132and myself personally. But how could they be contradicted? We only wish the organs of the British Press would tell the truth regarding Servia. We have enemies—who has not? But our policy is one of peace, and our earnest endeavour is to develop the great resources of our country. Servia is, as you know, one of the richest mineral countries in Europe.”

“I presume your Majesty’s Government will grant concessions for the working of mines, or for other industrial enterprises?”

“Most readily. But only to responsible persons, who can show their earnestness and that capital is at their command. Of late we have had many concession-hunters here from various parts of Europe, but the majority have gone empty away because they were discovered to be mere speculators. No. Our urgent desire is that your British capitalists should come here and study matters for themselves.”

“I believe some mines are already being worked by foreign capital?” I remarked.

“Certainly—and very wealthy they are too. Take the Bor copper mine, for instance. I visited it myself this year. The 500-franc shares are now at 3000 francs, and the output will shortly be enormous. They have recently discovered in the workings traces that the ancient Romans had been there. It will, so experts say, be found to be one of the richest copper mines in Europe. Besides copper we have iron, coal, antimony, and even gold—all of which might, with great advantage, be exploited by English companies. We invite the English in preference, because I know that English commercial undertakings are, for the most part, solid and sound. You English always think well before you commence, and when you do commence you go straight on to success. Therefore any industrial enterprise, or any railways—which we want badly—that you may suggest to us on behalf of British capitalists shall have our most earnest consideration. That the country is in a settled state and is prospering is, I think, shown by our finances. Before 1903 there was constantly a deficit on the Budget. In 1903 we had over one million francs in excess of the estimates, in 1904 we had five millions, and in 1331905 a little over four millions. Our engagements are regularly paid, and we have no floating debt.”

“And the future?”

“Ah! you want me to talk politics,” he laughed, raising his hand with the fine diamond upon it. “No. I make a rule never to do so. One of our chief faults in Servia is that we gossip too much upon politics. You have noticed that, I daresay, in the cafés, in the Legations, and elsewhere—eh? All we Servians are the same—in Montenegro, in Bosnia, and elsewhere. It is always so with a young nation. The future of Servia will, I fervently hope, be one of peace and prosperity. It shall be my most earnest endeavour to secure this for my people, so that Servia may prove to Europe that she does not now merit the hard things said of her in the past.”

His Majesty, after we had chatted about Florence, a city which I found he knew quite well, then told me a very interesting fact. “We have here, in Servia,” he said, “a most wonderful cure for rheumatism—the Ribarska Banya. I only tell you what happened personally to me. During the Russo-Turkish War I contracted acute rheumatism, and have been a martyr to it ever since. I visited every watering-place in Europe, but none of the so-called “cures” did me any good. Two years ago, with some reluctance, I went to Ribarska and took the cure, and from that moment I have never since been troubled. It was miraculous! With my own eyes I saw a poor woman wheeled there entirely crippled, and twenty days later I saw her commencing to walk. I would not have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes.”

For an hour and a half we chatted upon many things—of London, of Paris, of Rome, of Vienna—for His Majesty is essentially an up-to-date man of the world, as well as a monarch. Sincere and yet humorous, kindly and yet with a hauteur that well befits his military bearing, he struck me as a man well adapted to rule the Servian nation—a man who is thoroughly in earnest, and is doing his level best for the future of his nation. “We want no external troubles,” he declared to me. “We want to be allowed to progress.”

And when I took my leave His Majesty grasped my hand 134warmly, saying, “I hope, M’sieur N——, you will return to Servia often, and remember that whenever you are in Belgrade I shall always be happy to give you audience and have another chat with you. Bon soir.”

I bowed. The long white doors opened noiselessly by an unseen hand, and His Majesty was gone.

Next day an aide-de-camp brought me the autographed portrait which appears in these pages, together with a very kindly message from His Majesty.

Not only did I endeavour to learn the truth at the royal palace, but I went among the people in various towns in Servia, making inquiries, and I found on every hand that Servia was pleased and satisfied with her new ruler.

King Peter was born on July 11, 1844, at Belgrade. A son of the reigning Prince Alexander Karageorgevitch. Educated at Belgrade and Geneva, he went to St. Cyr in France, and afterwards, during the war of 1870, volunteered in the French army. In 1883 he married the Princess Zorka, eldest daughter of Prince Nicholas of Montenegro, with whom he led a very happy family life until her unfortunate death in 1890. For about ten years he lived in Montenegro, but after his wife’s death he went to Geneva for the education of his children. In Montenegro there is still great admiration for him among the people, who have always regarded him as one of the Serb princes.

There were four children, of whom three are still living, namely, the Crown Prince George, now aged 20; Princess Helene, aged 19; and Prince Alexander, aged 18. The Crown Prince after his studies in Geneva was admitted by order of the Tzar into the Noble Guard at St. Petersburg, and on the accession of his father left Russia to complete his studies in Servia. At the present time he is engaged in university studies, combined with his military ones. I had an opportunity of meeting him, and found him a very smart and intelligent young fellow. Legally he is now of age, and lately he represented his father at a great national festivity, and acquitted himself with complete success. He is greatly interested in all military questions, and is himself one of the best riders in the country.

135In his domestic circle the King is a model father, and his actions and views are designed to promote in every way a good family life among his people. He leaves politics to his Ministers, who are all of them highly responsible men, but greatly interests himself in sanitation, improvements in agriculture, the securing of a better standard of morality, and in all questions of religion—in fact, his chief aim is the advancement and well-being of his people, which, he is confident, cannot be attained without a strong religious belief.

Only a short time ago he was making a tour in the country when to him came the priests and authorities complaining that the people did not go to church. His Majesty’s reply to the priests was: “If the people do not come to you, you should go to them.”

From my own personal observation of His Majesty, I found him to be exceedingly active, both physically and mentally. Though sixty-two years of age, he may be seen every morning at five o’clock out riding in the environs of Belgrade, making inspections of military camps and often gossiping with and giving counsel to the lowliest peasants. Many are the amusing stories told of these encounters, for often the peasants are unaware that it is their sovereign. On one occasion, quite lately, he was speaking with a peasant who complained to him of misbehaviour of a subordinate functionary, and said, “The King ought to know it!” whereupon His Majesty replied, “Yes, I think so. I will certainly tell him.”

His Majesty told me himself that he does not believe in the old idea that “the King can do no wrong,” or that monarchs are only “par la grâce de Dieu.” He is of opinion that they should do everything to fulfil the second part of the formula, “by the will of the people,” and do their utmost for the people over whom they rule.

Without prejudice, and without bias, I have no hesitation in saying that Servia to-day is under a most beneficent régime, and it is hoped that her ruler, a splendid type of man and an up-to-date monarch, may be spared many years to realise the high aspirations which he has for the country that gave him birth.

Audiences of M. Pachitch, the Premier and “strong man” of Servia, and of M. Stoyanovitch, Minister of Commerce—My friend, Dr. Milenko Vesnitch, Minister of Justice—The Servian case as I found it—Austria Servia’s arch-enemy—Dr. Vesnitch an up-to-date politician—Undeniable prosperity of the country under King Peter’s rule.

He who attempts to study Servian politics will find himself engulfed in a perfect vortex of mystery and intrigue.

Politics occupy everyone’s thought in Belgrade. The Pachitch Party is on everyone’s tongue. Be it at the luncheon table of the restaurant, over the card-table at the Grand Café at six o’clock, in the salons of the Ministers’ wives, or at the smart diplomatic receptions, the gossip is always of politics. Hence it is that the secret agent is everywhere, and one hears complaints on every hand of telegrams being noted and letters tampered with.

Having regard to recent events and the presence of a horde of Austrian spies, this is not, perhaps, surprising. Though Servia is undoubtedly prospering and contented under King Peter and the present Ministry, yet there is, of course, in politics an opposition—though not a formidable one.

During my stay in Belgrade, besides being graciously granted private audience by His Majesty King Peter, I had many opportunities of discussing Servian politics with the Premier, M. Nicholas Pachitch; Dr. Milenko Vesnitch, Minister of Justice; M. Stoyanovitch, the Minister of Commerce; M. Patchu, Minister of Finance; M. Andrea Nikolitch, Minister of Public Instruction; M. Yovan Gyaya, who has formed the new Radical Party; and many other leading men of both 137sides. I very carefully investigated each question, in order to present to the British public, for the first time, the actual truth of the present state of affairs in Servia.

Quite recently the British Government resumed diplomatic relations with the Servian Court, therefore it is fitting that a fair and unbiassed statement should now be put forward, in order to show Servia as she really is, her aims, her aspirations, and her future policy in the Balkans.

I confess that I found considerable difficulty in forming my conclusions. The policy, however, which the present strong and level-headed Government are pursuing is a policy which, having carefully heard both sides, I have no hesitation whatever in endorsing as the very best for the peace and future of the nation. It is strong, without being belligerent, even though Austria has never ceased to annoy, irritate, and intrigue.

Balkan questions are both difficult and intricate, but I will endeavour to describe the true state of affairs as plainly and briefly as possible. This work, though not intended to be a political treatise, would be incomplete without some explanation of the mysteries of the politics of the various Balkan countries I visited. Therefore, at risk of being perhaps a little too outspoken, I will state the Servian case just as I found it.

One of the burning questions in Servia at the present time is the Customs War with Austria. The latter Power has endeavoured to ruin Servia, but has fortunately not succeeded, even though her emissaries are everywhere, and many newspaper correspondents are undoubtedly in her pay. For this latter reason Servia has, for many years past, been presented to Europe in a false light and columns of untruths telegraphed from Zimony, or Semlin, the Hungarian town on the opposite bank of the Save.

Briefly, the truth is as follows:—

Austria—and with her Germany—is slowly but surely marching to the East. One sees and hears evidence of it everywhere in the Balkans. The extended talons of the Austrian eagle are as apparent—and perhaps more so in Servia than in Montenegro. Servia bars Austria’s way southward 138to that much-coveted port, Salonica. It is therefore not to Austria’s interest that Servia should be at peace. Unfortunately for Servia, the Occidental people view the Eastern questions through the spectacles of the Vienna Press, which is—for the most part—inspired by the Austrian Government.

Austria is at the bottom of the whole of the Servian difficulties. As long as things went badly in Servia—as under the régime of the late King Alexander—they allowed matters to go on without interference, and watched eagerly for the downfall of the kingdom. Unfortunate events occurred, as is well known, but to the great dismay of Servia’s arch-enemy, the country has become contented and is greatly prospering under the rule of King Peter. For this reason, therefore, because a prosperous era has set in, Austria has once again sought to stir discord and to create troubles and difficulties. At the moment of writing the secret police have a long list of over one hundred Austrian political agents living in Belgrade alone!

How Austria seeks to compromise Servia in the eyes of Europe, and the scandalous methods by which she is seeking to attain that end, is well illustrated by a telegram which was supposed to emanate from Odessa, but which I have indisputable evidence came from the same source as all the others—an unscrupulous correspondent in Vienna in the secret pay of the Austrian Government.

The amazing telegram in question appeared in the London newspapers on January 2 this year, and was as follows:—

In reply to this, the Servian Government nailed the lies upon Austria by the following official statement, issued on January 3 from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs at Belgrade:—

140Again, an ingenious gentleman representing the Vienna Zeit, who lives opposite Belgrade, at Semlin, in Hungary, and fears to cross into Servia, sent the other day, not only to the Zeit but to the Daily Mail, an extraordinary telegram declaring the Servian Crown Prince to be slightly demented, and casting all sorts of insinuations as to what was happening in the palace.

I chanced to be in Belgrade at the time, and showed the Crown Prince the ridiculous concoction, and we both laughed over it.

“Bah!” he said, “it is really too silly to require contradiction.”

The true fact is that the young Crown Prince, who gave me the signed portrait that appears in these pages, is a particularly smart young man, and not only do his tutors, but also the Cabinet Ministers of Servia, speak in the highest terms of his tact and intelligence.

But to Austria no method is too mean or too unscrupulous by which to circulate false news to the detriment of Servia. Ask any Servian, and he will tell you of Austria’s machinations in every quarter.

Quite recently a Servian author wrote some libellous and untrue articles regarding the present dynasty, and was consequently arrested and condemned to imprisonment. Whereupon the Austrian Minister in Belgrade, without asking permission of the Minister of Justice, went to the prison and prevailed upon the Governor to be allowed to see the prisoner privately. Such action surely speaks louder than words!

The Austrian attitude was well exhibited on the occasion of the accession of King Peter. His Majesty received two telegrams. The first was from the Tzar, who said, “I hope you may be able to bring happiness to the Servian people, and by doing so you will receive my friendship.” The other was from the Emperor Francis Josef, and was certainly in the spirit of dividing King and people, for His Majesty merely expressed a hope that the evils existing would be remedied.

Austria’s chief aim in Servia is to estrange the people from their King, to create as much discord and discontent as possible 141to crush the trade of the country and to keep her poor. As long as she believed that Servia was in a bad position economically and financially, things were allowed to go from bad to worse. But as soon as an improvement was observed in the national prosperity, a hostile policy was adopted, which has rendered trade between the two countries impossible.

Careful inquiries of the Servian Cabinet Ministers and many statesmen of both political parties show that even in the present position, with Austria closed against her, Servia is nevertheless progressing, and prospering more than the outside world ever dreams.

The last commercial treaty between Austria and Servia expired in 1904. There was a desire on the part of Servia to at once renew it, but this Austria-Hungary was unable to do, as she was rearranging her treaty with Germany. When, however, the first negotiations were started, Austria made very severe complaints regarding the Serbo-Bulgarian Customs Union, and asked that the treaty in question should be annulled before negotiations for the new treaty were started. The Servian Government, desirous of pleasing Austria, replied that in the Serbo-Bulgarian Customs Union there was a clause to the effect that if one of the Great Powers raised a protest, amendments might be introduced. They therefore suggested the postponement of this question, hoping that Austria was satisfied, and would begin the pourparlers. But no such thing. Austria had other aims, for very soon they coolly declared that if the commercial treaty were renewed, Servia must buy her new armament for the artillery of the Scoda works in Austria. This is peculiar, inasmuch as the cannon in question is not that in use by the Austrian artillery!

The reason for this has been explained by the fact that certain members of the Austrian Imperial family were financially interested in the works in question. This, however, was not the real reason. There was one far more subtle. The true political reason, indeed, was that the Austrian Government wished to get a seat in the “Autonom-Monopol” administration—the body which controls the loans, and which consists of six members, namely, one French delegate, one 142German, and four Servians. France and Germany were both friendly, but Austria, had she gained a seat there, could at once have created internal dissension and difficulty.

Nominally, the annual income from this “Monopol” is about thirty million dinars, or francs, of which twenty million go to the creditors, leaving ten million at the free disposal of the Government. Now had Austria obtained a hand in this administration, she would have been able to exercise a prerogative and a right of intervention in many matters affecting the good government of the country—a danger that will at once be apparent.

Austrian intrigue is everywhere apparent, not only in Belgrade, but throughout the whole of Servia. Austria does not wish either a national or a staple Government in Servia, and so, because they could not obtain their ends, and because the present Government voices the national ideas of the whole of the Serb people—who are as a matter of fact spread over Croatia, Slavonia, Bosnia, Herzegovina, Montenegro, and part of Hungary—they have pursued the Customs War, and put a prohibitive tariff upon everything in the endeavour to close entirely the world’s markets to Servia. The latter has of course retaliated by placing a prohibitive tariff upon all goods from those nations who have no treaty—a move which is of course directed against Austria, but by which other Powers must, for the present, suffer.

As regards England, the first commercial treaty made by Servia after the Berlin Treaty was with Great Britain, and it served as the base of all the other treaties. Of this Austria-Hungary was jealous, and from that time until to-day Austria has done everything in her power to discredit and discourage British trade in the Balkans. In fact, so seriously detrimental has been Austria’s influence against British trade that naturally some time must elapse ere the damage done can be repaired.

Meanwhile, a new commercial treaty with England has been arranged, for it was in Servia’s greatest interest that this should be done. Every Servian I spoke to was loud in his praises of England, and of English methods. Servia is very anxious to export her agricultural produce to England, while 143in Servia—now that Austrian imports have stopped—there are many open markets for English goods.

Austria believed that as all Servian exports were sent into Austria-Hungary, Servia would be obliged in the end to accept their drastic and unfair terms—the purchase of cannon and other restrictions. On the contrary, however, it says much for Servia’s enterprise that, though the Austrian frontier has been closed during 1906, yet Servia has exported all her goods by way of Varna or Braila, or by Salonica, to which port a line of rail runs from Nisch. The producer has felt the Austrian oppression but little, if any at all. In fact, it is the opinion of many statesmen in Servia that it would actually be in the country’s interests if Austria continues her present hostile Customs policy, for it will then compel the Servians to look for markets farther afield, and arouse them to take strong initiatives.

It should be noted, too, that fifteen years ago Austria raised the same trouble with Roumania, and the Roumanians are now happily emancipated from the Austrian market, and are consequently prosperous.

At present, with the Austrian frontier barred for export, Servia must build a railway to the Adriatic. The line from Nisch, viâ Usküb, to Salonica, though it runs through Macedonia, is practically under Austrian control, and goods sent over it from Servia are subjected to high tariff. Therefore there is a project afoot to construct a new line from Kragooyevatz across the Kopaonik Mountains to Prisrend, and thence through Northern Albania down to Skodra and the Adriatic at the port of San Giovanni di Medua. An alternative scheme is to construct the line so that it passes through Montenegro, and joins the line at present being made by an Italian company from Antivari on the coast to Virpasar on the Lake of Scutari.

One or other of these two schemes will certainly be adopted in the near future, and when the line is completed, Servia will at once be entirely independent of Austria, and secure an outlet to the Adriatic. Such a railway will be of great strategic importance, as will be seen from a glance on the map. I have been over parts of the projected route, and certainly it will 144be a very difficult line to construct, on account of the wall of mountains lying between the Lake of Scutari and the Servian frontier. But its opening will mean civilising the wild tribes of Albania and the further cementing of the Serb nation.

This last point is, indeed, the chief line of the Servian Balkan policy. In my conversations with the Premier, with Dr. Milenko Vesnitch, Minister of Justice, and with the Ministers of Commerce and of Finance, I found them all in accord upon the one great principle of policy, namely, the preservation of the great Serb nation, which consists of over ten million persons, spread through Bosnia, Herzegovina, Slavonia, Kossovo, Montenegro, Servia, Dalmatia, and many parts of Hungary itself. This great population speak the same language and have the same aspirations, namely, the unity of the great nation whose past history is such a splendid one.

The policy of the Servian Ministry, whether military, economical, or political, is all directed towards this one end, and here it may be pointed out that King Peter is grandson of the great hero of the Servian people, the peasant Karageorge, who in 1804 raised the Servians against the Turks and defeated them.

King Peter has already given evidence of his patriotic sentiments, not only interesting himself in the nation before he was elected ruler, but perhaps it is not generally remembered that in 1875 he fought at the head of his troop—which he raised himself, and crippled his finances thereby—for the emancipation of Bosnia. In the Servian national poetry there is a hero called Peter Mrcognitch, the Protector of the Poor against the oppressors, and it was under this assumed name that the present ruler of Servia fought. In 1870, too, he fought with the French against the Germans, and was awarded the Legion of Honour for valour on the battlefield. Therefore the Servians regard him as a patriot—as indeed he is—and up to the present he has certainly shown himself an able, wise, and discreet ruler, who has the interests of his country very deeply at heart.

To refer to the tragic events of the night of June 11, 1903, is unnecessary. All I can personally say is that I arrived in 145Belgrade full of an Englishman’s natural prejudice against the present régime, but after careful inquiry, not only in government and diplomatic circles, but also among the adherents of the old régime, I came to the conclusion that though drastic and cruel, yet had not those events happened that night, hundreds of unfortunate ones would have lost their lives on the following morning.

In the régime of the late King no one was safe in Belgrade. Draga had her spies everywhere, and alas for those who dared to utter a word against her or her methods! Leading men in the political, social, and literary world of Belgrade to-day have explained to me how they had from day to day lived in fear and dread of false accusations and arrest, until life became so intolerable that many were almost driven from the country. These men strongly disagreed with the methods of the regicides, but they are now thankful they are free.

The truth of those black days of spies and suspicion in Belgrade in the last days of Alexander’s reign has never been told. Only those who lived there, and only those who hear the truth from the lips of responsible persons, can realise how entirely the country was in the hands of one unscrupulous woman. The journalists of Europe were horrified at the methods by which the Obrenovitch were wiped out, and they condemned the Servians. Not one had the courage, or the inclination, to put the facts fairly and impartially before the public.

Servia and the Macedonian question—A sound Cabinet—England and Servia—Appointment of Mr. Beethom Whitehead as British Minister very gratifying to the Servians—King Peter ever solicitous for the welfare of the people—What the Prime Minister told me concerning the future—The new railway to the Adriatic.

I make no apology for the assassination of King Alexander and his Queen. That matter is a closed page of Servian history. I only can state what I saw and heard in Servia, and explain how I drew my own entirely unbiassed conclusions.

One thing is certain, that Servia is at this moment in a very much more prosperous condition than ever she was under King Alexander. Having met every one of the Ministers, and spent many hours with them, I can safely assert that, headed by M. Pachitch, quiet-mannered, sensible, and thoughtful, they are, one and all, a very strong and intelligent Cabinet, each member of which is doing his very utmost for the commercial development and future welfare of the country he loves so dearly.

There is no poseur or political adventurer among them. Each man is a sound, intelligent, and trustful statesman, whose watchword is, as His Excellency Monsieur Pachitch put it to me, “Servia for the Servians.”

While in Belgrade I had several conversations with members of the Cabinet, and also with Dr. J. Cvijic, the eminent author of that most thoughtful work, Remarks on the Ethnography of the Macedonian Slavs, regarding the all-absorbing question of 147Macedonia. Mention Macedonia to any Balkan statesman, and he raises his shoulders and shakes his head. It is a problem that nobody can solve. I endeavoured, however, by dint of many inquiries, to discover in what way Servia would like the Macedonian question settled.

Roughly speaking, Macedonia is divided into three vilayets—Kossovo, Monastir, and Salonica. Now Kossovo is essentially Old Servia, and there is no question that its people are still Serbs. Yet here we run up against Austria again. She is doing all in her power to cause the population to emigrate, and in their place attracting Albanians who assist the Austrian propaganda. As regards the other two vilayets of Monastir and Salonica, the inhabitants are Serbs, Bulgars, Greeks, and Mohammedans. Now it is a curious fact, and one which I believe no other writer has noted, that until two years ago nobody spoke of any other people in Macedonia but these. Suddenly, however, Europe was made aware that there was still another people, for the Koutzo-Vlachs were, for the first time, mentioned, and formed a new element in the already mixed difficulty.

Now without doubt this new problem was introduced into the controversy by Germany for two reasons. The first was to create, besides the Mohammedan and Albanian, a Christian Conservative element for the preservation of the Turk in Europe. Germany has therefore an economic propaganda in Turkey, and when the time is ripe it will be followed by a strong political one. She could not count on either Serbs or Bulgars in Macedonia, but by this new intrigue she has courted the support of the Mohammedans.

The second reason of the introduction of these hitherto unheard-of Koutzo-Vlachs concerned the position in Roumania, of which a Hohenzollern is King. Until two years ago the Roumanian patriots were occupying themselves with a propaganda in Transylvania. As, however, it is a great point in German policy to keep Roumania within the confines of the Triple Alliance, and as hostilities had arisen between Austria and Roumania on account of the propaganda, it was necessary for Germany to find a means to occupy in some other way the 148fantasy of the Roumanian people. And so the Koutzo-Vlachs were pushed forward as a fresh discovery, and the King of Roumania, in a speech to his Parliament, spoke of “their brothers in Macedonia.” Beyond this, all the claims put in by the Koutzo-Vlachs for the expenses of their schools and other things to-day receive the support of the German Ambassador at the Porte.

From the Servian point of view—a view that is shared very widely—it would appear that the best method of solving the very difficult question of Macedonia would be to give the various peoples complete tolerance—that is, to give the Greeks, Serbs, Bulgarians, and Moslems complete liberty to develop themselves for, say, ten years. After this time a plebiscite, under the control of the Powers, might be established with success. This would solve the ethnographical difficulty, which is really the base of the whole question.

The signatories to the Berlin Treaty would do well to take the initiative in this matter, and so end the internal trouble which is for ever a disturbing element in Balkan politics. Servia is very anxious to see England interesting and asserting her power more in the Balkans, and British statesmen might well follow the policy of Palmerston and Castlereagh. The first British representative to Servia was Colonel Hodges, who in 1837 went to Belgrade, and very quickly secured a predominant position in Servian matters, owing to the unselfishness of the British policy in the Balkans and the liberal ideas which England always represents in the world. The Servians therefore still look to England as taking a leading part in the settlement of Macedonia, and the sooner this is done the less peril will exist in the Near East.

Since the accession of King Peter many reforms have been introduced, and on all sides the Servian people express content and prosperity. I will give a few examples. For instance, in the budget before the King’s accession there were periodical deficits, but every year since, as I have already pointed out, shows a very substantial balance. Therefore the present increasing prosperity is apparent at a glance. The financial market, too, shows how Servian finances stand in Europe.

149This is no doubt due, in the first place, to the constitutional cautiousness of King Peter. He has inspired with confidence the financial world in Paris and elsewhere, for it is well known that he is, before all, a constitutional ruler, and that his Government will never be anything else than a constitutional one. Therefore, by his attitude, he has so improved the state of Servian finance that the future prosperity of the country is assured.

When King Peter was proclaimed, the Servians restored their liberal Constitution, which the late King, under the influence of his father, had abrogated. This has opened the way to the development of the country in every direction. There is, of course, much yet to be done. As regards the administration of justice, several excellent reforms have been introduced during the present reign. Dr. Vesnitch is at present reforming the prison system, and is about to introduce, after studying the question for fifteen years, a new and unique system. He is of opinion that the prisoners from the towns should be separated from those from the country, for two reasons.

He declares that when criminals from the towns commit crimes it is in most cases because they are not sufficiently instructed in their skilled labour. They are bad workmen, and hence their downfall. If, however, they were classified and instructed in the prison, they would, when discharged, be better prepared, with the assistance of the Prisoners’ Aid Societies, to seek an honest living. Again, the second reason is that the influence of town-bred prisoners upon those from the country is always an evil one, and should at all times be avoided. The Servian Government have adopted the Minister’s point of view, and fresh prisons are to be constructed upon that basis.

Another reform about to be introduced by Dr. Vesnitch is that of “conditional release.” It is intended to preserve first offenders from the demoralising influence of prison life, and to create a good moral influence over those who commit a crime for the first time. In a word, the Servian project seeks to conciliate the English method with the French Loi Beranger.

150In all the other administrations—public instruction, war, finance, and agriculture—many other reforms have been introduced, and many are in course of preparation. As a matter of fact, until two years ago Servia had no University, but at present an excellent institution has been established, the professors of which rank well with those of other nations.

In the department of war, a very important reform is about to be carried out, namely, the rearmament of the artillery. This is, of course, a wide subject, and time must elapse before the defences of the country are in an absolutely perfect state. Suffice it, however, to say that the Ministers of War and Finance are exerting every effort to obtain the best weapons in France, and, at the same time, to leave the country’s finances uncrippled.

Recently diplomatic relations have been resumed with England, and the Foreign Office have appointed Mr. Beethom Whitehead as Minister to Servia. This has given great satisfaction to the Servians, for they see in this action of England that their Government has already merited serious consideration. The resumption of friendship with Great Britain has been the means of greatly fortifying the Pachitch Ministry. It was obtained through the good services of Italy and France, and especially of the King of Italy, who, as is well known, is a great admirer of England, in addition to being brother-in-law of King Peter.

Servia hopes that the result of this renewed friendship will be to combat the German advances to the East; and this, of course, is greatly to the advantage of England. The Servians also hope that in the near future England will see her way to minimise the evils which Lord Beaconsfield’s policy created in the Balkans when he allowed Austria to occupy Bosnia and Herzegovina and to monopolise Balkan trade generally. It is probable that Lord Beaconsfield’s error was due to his fear of a Pan-Slavonic danger, but the time is certainly now ripe for England to assert her power and stem the German tide.

It is within the range of possibility that ere long Russia 151will unite with England, France, and Italy to take joint steps in the Balkans, and if this is realised it will mean for Servia that her autonomy and free development will be secured. Diplomacy is working towards this end, and as the British Liberal Party is believed to be the protector of weak nations, it is more than likely the hope will very soon mature.

I have in this chapter spoken always of Austria, and not of Hungary. I have done so because Hungary hopes for her independence, and will, if she gains it, certainly find herself on a level with Servia. The sympathy between the Servian and Hungarian people is historical, and it was proved lately by the transfer of the relics of the Hungarian hero, Racotzy, who was the greatest opposer to Austrian rule. Quite recently Wekerle, the Hungarian Premier, said in Parliament that “the basis of Hungarian foreign policy has been, is, and has to be, the continuance of Servia’s friendship.”

Hungary has always found warm friends in England on account of her struggle for independence, and without doubt England will still support her when the day comes. Until ten years ago it was generally thought in Hungary that the Slav tendencies were dangerous to Hungary’s existence, but that has now entirely changed, and instead of regarding Servia as an enemy, they look upon her as an ally, and Germany as an enemy.

The renewal of diplomatic relations between Servia and England will, it is felt certain, be the means of inducing British capitalists to make inquiry of the many and excellent openings now existing. When once England is materially interested in the Serb countries she will have a motive in promoting Servia’s prosperity, and in protecting her from the German advance, as a policy which surely will be to her own advancement.

It may be here interesting, too, if in conclusion I give a very brief summary of the trade of Servia during 1905—the last published year—as compared with the four previous years, as it will show the rapidly growing prosperity under the present régime. In 1901 the exports were 65,685,653 fcs., 152and the imports 43,835,428 fcs.—a total of 109,521,081 fcs.; in 1902 the total was 116,944,408 fcs.; in 1903, 118,202,666 fcs.

For 1905 the figures were as follow:—

	1905.	1904.	Difference in 1905.
			more (+) less (-)
	Fcs.	Fcs.	Fcs.
Exports	71,996,274	62,156,066	+9,840,208
Imports	55,600,644	60,926,406	-5,325,672
Totals	127,596,918	123,082,472	+4,517,446
Increase of trade	16,395,630	1,226,660

Thus it will be seen that the country is undoubtedly entering upon an era of prosperity.

By the Department of Public Instruction I was afforded facilities for studying the educational system, and a few facts may prove interesting. Though Servia has been a free country for less than a century, education has already reached a very high level. It possesses a large number of primary schools, secondary schools, and special schools, as well as a high school in Belgrade which has lately been turned into a university.

The name “popular schools” is given to infant schools, primary schools, and the superior primary schools. The course in the primary schools lasts for six years, and in the primary superior schools two years. Children in towns are sent into the first class of primary schools at the age of six, and in the country at seven, the school year commencing on September 1 and ending on June 29.

Schoolmasters on leaving the training college receive 800 dinars (francs) per annum, and rise to 3000 dinars. Beyond this they receive an allowance of 30 to 80 dinars a month in lieu of lodging. For 1905 I was unfortunately unable to obtain the statistics, but I found that in 1904 there were in Servia 1093 schools for boys and 170 schools for girls, or 1263 primary schools. There were 1349 masters and 856 mistresses, or a total of 2205 teachers. At the end of that scholastic year there were 85,365 boys studying and 22,081 girls, a total of 107,446 scholars. There were also five normal schools with 25 masters, and six schools for young girls with 25 mistresses. There are also several excellent private schools. One 153Protestant and one Catholic are in Belgrade, while of the three private schools for girls two are in Belgrade and one in Nisch.

As regards secondary schools, the course lasts eight years and is terminable by examination. When the high school, or university course, is ended, the students intending to become masters receive a supernumerary place in a secondary school with a salary of 1500 dinars. After about two years they pass the examination of professors, whereupon they receive 2500 dinars, which is raised periodically to 6000 dinars. The time-limit for professors is thirty years. In the secondary schools are masters of languages and fine arts, and a very high standard of instruction is given. The last return showed there were 4561 scholars and 313 masters in these schools. These figures, however, do not comprise the private gymnasiums of Alexinac and Gradiste, or the superior schools for young girls at Belgrade and Kragooyevac.

The special schools comprise the religious seminary, the academy of commerce, and the schools of agriculture. The religious seminary is at Belgrade, and the course of instruction lasts nine years. There are two schools of male teachers, one at Alexinac and the other at Yagodina, and also two schools for female teachers, at Belgrade and at Kragooyevac. Here, the course is for four years. The Academy of Commerce is in Belgrade, where a course of three years is given. There is an excellent School of Agriculture at Kralyevo, as well as a School of Forestry and Viticulture at Bukovo, where a three years’ course is given.

The University, which is at Belgrade, has only recently been established, for hitherto it was only a high school. The instruction is of the very highest order, and without doubt it will turn out many intellectual men in the near future.

One afternoon I went to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to have audience of M. Nicholas Pachitch, the President of the Council of Ministers and Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.

The Foreign Office is a great comfortable old building adjoining the gardens of the royal palace, painted dead white, and commanding from its windows a beautiful view over 154the Save and the rolling plains beyond. The ante-chamber is a sombre, old-fashioned room, with heavy furniture, several fine pictures, and polished floor. But I was not given long to inspect it, for a few minutes later I was ushered into the private room of the man whom all Servia regards as the greatest and cleverest politician—the man who is to make the New Servia.

I found him a quiet-mannered man, with kindly smiling eyes behind his spectacles, his long beard and hair just silvered with grey, his voice low, soft, and deliberate.

In the midst of a turbulent day—for the Skupshtina was sitting and important questions were being discussed—he received me calmly, and though two Cabinet Ministers were waiting outside for audience, he was cool and deliberate. His manner was charmingly polite, and after greeting me, gave me a seat at the table beside him, and readily answered the questions I put to him.

“You have come here to learn about our country,” he said, smiling. “Well, what can I tell you? You have, I daresay, heard a good deal in England—some truth, and some facts that are untrue—facts manufactured by the enemies of Servia! We want peace. Our tariff difficulties with Austria are regrettable, but we cannot accept the Austrian terms. We cannot guarantee to buy our war material and railway rolling-stock from Austria. Because we are a small country the Austrian Empire is imposing upon us terms which it is utterly impossible for us to accept. We must arm our artillery with the best armament, be it Austrian, French, German, or English. It is surely the duty of the Government to do this. Why should we be bound to Austria in this matter? As regards England, Servia is delighted at the resumption of diplomatic relations, and at the appointment of Mr. Whitehead, who is a clever diplomatist, a cosmopolitan, and who already understands us. It is now our intention to show Europe that we are a sound nation, and by so doing we hope that English capitalists will seek to exploit our vast mineral wealth. In Servia there are mines in all parts—coal, iron, copper, lead, antimony, zinc, and even gold. They 155only require working, and great profits must accrue. I daresay you have seen the geological map which the Ministry of Commerce has recently prepared. If not, I am sure Mr. Stoyanovitch, the Minister, will allow you to see it.”

“And the present condition of the country?” I asked.

“Under the present rule the people have shown themselves absolutely contented. There is an entire personal liberty which did not exist under the late King. Our watchword is ‘Servia for the Servians.’ Our policy is to avoid all outside complications, and endeavour to do our utmost to develop the resources of the country.”

“And Macedonia?”

His Excellency smiled and shrugged his shoulders slightly.

“Ah! Macedonia!” he sighed. “Now you have touched upon a difficult question. The population there is mixed, it is true, and the problem puzzles every statesman in Europe; yet my own personal opinion is that in the course of a year or two the Powers will discover a mode of settlement which will be found to be beneficial to all concerned.”

“And the future policy of Servia?”

“You can tell them in England that all Servia desires is ‘peace,’” His Excellency answered, smiling at me through his spectacles. “This we are doing all we possibly can to promote. His Majesty has great admiration for the English, and the Government are ready to grant concessions for industrial and mining enterprises to English capitalists—if properly introduced. I can assure you that they will find in Servia excellent returns for their investments. But inquire for yourself, and you will find that Servia is to-day more prosperous than ever she was under the late King. Inquire among the people, not only in Belgrade, but away in the heart of the country where you are going. Let the people speak for themselves, and they will tell you how far our endeavours have been successful.”

And then, after half an hour’s chat, during which he told me many interesting facts, and gave me every facility to enable me to conduct my inquiries, I rose, shook hands, and left, convinced that a Ministry under such a clear, level-headed 156statesman—a really great man—could not do otherwise than raise the country into a position of wealth combined with respect.

Upon every Servian’s tongue I heard the name of Pachitch, and my own observations all showed most conclusively that he and his party, with the concurrence of the King, are guiding Servia to peace, happiness, and great prosperity.

A few days later, while at luncheon at the house of Dr. Vesnitch, Minister of Justice, I had an interview with M. Stoyanovitch, the Minister of Commerce. He, like all the other members of the Cabinet, has the interest of Servia deeply at heart. He is dark-haired, middle-agedmiddle-aged, keen, clever, and a thoroughly competent business man. Our conversation mainly turned upon the projected railway to unite the Danube with San Giovanni di Medua, in Albania, and so give to Russia, Roumania, and Servia a port on the Adriatic.

The future of Servia, he declared, depended upon this line. She must have a direct outlet for her trade, and he prophesied that within three years the line would be built. The cost will be about 80,000,000 francs, or 150,000 francs per kilometre. Roughly, the length is about 500 kilometres. He pointed out that an English company would experience but little difficulty in obtaining a concession from the Turkish Government to pass through Turkish territory, while a French and German company would be prohibited. The line would be the highroad to Russia from the south, and would be an extremely paying one, for in addition almost the whole of the Servian imports and exports would be carried over it.

“British capitalists would do well to inquire into it,” he said. “We have surveyed the route, and have the complete plans at the Ministry of Public Works. To anyone introduced by you, Monsieur N——, we should be very pleased to show them.”

And the Minister went into details as to the excellent results which must certainly accrue from the undertaking and the profits which the company would certainly make.

Servia has undoubtedly a very big future before her, and her statesmen are ever looking far ahead.

A retrospect—A sitting of the Skupshtina—Peasants as deputies—Servia as an open field for British enterprise—Enormous mineral wealth—Mr. Finney, a mining engineer who has prospected in Servia for seventeen years, tells me some interesting facts regarding rich mines awaiting development—No adventurers need apply.

Servia has, indeed, had a turbulent past.

For centuries she has been torn by war and ground under the heel of the oppressor. From the days of Stevan Lazarevitch, at the end of the fourteenth century, until the revolt of the Serbs against Turkish rule under Karageorge in 1804, the country was constantly crushed and constantly disturbed. Karageorge declared Belgrade and the neighbouring region the free State of Servia, which was unfortunately not accomplished until after great sacrifices and many heroic battles.

In 1813, however, while Russia was engaged in her final conflict with Napoleon, the Turks again seized Servia, and Karageorge with several other chiefs was exiled to Austria. Two years later, Milosch Obrenovitch, with the aid of some chiefs, made another struggle for liberty, which, thanks to the Treaty of Bucharest, was crowned with success, and the interior autonomy of Servia thus became an accomplished fact.

In 1842 Alexander Karageorgevitch, the younger son of Karageorge, ascended the Servian throne as Prince, and under his rule the government of the country was modelled upon modern lines, and many institutions started which aided to develop the civilisation.

Exterior politics and the corruption of the officials by 158friends of the Obrenovitch were successful in creating so much discontent that Alexander at last abandoned the throne. Upon this, the Skupshtina, or National Assembly, elected the aged Prince Milosch, who died very soon afterwards. In 1861 his son, Prince Mihailo, succeeded, but in 1868 was shot at Topschider, near Belgrade, through motives of personal animosity. His cousin Milan, who was heir to the throne, was then in his minority, and Servia was governed by a Regency of three persons.

During Milan’s reign there occurred, 1876-78, the war with Turkey and the securing of four new departments, the recognition of the independence of Servia by the Berlin Treaty, the proclamation of the kingdom in 1882, the unfortunate war with Bulgaria in 1885, and the promulgation of a new constitution which, with some slight modification, is still in force. After the abdication of King Milan, his son Alexander mounted the throne. His unfortunate matrimonial alliance with the ambitious Draga, who quickly assumed authority, was soon responsible for much discontent. Life became impossible in Servia owing to the maladministration in every department, and the army revolted, with the tragic and regrettable result that is so well known.

After the death of King Alexander in 1903, the Skupshtina elected the son of Alexander Karageorgevitch as King under the title of Peter I.

With the present political acquisitions and the progress already made in the highroad of civilisation, Servia has already obtained a high place among civilised nations. But, alas! as the Servian author, M. Zrnitch, has put it, the Servians are only free in the head—Servia—and the arms—Montenegro. The other parts of their organism are still held in thraldom by the foreigner.

While in Belgrade I was afforded an opportunity of visiting the Skupshtina and being present at a somewhat heated debate. Just before my arrival two deputies had, it was said, come to blows. All that I saw there was most orderly, and certainly the speakers—even those in their quaint brown peasant dress—were mostly eloquent.

159Servia badly needs a new Parliament House. The present Skupshtina is a large bare whitewashed building with two galleries, one for the diplomats and Press, and the other for the public. In front of a life-sized portrait of His Majesty sits the President, keeping order with his bell, and on either side at baize-covered tables sit the Ministers. The benches are set in horseshoe shape, and look very uncomfortable. The deputies consist of all classes, from the wealthy landowner to the peasant, and all receive fifteen francs a day expenses while the House sits.

Plans have already been prepared for a new and handsome Parliament House, which is to be built on a fine site behind the royal palace, and it is believed the work will be commenced during the present year. The sooner the National Assembly is properly housed the better, for the present building is mostly of wood, old, rickety, and the reverse of dignified. None are so alive to the urgent necessity of providing comfortable quarters for the deliberations of the Skupshtina than His Majesty himself, for it was he who explained to me what is intended.

After the revolution of June 2, 1903, the National Assembly convoked by the Government of the kingdom of Servia gave the country, on June 15, a new constitution, which was ratified three days later. The Skupshtina is composed of deputies elected directly by the people, and its members, during their office, cannot be sued or arrested without the consent of the Skupshtina itself—save in the case of flagrant delit. Besides the “Little Skupshtina,” which carries on the government of the country, there is also the “Grand Skupshtina,” which consists of double the number of deputies, and which is only summoned in exceptional circumstances, namely, to elect the King; to elect regents; to decide the succession of the throne; to deliberate upon any modification of the constitution; to decide upon any cession or exchange of territory; or when the King wishes to consult them. The King alone has the right to choose or dismiss his Ministers.

In Servia there are 17 departments, 81 arrondissements, and 1571 communes. At the head of each department is a 160prefect nominated by the King, at the head of each arrondissement a sous-prefect, and at the head of each commune a mayor elected by the people.

Military service is compulsory, and the number of conscripts average 26,700 a year. The duration of service in the active army is for cavalry and infantry two years, and eighteen months for other branches of the service. I visited various barracks, and was afforded several opportunities of inspecting the troops. Both officers and men seem exceedingly smart and capable. Many of the officers had received their military education in France, Germany, and Russia, while one artillery officer I met had studied at Shoeburyness!

When the defensive forces are re-armed, as they will be completely within the next twelve months, Europe will find in Servia a very capable and well-trained army. Every Serb is a born fighter, and no detail is being overlooked to render Servia’s defences up to date and complete.

Servia is not a country of great landowners. Apart from the property held by the State, the land is almost wholly divided among peasant proprietors. The law grants to every Servian peasant 2.8 hectares of land, which cannot be sold to pay private debts. It is also forbidden for cultivators to give bills of exchange. These two measures are of great importance in preserving the land to the Servian peasant. The country is a very rich agricultural one—perhaps one of the richest in Europe. Yet one fact struck me as curious, namely, that in Belgrade one cannot obtain any good milk, and all butter worth eating comes from Budapest. There is a very great opening in Servia for dairy-farmers, a branch of industry which, it seems, does not exist. The vines have, in recent years, been all destroyed by the phylloxera, but they are being rapidly replaced by the American variety. The country around the arrondissements of Smederevo, Golubac, Ram, and Krayina are particularly noted for good grapes and excellent wine.

Tobacco is a monopoly of the State. It is purchased upon a tariff fixed by special commission, and is of well-known quality and peculiarly adapted for the manufacture 161of cigarettes. The departments where it is principally cultivated are Vranya, Krayina, Nisch, d’Uzice, and Kragooyevac, while in other parts of Servia the Turkish varieties are grown with great success, and for aroma will compare well with the tobacco of Albania or Kavala. Not only is sufficient tobacco grown in Servia to supply the wants of the country, but the quantities exported are increasing year by year. A favoured few Englishmen, and especially diplomats in various parts of Europe—who know the excellence of the special quality of Servian cigarettes—have them direct from Belgrade. Cigarettes bought for export cost one-half the price they do for consumption in Servia.

Marmalade and slivovitza—an eau-de-vie made of prunes—are also two articles manufactured in Servia and largely exported, about three million francs’ worth of the former, and two hundred thousand francs’ worth of the latter being sent out of the country annually.

There are immense forests in various parts of the country with a great wealth of timber unexploited, as a glance at any good map of Servia will show, while the sportsman will find there plenty of game of every kind, from bear, lynx, wolf, and such-like animals, down to the quail, pigeon, partridge, pheasant, and woodcock. The whole country teems with game, and the only prohibitions are upon the stag, deer, chamois, and hen pheasants. There are many sporting clubs, the chief one being in Belgrade, where a paper is also published called Le Chasseur.

Servia’s mineral wealth is well known to geologists. Gold, in diluvial and alluvial deposits, is being worked at Timok, at Pek, and at other places, while cinnabar is found at Avala, near Belgrade, and in the villages of Brajici, Bare, and Donja Tresnica. At Podrinye, at Lyuta Strana, at Zuce, at Crveni Breg, in the region of Avala, at Rudnik, at Kopaonik, at Djurina Sreca there is lead; at Zavlaca and Kucajna, zinc; and at Povlen, Suvobor, Cemerno, Aldinac, Majdanpek, Bor in Timok and Rtanj, large deposits of copper. Arsenic is found in various regions, but principally near Donja Tresnica, in the department of Podrinye; while antimony is known to 162exist in the Zajaca region. Rich iron is waiting to be exploited upon the Kopaonik, in Vlasina, Rudna Glava, Crnajka (department of Krajina), on the Vencac, in the centre of Servia, and on the Boranja (in Podrinye); while there is coal in places too innumerable to mention in this work.

All this enormous mineral wealth might well be exploited by British capital. The Servian Government are, however, very careful to whom they give concessions, and will not entertain, for a single moment, any application, unless the applicant is properly introduced and can give undeniable proof of his bona fides. Therefore the adventurer who thinks he will, without capital, be able to make a “good thing” will find himself sadly disappointed. The Government is extremely anxious to receive bona-fide proposals, and as His Majesty himself informed me, will grant concessions, but only to firms or companies who mean serious and legitimate business.

The Servian State is owner of all the subsoil of its territory, and can give what rights it thinks proper to foreigners to prospect and work.

British capitalists would do well to make inquiries, for, from certain information I gathered in Belgrade, I have no hesitation in saying that great returns await those who commence serious mining operations in that rich and inexhaustible field.

As the future wealth of Servia will depend to a large extent on the exploitation of her mineral resources, and as Englishmen must, ere long, be interested in her mines—as they are in mines all over the world—a few facts concerning the Mining Law of Servia may not be out of place here.

The Government grants two kinds of rights to make researches, the “simple right” and the “exclusive right.” The former is given for one year, and may be extended to two years, and is limited to the three communes indicated. The second lasts a year, but is renewable each year as long as required, and it gives a right to explore over 500,000 square metres of mining field.

The State gives concessions for mines for fifty years upon a sufficient number of mining-fields each of 100,000 square 163metres, the boundaries of which are fixed by a special commission. To obtain a concession it must first be proved that there are undoubted traces of minerals; that the capital is sufficient, and a plan of the proposed works has to be furnished. The concessionaire, after fifteen years of uninterrupted work, becomes proprietor, but he must continue to pay the mining duties, and of course conform to the Mining Law.

Both the prospector and the concessionaire are obliged to work regularly, take proper precautions for the well-being and personal safety of their workpeople, report annually upon work executed, and furnish each year plans for next year’s work. There must be no mining beneath roads, water-courses, buildings, or cemeteries.

All rights of research and all concessions are lost if the specified work is not executed within the first year, or is interrupted without a reason approved by the Minister, or by bankruptcy.

The State, in order to encourage industry, favours the importation of all machinery and material for use in mines, as well as the exportation of the ore obtained, and gives many other advantages to the concessionaire.

Of late, Belgrade has been overrun with foreign concession-hunters, most of them of the adventurer type. I met several of them in Belgrade. In my conversation with the Ministers I quickly learnt that the Government, fully alive to the great mineral resources of their country, and confident in the great wealth that must in a few years accrue, will have absolutely nothing to do with any person who comes to them without introduction.

In Belgrade, I repeat, the doors are closed to the irresponsible concession-hunter, but at once open to anyone who on being introduced can show his bona fides and that he has capital behind him.

In the course of my inquiries into the mineral wealth I had a number of conversations with Mr. J. R. Finney, Ass. I. M. & M., an English mining engineer who has spent seventeen years in prospecting and working mines in Servia.

164No one knows more about mines and traces of minerals in the country than he.

He pointed out to me that the mineral deposits of Servia have been worked to a very great extent from very early times, as the remains of Roman and Venetian works prove and the enormous slag-heaps found in various parts of the country. He himself has on many occasions found, while prospecting, rude ancient implements, bones, etc. Of the ancient Roman workings, copper, galena, and silver were obtained at Kopaonik; at Rudnik, lead, silver, and zinc were mined; at Kucajna, gold, silver, zinc, and coal, while alluvial gold is to be found all along the Pek River, and especially where it joins the Danube. This gold has, he said, evidently been worked down in course of time from a rich quartz reef which is known by certain persons, including himself, to exist.

At the Rebel copper mine, which Mr. Finney himself discovered, he found ancient workings that had been shored up with timber, but so long ago that the wood was petrified! Again, the wood was pine, which does not now exist in the forests. The latter are all beeches, and it is known that in course of long ages beeches kill the pines. At the mine in question is an extensive copper-smelting works, and a very large percentage of metal is obtained. All over this same district Mr. Finney has prospected, and declares that in the mountains of Medvednick and Povlen there are large deposits of lead, copper, silver, and antimony all awaiting exploitation.

Some very important copper mines and smelting works are at Maydan Pek, and have been worked at a good profit for years, while at Bor there has been erected a large smelting works, which are capable of producing ten tons of copper daily. Large deposits of antimony exist, to Mr. Finney’s knowledge, at Zajitchar and Krupanj.

“I quite admit,” said Mr. Finney, as we were chatting, “that some mines in Servia have not been successful. The bulk of them have been over-capitalised. Take, as an instance, one company with £300,000 capital, which left £20,000 for 165working. The consequence is that the sum at disposal has not been sufficient to develop the mine or to work sufficient to pay interest on £280,000.

“Again, in many cases men unacquainted with any foreign language, or with the customs of the country, have been sent out here to manage, and with instructions from a board in London utterly ignorant of the requirements of the case. As an instance of this, a certain company that I could name sent out to Servia six managers in three years. In such a case, with a manager dependent upon interpreters and ignorant of the people, the price of labour and materials rises from 200 to 300 per cent. I have known these prices to be paid. Again, there is some little reform needed in the mining laws, and the Government would be well advised if they compelled the communes to put the roads in better repair. Transport is at present somewhat difficult, and if the communes put the roads in order they would, in the long-run, greatly benefit by the opening up of the country. Such,” Mr. Finney added, “are some of the reasons why foreign mining undertakings in Servia have not been altogether successful in the past. But for the future there is great hope, and English capitalists will do well to regard Servia as a field where good profits may easily be made.”

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Alexandrovatz	Chief town of the arrondissement of Koznitza, on the river of that name.
Alexinatz	Chief town of the department of the same name, at the junction of the Morawa with the Morawfitz. 6000 inhabitants. Copper mines. The monastery of Sant Stepan is in close proximity.
Alexinatz	Department with arrondissement of 30 communes.
166Arangyelovatz	Chief town of Jassenitza, department of Kragooyevatz. 1000 inhabitants. Source of Boukovik mineral waters. Watering-place much frequented from May till October.
Arilie	An arrondissement of 23 communes in Oujitze, valley of the Morawa Serbe.
Arilie	Chief town of arrondissement of that name, department of Oujitze.
Azanja	Town in Jassenitza. 4500 inhabitants.
Azboukovatz	Arrondissement of 38 communes in Podrinié.
Bania	Watering-place very frequented, in the department of Alexinatz. Ruins of a Roman bath and of a feudal castle. View upon Pyramid of Rtanje, and one of the most picturesque places in Servia.
Bania	Hot-water springs an hour from Nisch.
Bania-Yoschanitza	Chief town of Yoschanitza, in Kruschevatz.
Belavia	Mineral-water springs in the arrondissement of Yagodina.
Belivnia	Chief town of the arrondissement of Prokoupatz, department of Toplitza.
Biela-Palanka	Arrondissement in Pirot of 44 communes.
Bielitza	Small tributary of the Morawa. Also name of an arrondissement.
Blato-Luznitza	Chief town of Luznitza, department of Pirot.
Bogatitch	Chief town in the arrondissement of Matchva, in Schabatz district.
Bolievatz	Chief town of an arrondissement in the department of Tzrna Reka, at foot of Mount Ratni.
Bolievatz	An arrondissement of the Zrnarjeka.
Brestovatz	Station between Nisch and Vranya.
Brza-Palanka	Chief town of an arrondissement in Kraina, on the Danube.
Brza-Palanka	Arrondissement on the Roumanian frontier with 20 communes.
Derven	Chief town of the arrondissement of Sverlichka, department of Kniajevatz. Monastery of S. Arangel in the vicinity.
167Despotovatz	Arrondissement with 33 communes in Tchoupria.
Djep	Station between Nisch and Vrania.
Djunis	Station on the Morawa.
Dobra	Coal-mine on the Danube between Golubatz and Dolni Milanovatz.
Dobritsh	Arrondissement in Toplitza with 85 communes.
Dolni Duchnik	Chief town in the arrondissement of Zaplania, department of Nisch.
Dolni Milanovatz	Chief town of the arrondissement of Poreschka-Rieka, in Kraina, on the Danube. Fine forests; stone and lignite in the vicinity.
Dragatchevo	Name of an arrondissement of which Gutscha is the chief town, in Tchatchak. 55 communes.
Drina	Tributary of the Save between Bosnia and the Servian frontier. Excellent trout-fishing.
Gamsigrad	A locality near Zaitchar. Close by upon a plateau near Timok are most interesting ruins of a Roman fortress. One of the best preserved ruins in Servia.
Gledikj	A plateau south of Kragouievatz.
Golemo-Selo	Chief town of the arrondissement of Polianitza, in Vrania.
Golia	Mountains on the frontier of Novi-Bazar.
Golubatz	Arrondissement of 29 communes.
Golubatz	Mining centre on the Danube.
Golubinie	Mountains in Kraina.
Gorni-Milanovatz	Chief town of the arrondissement of Takovo and of the department of Rudnik. 3000 inhabitants. School of commerce.
Grdelitza	Station on the Nisch-Vrania railway, south of Vlatchotinza.
Greatch	Station near Alexinatz, on the Belgrade-Nisch railway.
Grotzka	Small river, which gives its name to an arrondissement of 17 communes.
Grotzka	Town on the Danube, near Belgrade.
168Gruja	Tributary of the Morawa Srbska, which gives its name to an arrondissement of 63 communes.
Guberevatz	Important traces of minerals 35 kilometres from Belgrade.
Gutscha	Chief town of Dragatchevo, department of Tchatchak. Splendid pastures.
Gutschevo-Boranja	Mountains in the department of Podrinie.
Hassan-Pacha	Chief town of the arrondissement of Jassenitza, department of Semendria. 3200 inhabitants.
Ibar	Tributary of the Morawa Srbska.
Ivanyitza	Chief town of Moravitza, department of Oujitze. 200 inhabitants. Wheat-growing.
Jadar	Tributary of the Drina, which gives its name to an arrondissement of 40 communes. Chief town, Loznitza.
Kamenitza	Chief town of the arrondissement of Podgaratz, in Valievo.
Katscher	Arrondissement, of which the chief town is Rudnik. 38 communes.
Kladova	Chief town of the arrondissement of Kljoutscha, department of Kraina, on the Danube. 2706 inhabitants.
Klioutscha	Arrondissement, of which the chief town is Kladova, north of the Kraina.
Kniajevatz	Chief town of the department of that name at the foot of the Balkans. Growing of cereals and a school of commerce.
Kolubara	Tributary of the Save. Gives its name to two arrondissements.
Kopaonik	Mountains to the south of the Dinaric Alps.
Korman	Station ten kilometres north of Alexinatz.
Kossmay	Mountain which gives its name to an arrondissement of which the chief town is Iopot, department of Belgrade. 26 communes.
Kostlenik	Mountain in the department of Rudnik.
169Kourschoumlie	Chief town of the arrondissement of Kossanitza, on the Turkish frontier. Country noted for its wines.
Koutschevo	Chief town of the arrondissement of Svidje, on the Pek. Coal mines.
Kozieritza	Chief town of the arrondissement of Tzerna Gora, department of Oujitza.
Koznitza	Watercourse and tributary of the Morawa Srbska, which gives its name to an arrondissement of 92 communes in the department of Kruschevatz.
Kragouievatz	Chief town of the department of that name, and ancient capital of Servia. Situated on the Lepnitza. 13,000 inhabitants. Contains a large library, a gun-factory, and powder-magazine. Potteries and stone quarries. Excellent wine grown here.
Kraina	Department in the north-east of Servia. Chief town, NegotinNegotin.
Kralievo	Chief town of the arrondissement of the same name, department of Tchatchak. 4200 inhabitants. Lead and iron mines. Military school.
Kroupanie	Town in the department of Loznitza. Lead, zinc, and antimony mines.
Kruschevatz	Chief town of the arrondissement and department of that name, with 6200 inhabitants. Ancient residence of the Tzars of Servia. Vine culture.
Lapovo	Junction of the railway Belgrade-Nisch with the line to Kragouievatz.
Lebane	Chief town of the arrondissement of Yablonitza, at the junction of the Medvedja and Buguecka.
Lepenatz	A series of plateaux in the south-west, near the environs of Nisch.
Lepnitza	Tributary of the Morawa, which gives its name to the arrondissement of which Ratscha is the chief town. 40 communes.
Leskovatz	Chief town of an arrondissement of that name in the department of Nisch. Monastery of S. Radni in vicinity. Arrondissement contains 77 communes.
170Lipovatscha	Small river in the arrondissement of Ratscha.
Loznitza	Chief town of the department of Podrinie. 4000 inhabitants. School of commerce.
Lubovia	Chief town of the arrondissement of Asboukovatz, upon the Drina.
Luznitza	An arrondissement with 54 communes in the department of Pirot.
Maidanpek	Important mining centre 30 kilometres from Dolni-Milanovatz, on the Danube. Iron and copper. Vast forests.
Massouritza	An arrondissement on the Bulgarian frontier, department of Vrania. 43 communes.
Matschwa	An arrondissement of 24 communes in Schabatz district, north-east of Servia.
Mionitza	Chief town of the arrondissement of Kolubara, department of Valievo.
Mlava	Tributary of the Danube which gives its name to an arrondissement of which the chief town is PetrovatzPetrovatz. 32 communes.
Morawa	Chief river in Servia, and by its tributary the Morawa which rises in the Yavor mountains, waters much territory in the south-east of the kingdom. There is an arrondissement of the same name in the department of Rudnik, with 38 communes.
Morawitza	Tributary of the Morawa which gives its name to two arrondissements, one of 31 communes, the chief town of which is Bania, in Alexinatz, and the other, of which Yvanitza is the chief town, in Oujitza, with 149 communes.
Negotin	A town of 6000 inhabitants, in KrainaKraina, East Servia. Noted for its wines.
Nischava	Tributary of the Morawa, which gives its name to the arrondissement of which Pirot is the chief town. 65 communes.
171Novi Han	Chief town of the arrondissement of Timok, in the Tchiprovatz Mountains, on the Bulgarian frontier.
Obrenovatz	Chief town of the arrondissement of Possava, department of Valievo, on the Tamnava, near its confluence with the Danube. 3000 inhabitants.
Omolje	Mountains. Highest, 3500 metres, in the department of Pojarevatz.
Oratscha	A town in Semendria, upon the small river Rallya. Also the name of an arrondissement of 14 communes.
Oropsi	Mineral springs near Belgrade.
Oub	Chief town of the arrondissement of Tamnava, in Valievo.
Oujitze	Town of 8000 inhabitants in the department of the same name. Wine and school of commerce.
Ovtschar	Mountains near Tchatchak. Sulphur baths.
Paratchin	Chief town of an arrondissement of that name on the Zanitza, department of Tchoupria. The monastery of S. Pelka is not far distant.
Petchenikotza	Town at the confluence of the Jablonitza and the Morawa.
Petrovatz	Chief town of the arrondissement of Mlava, in Pojarewatz.
Pirot	Chief town of the department of that name in the south-east of Servia. 14,000 inhabitants.
Podgoratz	Mines of iron, copper, and lead, in Valievo. Lithographic stone is quarried.
Podgorie	Arrondissement of 29 communes in Valievo.
Podrinye	A department in the west of Servia. Chief town, Loznitza.
PodunavlyePodunavlye	Arrondissement of 25 communes in Smederevo.
Pojarevatz	Chief town of an arrondissement of that name. 13,000 inhabitants. Mining centre. School of agriculture. The scene of the famous Congress of 1718.
172Pojega	Chief town of an arrondissement of that name, department of Oujitza. The arrondissement contains 52 communes.
Polyanitza	An arrondissement on the Turkish frontier, department of Vrania.
Poreschka	Tributary of the Danube in a deep valley between the Pekska and the Misosch mountains. It gives its name to an arrondissement of 11 communes, in Kraina.
Portes de Fer (Gyerdap)	“The Iron Gates” of the Danube, or passage between the Balkans at the point where the river leaves Servia. There is also a small town of 3000 inhabitants. In the mountains in the vicinity the wild cherry is found. It is very rare, and is much sought after for the manufactory of expensive furniture.
Possava	An arrondissement of 27 communes in Belgrade. Also one in the department of Valievo.
Possavo-Tamnava	Arrondissement of 54 communes in the department of Schabatz.
Potserie	Arrondissement of 34 communes, of which the chief town is Schabatz.
Prechilovatz	Chief town of an arrondissement of that name in Alexinatz.
Preillina	Chief town of the arrondissement of the Morawa, a few kilometres from Tchatchak.
Priboi	Town on the railway Nisch-Vrania.
Prilika	Mineral springs in the arrondissement of Oujitze.
Prokoupatz	Arrondissement of 104 communes in department of Toplitza.
Prokouplie	Chief town of Toplitza and of the arrondissement of Dobritsch.
Pschinie	An arrondissement of 89 communes in Vrania.
Radjevina	Chief town of Radjevo, in Podrinie, on the Bosnian frontier. Lead mines.
Radjevo	Arrondissement of 32 communes.
Radouyevatz	A town on the Danube at the point where the right bank ceases to be in Servia.
173Rajan	Chief town of the arrondissement of that name, in Alexinatz. The Monastery of S. Roman is in the vicinity.
Rallya	Station on the Belgrade-Nisch line. Important mining centre. Also the name of a small river.
Rama	Arrondissement of 31 communes, of which Veliko Graditcha is the chief town.
Raschka	Chief town in the arrondissement of Stoudenitza, department of Tchatchak, at the foot of Mount Golia.
Ratscha	Chief town of the arrondissement of Lepnitza, in Kragouievatz. Also the name of an arrondissement of 28 communes in Oujitze.
Rekovatz	Chief town of the arrondissement of Levatch, in Yagodina.
Resnik	Station on the Belgrade-Nisch railway.
Ressava	Tributary of the Morawa which gives its name to an arrondissement of 24 communes in Tchoupria.
Ripanie	Station and mine on the line Belgrade-Nisch.
Rtanie	A pyramidical mountain of 3900 metres in the arrondissement of Alexinatz.
Rudnik	Chief town of the arrondissement of Kastcher, department of Rudnik; also the name of a range of mountains in the centre of Servia.
Rybar	Mineral springs in Kruschevatz.
Sava	A tributary of the Danube which joins the latter at Belgrade.
Schabatz	A town of 11,000 inhabitants upon the Save, capital of a department of that name.
Schornik	A plateaux to the west of Oujitze.
Schumadia	A vast forest extending through the departments of Belgrade and Rudnik.
Semendria	Chief town of a department of that name, situated on the Danube, with 7500 inhabitants. Vine culture.
Sikiritza	A station between Belgrade and Nisch. Lignite is known to exist here in large quantities.
174Sikolie	A mining centre in the Kraina.
Slatibor	A chain of mountains forming part of the Dinaric Alps separating Servia and Rascie (Novi Bazar). Also the name of an arrondissement of 30 communes in Oujitze.
Smrdan-Bara	Excellent sulphur springs at the confluence of the Drina and the Save in Loznitza. Very picturesque.
Sopot	Chief town on the arrondissement of Kossmai, department of Belgrade.
Stalatz	The junction of the railway Kruschevatz-Oujitze and the line Belgrade-Nisch.
Stanischitza	High plateaux in Kruschevatz.
Stig	An arrondissement of 13 communes in Pojarevatz, the chief town being Koutschevo.
Studenitza	Tributary of the Ibar, which joins it between the mountains Iakowo and Radotschewo. It gives its name to an arrondissement of 144 communes in Tchatchak. The chief town is Ratschka, near which is the celebrated monastery of Tsarska Lavra, built in the twelfth century by the orders of Krale Stefan Nemania, who became a monk under the name of Simeon. The monastery, in the Slavonic style, Orthodox and Byzantine, is entirely constructed of white marble, and is of marvellous beauty.
Sverlichka	Arrondissement of 40 communes, the chief town of which is Derven, in Kniajevatz.
Svilainatz	Chief town of Ressava, upon the river of that name in the department of Tchoupria.
Takovo	Arrondissement of 43 communes in Rudnik.
Tamnava	A tributary of the Save which gives its name to an arrondissement of 42 communes in Valievo.
Tchaitina	Chief town of the arrondissement of Slatibor, near the Bosnian frontier, twenty kilometres from Mokragora.
175Tchatchak	Chief town of a department of that name, situated upon the Morawa Serbe. 4200 inhabitants.
Tchopitz	Chief town of Kolubara, department of Belgrade.
Tchoupria	Chief town of a department of that name, situated upon the Morawa at its confluence with the Kamenitza. 5200 inhabitants. Lignite.
Temnitch	A department with capital of the same name.
Temnitchka	Mountains in the south of Yagodina which give their names to an arrondissement of 43 communes.
Timok	A river which rises near Biela Palanka, runs to the north, and falls into the Danube a little below Radouyevatz, after serving as frontier to Servia and Bulgaria for 50 kilometres. The name also of an arrondissement of 20 communes of which Novi-Han is the chief town, in the department of Kniajevatz.
Toplitza	A river rising in the Kopaonik mountains, and falls into the Morawa near Nisch. It also gives its name to a department of which Prokouplie is the chief town.
Topola	A small town in Kragouievatz. 3100 inhabitants.
Topschider	First station on the line Belgrade-Nisch. Royal villa and gardens. Also mining centre. The name of a small river falling into the Save.
Trnava	An arrondissement of 29 communes, the chief town of which is Tchatchak.
Trstenik	A town of 2000 inhabitants, situated on the Morawa Srbska, in Kruschevatz. Manufacture of millstones. Also the name of an arrondissement of 38 communes.
Tzernagora	A mountain which gives its name to an arrondissement of 126 communes in Oujitze.
Umka	A town on the Save, department of Belgrade.
176Valievo	Chief town of the department and arrondissement (of 62 communes) of the same name. 7500 inhabitants. Lithographic stone. Town lit by electricity by an English concessionaire, Mr. J. R. Finney.
Varvarin	A town in the department of Yagodina. Stalatz station.
Velika-Lukania	A town at the foot of Mount Radotschina, department of Pirot. The monastery of S. Aranghel is near.
Velika-Plana	The junction of railways between Belgrade-Nisch and Semendria.
Veliki-Popovitch	Chief town of the arrondissement of Despotovatz, situated on the Retsava.
Veliko-Gradishte	A town at the confluence of the Pek and Danube. 4016 inhabitants. Wheat-growing.
Verschka-Tchouka	Mountain between Novi-Han and Zaitchar. Rich coal mines.
Vizzotschka	An arrondissement in Pirot containing 26 communes.
Vladimirtsi	Chief town of the arrondissement of Possavo-Tamnava, in Schabatz.
Vladitchin-Han	Small station on the Nisch-Vrania line.
Vlaschka	Fifth station from Belgrade, towards Nisch.
Vlassina	Chief town of the arrondissement of Mazouritza, in Vrania, on the Bosnian frontier.
Vlassotinze	A town situate on the Vlassina-Vignes, in Nisch. Also the name of an arrondissement of 51 communes.
Vrania	Chief town of a department of that name in South Servia, on the Nisch-Uskub line. Vine culture. At Bania, in the vicinity, mineral springs.
Vratchar	Arrondissement of 20 communes in the department of Belgrade.
Wratarnitza	A plateau to the east of Zrna-Rieka, Bulgarian frontier.
Wrntze	Excellent mineral springs upon the road from Kralievo to Trstenik, in the arrondissement of Kruschevatz.
177Yabar	Chief town in the arrondissement of Morawa. Abundant lignite.
Yablanitza	A river falling into the Morawa at Brestovatz-Tchetina, and giving its name to an arrondissement of 58 communes, department of Toplitza.
Yadar	A tributary of the Drina which gives its name to an arrondissement of 40 communes in Podrinie.
Yagodina	Chief town of the department of that name and of the arrondissement of Bielitza, upon the Constantinople road. 5000 inhabitants. Station on the Belgrade-Nisch line.
Yassenitza	A tributary of the Morawa, which gives its name to an arrondissement of 27 communes in Kragouievatz. Also a small tributary of the Medjloudje and the name of an arrondissement of 15 communes in Semendria.
Yavor	Mountains on the western frontier of Servia.
Ybar	Tributary of the Morawa Serbe, which it joins near Kralievo.
Yoschanitza	Small tributary of the Ibar which gives its name to an arrondissement of 71 communes in Kruschevatz.
Yvanitza	Chief town of the arrondissement of Morawitza, in Oujitze. 2000 inhabitants. Cereals.
Zaglav	An arrondissement of 51 communes, of which Kniajevatz is the chief town.
Zagoubitza	Chief town of the arrondissement of Omolje, upon the Mlava. The celebrated monastery of S. Giorgiak is in the vicinity.
Zaitchar	One of the arrondissements of the Zrna Rieka. 25 communes. Also name of the capital of the department. 7000 inhabitants. Coal mines.
Zaplanie	An arrondissement of 55 communes in the department of Nisch.

179

181

191

197

206

217

226

My friend the spy—How I was watched through the Balkans—An exciting half-hour—The Paris of the Near East—Gaiety, extravagance, and pretty women—Forty years of progress—The paradise of the idler—Husbands wanted!

My friend the spy picked me up at Rustchuk.

He was a well-dressed, middle-aged man, in a black overcoat with a velvet collar. His face was sharply cut and intelligent, but his dark eyes were set rather too closely together to suit me. Suddenly I recollected having seen the same man in the streets of Sofia a week before. Indeed, I saw him frequently when in the Bulgarian capital, but until I met him that night upon the Danube steamer, between Rustchuk and Guirgevo, the thought never occurred to me that the fellow was persistently following me.

Then, like a flash, each of the occasions I had seen him came back to me. Not only had he followed me in Sofia, but I now recollected having seen him in Belgrade and in Zimony. The fellow was a spy—Austrian without a doubt. It was not my first acquaintance with spies. I had met many of them in the course of my wanderings up and down Europe. Some, indeed, are among my personal acquaintances.

Until you travel in the Balkans, and more especially if you are having interviews with Ministers and officials, you can have no idea of the audacity and activity of Austria’s secret agents. They swarm everywhere. The Grand Hotel at Belgrade is full of them, and in Sofia they also flourish as part of the great secret army which the Austrian Government 236keeps in the East, from Zimony right down to Constantinople.

It was a bitterly cold night, with slight drizzling rain. The spy was standing on deck in the shadow at a little distance from me. The recollection that I had with me a quantity of official documents given and lent to me by the Servian and Bulgarian Governments was the reverse of reassuring. I felt in my pocket for my revolver. Yes, the handy little weapon was ready for use, in case of necessity.

There were only four or five passengers, and I knew that across the Danube the Roumanian train taking me on to Bucharest would be practically empty. And so it proved, for after landing, getting my passport viséd and my baggage through the Roumanian Customs, I walked to the train, to find it empty, lit only by dim flickering oil-lamps, which gave scarcely sufficient light to see into the corners of the compartments.

I looked back, and yes, surely enough, the spy was following me! I was alone, for I had sent my servant on to Bucharest by the morning train. I got into a compartment, and presently, after some manœuvring, he got in with me. I was annoyed, but I had my weapon in my outside pocket, and intended to fire through my pocket if he attempted to attack me, or get at my despatch-box on the seat at my side.

Calmly he lit a cigarette, then inquired in French—which he spoke excellently—

“M’sieur is going on to Bucharest? Ah! what a wretched train service—eh? I suppose you go on to Constantinople?”

I looked him straight in the face and replied—

“My destination is no affair of yours, m’sieur. And I have neither desire nor intention that you should follow me any farther. You must think I’m blind. I saw you in Servia a dozen times, and in Bulgaria afterwards, and here you are in Roumania! Your game may be interesting to yourself, but it is annoying to me, I can assure you—very annoying.”

The fellow looked aghast. He was not clever at all; for he stammered something in Hungarian, and then, in French, 237declared that he had never followed me. We had met and re-met by accident, he assured me. That was all.

“Well,” I said, pretty sternly, “just take care that we don’t meet again by accident after to-night. You understand?” The train was moving, so he was compelled to travel in the same compartment with me to the next stopping-place on the fifty-mile run that separates the Danube from the Roumanian capital.

“I know,” I went on, “that you think I have some official documents with me that would be extremely interesting to your employers. Yes, I admit I have had some, but I’m scarcely such a fool as to travel about with them. They would be interesting reading to you, but fortunately they are already safe in London. So you are really only wasting your valuable time, my dear monsieur.”

“M’sieur quite misunderstands me—he takes common politeness for inquisitiveness.”

“Well, I don’t want any of your polite attentions,” I declared very bluntly; “and if you don’t get out at the next station I shall just kick you out. You understand that?”

He saw I had my hand in my jacket-pocket all the time, and doubtless guessed what I had there.

“I shall stay here,” he answered defiantly.

“Excellent,” was my response. “And when we get to the next station I shall call the gendarmes and have you arrested as a foreign secret agent.”

“You’ve made a great mistake,” he declared resentfully.

“Very well. Let’s see. You remain here, and I’ll call the police.”

He did not reply. For half an hour he sat quite silent, while I, fearing treachery, kept my hand upon the trigger of my weapon, for as a matter of fact I had with me some papers of the very highest importance to Austria—papers that would have compromised certain highly-placed persons in the Balkans. The spy was evidently aware of this, and it was the motive of his strenuous endeavour to seize an opportunity to get hold of the confidential statements in question. In Roumania, as in 238Servia, they treat foreign spies with scant courtesy, and the fellow’s manner belied his defiant words.

That half-hour was an exciting one, until at last, after what seemed an interminable period, the train slowed down and came to a standstill, when my inquisitive friend of evil intentions descended, and without a word disappeared in the darkness.

I thought I had rid myself of his surveillance, but I was mistaken. Next day I met him in the streets of Bucharest, and so persistently did he follow me that I was compelled to lodge a complaint with the police. As soon as I had done that, I saw him no more. My own belief was that he was arrested. He may be in prison now, for all I know. In any case, he disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up.

This little incident, both annoying and exciting at the time, was my first adventure on entering Roumania, but it was soon forgotten amid the gaieties of smart Bucharest.

The Roumanian capital is a place apart. Roumania is not a Balkan State in any sense of the word, and has progressed so rapidly during the forty odd years of its freedom that in Bucharest to-day, save for Roumanian names over the shopfronts, one may easily believe oneself to be in Paris or in Brussels.

Indeed, some of the buildings, notably the new Post Office, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the Academy, are unequalled not only in Brussels, but even in Paris. Bucharest is a gay city of external glitter, bright, merry, and highly amusing after some of the dull, half-civilised country towns in the Balkans. Smart cafés and confectioners, expensive hotels, shops that charge double prices of those in Paris, and theatres where one pays a sovereign for a stall, are all to be found in Bucharest. The boulevards are broad and full of life and movement, and the Calea Victoriei, the Boulevard Carol, and Strad Lipsicani are as busy as any thoroughfare of a Western capital.

Nearly every public building has a dome, while the chief object of a Roumanian seems to be to build for himself a 239wonderfully ornate house and gild the railings in front. Many of the façades of the private houses are marvels of florid bad taste. Again, though in the streets, in drawing-rooms and at cafés and theatres, I met hundreds upon hundreds of officers, crowds of lieutenants, swarms of captains and a good sprinkling of generals, all in wonderful uniforms, yet I was four days in Bucharest before I discovered a real soldier—and then quite by accident. He wore a brown uniform, and I mistook him for a wagon-lit conductor.

Bucharest is a city of vivid contrasts—a wildly gay, go-ahead city, which justly bears the reputation of being one of the most expensive in the world. For the poor it is the cheapest; for the rich, the dearest. Prices, for instance, at the Hotel du Boulevard are higher than at the Savoy or Carlton in London, yet everything is excellent, the sterlet quite as good as at the Hermitage at Moscow, and the caviare such as one only gets in the best restaurants in Russia.

As one wanders in the streets the Western eye meets many quaint sights. For instance, the birjas, or cabs, are open victorias drawn by a pair of long-tailed Russian horses, and driven by men wearing great padded overcoats of blue-black velvet—huge affairs that give them very portly proportions. Around the waist is worn a piece of gaily coloured satin ribbon,and on the head the round Balkan cap of astrachan. Most of the drivers are Russian refugees, and form a distinct class apart. Cabs are extremely cheap, and the rate at which one is driven would be reckless were it not that the men have such perfect control over their horses.

The British colony is not a large one. Its head is, of course, our Minister, Sir Conyngham Greene, in whose able hands British interests in Roumania have recently been placed. Keen and active, he has already rearranged our Consular service in Roumania, and placed the Legation on the same footing as those of the other Powers. While every other European nation owns a Legation house in Bucharest, we have none; and while I was in the Roumanian capital he was a fellow-guest at the Hotel du Boulevard. It is understood, however, that the Foreign Office—or the Treasury—have 240recently been shamed into the necessity of buying a house, and very soon Sir Conyngham will have a fitting residence, as the other representatives of the Powers.

Nobody ever deigns to walk in Bucharest. Everybody takes cabs, therefore the streets are filled with vehicular traffic till far into the night. At evening, indeed, Bucharest is at her best. Smart restaurants, with pretty, well-dressed women, cosy theatres, flash café-chantants, and noisy garish cafés abound all over the town, while outside, notably at the Villa Regala, in the centre of a park, smart dinners and suppers are given.

The jeunesse dorée are an effeminate and extravagant crowd. Gambling permeates the whole of society, and large sums are lost and won every evening. I know personally one member of the Roumanian Cabinet who thinks nothing of losing or winning a couple or three thousand pounds each week at cards. He plays every afternoon at the Club, and is always open to play any comer for any stake proposed, no matter what it may be.

Bucharest is a typical capital of a wealthy, easy-going country. The people are charitable, and spend freely—when they have it. The shop-windows, where the most expensive table delicacies are displayed, show the foreigner the Roumanians’ extravagance in eating, while the dresses one sees on the giddy women-folk are as up to date as any that one notices in the Champs Elysées, the Bois, or at the Opera. Yet amid all this up-to-dateness the old horse-tram still survives and jogs along, and the patient white oxen toil slowly through the streets, dragging their heavy springless carts.

Unlike Sofia, or in Belgrade, peasants are seldom met with in the streets of Bucharest. One may go a whole week without coming across a woman in national costume, unless, of course, the market is specially visited. I, however, met, in Bucharest, Mr. Harold Hartley, one of the directors of the Earl’s Court Exhibition, and we made many pleasant excursions into the country together. To the traveller from Western Europe the city is highly interesting and full of curious types, especially 241of the young elegant, whose present fashion, it seems, is to shave only the front of his chin and cheeks and grow a beard all round, very similar in cut to that of a monkey.

When one recollects that about forty years ago Roumania was a semi-civilised nation, and Bucharest a little Oriental town, its present size and splendour are astounding. To King Charles’ rule much of this progress is due, and in order to celebrate the fortieth year of his reign there has recently been held a very pretty Exhibition, a miniature of the great Exhibition of Paris. It was, I found, most interesting, and fortunately it has been decided to preserve several of the more important buildings, including a really excellent replica of a Roman amphitheatre. The gaming-room is also to be preserved, of course, for the “little horses” have great attraction for the merry people of Bucharest.

Yes, this Paris of the East is indeed a strange place, especially to those used to Western morals and manners. Everyone lives far above his income, for there seems no limit to extravagance. Prices are often extortionate. As an example, I was charged at one restaurant half a crown for a whisky-and-soda! At a shop across the street the charge for the same whisky was 6 fr. 50 c. a bottle.

Several of the restaurants are excellent, notably the Enescu, behind the royal palace, a big place, where the best Tzigane music in Roumania is provided gratis. The gipsy band is under one Christache Ciolac, a famous violinist, who one day will no doubt make his mark in London. The orchestra of the Enescu ought to be imported to one of our smart restaurants and it would create a great sensation, for our present so-called Roumanian music cannot be compared with the real thing. Here, at Enescu’s, there is no dressing up in fancy costumes—not even dress-coats. But the music is there, the strange weird gipsy melodies and dances that run in one’s head for days afterwards.

The cookery at Enescu’s, too, is perhaps the best in the Roumanian capital. Next to it is the restaurant of the Boulevard, where at luncheon there is a table set apart for the diplomats, and is always occupied by the various young 242attachés and secretaries. After that, comes Capsa’s. The feminine element in the restaurants at dinner is much the same as it is at home, except that one often sees a mother and two, or even three, daughters dining alone—dining in public, so that they may be seen by some stray swain who is desirous of marriage. One night at Enescu’s, at the table next to us, sat an Italian duchess of ancient lineage married to a Roumanian aristocrat, with her three pretty dark-eyed daughters of varying ages, eating solemnly, the mother ever watchful to see whether any man had his eye upon them. We afterwards saw them near midnight at a café solemnly sipping sirops and looking mournful and woebegone. A diplomat who was with me told me that her Grace had been in Bucharest staying at an hotel for the past six months, trying to get her daughters off her hands, and was now beginning to be disgusted at her non-success.

The Roumanian has a great hatred of the Jew. Perhaps it is because his extravagance brings him so often into their hands. But the country is full of Hebrews. The capital is not over-burdened with them, but in some towns in Northern Moldavia Jews are in the majority. Indeed, their total number in the united provinces exceeds 300,000, or about one-twentieth of the entire population, a larger ratio than in any other country in the world. In most provincial towns they have the monopoly of selling strong drinks, and are of course ever ready to lend money to the peasant-proprietors. Were it not for the fact that the law forbids any Jew from holding landed property—or any foreigner, for the matter of that—half the soil would probably soon be in their hands. The Moldavian Jews speak a different language, wear a different dress, and keep themselves aloof from their neighbours, just as do the picturesque cabmen of Bucharest.

Roumania can boast one artist who is really great, whose name is N. J. Grigoresco. I was shown some of his works, the property of Mr. Ernest Goodwin, of the Roumanian Bank, and found that they were of the Barbizon school, which is very natural, as he was a fellow-worker with Millet. Without exception the work was excellent, and I 243believe there is some idea of having an exhibition of it in London.

In Bucharest there is none of the laziness or languor of the Orient. Everyone is bent on business or upon pleasure, and life for the idler is perhaps even more pleasant there than in any other capital of Europe. Yes, Bucharest of to-day astounds one in many ways.

Monsieur Take Jonesco, Minister of Finance—The smartest man in Roumania—An interview with General Lahovary, Minister of Foreign Affairs—Secret aims of Roumania—A better frontier wanted—Germany’s insincerity—Some plain truths—The question of a Balkan Federation—Oil wells waiting to be exploited by British capital.

I had a number of interviews with the members of the Roumanian Cabinet,^[2] General Jacques Lahovary, Minister for Foreign Affairs, and M. Take Jonesco, Minister of Finance, being both particularly helpful to me in my inquiries regarding Roumania’s political aims and aspirations.

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With the President of the Council, with General Manu, Minister of War, and with M. Jean Lahovary, Minister of Commerce, I also had long and interesting conversations.

M. Take Jonesco struck me as by far the strongest and shrewdest man in the present Cabinet. Keen, quick, and far-seeing, he has of recent years played a prominent part in bringing his country into its present satisfactory state. Essentially a man of action, a smart politician, and a patriot, he is nevertheless very English, for he has an English wife, and his beautiful home is essentially English. Unlike most statesmen in the East, he is frank and outspoken. He speaks his mind fearlessly, and the Opposition hold him in terror. Through his good offices I was afforded facilities for studying various questions and forming my own conclusions. General 245Lahovary, too, is a strong and brilliant man politically, of essentially military bearing, with a clever countenance, a long grey moustache, and wears a monocle with a tortoise-shell rim.

My audience with him was of an essentially confidential nature. He told me many interesting things which, for the present, it would be injudicious to publish, in view of the strained relations between Bulgaria and Turkey. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs is a millionaire’s palace—huge white-and-gold salons, with polished floors, fine pictures, and beautiful gilt-and-red damask furniture. A showy millionaire built it as his residence, and died soon afterwards. Then the Government bought it for an old song, with the result that the Ministry is housed in more gorgeous quarters than any other Ministry in Europe.

From my inquiries in various political quarters in Bucharest, both among members of the Government and the Opposition, I found one unanimous view, that war between Turkey and Bulgaria over Macedonia must come at an early date. In Roumania the opinion is that even though a European prince be appointed Governor-General of Macedonia, the war between the two countries would only be postponed. It is believed that Bulgaria is strong, and that the Stancioff policy will be to resist the Turk by arms within a very few months.

As Bulgaria hates the Turk, so does Roumania. But the latter will not assist Bulgaria unless she gets some quid pro quo. This fact became very forcibly impressed upon me. Bulgaria cannot attack Turkey without Roumania’s consent, so the Roumanians declare. And moral support will only be given on one condition. That is, if Bulgaria, as the result of the war, annexes any Macedonian territory—as she naturally would do—then she should cede to Roumania that portion of her territory lying between the Danube and the Black Sea, taking a line from a little east of Rustchuk to a little east of Varna. Such condition is certainly not to be viewed in Bulgaria with any satisfaction, yet as its acceptance would mean the extension of Bulgaria to the Adriatic, the settlement of the Macedonian question, and the final destruction of effete Turkey as a power 246in Europe, the Bulgarian Cabinet are considering it very carefully.

Roumania is not over-anxious to extend her territory, but her present frontier between Rustchuk and the Black Sea is one which she knows it would be impossible to defend in case of hostilities. She therefore desires a better frontier, in order that she can hold her own in time of war. Besides, she naturally will want some of the spoils when the Turks and Greeks are driven from Macedonia.

The Roumanian policy is one of peace, combined with firmness. General Lahovary is not a vacillating statesman. His policy is one of progress, as his action towards Greece over the ill-treatment of Roumanians in Macedonia has shown. It is intended, no doubt, that the much-vexed question shall not be settled without Roumania having a hand in it. As is well known, Germany protects Roumania’s interests in Macedonia. Through her, the Roumanian schools have been established in Salonica, Monastir, and other places; but quite recently the good relations with Germany have been somewhat lessened owing to some friction regarding the exploitation of the Roumanian oil wells by a German syndicate. The German intention was to make a trust, which Roumania promptly quashed by passing a special Act directed against them. It is a curious fact that since this friction Germany has stood by and witnessed the terrible atrocities committed by the Greek bands upon the Roumanians in Macedonia without raising her voice in protest. This, in itself, is sufficient to make one doubt Germany’s sincerity, and certainly the eyes of the Roumanians are already pretty wide open to the machinations of Berlin in the Balkans.

The conflict between Roumania and Greece—whatever may be thought of the very recent discovery of Roumanians in Macedonia—is quite simple. There are in Macedonia undoubtedly a small percentage of the population which speaks Roumanian, and who are appealing to their brothers for protection to allow them to remain Roumanians. In face of this appeal there are two courses of action possible. One is to reply, “You are of no importance; you are so 247few; you are too far away; you cannot expect us to embroil ourselves in foreign politics for your sake. And besides, our ideals and our aspirations are different.” The other reply is to adopt the course which, for the past forty years, all Roumanian Governments have adopted, namely, to protect and support their subjects abroad and look after their general interests. Roumania has already done this in Macedonia. She obtained an irade from the Sultan recognising the Roumanians in Turkey as a nation apart, and giving them the right to live as Roumanians. And what has been the result? Bands of Greek antartes at once crossed into Macedonia and began to assassinate and torture every Roumanian subject they could lay hands upon. Is it therefore any wonder that diplomatic negotiations should be broken off between Bucharest and Athens?

The action of Roumania in pressing for the rights of Roumanians in Macedonia and in obtaining the irade has, of course, been the subject of much criticism in the European press. M. Take Jonesco has been personally criticised as having been the prime mover of the agitation of the past two years. I mentioned it to him, and he denied that Roumania had any ulterior motive in Macedonia save to protect her subjects there and to allow them their own language, their own religion, their own education, and give them freedom to live as Roumanians. It was absurd, he declared, to suggest that Roumania intended to acquire territory in Macedonia, or that the Roumanian Valachs were of only recent discovery. Their geographical position refuted the first suggestion; and as to the second, he proved to me that geographers and travellers had written about them a century ago, one proof being that the English traveller Leake had mentioned them in his book, published in 1814, saying that the race in question were undoubtedly Roumanians. Leake also says: “The Valachs occupy the centre of Macedonia and Thessaly, and nearly all the Pindre, forming three principal groups.” The Finance Minister also showed me the evidence collected by the Roumanian writer, Nicholas Papahagi, and recently issued under the title Les Roumains de 248Turquie. To me he proved most conclusively that the Roumanian contention was at least well founded, and that the European critics were incorrect in supposing that Roumania wants territory in Macedonia. She may have her eye upon that little strip of Bulgaria in order to strengthen her frontier, and, I think, quite naturally. She knows that “a big Bulgaria” is bound to arise. She can never hope to be of equal strength with the Bulgar. Therefore she wants to entrench herself now that there is a forthcoming opportunity.

Both General Lahovary and M. Take Jonesco were quite frank with me in their explanation of Roumania’s future policy. Roumania knows that nowadays right, if not supported by force, is not might. Grand words, if not sustained by bayonets, bring serious men into ridicule. During the past two years the Roumanian army has been improved, consolidated, and brought into perfection. But their intentions are entirely pacific, even though they have not hesitated to augment the war budget, and will still augment it if necessary. Roumania intends to remain passive in the present Balkan complications, but if she finds it necessary for the protection of her compatriots in Macedonia she will, like Bulgaria, take arms against the Turk and drive him back into his capital, and across into Asia Minor—which is surely the best place for him.

I spoke with several Roumanian statesmen upon the idea of a Confederation of the Balkan States. Most of them were in accord that such a thing was within the bounds of possibility, but that it was very unlikely that Roumania would ever enter such a Confederation. Roumanians are fond of declaring that their country is not a Balkan State, yet if such Confederation were formed it seems difficult to see how Roumania could hold aloof.

It is perhaps premature to talk seriously of such a Confederation. In the various political quarters where I referred to the question, I found that Roumanians considered it at present very difficult of arrangement, and very dubious whether Roumania could ever enter it. Events of the last thirty years have considerably altered the map of Europe, 249and in each case smaller States have been amalgamated into kingdoms and empires, such as Italy and Germany. The saying of King Corvin that “The kingdom which has not one language is a mad kingdom” is, in our days, no longer true, Austria being an example. The Serbs, the Bulgars, the Greeks, and the Roumanians are widely separated by language and by race. Yet, threatened on the one side by Germany and the other by Austria, they may, in the near future, find it judicious to combine, as the only way of preserving their territory and independence. The difficulties of the problem are, however, many. The Greeks and Bulgars are at drawn swords, the Roumanians and Greeks have broken off diplomatic negotiations, and between the Serbs and Bulgars the feeling is not really so friendly as it should be. At the bottom of all, too, we find the everlasting question of Macedonia, which, in itself, must prevent a Confederation. But if it is ever accomplished, then it will take a high place in the general politics of Europe. Besides, it is improbable that the Confederation could ever be formed without objections being raised by the Powers, and it is very likely a great war might result. In Roumania, therefore, the idea of a Balkan Confederation is not regarded with great favour. The first question of all is Macedonia—ever Macedonia, and “the terrible Greek.”

As regards the internal politics of Roumania, they are not within the scope of this present volume. Both the finance and commerce of the country seem to be in an excellent state notwithstanding the recent dissatisfaction of the peasantry. Thanks to the efforts of M. Jonesco, the finances of the country are now in a thoroughly sound condition, and every day sees greater prosperity. As I found in Servia and in Bulgaria openings for British capital, so there is in Roumania also many openings for British industrial enterprises, especially weaving. The climate is not favourable for cotton-spinning, but for weaving there are many enterprises that would pay good dividends.

In the petroleum wells there have been, since their discovery fifteen years ago, about 150,000,000 francs of foreign 250capital invested. Greater part of this is German, but there is also a French, Italian, and Dutch element in the various companies exploiting the wells. The Standard Oil Company of America have about 15,000,000 francs invested, but there is no British enterprise. The oil is refined in Roumania, but a good deal of crude oil is sent to France, as well as great quantities of benzine.

From Turn Severin, on the western border of the country, the petroleum zone can be distinctly traced at the foot of the Carpathian Mountains, skirting them in their course through the country towards Bukovina and Galicia on the north-east. Along the whole length of this zone are primitive hand-dug wells, the workings prior to 1873, when the American oilfields were discovered. Since 1895, however, a new stimulus was given to the industry by the modification of the mining laws, and from that date the oil industry has been gradually increasing, and only awaits the introduction of British capital to develop the enormous oil-fields.

It is claimed that the Roumanian petroleum contains 14, 15 and 25 per cent. more pure oil than American, Galician, or Caucasian oils respectively. The total production in 1905 was 602,000 tons, or double the production of four years ago, while the export has nearly doubled in the past two years. The Deutcher and Dresden Banks and the Disconto Gesellschaft have about three million and a half pounds invested in it, while a new company, called the “Trajan,” with a capital of £200,000, has recently been formed, of which Marmorosch, Blank, & Co. of Bucharest, the principal promoters, have taken two-fifths. It will absorb the “Helios” and several other minor companies.

Very large areas of the Roumanian oil-fields are the property of the State, and have hitherto been unworked, but the Minister of Commerce, when I questioned him upon the subject, informed me that a law recently passed by the Chamber provides for the leasing of these lands to private companies, though important provisos are introduced in order to prevent monopolies. The Minister explained to me the chief points of the new laws, and as they may interest British capitalists, 251I give them. It appears that the Government may now lease for a period of fifty years prospected or unprospected land of maximum areas of 100 and 1000 hectares respectively. The concession is granted to the party offering the highest rent. No more than three lots can be leased to one concessionaire. The capital, which must be at least 2,000,000 francs for every 100 hectare lot of prospected land or 1000 hectares of unprospected land, must be deposited. Amalgamation or assignment is illegal, and any secret fusion involves loss of the concession. The State reserves to itself the exclusive right of working all means of transport for petroleum, and will take a compensation of at least 10 per cent. on the gross profit of the working. Over and above that rent, the State participates in the net profits of the working as follows: (1) one-third should the net profit fluctuate between 10 and 30 per cent.; (2) from 30 and more per cent., the share of the State is 50 per cent. of the net profits. The State levies upon concessionaires a lease-charge of 20 francs per hectare, and in addition the general taxes are to be paid. All concessions are subject to Roumanian laws and regulations, and the State assumes no responsibility for the profitableness of land leased.

These conditions are certainly onerous, yet there is no doubt a big field for British capital in Roumanian oil. The Minister of Commerce impressed upon me this fact, and declared that he would give every facility to intending concessionaires, providing they were properly introduced, and were persons who meant serious business.

In the words of our Consul-General at Galatz, “It is not very easy to account for the apathy of British capitalists in seeking openings in Roumania. Perhaps its position in the remote corner of Europe, and perhaps the difficulties of language have something to do with it.” Anyhow, there is a big future before the oil industry in Roumania, and it is amazing that no one has yet had the courage to try the business under the new conditions. As the Minister pointed out, “The American Standard Oil Company are already firmly established in Roumania. Why should not an English company also work the fields?”

252The future, and not a far-distant one, will no doubt see many of the wells exploited by British capital.

In Roumania there are also salt mines sufficient to supply the whole world. The coal deposits are not numerous, but iron and copper are known to exist, though they are not yet exploited.

I had an opportunity of examining the commercial statistics for the present year, not yet published, and they showed on the exports an augmentation on each of the past six years of considerably over 100 million francs. This, in itself, speaks volumes for the prosperity of this the most civilised and progressive nation of the Orient, which has, no doubt, a greater and far more brilliant future before it.

The royal drawing-room—Her Majesty’s greeting—Her kind words of welcome—Roumania not in the Balkan States—We talk politics—The name of “Carmen Sylva”—The Queen’s deep interest in the blind—She shows me some photographs—Public interest in the new institution—I visit it next day.

I was standing one Sunday evening in the great drawing-room of the royal palace at Bucharest, chatting with Madame Zoe Bengesco, lady-in-waiting to the Queen of Roumania.

Madame Maurojeni, grande-maîtresse of Her Majesty’s Court, had appointed my audience for half-past six, and as the bowing liveried servants had conducted me through the great entrance and up the large red-carpeted horse-shoe staircase, I was struck with the old-fashioned comfort, combined with taste, everywhere displayed.

While chatting with Madame Bengesco, who was inquiring after some mutual friends in Belgrade, I glanced around the great salon or salons—for there are two of equal proportions, the one running at right angles with the other. Splendid old brocade-covered furniture, tables with interesting knick-knacks, a grand piano, the fine organ upon which Her Majesty so often plays, beautiful hangings, magnificent paintings upon the walls and old Persian rugs upon the polished floor, all combined, under the soft electric light, to produce a harmony of quiet taste and luxury.

The salons were huge, high-ceilinged, and splendid, yet there was an air of homeliness about them, and indeed about 254the whole palace, that I have not found in other royal palaces of Europe wherein I have been received. The great quiet room bore traces of the artistic hand of Her Majesty herself.

I had asked for audience not without some misgiving, for His Majesty the King was lying very ill, and the Queen—the “Carmen Sylva” of European literary fame—was at his bedside always, administering to her sick husband’s wants, nursing him, and reading aloud to him for hours each day. For weeks she had given audience to no one, therefore it was a pleasant surprise when Madame Maurojeni told me that the Queen was going to make an exception in my case.

I was chatting with Madame Bengesco, and suddenly turned to find Her Majesty—a tall, fine figure en décolletée, a sweet smile of welcome upon her face—standing before me. She wore a very handsome gown of pale dove-grey crêpe-de-chine, but no jewellery save a single gold bracelet and one or two very fine rings.

“So you have come to see our country, Mr. N——?” Her Majesty exclaimed in English, smiling pleasantly, after I had made my obeisance, and she had shaken hands with me. “Come, let us sit over in that corner. It is more cosy.” And she conducted me to a luxurious little corner of the salon, while the lady-in-waiting retired.

I began by thanking Her Majesty for giving me audience at such a time of anxiety.

“I have just left the King to come to you,” she answered. “He is very much better, I am thankful to say, and yesterday took a little nourishment. Ah yes, it has been a most anxious time for me. You will forgive me if I am a little tired, won’t you? When I heard you were in Bucharest I determined to meet you. I have heard of you, long ago, you know! Now, tell me, what brings you to Roumania?”

I explained that my confidential mission was to inquire into the future of the Balkans, whereupon she interrupted me with that sweet laugh that is one of her characteristics, saying—

“Ah, you must never include us in the Balkan States, recollect! We Roumanians speak another language; the 255Danube separates us from the Balkans, and we have nothing in common with the races on the other side of the river. The reason why we are not taking part in this year’s Exhibition at your Earl’s Court is because they have called it ‘The Balkan Exhibition.’”

I laughingly promised to be very careful on the point in future. As she sat before me, the handsome, thoughtful countenance, the white hair brushed straight back, and the soft and very becoming head-dress, Her Majesty was surely the most picturesque, the most interesting, and perhaps the most accomplished and intelligent of the Queens of Europe.

I told her of my journey through Northern Albania, in which she was deeply interested, and asked me lots of questions. Then I explained how I was on my way to Constantinople and through Macedonia, whereupon she made a quick gesture with her hands, and exclaimed—

“Then you are studying Macedonia! Ah, what a very difficult task you have! We have Roumanians in Macedonia, as you know—and, poor people, they are being treated very badly. What the outcome of it all is to be, who can tell? There are so many conflicting peoples, so many conflicting interests, so much jealousy among the Powers.”

“Ah! I see that your Majesty takes an interest in politics!” I exclaimed.

“No. You are mistaken,” she answered. “I, of course, know the general outlines of most of the subjects, but I am a woman, and am not expected to be a politician. My sphere lies in endeavouring to do good to the people, to ameliorate their sufferings, and to look after my various charitable institutions.”

Surely the name of Carmen Sylva—that sweet-faced, womanly woman who, though a queen, is so charming and unassuming—is synonymous with all that is good and charitable. For Roumania, she has done what no other woman has done. Nearly all the charity of the country has been initiated, and partly supported, by her efforts. She lives her life for the poor and needy, and has worked hard for years on their behalf.

In society in Bucharest I had heard some talk of her great 256interest in the blind, and that one of her protégés, himself a blind man, had invented a machine by which the Braille type for blind-books could be printed by type, instead of, as hitherto, being embossed by hand. This subject I referred to, when at once her eyes shone with enthusiasm and she said—

“Then if you would like to know all about it, Mr. N——, I’ll tell you. It all came about in this way. Some years ago I had, as copyist, a servant, quite a poor man. His young wife and his children had died, and, poor fellow, he was in the greatest depths of despair when I took him into my service. So I gave him very hard work to do, in order that his mind should be occupied and he should forget. Well, time went on, and I was always much interested in the welfare of the blind, when one day this servant came to me and told me that a certain blind man named Theodorescu, whom we had rescued, was making experiments whereby the Braille books could be multiplied by printing, and thus place reading and instruction in the hands of every blind person in the world. This, I saw, would mean light in the darkness of the afflicted, so we provided the poor fellow with means to perfect his invention, with the result that he produced a rough and somewhat incomplete process. This was then taken over by Mr. Monske, an old servant of mine, who worked here in a room in the palace for over a year trying to perfect the machine. We made no mention of it to a soul, but kept it a dead secret, until at last success came, and now it is patented over the whole world—the first complete machine for printing books for the blind!”

“Have you many blind in Roumania?” I asked.

“They say we have twenty thousand. But I believe we have many more, because already in Bucharest the police have discovered for me many more than were shown upon their statistics. But let me tell you what the outcome of this invention is, and what it will be,” the Queen went on. “I have recently started a small blind institution, where the books will eventually be printed. I might tell you that some time ago, before the invention was perfected, we sent for an American machine, a cumbersome affair, which cost three thousand francs. Our machine will cost only three hundred francs. A Vienna 257firm wished to manufacture them, but I preferred that they should be made here, in Roumania. Well, our small institution—which is under the direction of Mr. Monske and his wife—is already in working order. See”—and she rose and took me across the salon, where there were a number of photographs arranged in a big frame surmounted by the royal crown and cipher, copies of which are reproduced in these pages.

“Here, you see, are some pictures which the photographer very kindly sent me. Aren’t they interesting? Here is the first child we found. He’s an intelligent little chap, with musical instincts evidently, for I was told a few days ago that he had been found trying to play four instruments at once! Here you see them basket-making—here they are having a concert—and here is a group—and so on. Aren’t they interesting?” she asked enthusiastically. “And to think that they were nearly all found as beggars. Some are men who have been in good positions. That man was an officer, for instance!”

Then Her Majesty went back to her seat, and I reseated myself with her.

“The present institution is only the beginning,” she said. “I have a scheme for establishing a city for the blind—a model town, to which the blind of every nation may come and work, and support themselves. Now I will tell you something about it. When it was known that I intended to do this, people came forward on every hand to give me assistance. One gentleman gave me 100,000 francs, while a lady has given me the site for the city near Sinaia, a beautiful place where, close by, we have a castle. The site is an ideal one, and very shortly we shall lay it out with model houses built in modern style, in which two families can live. We do not wish to separate a blind man from his family, but the kitchens will be in common, so that the wife may be relieved of much of her household duties and afforded time to work and earn money.”

“We have several model villages in England, your Majesty,” I remarked. “The one called Port Sunlight might interest you. I could perhaps get photographs from Mr. Lever, who built it.”

258“Oh, do. It would be so kind of you. Will you ask him?” she said. “I might get some excellent ideas from Mr. Lever’s scheme. Of course we must have a working men’s club, a concert hall, a church, and recreation room.”

“And what does your Majesty call your present institution?”

“In Roumanian it is ‘The Hearth of Light,’ but in English it would be better translated as ‘The Home of Light.’ Would you like to visit it?”

“I should be delighted,” I replied.

“Then Monske shall call for you and show you everything. Remember that the people are not paupers. From the first day they come to us they receive one franc a day, which is increased according to the skill they show in chair-making, basket-making, rope-making, and other such industries. As regards the blind city scheme, Mrs. Fern, wife of a former American Minister here, is starting for the United States in a few days, and is taking one of the new machines with her, and is going to hold conferences and explain the scheme in the principal cities of America. You see now, for the first time, education is fully open to the blind. The books will be printed as easily as other books, and will be within the reach of all. It is a splendid thing—and I am happy to say that I am receiving donations from every side. I have worked for years, and now the people are, I am gratified to think, appreciating my efforts in the cause of humanity. Yesterday Monske came to me and showed me 500 francs he had that day received. I held up notes for 7000 francs, which I had also received. One firm has sent me a magnificent organ, and I have even poor families subscribing a franc a month towards the blind. Does not that show that in the hearts of the people there is a corner for the poor afflicted? But remember that the blind colony is to be open to all nationalities. It is a big undertaking, I admit; for I have in Roumania twenty thousand people and their families. Yet the scheme will work, I am confident. And while they are now in penury, they will soon be educated, and be able to place themselves, by their work, in a position of independence.”

259For over an hour we chatted together, until, after promising to send me a signed photograph of herself and of the King, she rose, saying—

“I am so delighted to have had a chat with you, Mr. N——. I will send Mr. Monske to you in the morning. But the King is alone, and will want me to read again to him, so I must go.” And Her Majesty, smiling graciously, gave me her hand, saying, “Au revoir.”

I bowed over it, thanked her for the audience, and retired, charmed by her marvellous personality, her sweet silver voice, her kindly manner, and her queenly bearing, all of which combined to create an impression which will always remain with me—an hour spent with a woman who is unique in the whole world.

Next day Her Majesty sent me the autographed photograph which appears on another page, together with a very charming note of thanks for a slight service I had been able to render her.

One morning a few days later, by the Queen’s order, I was shown over her Blind Institute, which is called the “Vatra Luminoasa Regina Elizaveta,” and is in the Boulevardul Carol, in Bucharest.

A large comfortable house, standing back from the road in its own grounds, it is the first institution to be founded under the new scheme, and the nucleus of what will most certainly become a great and important charitable work. Mr. Monske, the Director, a pleasant-faced, youngish man, with a bright, open expression, received me, in the business-like office, where a blind typist was busy with correspondence, using a Remington machine with celluloid caps on each third key.

“Ah!” exclaimed the poor afflicted typist in French, “you do not know what this place means to us! Take myself, for example. I was a clerk in an office here, in Bucharest, and eight years ago I went totally blind. My life after my misfortune was one of misery. I was in the depths of despair, for the blind are not wanted on the earth. And then came the good Queen, and saved me. My story is the same as all 260of us here—lifted out of despair and placed in a position of comfort and independence, for all of us are paid for our work.”

The poor clerk seemed thankful from the very bottom of his heart. He was full of praise of Her Majesty’s great goodness, and the kindness of the private persons helping her. Of Mr. Monske he sang praises, and then when he was told who and what I was, he asked me in the name of his fellow-inmates of the Institute to tell the English what a grand and noble work “Carmen Sylva” was doing.

Mr. Monske then took me to the music-room, a large bright apartment with a fine organ,—the gift of a blind Austrian gentleman,—two pianos, and other musical instruments. On the walls were the portraits of the King and Queen, while the floor was of polished oak. Here, one afternoon each week, Her Majesty comes, accompanied by her ladies-in-waiting and some friends, and gives the blind inmates and their families a musical entertainment. Thus the Queen keeps the Institute under her own personal supervision.

In another room—a play-room—I saw a homely-looking woman playing with a little blind child of four years, while the oldest inmate I saw was about sixty. The dormitories for the thirty-two inmates that were there at the time of my visit were scrupulously clean and very airy. Each man had his bed, his washstand, his lock-up wardrobe, while the floors everywhere were covered with linoleum.

I was taken to a long new building, just erected in the grounds, which is being fitted as a rope-works. There is room for thirty men to work with ease. Close beside it is about to be erected a private chapel, given by a gentleman in Bucharest, while on the other side of the house I was shown the chair-making workshops, the overseer of which was a blind man himself. Here, while some were expert menders of cane chairs, others were being taught the trade. The Director explained that he had just signed a big contract with a firm of chair-makers, and showed me the hundreds upon hundreds of frames ready to go into the hands of the blind.

The last department I was shown was that in which the new Theodorescu machine was being used to emboss blind-books. 261It is an interesting and ingenious method by which the type, consisting of small blunt pins, is set in a brass frame very similar to ordinary type, and is set indeed by the blind themselves. Then, when a frame is full, it is put into a special press, and any number of impressions can be taken from the embossing-pins.

Mr. Monske first reduces the printed book to embossed Braille characters, and these are set up by the blind compositors, and impressions taken very rapidly. I was shown bulky volumes of well-known works that have already been printed in this manner and now, for the first time, given to the blind. Recently Mr. Monske made a tour to the various blind institutions in France, Austria, and Germany, and without any prospectus, sold 140 of the machines. It certainly is a simple but most ingenious invention, which in the future will bring great profits to the Queen’s blind colony.

As regards private subscriptions, I was shown the list. They range from 50 centimes to £4000. On the day previous to my visit it was shown by the list that Her Majesty had received over 5000 francs in donations. Funds are coming in, it is true, but for the development of the scheme a large sum is required. It is for that reason that Her Majesty is making an earnest appeal all over the world to those interested in the welfare of the blind. Her great institution—of which this is only the nucleus—is an international one, and men and their families of all creeds and nationalities are eligible. Her Majesty has asked me to say that subscriptions, however small, can be sent either to Madame Zoe Bengesco, Dame d’Honneur to the Queen of Roumania, Bucharest, or to Mr. R. Monske, Director “Vatra Luminoasa Regina Elizaveta,” Boulevardul Carol 31, Bucharest, and would be duly acknowledged.

The Orient Express again—On the Black Sea to Constantinople—A disenchantment—My dragoman—How to bribe the Customs officers—Mud and dogs—A city of spies—Feebleness of British policy at the Porte—Turkish adoration of Germany—The basis of my confidential inquiries.

From Bucharest to Constantinople is not at all an unpleasant journey.

The Orient Express runs twice a week to Constantza, the Roumanian port on the Black Sea, where there is a fine and comfortable passenger-steamer service direct to Constantinople.

At Bucharest Station I was seen off by several kind friends, with many parting injunctions to “take care of myself” in Macedonia, and it was not without regret that I left the gay little Roumanian capital, where I had received so much hospitality, from Her Majesty the Queen down to some of the humblest of her subjects.

The “Orient,” on the Constantza line, is not so well fitted, nor is the food so good, as upon the direct line from Paris to Constantinople by way of Belgrade and Sofia.

The whole train was shabby, dusty, and over-heated, and the dinner, instead of the usual table d’hôte, was à la carte. The only item on the bill of fare, however, proved to be beef-steak. The small piece cooked for me was fit only for a dog, and served on a dirty tablecloth; therefore I was compelled to make my dinner off stale bread and soapy cheese. And this on a train de luxe—and one of the principal European Expresses!

266The Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits et Grand Express Européenes are not very considerate towards travellers to the East. There is neither competition in sleeping accommodation nor buffets, therefore the rolling-stock is often old-fashioned and dirty, and the food leaves very much to be desired. Surely upon a journey of three or four days, the maximum degree of comfort should be secured! Why should the traveller who spends one night between Calais and Nice be better provided for than he who goes East from Ostend to Constantinople—a four days’ journey?

In the “Orient,” the old-fashioned coal-fire heating in every carriage is still in vogue, and consequently the person who is unfortunate enough to have a berth near the stove is half roasted, while he who is at the farther end is half frozen. The traveller who goes East would certainly welcome the up-to-date wagons-lits of the Mediterranean or Carlsbad Expresses.

I travelled in the “Orient” from Paris to Vienna, from Belgrade to Sofia, from Bucharest to Constantza, and from Nisch in Servia to Paris, and on each of the trains were the same defects in sleeping comfort, and often in food.

It is to be hoped that the Company will shortly remedy this, for on some of their routes, notably Calais-Paris, or Paris-Marseilles, the food is all that can be desired.

The Express, after passing the wonderful bridge over the Danube, arrives at the quay at Constantza, or Kustendji, as is its local name, at eleven o’clock at night, where the mails from London and Vienna are quickly transferred on board, and we are soon under steam, with the flashing light of Cape Tusla fast disappearing at the stern.

The steamer King Charles makes the voyage from Constantza to Alexandria, calling at Constantinople, and is a very comfortable and up-to-date boat, with excellent state-rooms and a fine saloon, and ladies’ drawing-room. Officers and men are Roumanians, but as the head steward speaks French there is no difficulty. An excellent supper at midnight, with Roumanian white wine, caviare, and a glass of slivovitza to follow, and then a stroll on the deck in the white moonlight.

267Past the Kamara and Shabaloh lights, we at last see the broad rays from the Kali Akra, and then we head straight out upon the lonely sea for the Bosphorus. One by one, the tired travellers, some of them from Ostend, Berlin, or Petersburg, make for their berths, and finding myself alone, I turn into the comfortable deck cabin kindly secured for me by telegram by my friend the Minister of Finance in Bucharest.

Rising early, I was already out on deck and taking photographs as we passed the two Turkish forts, Kilia and Poiraz, at the narrow entrance to the Bosphorus. And after stopping to take up our pilot, we crept slowly up the narrow channel amid delightful scenery, some of which I photographed and have reproduced in these pages, past the pretty summer resort of Therapia and Anatoli Hissar, until we approached the capital of Turkey, with her hundred domes and minarets, looking almost like a fairy city against the blue cloudless sky as we approached.

But what a disenchantment on landing! That terrible rabble at Galata in the midst of dirt and squalor, of shouting touts, scrambling porters, and scavenger dogs, is a thing to be ever remembered. Fortunately, I had a Greek dragoman, one Demosthenes Cambothecras, to meet me. I can recommend him as an excellent and honest fellow, and to the intending traveller I may say that a letter addressed to the Pera Palace Hotel will always find him.

He stood on the quay amid the thousand off-scum of Constantinople, and shouted my name. I shouted back, and ten minutes later we met. When I gave him over my baggage ticket, he said—

“The customs here, m’sieur, are difficult. But, with your permission, I will give the officer five francs.”

I assented readily, and my luggage was passed without inquiry, while that of a bespectacled Hungarian next me was examined piece by piece, greatly to the disgust and consternation of his obese wife.

I saw no money pass in the shabby, shed-like Custom House, but he told me that the chief of the Customs employed an agent out in the street to receive his bribes! 268So much for the morality of the Custom dues in Turkey. In that very same week the British Ambassador had made protest to the Sublime Porte regarding the same thing, but was promptly “snuffed out” by the all-influential Power, Germany.

Germany and German interests are always paramount in Turkey. If you are an Englishman, you may take a back seat and endure all your passport worries, but the German is, by the Turk, supposed to be his friend. German diplomacy is clever, wary, and unscrupulous, and in the Sultan’s capital you are treated with deference if you are a subject of the Kaiser William.

And how strange and ridiculous it all is! Germany intends ere long to wipe Turkey off the face of Europe—only Turkey cannot see it. She is fascinated and spellbound by German cringing and German goodwill, all pretence, and all directed towards the one end of traitorous abandonment.

Great Britain, notwithstanding her fine Embassy, is entirely eclipsed by the big white palace overlooking the Bosphorus which houses the German Ambassador. Tewfik Pasha, the Sultan’s Minister for Foreign Affairs, lives beneath its shadow, and the Turks look upon Germany as their natural protector and friend. A British protest to the Porte passes unheeded, while a German protest receives attention and adjustment the very next day. A German diplomatist at the Sublime Porte told me this with a roar of laughter, adding—

“We are the only diplomatists here. We are listened to. You are merely tolerated.”

And verily he spoke a great truth.

Our big grey Embassy in Pera, with its gorgeous Montenegrin kavass, may be extremely ornamental and impressive, but nowadays of little use. The British taxpayer is paying for the glorification of Great Britain without one single farthing’s worth of benefit. The Turkish Government—clever as they are—laugh in the face of our persevering and well-meaning Ambassador. They give him, or his representative, cups of rather badly-made coffee in Tewfik’s shabby anteroom at the Sublime Porte, and put their fingers to their noses behind his 269back. It is not the fault of our Ambassador, or of his staff. All of them are practised diplomatists, who endeavour to their utmost to do their duty to King and Country, and to protect British interests in the East. The fault lies in the timid policy and shrinking politeness adopted by our present Government. The late lamented Lord Salisbury, or Lord Beaconsfield, would never for a moment have submitted to the open rebuffs which Great Britain daily meets with nowadays at Constantinople.

The Turk knows that Germany is behind him, and is therefore defiant. So British diplomacy is beaten every time.

Constantinople swarms with spies. If you have ever been there, and landed from a steamer, you will recollect that a crowd of unwashed porters swarm on board directly the ship is made fast. Every man of that ragged rabble is a spy. He is only allowed on board on condition that he gives information to the Custom officers ashore as to any concealment of revolvers, books, or prohibited articles. Respectable dragomans are constantly asked to assist in this, and offered monetary reward, as well as a permit to board the ship, but they refuse—and leave the espionage to the rabble.

And so it is all through the Turkish capital. Spies are everywhere—they haunt one in all the hotels, even in the much-advertised Pera Palace—and every movement of the stranger is noted. If you happen to be a German and have shown your passport in the Custom House, then you go hither and thither and do whatever you like. But if you are of any other nationality you will be suspected and haunted by all sorts and conditions of secret agents, until you kick the mud of Constantinople off your boots.

I have been more than once in the Sultan’s capital, and on each occasion, on entering it, have been seized with a fit of depression, which has only been removed when I have got my passport viséd by the British Consul-General, and also by the Turkish police, preliminary to leaving the place.

The squalor in Galata, in Stamboul, and even in aristocratic Pera, sickens one. The streets, unswept for ages, are an inch deep in slimy mud, upon which one slides and slips at every step, and the grey, wolf-like dogs, held sacred by every 270Turk, prowl about in hordes, each in their own quarter, living in the streets and sleeping in doorways.

Constantinople, with the most picturesque and beautiful position in all the world, is the most filthy and uncomfortable of all cities. With the exception of the Grande Rue, at Pera, there is scarcely a single decent European business street. Every thoroughfare is crowded to excess by a motley throng of Mohammedans, both European and Asiatic, and every form of costume and physiognomy, from the Tartar to the Syrian, may be seen.

The pilgrimages were leaving for Mecca while I was there, and the whole city was filled with the Faithful from every part of the great Moslem world. The bridge at Galata was daily a perfect panorama of costume as the pilgrims assembled to embark.

Though I spent a little time in the great Bazaar—which is always attractive to the traveller from the West—and revisited Saint Sophia and other of the big mosques, my days in Constantinople were mostly occupied in having interesting chats with the heads of the Turkish Government.

I carried letters of introduction to His Excellency Tewfik Pasha, the Sultan’s Minister of Foreign Affairs; to the Grand Vizier of the Sultan; to d’Aristarchi Bey, the Grand Logothete; to His Excellency Noury Pasha, Under-State Secretary for Foreign Affairs; to the British Chargé d’Affaires, Mr. Geo. H. Barclay—the Ambassador being absent on leave; to His Excellency Monsieur George Simitch, the Servian Minister; to M. Dimetri Vlastari, the well-known banker; to Mehemed Ali Pasha; to Riza Pasha, Minister of War; and to many other of the leading people in the Turkish capital.

Thus I was enabled to go thoroughly into the present state of affairs. I was granted an audience of His Majesty the Sultan, as well as by the Grand Vizier, by Tewfik Pasha, the Khardjie-Naziri, and had many interviews with the persons named above.

My inquiries were mainly directed to ascertaining—first, what attitude Turkey was assuming towards Macedonia; secondly, whether the Turks were alive to the firm intention 271of Bulgaria for the protection of her subjects, and in what manner they viewed the prospect of hostilities; thirdly, the truth about the Macedonian reforms; fourthly, the extent of German intrigue in Constantinople; fifthly, the Turkish policy towards Austria; and sixthly, the policy towards Great Britain.

I went to the Porte in order to penetrate the veil of mystery surrounding diplomacy there, and to get at the true state of affairs. The task was very difficult, for in the East one is hardly ever told the real facts about anything. Nevertheless, unique opportunities were afforded me to obtain knowledge by the absolute facts and the future aims of both Turkey and Germany—opportunities of which, as will be shown in the following pages, I was not slow in taking advantage.

In view of the present situation in Turkey, the proclamation of the “Ottoman Committee of Union and Progress,” which was found posted upon all the walls of the Pera quarter of Constantinople on January 1 of this present year, is of great interest in showing the present state of public feeling in the Turkish capital.

This proclamation, which was issued by a very strong and formidable party in Turkey, began by stating that Abdul Hamid, after thirty years of impunity, was now on the verge of death. The fact that now and then he gives audience of a few minutes’ duration to an Ambassador, or that at the weekly Selamlik he drives to the mosque, a few yards from his palace, proves nothing. The Sultan Mahmud fell dead from his horse, returning from the Selamlik; while the Sultan Medjid was on his feet up to the very last. In reality Abdul Hamid, knowing the profound effect which his failure to attend the Selamlik would have upon the people, is expending all the energies that remain to him in fulfilling this religious observance and in granting an occasional interview to a foreign Ambassador.

The proclamation proceeded:—

Grave troubles are predicted after his death, and the Committee urges the population of the Empire, Christian and Mussulman, to be on their guard and to consider seriously the following facts:—

The Manifesto ended with an appeal to the Christian and non-Christian populations to prepare for the coming crisis.

His Excellency Noury Pasha—A quiet chat at his home—Turkish view of European criticism—The Turk misunderstood—The massacres in Macedonia—My visit to the Sublime Porte—His Excellency Tewfik Pasha tells me the truth—A great diplomatist—The fashion to denounce Turkey—The attitude of the Porte towards Bulgaria—Significant words.

The first visit I paid was to His Excellency Mehmed Noury Pasha, Secretary-General of the Imperial Ministry of Foreign Affairs, who is one of the most advanced and progressive of Turks, and who, next to Tewfik Pasha, the Sultan’s Foreign Minister, is one of the most powerful men in Turkey.

As such, it may be interesting to note that he was born in Constantinople, and having made his early studies in that city, was sent by the Sultan to Paris, where he underwent a long course of training, returning to occupy the post of Inspector in the Ministry of Public Works. Afterwards, he became Director-General, and subsequently his perfect knowledge of French brought him again before the notice of the Sultan, who appointed him to the office of Secretary-General in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a position which he has held for the past eighteen years.

Through his hands all diplomatic correspondence passes, and to him is mainly due the clever and tactful diplomacy of the Porte. His is, indeed, a delicate and laborious task.

He is a slim, fair-bearded, middle-aged man of very charming manner, and a delightful companion; shrewd, full of tact and clear discernment. Times without number he has given 275proof of assiduous work for his country’s advancement, and no one knows better than he the defects of Turkish rule.

By no means bigoted, he is, on the contrary, broad-minded and eager for reform. He was sent by the Sultan to represent him at Rome at the silver wedding of the King and Queen of Italy in 1893, and later, was one of the Peace delegates at the Conference after the Greco-Turkish War. He acted as second delegate of the Ottoman Empire at the Conference at Rome against the Anarchists, and also at the Peace Conference at The Hague.

At this latter Conference he won golden opinions from all the delegates of the other Powers for his politeness, his charm of manner, and the clever tact with which he performed his somewhat difficult mission.

Few, if any, of the dignitaries of Constantinople possess such a wide knowledge of Europe, European ways, and European politics. Enjoying the full confidence of the Sultan and of the Sublime Porte, he is recognised by the foreign missions as the working head of the Department of Foreign Affairs. He is the right hand of his chief, Tewfik Pasha, whom he aids with all his intelligence in the incessant difficulties which beset Turkish diplomacy. As a mark of their esteem he has been decorated by nearly every sovereign in Europe, while the Sultan has given him the plaque in brilliants of the Orders of Osmanie and the Medjidie.

Noury Pasha being well known to me as one of the cleverest men in Turkey, it afforded me great pleasure to obtain a chat with him one evening in the quiet of his own home.

He received me in a cosy room on the ground floor, a room that was more European than Turkish, and where I noticed many signed photographs of the chief diplomatists of Europe who are his friends.

When we were seated, a man-servant brought us the inevitable tiny cup of excellent coffee, and delicious cigarettes, and then we fell to chatting.

I gave him a message from a notable foreign ambassador who was our mutual friend, and told him the reason I was in Constantinople.

276“Ah! So you wish to see His Majesty, and also His Excellency Tewfik Pasha! Well, I will see what can be done,” was his reply.

“But I want your Excellency to tell me, if you will, what is the present situation in Turkey, and what are her future aspirations?” I said boldly.

The question was rather a poser. He hesitated. I pressed him to tell me the truth as far as he was able, without being injudicious; and at last, after some reluctance, he consented.

“You Europeans,” he laughed, “are under a great misconception as regards Turkey. My sovereign, His Imperial Majesty, is often portrayed as a bloodthirsty brute, who has no regard for human life, and whose reign is one of terror and terrible injustice. Now the exact opposite is the truth. You will meet His Majesty, and judge for yourself. I have good opportunities of seeing how deeply he has the welfare of his people at heart. Is it not he, for instance, who out of his own pocket supports some six hundred schools in Turkey? It is he, personally, who has more than once prevented a declaration of war. I know we Turks have many defects. But what nation has not? Even you English are not—well, exactly perfect,” he laughed. “Foreigners come here to Constantinople and hold up their hands that we do not sweep our streets, as is done in other capitals. The fact is, Turkey is not a rich country, and we have no money to expend on scavengers. I and every Turk would only welcome cleanliness. But how can we do it when we have no funds? Again, the very people who criticise us, the foreigners, can come and live here for twenty years and not pay one piastre of municipal tax. Can they do that in any other country?”

I admitted that they could not.

“Then why should they criticise us? All we want to be allowed to do is to carry on our government in our own way. Our population is of different race and different creed from Europeans, and therefore necessitates a totally different method of government. England does not understand Turkey, or Turkish methods. I readily grant that our government would not suit England, but neither would 277British ideas be tolerated here. For many years all the diplomatic correspondence of the Sublime Porte has passed through my hands, hence I know what I am speaking about when on the topic of Turkish diplomacy. Abroad, we are told that our word is not our bond, that we give promises that we do not fulfil, and that we are a century or so behind the times. Well, I admit that we are not a twentieth-century nation. I admit that our Sublime Porte is not so imposing as your Foreign Office in Whitehall, or the Ministère des Affaires Étrangères in Paris, or in Vienna. But I do maintain that the government of my sovereign, the Sultan, is a beneficent one for Turkey, and that our foreign policy has for its base the peace and welfare of the Balkans.”

“But Macedonia?” I remarked.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“The question of Macedonia is, I admit, an extremely difficult one,” he answered. “We have to govern a population so varied, both in nationality and in creed, that there must of necessity be constant aggressions and outbreaks. It is said that we aid and abet the Greek bands in massacring the Christians. I totally deny this. We do not. Surely it is to our own interest to maintain peace and order in Macedonia, and not to allow outsiders to create disorder and dissension!”

“And the protests of Bulgaria?”

His Excellency smiled.

“We hear from time to time threats of war,” was his answer. “But when we hear them, we remember that we are sixteen million Turks; and when we sleep, we sleep quite undisturbed by any war rumours from Sofia.”

“Then you do not anticipate armed reprisals from Bulgaria?”

He laughed, but said nothing except—

“Turkey is well informed, I assure you, of all that transpires in Sofia.”

Noury Pasha’s son, a smart lad of sixteen, entered and chatted with us in French. He is going to Paris for his education, and is destined for the Turkish Diplomatic Service. 278He is a bright, intelligent youth, who, like his father, is imbued with Western ideas, and yet is naturally full of patriotism for his own country.

Another cup of excellent coffee, another cigarette over a chat upon private matters, and I took leave of my host—after I had begged the photograph which appears in these pages—feeling that I had met one of the most charming and most intelligent men in the great Ottoman Empire.

Next day I called at the palace of Tewfik Pasha, and on being ushered into a gorgeous reception-room—very French, but by the way lit by candles in high glass chimneys—the usual cup of coffee upon a golden tray and cigarette were brought me. The secretary of the Greek Embassy was waiting to see His Excellency upon an urgent matter concerning a massacre by a Greek band in Macedonia which had taken place near Seres the day previously. This meant, I saw, a long interview, and not caring to wait, I left a message for His Excellency to the effect that I would call and see him at the Sublime Porte on the following morning.

Next to His Imperial Majesty the Sultan, Tewfik Pasha is certainly the most powerful man in the Ottoman Empire. A quiet-mannered, quiet-spoken, grey-bearded gentleman with kindly eyes and a fatherly manner, he is entirely the opposite that one would expect of “the terrible Turk.” Born in Constantinople in 1845, the son of a General of Division, Ismail Hakki Pasha, he was destined for the army, and prosecuted his studies with great diligence. Unfortunately, owing to feeble health, he was compelled to abandon the idea of a military career—not, however, before he had passed his examination and obtained his diploma. He then chose a new career, one in which he has certainly rendered his country signal services. In 1866 he joined the Ministry of Foreign Affairs as attaché, six years later being nominated as second secretary at the Ottoman Legation at Rome, whence he went to Vienna, to Berlin, and, later on, to Athens. He was transferred to St. Petersburg as first secretary at the moment when there arose those grave complications which resulted in the war between Russia and Turkey. Then, during 279the war, he was appointed diplomatic agent to the Turkish Commander-in-Chief. In 1879, after the war, he was sent back to the Russian capital, but on this occasion in the capacity of Minister Plenipotentiary.

At the early age of forty-one Tewfik Pasha found himself Ambassador at Berlin, a post which he occupied for ten years, namely, till 1895. His personal charm, his uprightness, and his frankness of manner endeared him to his colleagues in the German capital, as well as to the German Court, and it was he, indeed, who laid the foundation of the present cordial friendliness between the sovereigns at Berlin and Constantinople.

Finally, in 1895, the Sultan recalled him to Turkey and promoted him to be Minister of Foreign Affairs, a powerful position which he still holds. For the past eleven years he has directed the destinies of the Ottoman Empire with broad-mindedness, tact, and patience, that have, without doubt, been highly beneficial to his country’s interests. His post is no sinecure, as recent history has shown us. Yet he is a conscientious man of Western ideas and Western views; one of the cleverest diplomatists in the whole of Europe, and yet at the same time just and honourable in his dealings. However much we in England may criticise the policy of the Sublime Porte, we can have only admiration for Tewfik Pasha, both as a man and as the faithful servant of his Imperial master.

In Turkey fresh diplomatic difficulties arise every minute, yet with Noury Pasha’s assistance he grapples with them and deals with them in a manner which the diplomatists of few other nations could ever hope to do. Honoured by the most complete confidence of his sovereign, who possesses for him a particular esteem, Tewfik Pasha is universally known and liked. The diplomatic corps in Constantinople are ever loud in their praises of his extreme kindness and courtesy and his readiness to accede to all requests that are in reason.

His Excellency’s courtesy towards myself was very marked. Hardly had I been ushered into his anteroom at the Sublime Porte—a very shabby, unimposing building of long dreary corridors with broken windows and broken wooden flooring—when 280the usual coffee was brought, and I signed his big visitors’ book. In that book I noticed the signatures of all the diplomatic world of Constantinople. Then there entered the Russian Ambassador, who, with a cheery “Bon jour, m’sieur,” crossed, and also signed the book.

A moment later the secretary came, and presenting His Excellency’s regrets to the Ambassador, pointed out that he already had an appointment with me, and asked whether he would call later. The representative of the Tzar said he would call the following morning, and I was then ushered into Tewfik’s private room, a big, cheerful apartment with splendid Persian carpets, long windows and a large writing-table at one end, where sat the grey-bearded Minister in frock-coat and fez. He rose and greeted me with a hearty hand-shake. With him was seated the Grand Vizier and Noury Pasha, both of whom also greeted me.

We four had a long and very interesting conversation in French, its drift, however, being such as would be injudicious to print in these pages. The chat was of a purely private character, although it closely concerned the present political situation in the Near East.

“The fact is,” remarked His Excellency presently, smiling as he sat back in his arm-chair before his littered writing-table, “we Turks are not understood abroad. Writers in England, and especially your journalists, not knowing Turkey and never having visited the East, criticise us, and say all sorts of hard things about Turkish rule and Turkish diplomacy. They call us intolerant and fanatical. But surely there are evidences in Constantinople that we are tolerant? We allow Christians to erect churches wherever they want them; and again, have we not done everything possible in Macedonia to preserve for its inhabitants their religious liberty? Really, the English ought to know the truth concerning Turkey. Unfortunately, the fashion of late seems to be to denounce our land and all its ways!” And he laughed again.

I referred in guarded words to the possibilities of war with Bulgaria, whereupon he said—

“We view the matter with perfect tranquillity. The 281Government of His Imperial Majesty regrets most deeply those unfortunate incidents in Macedonia that so constantly occur, but is unable to remedy it. It is the Greek bands that are to blame—not the Turks.”

“And your diplomatic relations with Bulgaria?” I asked.

“They are perfectly normal,” was his reply. “Dr. Stancioff is an able Minister, and he fully understands us.”

“Then you do not anticipate hostilities at an early date?” I asked, pressing home my question.

His Excellency said nothing. He merely shrugged his shoulders. But that gesture was, to me, sufficiently significant.

“You are going to Macedonia,” he said. “It is not altogether safe, you know, especially around Presba and Ochrida, or about Seres. But if you are determined to go, I wish you every good luck on your journey.”

I thanked him, and after another half-hour’s pleasant chat with the Grand Vizier and Noury Pasha I rose, and Tewfik Pasha grasped my hand heartily in warm farewell, his parting words being—

“Go, see for yourself, and I believe you will find that we Turks are not quite so black as we are painted.”

And I left the presence of a man whose broad-minded policy, if it were adopted in every particular, would, I feel sure, advance the Turkish cause, and place the Ottoman Empire in a very different position from what it is to-day.

I crossed the Sea of Marmora to Haidar Pasha, in Asia Minor, visited Ismid, and saw the new German railway that has its head opposite Stamboul and is to have its terminus on the Persian Gulf. I went to Brusa, the ancient capital of the Ottoman Empire, walked in the wonderful burying-grounds of Scutari, and made many interesting excursions about Asia Minor, in order to observe the all-powerful influence of Germany in that country. And I was amazed.

On my return to Constantinople I had other interviews at the Yildiz with His Majesty himself, and with members of the Government, all of which combined to show that Turkey is not in any way afraid of Bulgaria. The fact is, she is 282uncertain of the attitude of Servia and Roumania, and is rather mystified as to what Austria will do in the event of war. Relying upon Germany, and treating Great Britain with studied politeness, she views the present critical position with perfect coolness and indifference.

Indeed, as Noury Pasha very justly said one day to me—

“It takes a good deal to arouse us Turks, but when we are aroused, we fight—and fight to the death.”

Turkey to-day is still in its lethargic state, but once aroused, who knows where the war will end, or what European complications will result?

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