But some parts of Bulgaria are far from being the Utopia some newspaper correspondents have represented it, with vines hanging over every cottage-door, and milk and honey flowing in the land. Nothing but long residence and personal experience can enable one to arrive at a true estimate of such matters.
Though in some parts I found the scenery delightful, the prosperity of the inhabitants astonishing, and Moslems and Christians rivalling each other in hospitable kindness to the traveller, some spots were anything but romantic or prosperous, and far from happy-looking. Some villages, in particular, I noticed in the midst of a dreary plain, such as the traveller may see on the road from Rodosto to Adrianople, where the soil looks dry and barren, and the pastures grow yellow and parched before their time, and where flying bands of Circassian thieves and cut-throats hover about like birds of prey. I was once travelling through the country, riding the whole of one day on such bad roads that the mud often reached up to my horse’s knees, and the carriage containing my maid and the provisions often came to a dead stop, while the rain poured incessantly. The journey appeared interminable, and as darkness crept on and several miles of road still separated us from our projected halting-place, I made up my mind to stop at an isolated village for the night. So traversing fresh pools of mud we entered the hamlet, and were met by the Kodja-Bashi, a poorly-clad, miserable-looking individual, who led our party into his farm-yard. On alighting from my horse I was ushered into a dark, bare, dismal hovel, without windows, and lighted only by a hole in the roof, through which escaped some of the smoke from a few dung-cakes smouldering in a corner. One or two water-jars stood near the door, and an earthen pot, serving for all culinary purposes, was placed by the fire, in front of which was spread a tattered mat occupied by a few three-legged stools. A bundle of uninviting rags and cushions, the family bedding, was stowed in a corner, and in another were seen a few pots and pans, the whole “table service” of the occupants.
This hovel was attached to a similar one opening into it, where I heard some bustle going on. I was told that a member of the family who occupied it and was seriously ill was being removed to a neighbor’s house. Much annoyed at having caused so much trouble and disturbance to the unfortunate sufferer, I asked my host why he had not placed me in another cottage. “Well, gospoyer,” answered he, with an apologetic gesture, “poor and wretched as my home is, it is the best the village possesses. The rest are not fit to kennel your dogs in. As for my daughter, I could not but remove her, as her cries during the night would prevent your sleeping.” I inquired her complaint, and was told that she was in high fever, and suffered from sharp pains all over her body. There was no doctor to attend her, nor had she any medicine but the decoctions prepared for her by the old bulkas.
I visited the poor creature and gave what help I could; but, being by no means reassured as to the nature of her malady, and unwilling to sleep in the vicinity of an infected room, I ordered the carriage to be placed under a shed and proposed to pass the night in it. The host, however, on hearing this, told me that it was quite impracticable, as the village dogs were so famished that they would be sure to attack the carriage for the sake of the leather on it. “I have taken the precaution,” he added, “of removing every part that is liable to be destroyed, but there is no telling what these animals will do.” I then ordered the hamper to be brought in and supper to be prepared; but on sitting down on the floor to partake of it we discovered that our provision of bread was exhausted, and learnt that not a morsel was procurable in the village. Our host explained this by saying, “You see, gospoyer, our village is so poor and miserable that we have no drinkable water, and our bulkas have to fetch it from a distance of three miles. We have no fuel either, for the village has no forest, and we content ourselves with what you see on the hearth. As for bread, it is a luxury we seldom enjoy; millet flour mixed with water into a paste and baked on the ashes is our substitute for it; it does for us, but would not please you.”
In the mean time the women and children had gathered round me in the little room, all looking so poor, fever-stricken, and miserable, and casting such looks of eager surprise at the exhibition of eatables before me, that I felt positively sick at heart; all my appetite left me, and distributing my supper among the hungry crowd, I contented myself with a cup of tea, and endeavored to forget in sleep the picture of misery I had witnessed. I was thankful to get away in the morning, and am happy to say that neither before nor since have I witnessed such poverty and misery as I saw in that village.
The marked slowness of perception in the character of the Bulgarian peasants, and their willingness to allow others to think and act for them in great matters, is not so apparent when the immediate interests of the village or community are concerned. Before referring these to the higher authorities, they meet and quietly discuss their affairs, and often settle the differences among themselves. The respect the Bulgarian entertains for the clergy and for the enlightened portion of his fellow-countrymen is so great that he allows himself to be entirely guided by them, evincing in small things as well as great the feeling of harmony and union that binds the whole people together. But the reverse of this disposition is manifested by the Bulgarians, more especially the peasants, towards any foreign element, and particularly towards the Turkish authorities. Obedient and submissive as they have generally shown themselves under the Ottoman rule, they have inwardly always disliked and distrusted it, saying that the government with regard to their country, its richest field of harvest, has only one object in view—that of getting as much out of it as possible.
This prevalent idea, not altogether ill-founded, gave to the Bulgarian character that rapacity and love of gain which, being developed by late events, in the midst of general ruin and loss of property, tempted him to try to get what he could of what had been left, without much scruple as to the means. When unmerited calamities befall a people, and oppression long weighs heavily upon them, the sense of justice and humanity is gradually lost and replaced by a spirit of vindictiveness which incites to ignoble and cruel actions. This ought not to surprise the world in the case of the Bulgarians, when their national life during the last two years is taken into consideration; for what is it but a series of unspeakable outrages by their enemies, and destruction by those who professed themselves their friends?
The Bulgarians, however, as I have known them in more peaceful times, never appeared to possess as national characteristics the vices that hasty and partial judges arguing from special instances have attributed to them. On the contrary, they seemed a peace-loving, hard-working people, possessing many domestic virtues which, if properly developed under a good government, might make the strength of an honest and promising state.
CHAPTER II.
THE GREEKS OF TURKEY.
Importance of the Greeks at the Present Moment—Their Attitude—The Greek Peasant as Contrasted with the Bulgarian—His Family—Eloquence—Patriotism—Comforts—The Women—A Greek Girl—Women of the Towns of the Upper Class—Of the Lower Class—Wives and Husbands—Greek Parties—The Conservatives and the Progressives—A Conversation on Greek Go-a-head-ness—Physical Features of the Modern Greek—Character—General Prejudice—A Prussian Estimate—Greek Vices—An Adventure with Greek Brigands—Adelphé—Unscrupulousness in Business—Causes and Precedents—Jews and Greeks—Summary.