CHAPTER I SOFIA OF TO-DAY

At the Bulgarian frontier—A chat with M. Etienne, French ex-Minister of War—Evening in Sofia—A city of rapid progress—Engaging peasants for Earl’s Court Exhibition—Amusing episodes—Social life in Sofia—The diplomats’ club—The Bulgarian Government grant me special facilities for investigation.

The Orient Express—that train of dusty wagons-lits which three days a week gives communication between Ostend and the East—had just passed the Bulgarian frontier at Tzaribrod, and my passport had been examined and stamped by a keen-eyed little man in black.

I was sitting in the dining-car with a very distinguished French statesman, M. Etienne, ex-Minister of War, and we had been chatting for several hours as the train wound through the defiles of the Servian mountains.

A diplomat’s wife, with four pet spaniels, on her way, I believe, from Japan to the Turkish capital, was seated at the next table to ours. She had ordered coffee, for which she paid with a thousand-franc French note! The takings of the “pudding-car” of the “Orient” must be considerable, for the maître d’hôtel promptly cashed the note—nine “one-hundreds,” some French gold, silver, and copper—and received a few centimes as a tip! It was my first quaint experience in Bulgaria. Mark Twain with his million-pound-note should come here. Curiously enough, I afterwards met the diplomat’s wife in Constantinople.

Entering Sofia from the station, the traveller is at first sadly disappointed. The place looks dismal and half finished. There are wide roads and boulevards laid out, with scarcely a house in them. Your cab suddenly turns a corner. The high pointed minaret of a mosque comes into view, and lo! you are in a wide boulevard, which would really do credit to Brussels. You pass a many-domed building, the Cathedral, and presently a pretty garden behind railings, and a long handsome building with sentries at the entrance-gate—the Palace of Prince Ferdinand. You are in modern Sofia.

After a wash at the hotel, I went to the Palace, signed my name in His Royal Highness’s visiting-book, and then went forth to wander in the streets.

It was now already dark. In the trees of the central boulevard thousands of rooks were cawing and circling above, disturbed by the lights and movement of the street. Men were shouting the evening newspapers in strident voices, and one could almost imagine oneself back on the Boulevard des Italiens at the absinthe hour, with the camelots crying “V’la la Presse!” Only, in Paris, rooks do not nest in the streets, nor do the watchmakers have twenty-four inches of space and a chair in the windows of the smaller cafés. A walk along any of the principal streets at once shows the Bulgar to be a fighter, for the display of arms of all kinds, even to the modern Browning automatic pistol, is immense.

Here, one is really in the Balkans. The last official census gives sixty-six Englishmen and forty-six Englishwomen in the whole of Bulgaria. I met six only. Uniforms, upon Russian models, are everywhere—the peaked cap, the grey overcoat, the big revolver. Men in European dress jostle with peasants in linen blouses, round astrachan caps, and drab blankets around them, or others in sheepskin jackets with the wool inside, all with the inevitable round Balkan cap of astrachan. The Turk, too, is quite at home and friendly with the Christian, and modern progress is typified by the electric trams whizzing and clanging everywhere.

Peasants in Sofia Market Place.

The Old Mosque: Sofia.

Sofia is essentially a town of progress. During the past eighteen months whole streets of new villas have sprung up upon its outskirts, and such a rush has there lately been for building plots that our Foreign Office—who want to build a new Legation—are unable to get any decent site in a central position. Sofia is just now in the transition stage. Great new public buildings and fine boulevards are springing up everywhere. There is a beautiful new theatre, a new post office, a new Agricultural Bank, and hosts of minor structures, all spacious and well built, which, in themselves, show Bulgaria to be a country of rapid advancement.

Unlike some other Balkan countries, there seems no lack of money here. Just now, for example, it is proposed to expend a little matter of fourteen million francs upon roads in the Principality, and the cost of the new market-halls and other buildings will probably be prodigious.

But the Bulgar is essentially a thrifty person. During the past twenty years he has transformed his capital from a wretched little Turkish town into a really handsome city. In twenty years to come, at the present rate of progress, it will be the Brussels of the East, for it is modelled upon the same plan.

Sofia is a city of quaint contrasts. Fine modern shops, where one can obtain the latest Parisian perfumes, the latest French modes, or expensive table delicacies, are hopelessly mixed up with the Turkish stalls where sallow-faced men are squatting at work, or sitting pensively at the seat of custom. The Sofia tradesman likes to expose his wares, whatever they may be, in the street, for in that he still retains the trace of the trade manners of the Turk. The pavements of the main streets are heaped with wares—fish in barrels, meat, groceries, live fowls, live pigs tied to lamp-posts, and among it all jostle the passers-by.

The broad Maria Luisa Ulitza, the Dondukoff Boulevard, or the Pirotska Ulitza are, on a Friday, the market-day, crowded with peasants in the most picturesque costume of all the Balkans. Until a year or two ago the skirts and head-dresses were of white linen embroidered, but in these modern times the women dye all their white clothes a pale blue. Therefore they all seem to wear the same delicate shade. The married women have their heads covered with a pale blue handkerchief, and wear a heavy silver girdle; but the village maidens all have their hair parted in the middle and hanging in a hundred small plaits with sequins down their backs, while over the left ear they wear a bunch of fresh flowers, which gives them a most coquettish appearance. The skirt is short, always hand-embroidered, and sometimes studded with gold sequins, while over all is worn a short jacket of sheepskin with the wool inside, rendering them somewhat podgy.

The men from the country, a fine tall race, wear embroidered costumes, the jackets of dark stuff flowered in pale blue and ornamented with hundreds of pearl buttons, tight white trousers embroidered at the knees, and the inevitable round cap, without which no Bulgar is complete.

I spent one amusing morning with Mr. James Bourchier, the well-known Balkan correspondent of the Times, who is six months each year resident in Sofia. He was on the local committee of the Balkan Exhibition at Earl’s Court while I was on the London committee, and our mission was to discover in the market some good-looking peasant girls to go to the wilds of West Kensington. He had already been to several villages, but the girls, he said, were rather chary of going so far from home, even though assured by their local Mayor of their well-being and safe return.

On the particular day of our visit to the market my journalistic friend had arranged to meet the Mayor of one of the neighbouring villages—a peasant—and with his aid try induce some of the best-looking girls to grace the Bulgarian Section of the Exhibition. The village Mayor being prevented from joining us, we determined to start upon a voyage of discovery ourselves.

It was a rather formidable undertaking. We, however, spent an amusing morning; but though we talked with many comely girls with flowers in their hair, we somehow were unable to impress any of them with the advantages of a free trip to London. Unfortunately, they did not take us at all seriously; there was a good deal of tittering at our proposals, and the market with its vegetables, its sucking-pigs on strings, and its turkeys tied head downwards on cross-sticks, was drawn blank. We could only hope that next Friday, with the presence of the confidence-inspiring Mayor, we might be more successful.

His Excellency Dr. Dimitri Stancioff,
Bulgarian Minister of Foreign Affairs.

As a matter of fact, a few days later, accompanied by my friend, M. Dimitri Stancioff, of the Commercial Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and M. Mandersheff, another functionary from the same Ministry, we took carriages out to the picturesque village of Vladaja, some seventeen kilometres from Sofia on the broad highroad that leads to Kustendil and Macedonia. The drive was a delightful one in the bright winter sunshine, through a fertile undulating country, until, turning off from the well-kept military road, we found ourselves in a small village lying in a deep dark ravine.

Here the costumes were very quaint and interesting, the men in long blouses of white blanket-like woollen stuff trimmed with black, raw-hide shoes, and their legs bound with leather thongs; while the women and girls wore gay colours, short lace-edged petticoats, and quantities of gold sequins and coins about their necks. Some of those strings of coins were worth at least from fifteen to twenty pounds.

Our journey of investigation was distinctly humorous. Sometimes the four of us could not agree as to the personal beauty of a fair candidate for the approbation of the British public, while those we spoke to were mostly shy to answer our questions. Many of the village girls flatly refused to leave their homes unless their lovers were also employed in the Exhibition, but after much explanation, a good deal of chaff, and considerable giggling, the names of several were taken in order that inquiries should be made of the village Mayor before the presentation and signature of their agreement, which provided for their fare to London, the payment of their wages, their insurance for the benefit of their family in case of accident, and their safe return to Bulgaria at the termination of the Exhibition.

We engaged one flute-player—a tall, dark-faced young giant in sheepskins—after he had displayed his aptness with his instrument. The local han, wherein we rested, drank rakhi, and ate cream-cheese, was a big common room with earthen floor. In the centre was a large stove, upon which was cooking some steaming dish with appetising odour. Around us sat dozens of huge burly fellows, bulky in their sheepskins, gossiping and drinking wine, a fierce-looking assembly, to be sure, and yet withal extremely good-humoured.

After a while, the village musician was discovered, a short little fellow who played a quaint kind of two-stringed violin, and almost as soon as he sounded the weird, plaintive music, young girls with flowers entwined in their long plaited tresses, and others, slightly older, with the white handkerchiefs on their heads—the badge of matrimony—came trooping forth to perform for us the national dance—the horo.

Forming in a line, the youths and maidens crossed arms, linked their hands in each other’s belts, and then began a curious kind of dance, keeping step with the music and ever advancing and retreating, keeping it up for a full half-hour. Now and then the tune was changed, and with the tune the dance.

In the clear Eastern afterglow of evening, with the thin crescent moon slowly rising, it was a quaint and curious scene. The weird music, the strange costumes, the cries of the dancers, and the merry laughter of the girls, will long live within my memory as a picture worthy the brush of a great painter.

And as we drove back to Sofia through the silent, starlit night, I wondered what impression those simple-minded folk, so far removed from Western civilisation, would receive of our fairy-lamps, pasteboard, tinsel, imitation mountains, brass bands, and water-chute at Earl’s Court!

What would be the stories of their adventures in West Kensington and the wonders of London when they returned to remote Vladaja?

I had, like every other Englishman, always regarded Bulgaria as a terra incognita, where local manufactures were absent and where most goods were imported. Therefore a surprise awaited me one day when Monsieur M. V. Lascoff, Director of the Bulgarian Commercial and Industrial Museum at Sofia, took me round that institution, and showed me specimens of the various goods produced in the country. In the museum was a most wonderful collection of articles representing the manufactures of Bulgaria, ranging from violins to soap, and from table-covers manufactured from beautifully embroidered jacket sleeves to writing-ink and tinned fruits.

One of the prominent industries is the distillation of otto-of-roses in the Shipka district, where in summer the whole country is covered with blossom, an industry to which I will devote a chapter. Carpets, very similar to the dark crimson-and-blue Persian varieties, and goat-hair floor-coverings are made largely by the peasantry, who also weave by hand wonderfully fine gauzes, tissues, and dress-stuffs. Felt hats, blankets, pottery, and copies of antique filigree jewellery are also of peasant manufacture, and are really wonderfully done. The stranger has no idea, until shown this museum, of the rapid progress the country is making commercially.

While passing round the museum I chanced to admire two pairs of very fine antique silver earrings of rare design worn by the Bulgarian peasants two centuries ago, whereupon the case was at once opened, and they were presented to me as a little souvenir of my visit.

Sofia, being a brand-new city, is not, of course, quite perfect. It requires, among other things, a good system of drainage and the repavement of its streets. The latter work is to be commenced in a few months’ time. A good first-class hotel, too, is also badly required. At present the hotels, though clean, are poor and comfortless, and neither they nor the restaurants do credit to the go-ahead character of the progressive Bulgarians. All this, however, will soon be remedied, for I heard of schemes for new hotels with fine restaurants and winter-gardens. So in six months’ time the traveller may expect to be in the full enjoyment of them, for in Sofia they do not talk, but act.

If you are anywhere in the Balkans and mention Sofia, you will be told, with a sigh of regret, “Ah! they have a club there. We haven’t.” I had heard this in Belgrade, in Sarayevo, in Ragusa, in Cettinje—in fact, everywhere throughout the Balkans; therefore, with some curiosity I entered the sacred portals of the much-talked-of club with my friend Colonel Hubert du Cane, the British military attaché, and was elected a member during my stay in the Bulgarian capital.

It certainly is a most excellent and comfortable club—one of the best I know of on the whole of the Continent. The rooms are cosy and artistic, and the members are most diplomats, Cabinet Ministers, and high functionaries of the State. At lunch, representatives of most of the European Powers assemble at the long table and chat merrily, while at dinner, at the small table at the end, M. Petkoff, [1] the Premier; Dr. Dimitri Stancioff, the Foreign Minister; and several other members of the Cabinet, dine nightly at “the Ministers’ table.”

1. M. Petkoff has, since the present work has been in the press, been assassinated while walking in the Boris Garden in Sofia.

The food is excellent, though there are, of course, some grumblers, and the whole institution is conducted on similar lines to a first-class London club. Perhaps the custom of personally introducing the stranger to every single member of the club strikes the foreigner as a little unnecessary, yet without doubt there is real good-fellowship existing, such as is entirely absent in some other clubs I know—the English Club in Brussels and the Florence Club in Florence, in particular.

Men, and especially the diplomats, find it a very great boon, for to go to Sofia is to find a real good club and quite a host of good cosmopolitan friends ever ready to show the stranger all kinds of hospitality.

Social life is far from dull. Sport and games of every kind are most popular. There is an excellent tennis club, hockey is played three or four times a week, and large riding parties, personally conducted by Baron Rubin de Cervin, the Italian military attaché, go out for long jaunts into the neighbouring mountains several times each week. Then at night there are constant dinners and receptions at the Legations, and everyone seems to lead a very pleasant life, without a moment’s dulness.

His Excellency D. Petkoff,
Prime Minister of Bulgaria.

Lady Buchanan, wife of Sir George Buchanan, the British Minister, is the principal hostess, and with her daughter is foremost in Sofia society. Until ill-health prevented her recently, she was an ardent player of hockey and tennis, and constantly in the saddle. Her entertainments are always brilliant, and in her pretty salon one meets everyone who is anyone in Sofia.

Again, the Military Club is another centre of social life. The building is a handsome one, with an extremely fine ballroom, where dances, given every week through the season, are attended by the elite of Sofia. I went to one, and found it a particularly gay and brilliant function.

Government institutions in Sofia amazed me. They would do credit to any European capital. The Agricultural Bank, the inner working of which I was permitted by Monsieur N. Ghenadieff, Minister of Commerce, to inspect, is a fine new building of huge dimensions, with a beautifully ornamented board-room, and its operations no doubt tend much towards securing the public prosperity of Bulgaria. M. Seraphimoff, the Governor, who conducted me round, told me that the bank had its origin in the time of the Turkish rule. As far back as 1863, the Governor of the vilayet of the Danube created small banks in order to aid the peasants, the villagers repaying their loans in crops and the banks selling the produce.

During the Russo-Turkish War, however, many of these banks lost their capital, for the Turkish functionaries escaped with all the funds they could place their hands upon. The Provisional Russian Government re-established the banks, and they have continued to progress until the present institution was founded. It now has eighty-five branch offices in the principal towns and agents in most of the villages. Its direction is under a governor and four directors nominated by Prince Ferdinand. The operations of the institution are as follows: to accept deposits; to grant loans on mortgages or securities; to grant loans upon cattle and agricultural produce; to advance money to the peasants for the purchase of cattle, seeds, or agricultural implements; to make personal loans; to open current accounts with peasants; to buy agricultural implements, seeds, and machinery for the peasants; to accept loans for departments or communes; and for the transfer of securities. The interest charged or given is 5 per cent. for deposits for five years, 4 per cent. for three years, and 3 per cent. for one year. In 1901 the amount of the bank’s operations was 535,575,182 francs, while in 1905 it amounted to 1,180,778,378 francs, thus showing how greatly it is appreciated by the peasant, and of what enormous benefit it is to the country.

While there, I saw many uncouth peasants in their sheepskins from far-distant villages come and obtain loans, repay their interest, or make petition for their inability to pay. It is very apparent that all of them greatly appreciate the fact that the Government is their creditor and not the Jews.

Another institution which I inspected was the State printing press, a fine building containing the latest machinery; and afterwards I was shown the building of the magnificent new church of St. Alexander Newsky, which, being constructed in blocks of white stone just behind the old church of St. Sophia, is costing over three million francs, and is to be in memory of the Russian liberator of Bulgaria.

Truly, everywhere one turns in Sofia one sees some new buildings, for signs of rapid progress and up-to-dateness are on every hand.

Bulgaria, with Servia, is surely destined to expand in the near future, and the “big Bulgaria” must some day ere long be an accomplished fact.

The Royal Palace: Sofia.

The Main Boulevard: Sofia.