The spirits that have their abodes in mineral baths are specially courted by the sick, who are taken to the establishments and left under the beneficent care of these beings. The mineral bath of Kainadjah, near Broussa, is a dark dungeon-like place, extremely old, and much famed in the district for its healing powers. Its waters, strongly impregnated with sulphur, are boiling hot, rendering the atmosphere of the bath intolerable to any but the credulous, who, I suppose, support it, by virtue of the faith they place in the good to be derived from the trial. A crippled Turkish woman was taken to this bath at nightfall, with a written petition in her hand to the genii, and, according to the usual routine, was left alone in utter darkness in the inner bath till morning. The spirits of the place, if well disposed towards her and pleased with the sacrifice promised to them, would be expected to come in the course of the night and attend upon her. A copper bowl, left by the side of the patient, and knocked against the marble slabs in case assistance was required, was the only means of communication between the patient and her friends waiting outside.
This woman, for many years deprived of the use of her legs, had been brought from a distant part of the country. I had a chat with her before she underwent the treatment. She appeared fully sensible of the dangers it presented, but at the same time confident in the benefits expected to be derived, which the bath-women represented to her as being unfailing, owing to the supernatural aid the spirits would be sure to accord her. This cure, of a nature so exhausting to the system, and so telling upon the imagination, requires a great amount of moral courage and no small degree of physical strength to carry out.
This subject was one of deep interest to me, and my first care next morning was to visit the patient, and see what the waters, not the Peris, had done for her. I found her sitting in the outer chamber of the bath, looking very tired and exhausted; but, as I approached, her face lighted with smiles, and she actually stretched out her feet and attempted to stand upon them. I could scarcely believe my eyesight or conceal my surprise at this sudden change in her condition. Her friends cried out in chorus, “Spit upon her, and say Mashallah!” while the bath-women ceased not to sound the praises and boast of the power and good-will of the Peris of their establishment who had wrought this wonderful cure, leaving all the time no doubt in my mind that the beneficent spirits were no other than the Hammamjis themselves.
The following is the account the patient gave of what she underwent when left alone in her vapory dungeon:
“At first I felt a suffocating sensation, then by degrees a weakness crept over me, my eyes closed, and I fainted away. I do not know how long I remained in that condition, but on recovering consciousness I felt myself handled by invisible beings, who silently pulled and rubbed my afflicted limbs. My terror at this stage was as great as my helplessness to combat it. I began to tremble and wished to call for help; when on the point of doing so, I suddenly found myself under the reviving influence of a pail of cold water suddenly thrown over me. The shock, together with my terror, was so great that I actually made a supreme effort to stand upon my feet, when, to my awe and astonishment, I discovered that I had the power of doing so; I even took a few steps forwards, but in the darkness I could proceed no further, and, finding my voice, began to call for help with all my might. The gentle bang of the door for a moment made me hope that my friends were within reach; but no! it was only the spirits, who, unwilling to be seen by mortal eyes, were taking their departure. Their exit was followed by the arrival of my friends, who, alarmed by my screams, were rushing to my aid. I was taken out by the advice of the good Hammamji Hanoum (bath mistress), and left to repose in the outer chamber till morning. I have already ordered the sacrifice of the sheep I promised to the spirits, should they relieve me of the infliction that has crippled me so many years, and am willing to submit to the same ordeal twice more, according to the recommendation of the Hammamji Hanoum, in order to afford the Peris the full time needed for the accomplishment of their task.”
Cases of a similar nature have often been the theme of wonder among those who frequented the baths of Broussa, whose efficacious waters used annually, and employed by civilized patients who resort to them from all parts of the Empire, are found salutary enough without the services of the Peris.
Magic plays a great part in Turkish affairs. Christians and Moslems, Greeks and Bulgarians, Turks and Albanians, implicitly believe in the power possessed by evil-minded persons of casting spells upon their enemies or rivals, and extraordinary means are resorted to with a view to removing the baneful influence. Among my Uskup reminiscences, which are none of the most pleasant, I remember one particularly interesting case, which not only illustrates the general belief of an ignorant population in the power of spells, but also presents a fair picture of the way the peasants are treated by their masters. This instance of the rape of a Bulgarian girl by a brigand chief is no isolated case. Such things are the daily occupation of Turks in authority and of Albanian chiefs who have forgotten their national traditions and have condescended to ape Turkish manners.
The heroine of my story was a young Bulgarian girl belonging to the town of Uskup. She was a strong healthy maiden, but not the less beautiful:—a brunette, with bright black eyes full of expression, a small, well-shaped mouth, fine teeth, a forehead rather low, but broad and determined, and a nose in which high spirit and character were strongly marked. Her oval face would have been perfect but for the slight prominence of the cheek-bones. Her jet-black hair fell in a number of braids on her well-shaped shoulders, in fine contrast to the rich embroidery of her Sutna. On working days she was seen laboring in the fields with her brothers, where her cheerful voice would enliven the monotonous sound of the spade; while on feast-days she was ever the first to reach the common and lead the Hora to the sound of the Gaida. Her natural gayety made her welcome everywhere; she was called “The Lark” by her friends, and was the life and soul of every gathering. She had the happy assured look of the girl who loves well and is loved well again.
One feast-day, riding by the common, I reined in my horse, and stopped to admire this pretty creature by the side of her handsome and intelligent-looking lover, gracefully leading the dance. They both looked pleased and happy, as though their earthly Paradise had as yet known no shadow. But the sun that set so brightly on the festivities of the day was darkened on the morrow. The poor girl was going at dawn to the harvest field, with her bright sickle in her hand, when she was waylaid by a band of Albanian ruffians, who suddenly appeared from behind a hedge where they had been concealed, and tried to seize and carry her off. The danger was sudden, but the stout-hearted girl lost neither courage nor presence of mind; holding her sickle, she stood her ground, bravely defended herself and kept her ravishers at bay. The Albanians, who make it a point of honor not to strike a woman, changed their plan, and pointing their guns at her brothers, who stood helpless by her side, shouted, “Yield, Bulka, or both your brothers are dead!” A look of despair flashed for a moment across her face; then folding her arms she declared her readiness to follow her persecutors, saying, “You have power over my person, take it, and do your worst; but what is within here” (pointing to her head and heart) “none shall have save the Great Bogha and my Tashko.”
Mehemet Bey, a brigand chief, was the instigator of the abduction. Assisted by two subordinates, he placed her behind him on his horse and galloped off across the plain of the Vardar to his village. The brothers, dismayed by the misfortune that had so unexpectedly befallen their sister, ran back to the town and gave notice to the venerable bishop, who at once proceeded to the Konak and acquainted the Kaimakam with the details, and demanded that the girl should be reclaimed and given up to him. The salutary custom then practised in cases of both willing and compulsory conversion was that the neophytes should be placed under the keeping of the bishop in the Metropolis, where they were allowed to remain three days, enjoying the benefits of religious advice and the good influence of their friends. This excellent custom, since done away, had the best results. The prevailing custom, which has superseded this, is to send the neophyte to the house of the Kadi or governor of the town, where a very different influence, seldom of a salutary nature, is exerted during three days, when the presumed convert, often yielding to erroneous arguments and false promises, is led before the Court to declare his or her adoption of the Moslem faith. This pressure was brought to bear upon Rayna, our heroine, and she was treated by the Albanian chief and his friends by turns to threats of vengeance and every kind of flattery and glittering promise. But the brave girl was deaf to both, and by the instrumentality of the Kaimakam the captive was finally brought to the Metropolis, where she strongly protested against the calumnious accusations brought against her by her enemies of having tacitly consented to her abduction, and demanded to be led before the Court without delay to make her final declaration.