There is a new-born Socialist Movement in Constantinople—at least, it calls itself Socialist. It came into being as the result of a successful tram strike. As a matter of fact it is really a Trade Union Movement. It has little knowledge of the economics of Marx. Its leader would be described as a Radical in England. I have the same view about the Socialist Movement that Prince S—— has about the Nationalist Movement—that a period of education would be a valuable and is, indeed, a necessary precedent to the agitation for Socialist government, even municipal government.
When we boarded the train in Constantinople it was intensely hot. Within an hour of leaving it blew so cold that the women of our party were constrained to put on their furs. For two days the intense cold lasted. Not until we had passed over the bleak moor and forest lands of Bulgaria, reminiscent of certain parts of Scotland, did we begin to feel anew the warmth of autumn days. Milder Serbia warmed our blood, and we ventured to make an excursion into Belgrade, where the express rested for four hours. Tired of train food, we betook ourselves in a party to the Hôtel Moscou and enjoyed a first-rate supper amongst the joyous Serbs.
I hope to see Belgrade by day in order to revise my opinion of the city. As it is, I have the poorest opinion of it. Its streets are paved with cobble-stones and are full of shell-holes which would hold the proverbial horse and cart! In the pitch black of the night—for the streets were either badly lighted or not lit at all—we were constantly tumbling into the smaller of these unspeakable holes or twisting our ankles on the round cobble-stones. One required the feet of a mountain goat to maintain oneself erect in such abominable thoroughfares.
But a pleasing experience superseded the unpleasant memory of Belgrade streets. I had been given a letter to post to Budapest by a lady in Constantinople, who feared it might be opened if posted in that city. I had given a solemn promise that this should be done. To venture into those Belgrade streets alone was impossible. I had to wait until my fellow-delegates had done feasting. Time passed, and still they ate and ate. Soon it would be impossible. The train was due to leave in a little while. I waited. The eating went on. I rose to go alone. M. Marquet’s kind French heart was touched. He went with me. We wandered over half Belgrade before we found the post office, and when we found it it was closed! We walked to the back of the premises, and there were two young men packing letters into bags. In a mixture of French, English, and German we contrived to make them understand we wanted a stamp. One of them, smiling broadly, took out his pocket-book and produced the necessary article, sticking it on to the letter himself, which he then pushed into his bag. We laid down a substantial coin. But with a graceful bow and a fine smile he declined payment. We shook hands cordially and parted, the travellers with a happier estimate of Belgrade than its stones had supplied!
If one can in any real measure judge a country’s state from the railway train, Serbia and the highlands of Jugo-Slavia are enjoying considerable prosperity. At the time we passed through the country the same abundance of produce was everywhere visible as in Belgium. In addition, the little pigs for which Serbia is renowned were numberless. They ran all over the lines at the railway stations and clustered in herds round every cottage door. The neat, bright comfort of the mountain farms of the Tyrol made a very profound impression, and were a real joy to those of us who were on the look out for as much happiness and prosperity as we could discover in a world torn with sorrow.
A rush round the city of Trieste, a long wait in the railway station in Venice on account of a serious railway accident just ahead, a peep at Milan, a glimpse at Lausanne, and we were on the last stage of our long journey to Paris. The journey had been fairly comfortable with the exception of the last day. There was no water for washing in our carriage. I mean by “our carriage” the one in which the English delegates were. We gave mighty tips, but the attendant would not be comforted and refused to get us more water! He protested savagely at the amount of water the English people used. He complained of the number of times we thought it necessary to wash ourselves. We were thoroughly in disfavour. We bore the discomfort and the feeling of not looking our best till we got to Paris. There came relief, cleanliness and good coffee. Twelve more hours and we should see the home faces once more and recount our adventures to interested friends.
Every one of us vowed we would not go abroad again for a very long while. Every one of us has broken that pledge. It must be so. The human spirit, once having escaped from the circumscribing atmosphere of native city or even country, will never more be content to be environed perpetually by so much less than it has known. It must go out again and again to the scenes and the people it has known in other lands, or break its wings against the bars of its cage, imprisoned in the infinitely small and narrow. Let all who can travel, for the broadening of their minds, the widening of their outlook, the strengthening of their sympathies. And let those who cannot travel read, so that they may know what the men and women of other lands are thinking and feeling, and may co-operate with them in the shaping of brighter and better things for mankind.