CHAPTER III
IN THE BALKANS
I Leave Vienna—Gay Bucharest—The Bandmaster’s Indiscretion—“À bas les allemands!”—Roumania Eager for War—German Devices—An English Cigarette—A Terrible Journey—The Spoils of War—The Wily German—Bulgarian Poverty Under the Germans—Austrian Satisfaction over the Serbian Victories—Compulsion in England—Bulgarian Anxiety about the Attitude of Greece—The German Language in Bulgaria.
At the end of about a fortnight I left Vienna, having received my passport. I had become convinced of the uselessness of endeavouring to travel over Serbia to Turkey, and therefore decided to go round by way of Roumania. As a matter of fact, this was the only course open to me. By way of Buda Pesth, where the Austrian State Railway ends, and that of Hungary begins, I went to Brasso, the last station on Hungarian territory. On my previous journey the frontier station had been Pre-deal, but this being on Roumanian territory the Austrians found that they had no power to act in the event of catching spies, consequently they removed to Brasso. I arrived at Brasso at 5 a.m., after a thirty hours’ journey. As the train for Bucharest did not leave until noon, I had time to look round the delightful little town, nestling among the Carpathian mountains.
Although small, Brasso is of considerable importance at the present moment, owing to its being the headquarters of the Austrian army destined to act against Roumania should difficulties arise. The place was full of soldiers, foot, horse and artillery, with guns of every kind and calibre. The civil population seemed to have disappeared entirely. On the surrounding mountains military manœvres were everywhere in operation. I was told that there were 80,000 troops concentrated at Brasso.
It was at Brasso railway station that I first discovered the great value of the War Office passport I had obtained in Vienna. Without looking at my luggage, and scarcely glancing at my papers, the officials allowed me to pass, and I blessed my good friend the Hofrat. A more miserable journey I have never experienced than that to Bucharest. All the blinds in the carriages were lowered as a military precaution, although Roumania is not at war. This circumstance, however, testifies to the precautions being taken by the Roumanians against the invasion of their territory. A Roumanian gentleman travelling in the same carriage assured me that everywhere trenches and field-works were in course of construction.
The difference between Vienna and Bucharest, “Little Paris,” as it is called, where I arrived at seven in the evening, is most striking. The Roumanian capital, always noted for its gaiety, is the Mecca of pleasure lovers, and so far from the war having diminished this spirit it seems greatly to have increased it. The population has been considerably augmented, money is spent and wasted everywhere, cafés and theatres do a thriving trade, and the number of motor cars and pair-horse carriages is astonishing considering the smallness of the city. Now that the export of wheat from Russia to the Central Empires is no longer possible, Roumania has become the wheat market of the Balkans. I was told that the third crop of the year had just been harvested, and every quarter of cereals that can be produced is readily sold. The result is that money flows everywhere like water.
I look back upon my stay in Bucharest as an oasis of peace in a desert of danger. The Roumanians are a delightful people, and the Allies should appreciate how much they owe to the strictly neutral attitude of Roumania in regard to the war. The Roumanian Government prevented food, coal, or other necessities from reaching either Austria or Turkey. Owing to the new Balkan Express, the Roumanian preventive measures do not now possess its former significance.
The Bulgarian attitude towards the Entente Powers was always a little difficult to determine; the mass of the Bulgarian people is by no means cordial to either Germany or Turkey. The politicians most likely became nervous, and German gold did the rest. Nevertheless, I failed to find any evidence of Bulgarian affection for Great Britain. The people in general know hardly anything about this country. There is a vague remembrance of Gladstone in the minds of the better-educated. About Germany, however, every Bulgarian knows, thanks to the indefatigable newspaper work, the German schools, the ubiquitous German kinematograph exhibition, and the “peaceful penetration” by German bagmen, German music, and other elements of German Kultur propaganda.
Little Roumania occupies an extraordinary position in the war. Surrounded by the warring nations, she herself is at peace. There is no doubt as to her friendly feelings towards the Quadruple Entente.
In Bucharest I stayed at the Hotel Frascati, where I spent four delightful days entirely free from all anxiety. It was on the second day of my visit that I received the first evidence of Roumania’s attitude. In the evening I went to the Casino de Paris, where the audience formed quite a cosmopolitan crowd. When the band played the Marseillaise a party of Germans, who had evidently been dining well rather than judiciously, expressed their feelings by whistling loudly and making other noises. The audience, however, loudly applauded the band, and the incident terminated.
Shortly afterwards one of the thick-skinned Teutons offered the bandmaster a 20 mark note (£1) to play Die Wacht am Rhein. The bandmaster was willing to take the 20 marks, but expressed some doubt as to whether the musicians would play the required air. Furthermore he expressed himself as very doubtful as to the effect of the melody upon the people assembled in the Casino. He eventually overcame alike the compunction of his band and his own misgivings, but the orchestra had hardly started before pandemonium broke out. “À bas les Allemands!” and other cries were shouted on every side, with an occasional “À bas les bosches!” and the band came to a sudden stop. The Germans left the Casino in some haste, to the accompaniment of the hisses of the audience.
Roumania is all for the Entente Powers, and in particular she is pro-French. Her especial hatred is for Austria, and in a superlative degree for Hungary. One evening I went to a kinematograph exhibition entitled “Under the Yoke of Austria-Hungary,” which depicted the sufferings of Roumanians living under Austrian rule. At one particular incident the audience rose to their feet and shrieked “Down with Austria! Down with Hungary!” These demonstrations are by no means rare, and they show very clearly the general trend of Roumanian public opinion.
The whole Roumanian army is eager for war. I reveal no secret in stating this, for Roumania is overrun with German spies. During my short stay I came in contact with many Roumanian officers, who expressed themselves as very dissatisfied with the slowness of the Entente operations. They are, however, firm believers in the eventual victory of the Allies, and they assured me that no influence, no pressure, political or otherwise, could induce them to join with Germany. They do not appreciate quite all the difficulties with which the Allies have to deal. Germany has been preparing for this war for more than a generation; the Triple Entente Powers were taken by surprise and have been greatly handicapped. This I strove to point out to my Roumanian acquaintances, urging them to “wait and see.”
I hesitate to offer advice to the British Government; but I wish in the interests of itself and its Allies that it could be persuaded as to the necessity—no milder word is suitable—of making known in Roumania the magnificent work of the British Army and Navy. The instinctive sympathy of the Roumanians is with the French and Italians; for it must be remembered that they are a Latin people. Their newspapers publish a great deal about the French and Italian armies. The Germans have their own newspapers, printed in the Roumanian tongue. German propaganda and German gold are to be encountered everywhere, the chief object being to keep Roumania neutral.
A favourite device with the Germans is to exaggerate every mishap to the Allies, magnify every success of their own into a great victory, and above all to point out to Roumania the magnitude of the task that the Entente Powers have undertaken. When I was in Bucharest the chief theme of the German newspapers was the Dardanelles. Long accounts of English defeats appeared in their journals, all lavishly illustrated. The Roumanian is not devoid of intelligence, and he can fairly well appraise Prussian character, and he would rather fight to the last man than share the fate of Belgium, Serbia, or Montenegro; still he cannot be entirely indifferent to the clever German propaganda.
From the plenty, the music, and the white bread of Bucharest I set out for Sofia. At Giugiu, the Roumanian frontier-station on the Danube, I took the ferry across to Rustchouk, in Bulgarian territory. Here I had to spend a day and night waiting for the train. Rustchouk is a terrible little place, ankle-deep in mud, and I looked forward with dismay to the dreary hours I should have to spend in this awful hole. But all things have their compensations, and I was able to glean some very interesting information.
On the Danube I noticed four Austrian monitors, which were there, I was told, to protect the Austrian and Bulgarian cities on the river bank against Russian attack. I also noticed with the keenest interest huge quantities of light railway material, mostly rails and sleepers, which were being brought down by boat and landed at the Bulgarian port on their way to Turkey. All this material, I was told, is destined for the campaign against Egypt.
I found the Bulgarian authorities much more difficult than the Austrian; this I remembered from my previous trip, and I had taken the precaution of obtaining a special passport at the Bulgarian Legation in Vienna. Even with this invaluable document in my possession I experienced considerable difficulty, and was subjected to much questioning before I was allowed to pass. These unpleasant and nerve-racking interrogations were dreadful ordeals, to which I never seemed to be able to accustom myself. Perhaps I was too imaginative, but the consequences of a possible slip were always before me.
During my first visit to Vienna in war time I had a very unpleasant experience, showing the necessity for constant care. One day I encountered in the streets of Vienna a young Englishman I had known in London, who had not been interned. He gave me a cigarette, and subsequently came to my hotel. I was promptly challenged for smoking an English cigarette, which, coupled with the fact that I had some acquaintance with an Englishman, resulted in my arrest, and I spent an unpleasant day in an Austrian prison. This little incident, which involved endless mental strain, shows how necessary it was for me to be for ever watchful. It must be remembered that my journey occupied some seven weeks.
As I slopped through the abominably muddy streets of Rustchouk, I noticed German soldiers and non-commissioned officers everywhere; they seemed to be in charge of everything, including the port works and all the military buildings. I discovered that there was a serious shortage of sugar, and I had to drink my tea and coffee without it. Milk likewise was unobtainable, and if there is one thing in life above all others that is necessary to me it is milk and cream. Some one once told me that I must have been intended for a kitten.
I was obliged to stay in a very dirty hotel that rejoiced in the name of the Hotel Bristol, where the available accommodation was of the most primitive description. The bed was so dirty that I gave it up as a bad job, and slept in two arm-chairs. The next day I left for Sofia, a journey which occupied twenty hours, largely owing to the shortage of coal. I have never had a more monotonous train journey. The windows were painted white, as the suspicious Bulgars are determined that no one shall learn any military secrets by looking out of the train. Imagine the monotony of sitting for twenty hours in a small compartment without a chance of glancing out at the countryside. I had no newspapers, no cigarettes, and no food. Nothing but the opposite side of the carriage at which to gaze, or the whited panes of glass with which to occupy myself, for nearly a day and a night. I passed most of the time by sleeping in fitful snatches.
At every little station where the train stopped I got out and endeavoured to purchase food. At one place, to my great joy, I succeeded in obtaining some stale bread and a piece of chocolate of obviously pre-war manufacture. I did not dare to drink water for fear of cholera, and when I eventually arrived in Sofia I was in a state of collapse and was thankful to get to the “Splendid” Hotel, which lies in the heart of the city.
There was none of the gaiety of Bucharest about Sofia. For four days I had forgotten war, but here it was brought once more vividly to my mind. Swaggering German officers were everywhere; for the German occupation is firmly established, and nearly as complete as at Constantinople. There seemed to be no social life, dulness reigning supreme, and I longed for the brightness and plenty of Bucharest. Curiously enough, the most striking thing about Sofia is the Turkish Baths, which have their place in a wonderful new building; they are considered the finest Turkish Baths in the world.
It was in Sofia that I heard another instance of German thoroughness and subtilty. When, through the medium of Turkey the Germans were bribing Arab chiefs to fight against the British, the gifts consisted not only of money, jewellery and horses, but of Circassian beauties from the Turkish harems. I had not the pleasure of seeing these ladies who had the honour of cementing international alliances. In dealing with the Bulgar the German is equally wily, and magnanimously hands over to him all the tragic booty dragged from the poor Serbian homes. Guns, munitions, rifles, household furniture and jewellery, and loot of every possible description, from little Serbia, was to be found everywhere in Sofia.
Nor has this system of bribery been without its marked effect, for I saw everywhere German and Bulgarian officers mixing together and having a good time, and a good deal of sweethearting was going on between German soldiers and Bulgarian girls.
In Sofia only black bread is obtainable. Sugar was absolutely unprocurable, coal was short, but prices were not so high as in Constantinople. The Bulgarian people, however, are suffering the lot which seems to follow inevitably in the wake of the German wherever he goes—shortage of food and other supplies.
I wish that I could have had with me one or two British Cabinet Ministers; not that they might suffer any harm, or endanger their valuable lives, but that they might have learned to appreciate the value of the weapon which they have not yet learned how to use—the British Navy. One of the most certain ways of shortening the war is to bring about dissensions, not only in Germany, but among the population of her subjugated allies—Austria-Hungary, Bulgaria and Turkey—and this can best be done by what the Germans call “Stomach Pressure.”
There seems to be still a small amount of silver in circulation in Sofia, but the Bulgars, who have always been poor, are now realising an unprecedented degree of poverty under their German masters. If properly emphasised this must, in my opinion, bring about eventual trouble with the Prussian Bully, who is at present cajoling them with gifts, but principally with promises.
The conquest of Serbia has unquestionably greatly heartened the Austrians, who are more anti-Serbian than anti-Russian. Since the war broke out there have been periods when the Berlin taskmasters found themselves in some difficulty as to how to maintain the enthusiasm of their Austrian allies. Upon this I am absolutely convinced, there is no such difficulty now. It is so many years since unhappy Austria has had cause to celebrate a victory that the novelty of the sensation has had a remarkably stimulating effect upon the whole country. Their history has been a story of retreat and defeat. Prussia crushed them in a few weeks in 1866, now they begin to regard themselves as the equals of their overlords. In addition to their new port of Antivari on the Adriatic, they confidently anticipate securing Venice and Northern Serbia. For the moment they are intoxicated with victory which they fondly imagine to be their own, but underneath there is the same hatred of the Prussian that existed before the war.
The compulsion campaign in England has aroused great interest in Austria, and has been the cause of innumerable heated arguments in the thousands of cafés throughout the land. The popular idea that Englishmen fight only when they are paid to do so, with extra for battles, has been so assiduously fostered by Berlin propagandists that it has become almost an article of Austrian faith. It is practically impossible for them to understand the spirit of the new British armies, to which men have flocked from all parts of the Empire. In Vienna, as in other places, I was solemnly assured that the rich would stay at home and play football, or live in their castles, hunting and enjoying themselves. Not even eighteen months of war have dispelled the Austrian belief in English “sportkrankheit” (sport disease).
The day after I arrived in Sofia, I had an interesting talk with two Bulgarian officers who were staying in the same hotel. They told me of the retreat of the Franco-British forces from Serbian territory into Greece. The Bulgarian soldiers liked very much to fight the English, for the reason that when they defeated them the booty they find is so considerable. For instance, many of those Bulgarian farmers had never seen or eaten chocolate in their lives, and were delighted to find, when the English had to evacuate the camp, that they left behind them considerable quantities of chocolate and marmalade.
In particular, these Bulgarian officers were keen to know something of the situation in Greece. As I came from a foreign country they thought I should be able to tell them much about what Greece was going to do. After talking with them for a little while I got the impression that they seemed to fear the participation of Greece in the war. They do not like the Greeks; in fact, they hate them. There have always been quarrels between these two countries; but, at the same time, these Bulgarians were not particularly keen to fight the Greeks just then. When I asked the reason why, they told me that a great part of the army had to be ready for eventualities against Roumania and Russia, and that the rest would not be sufficient to meet the Grecian army with any chance of success, reinforced as it could be by a large Franco-British army. I thought to myself, if only the leading Greek statesmen with their pro-German king could hear this, what a fine opportunity it would be for Greece to settle her old quarrels with Bulgaria.
One thing struck me very much, that wherever the Germans go a shortage of food and other things seems to follow on their heels. When I had visited Bulgaria eight months previously, there was not what one would call an abundance of food, but there was enough to keep people going. As soon as the Germans got the Bulgarians to march with them the scarcity of food began. The first Sugar Ticket had just been issued when I entered Bulgaria, and I dare say other tickets will soon follow. People, particularly women, were worrying the officials as to where these tickets were available, and shouts of all kinds showed abundantly that the people were very little pleased with the new regulations. The financial situation as well seems to be hopeless. There is paper money everywhere. Of silver there is very little, and gold of course is unknown.
It is a remarkable thing that of all the Balkan countries Bulgaria is the only one where the German language is known to any extent. They call themselves proudly “Little Germany,” but to the honour of the Bulgarians I must say there is a marked difference between the Bulgarian and the German. He is not brutal, very simple, and extremely polite, three things of which no German can be accused. The officers go about with the soldiers in the same way as the French. They are very simple and unassuming. I saw in the train a Bulgarian captain produce from his pocket a piece of sausage and start eating it sitting before us, a thing a German officer would never do.
In most schools previous to the war French was the first language taught; now they all start with German. All the same, fifty per cent. of the Bulgarian officers I saw and spoke with completely ignored the German language, and the only language in which we could make each other understood was French.