But in 1813, the Turks, encouraged by the jealousy which had been impregnated in the hearts of the military chiefs on account of the pre-eminence of Karageorge, proclaimed a holy war. In vain did the peasant leader appeal to his people to withstand the attacks of the Mohammedans and, in the end, he fled disgusted to his mountain home.
It was at this time that the Servians found a new champion in Milosh Obrenovitch, General of Rudneek under Karageorge, and, after a successful campaign against the Turks, he was proclaimed a hero.
Karageorge, off among the hills, was loth to see this Milosh taking his place in the hearts of his people, so, in 1817, disregarding utterly the orders of the Vizir and the advices of Milosh himself, he decided to return to his subjects. He stopped for the night at the house of Semendria Vouitza, who, oblivious to the old ties of friendship and his duties as a host, murdered his guest as he slept, and who knows but at the instigation of Milosh Obrenovitch?
This, then, was the first of the Servian royal tragedies, and the beginning of the deep and terrible feud between the families of Karageorge and Obrenovitch, the latest victims of which were the unfortunate and weakly King Alexander, the last Obrenovitch, and his queen, Draga, in 1903.
In 1830 Turkey permitted Milosh to assume the title of “Prince Milosh Obrenovitch I.” By this action she yielded to Servia’s demands, for Turkey had suffered defeat in the hands of the Russians in 1829, and Russia was literally the sponsor of Servia. But in 1839 the broil between the old adherents of Karageorge and the followers of his successor, far worse than mere family jealousies, because it divided a nation, caused the abdication of Prince Milosh in favour of his elder son, Prince Milan, who held the reins of government but a few short weeks when he died and his brother, Prince Michael, assumed the leadership of the Servians.
Only three years later Prince Michael was compelled to resign and Alexander, son of Karageorge, was elected in his stead. The year 1859 witnessed the enforced resignation of Alexander and the re-instalment of old Prince Milosh Obrenovitch, who had answered the fickle summons to return to his people. He died the following year, and Prince Michael was, for the second time, made the reigning head of Servia.
The fact that Michael’s wife, who was Princess Julia, a descendant of a royal Hungarian family and maid of honour to the Empress of Austria, was childless gave rise to the dastardly Karageorgevitch plot to put an end to the Obrenovitch dynasty by the murder of her husband. Milosh Obrenovitch, junior, so to speak, a grand-nephew of Prince Michael, was the only heir to the Servian throne and the would-be regicides were confident that a new constitution might be proclaimed in favour of Peter Karageorgevitch, the present ruler and a grandson of the peasant, Black George. The sooner this should be attempted the better, for was not Prince Michael even then contemplating the divorce of his wife, in order that he might marry Katrine Constantinovitch, his cousin, and so insure an heir to the throne in the birth of a son?
June 10, 1868, was the day set for the tragedy.
Taking advantage of the Prince’s custom of driving unattended by military escort through the deer park at Topchidere, four men, all criminals with notorious careers, met him along the road as he drove in his carriage with Katrine Constantinovitch and two other relatives. As the Prince’s carriage advanced, these four men stepped to one side and bared their heads in recognition of his Royal Highness. Hardly had he passed when they fired simultaneously upon the royal party, killing the Prince almost instantly and mortally wounding Mlle. Constantinovitch.