The service concluded, the party return to the house to partake of bonbons, liqueurs, etc., and to be decorated with small crosses attached to favors given as mementoes of the event.
The members of the orthodox church are perhaps the only people who do not content themselves with making solemn promises for the child, but conscientiously fulfil them to the best of their ability. The Nono and Nona, in consequence of the responsibilities they assume, become so closely connected with their godchildren that marriage between these and their own children is not permitted.
While the Bulgarian lady in town is setting aside many of the usages and superstitions attached to the rearing of children, a word or two about her hardy sister in the rural districts may not be out of place here. While staying at Bulgarian villages it was very pleasant to me to watch the simplicity, activity, and wonderful physical strength of the peasantry.
The Bulgarian women are rather small but thickly set, their chests well developed, their limbs powerful through constant exercise, and their whole frames admirably adapted for bearing children. They do not, as a rule, bear many, as they seldom marry young, and their life of constant toil and hardship makes them sterile before the natural time.
The delicate touch of refinement has not yet reached these strong natures, whose systems, kept free from special care and anxiety, remain proof against shocks that would kill many an apparently strong woman whose physical training had not been the same. Providence is the sole guardian that watches over these peasants, and nature the only fountain from which they derive their support. I remember the ease of a Bulgarian bulka, the wife of a tenant attached to the farm at which I was staying. She was a fine young woman, bright-looking, clean, and well dressed; her bare feet were small and well shaped, her mien erect and free, although she appeared far advanced in pregnancy. Daily I used to watch her walk out of the yard, with her two large copper pails slung on a rod gracefully poised on her shoulder, and go to the fountain to fetch water. One evening I saw her return later than usual; her step seemed lighter although her pails were full, and her pretty apron, the ends of which were tucked into her sash, contained something I could not well discern at a distance, but which, as she approached, I was surprised to see was a new-born baby, with its tiny feet peeping out on one side. Passing the door of a neighbor, she smilingly beckoned to her, pointing to the infant in her apron, and asked for her assistance. I followed shortly after, curious to see how fared this prodigy of nature. I found her quietly reposing on the bed that had been hastily prepared for her on the floor, while her companion was washing the infant. The latter, after its bath, was thoroughly salted, wrapped in its clothes, and laid by the side of the mother; but the miseries of the little being did not end there; a pan was produced, some oil poured into it and set to boil; in this three eggs were broken and cooked into an omelette. This was placed on a cloth with a quantity of black pepper sifted over it, and applied to the head of the unfortunate infant, who began at once to scream in great distress. I naturally inquired the benefit to be derived in salting and poulticing the new-born child, and was told that if not salted, its feet or some other part of its body would exhale offensive odors, and that the application of the poultice was to solidify the skull and render it proof against sunstroke. The next morning the mother was up going through the usual routine of her household work. She assured me that in a few days she would resume her field labor, carrying her suckling with her, which, she added, “now fanned by the evening breeze, now scorched by the burning rays of the sun, would all the same brave the adverse elements: Ako ema strabi jive (if it has life to live).”
Struck by the fatalistic meaning of her words, I asked how could a weak or delicate child stand such a trial. “Stand it!” she repeated, “who said it did? With us a delicate child does not outlive the year.” The Archangel would silently come upon it one day as it slumbered under the shade of some spreading tree and snatch away its innocent soul while the mother was toiling in the field to gain her daily bread and put by something for those left behind. “Happy they!” she went on, while hot tears ran down her cheeks. “Let the little souls depart in peace, and await in heaven the souls of their unfortunate mothers whom God and man seem to have abandoned to cruel adversity, heart-rending sorrows, distress, and despair.” I was deeply affected by this genuine outburst of grief, and did all in my power to console her.
Du sublime au ridicule il n’y a qu’un pas! Next morning, on a tour I made round the village, I stepped into a cottage that teemed with little children, and here I unexpectedly met with my second heroine, who, although a Spartan in body, was not specially vigorous as to mind. My other Bulgarian bulka was a fat, jolly little woman verging towards middle age, the mother of ten children, most of whom had come by twins in rapid succession. The two youngest, born the day before, were just now reposing in kneading-troughs, violently rocked by their elder sisters, while the mother, surrounded by this happy family, was occupied in kneading bread.
As she saw me come in she advanced and welcomed me with the usual salutation. I questioned her about her children, and how she managed to bring up and feed such a number, often having the care of two infants at a time. “Oh,” said she, “it is no trouble. I and my cow, being two, manage between us to set the little mites on their legs. Yesterday, two hours after the arrival of my two children,” pointing to the troughs, “my cow poked her head in at the door lowing for me and for her calf. What could I do? I got up and milked her as usual, and sent her to her young one, while I fed my numerous family with her milk. We peasants who till the ground have not much time to think about ourselves or to give to our children, who cannot begin too early to accustom themselves to the hardships that await them through life. When the troubles of maternity are greater than usual, the oldest shepherd of the village is called in and performs for us the services of a doctor, and when any one among us is ailing, frictions and aromatic potions will cure him.”
CHAPTER XIII.
FOOD.
A Turkish Kitchen—Turkish Meals—Dinner—Coffee—European Innovations—Turkish Cookery—The Sultan’s Kitchen—Turkish Gourmets—Economy of Food—Hospitality—Greek and Bulgarian Food—Lent Dishes—European Manners among the Greeks—Armenian Gluttony—Marriages with Cooks—Jewish Food—A Bulgarian Ménage—Experiences of a Dinner in the Opium Country—Refreshment to Visitors—Tatlou—Sherbet—Coffee—Wine and Spirits—Recipe for Making Coffee à la Turca—Milk—Cheese—Sour Cream—A Diplomatic Coup—Cook-shops.