Returning to the people of the Bulgaria of to-day, the most advantageous place and time to study them is in the market square of Sophia of a Friday morning. This scene is alone worth the trip to the Bulgarian capital, for I doubt very much if its equal, in the number and variety of types, or in the kaleidoscopic effects of its constantly vibrating patches of colour, can even be approached in any other European city.
From seven in the morning until one in the afternoon the entire town wears a circus-day air. The square surrounding the principal mosque swarms with a hawking, bantering multitude of Greeks, Jews, Russians, Turks, Roumanians, Serbs and Bulgarian peasants, all in gala dress; and as for tongues you might well imagine yourself living in the good old times in the immediate vicinity of the Tower of Babel. Here, as I have said, you may observe the characteristics of the natives to the best possible advantage, for one of the chief sources of interest in this little-travelled principality or, in truth, throughout the whole of the Balkan Peninsula, is its simple-minded, unsophisticated country people; unsophisticated, except in occasional brigandage in the sparsely settled districts.
“A HAWKING, BANTERING MULTITUDE ... IN GALA DRESS.”
The market is opened officially at seven o’clock, but long before that hour the peasants, representing many square miles of surrounding territory, begin to arrive on foot, on horseback and in bullock carts. That time-worn adage about the early bird holds true even in Bulgaria, for those who dispose of their produce the quickest and who, consequently, return home with the greatest number of shekels jingling in their leathern money pouches, are the ones who obtain the most desirable stands along the curb, by appearing early upon the scene.
By the time the Muezzin pops out to chant his doleful “Allah el Allah” from the narrow balcony at the top of the mosque pinnacle, the square below is already well-filled and from all directions the tardy ones continue to pour in. The unpacking and arrangement of produce and the chatter and gossip among the peasants themselves occupy the early morning hours before the official opening of the market, for soon the wholesale merchants and townspeople will be dodging in and out, bent on obtaining the lowest quotations, and then there will be no time to talk over the happenings of the intervening week since the last market.
Over there on the curb a swarthy, fur-coated individual has just halted his puny pack-animals, whose dust-covered flanks tell that they have tottered many miles under the bulging loads of wood. It is no wonder that their master perspires as he tugs at the ropes to relieve the little beasts, for, if you examine his clothing, you will wonder how he came to get mixed in the seasons. Although the glare of the sun is nothing if not calorific, this fellow’s legs are bundled closely in thick, woollen stockings tied with thongs, while on his back and reaching clear to his knees he wears a heavy sheepskin coat turned wrong side out. But the particular style in which he wears this coat proves beyond an atom of doubt that he knows as well as you the time of year, for in winter he turns the wool on the outside.
BULGARIANS IN GALA ATTIRE.
Now look, if you please, at this group of Bulgarian belles from the mountains—symphonies in lavender. The ribbons in their hair are lavender, the embroidery on their jackets is lavender, their long underskirts and aprons are lavender, the linings of their sunshades are lavender. How conscious they are of the tawdry effect of their fine raiment, as they strut about through the dust in the middle of the street! At their heels stalk, jealously, three Bulgarian beaux, also gorgeously attired for the occasion in their Sunday-go-to-meetings.