CHAPTER I THE TRUTH ABOUT SERVIA

The diplomatic circle in Belgrade—Studying both sides of the Servian question—Austrian intrigue—113 known foreign spies in Belgrade!—An illustration of the work of secret agents—Quaint Servian customs—Pauperism unknown—Servia to-day and to-morrow.

The stranger’s first impression of Belgrade is that it is a rather dull Russian town.

Coming from Bosnia and Albania, one misses the quaint costumes and the life and movement in the streets, the fierce men with rifles, and the veiled shuffling women. The Turk, though he has a mosque here, is unseen.

At Semlin—or Zimony, as the Hungarians call it—the last town on the Austrian side of the Save, one’s passport is carefully examined and registered, not by the Servians, to allow you into the country, but by the Austrians, to allow you to pass out!

As bearer of despatches for His Britannic Majesty’s Government, I had no difficulty either with passport or luggage; otherwise, with the Customs War raging, I might have suffered considerable delay. Crossing the river, I ere long found myself in comfortable quarters in the Grand Hotel in Belgrade—comfortable indeed after the rough life and hard fare in Northern Albania.

My letters of introduction having been presented to the Servian Cabinet Ministers and members of both political parties, and having called upon Mr. Beethom Whitehead, the newly appointed British Minister, I quickly found myself in the centre of a very smart and merry diplomatic circle.

To His Excellency M. Nicholas Pachitch,—the Premier and strongest man in Servia; to Madame Pachitch; to His Excellency Dr. Milenko Vesnitch, Minister of Justice; to Madame Vesnitch, an American and one of the most charming and beautiful ladies in Belgrade; to M. Stoyanovitch, Minister of Commerce; to Commandant Yossiphovitch, aide-de-camp to His Majesty; to Colonel Tcholak-Antich, the Royal Marechal; to the Minister of Finance; to M. Drago Yankovitch of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; to Mr. Alexander Yovitchitch, late Servian Minister in London; to Colonel Christich, his wife, an Irish lady, and Miss Annie Christich; to Mr. C. L. Blakeney of the British Legation; and also to Mr. Beethom Whitehead, the British Minister, and Mrs. Whitehead, I owe a deep debt of gratitude for their kindness to me socially, and their invaluable assistance during my inquiries.

There are but few English in Belgrade—not more than two or three residents. But at the hotel I was fortunate in finding my friend Mr. A. M. Tucker, Servian Consul-General in London, who with his wife was in Belgrade in connection with a financial undertaking. Mr. Tucker is an official who has rendered many services to the Servian Government.

Moving in the official set, I was soon able to see for myself the social life in Belgrade, which I found very bright and very entertaining. In the mornings the streets are filled with well-dressed ladies and gallant officers, in perhaps the smartest uniforms in Europe. The hour of the siesta is from one till three, then at five the cafés overflow till seven. Someone is always giving a dinner or reception, and bridge is played everywhere; for in no other city in Europe has it “caught on” more than it has in Belgrade.

The British Legation is, of course, the smartest house among those of the diplomatists, and that of Madame Vesnitch among the Cabinet Ministers. French and Italian are the languages spoken in society.

Prime Minister of Servia.

The city of Belgrade is in a transition state. Already in many of the principal streets fine new buildings have been completed, and many are now in the course of construction. The roads, it must be said, are execrably paved, so uneven that driving is a torture. But the reason they have not been repaved during the present régime is because a new drainage system is about to be carried out, and when this is done they will be asphalted and converted into boulevards. The natural situation of “Beograd”—or the White Fortress—is magnificent, high up on a hill at the junction of the Save and the Danube. Behind rises the extinct volcano of Avala, where, according to one tradition, a great treasure is hidden, and to another that the mountain is rich in gold and silver deposits.

The centre of life in Belgrade is the gay café of the Grand Hotel. From five to seven in the afternoon everyone is there, card-playing, smoking, sipping slivovitza (plum gin) or drinking bock, and listening to the excellent band, while the inner hall is filled with smart ladies and their cavaliers. Save the peasantry one sees about the street, the oxen drawing primitive carts, and now and then a man wearing a fez, there is little that is Eastern in Belgrade, save the slightly dark complexion and cast of features of the Servians. For the most part the women are very handsome, but they seem, like most Eastern races, to lose their beauty at an early age.

Though I made it my duty to hear and study both sides of political questions in Belgrade, and though I spent many hours with those in fierce opposition to the present régime, I must say that I received on every hand the greatest kindness, while everybody seemed ever ready to render me a service.

The Servians are a highly intelligent and thoughtful race. The young officers in the streets are not of the ogling, giggling genus one knows so well in Germany, France, and Italy, but though smarter in appearance than either nation, they are serious, polite, and gentlemanly to a degree. The King, when speaking to me of military matters, pointed out a curious fact, namely, that so intelligent was the average Servian recruit that in six months he usually learnt what in France took him eighteen months.

In feminine circles it struck me that there was a great extravagance in dress. I saw the very latest Paris hats and smart, well-cut gowns, which bore evidence of the expensive couturière worn by the wives of struggling officials, and I learnt that about ten pounds was no uncommon price for a hat. All classes seem to vie with each other to dress well, and in the brilliant salons at night one sees some of the smartest gowns in Europe.

As regards cooking, I fear I cannot say very much that is favourable. That at the Grand is decidedly poor, save perhaps the dishes of delicious sterlet; and of the various restaurants I tried, the only one which reached excellence was that kept by an Italian, one Perolo, who was for many years chef to King Milan. There one can dine well—if one knows what to order. The younger diplomatists dine there in a room together, entrance to which is forbidden, save to a few chosen ones.

The diplomatic circle do a good deal of entertaining. The British Minister and his wife give large dinner-parties every Tuesday, which are very delightful functions; while each Thursday afternoon Mrs. Whitehead—who is a very charming hostess—is at home. The Foreign Office have certainly been happy in their choice of Mr. Whitehead to fulfil the very difficult and onerous task of renewing diplomatic relations, for he is a skilled diplomatist, and has been for many years in St. Petersburg, Brussels, Tokio, Constantinople, and Berlin, where he was, until recently, Councillor of Embassy. He also speaks Russian.

The Legation is one of the most tasteful houses in Belgrade, and is filled with highly interesting collections from Japan. The German Minister, Prince Max Ratibor, with his wife and stepdaughter, the young Princess Taxis, also give a good many smart entertainments.

The capital is, of course, a hotbed of political intrigue, and all foreigners arriving are suspected of being secret agents. They are watched, their correspondence often opened, and their business in Belgrade thoroughly investigated and reported upon. At first the stranger resents this kind of thing. On my arrival I found myself constantly watched, but as soon as it was known who and what I was, the surveillance ceased.

I mentioned the matter to one of the high police officials, whereupon he explained that in Belgrade alone he held a list of no fewer than 113 known secret agents of Austria! “We therefore keep secret agents for our own protection. Can you blame us?” he asked.

In the diplomatic circle one hears everywhere a cry of “shame” upon the false news which, being supposed to emanate from reliable sources in Belgrade, is really manufactured across the Save at Zimony by irresponsible journalists in the pay of Austria. The Servian officials actually gave me the names of some of these gentlemen.

In the English newspapers one reads constantly telegrams from Vienna, generally to that very irresponsible and sensational journal the Zeit, declaring that there are all sorts of plots in Servia against King Peter. A short time ago this journal actually had the audacity to say that the Crown Prince was insane! Such telegrams should be read with entire disbelief, for they emanate from certain Hungarian journalists who were expelled from Belgrade on account of the false news despatched from there, and now live across the river at Zimony, whence they continually launch their tirades against Servia and the Servians.

What I read from time to time in the English papers regarding Servia is so utterly opposed to the truth—and in our most responsible journals, too—that it often utterly amazes me.

There is a scheme on foot started by an English company to build a large new hotel in Belgrade—which is badly wanted. The Grand is full to overflowing all the year round, and strangers are nightly turned away. It is, I believe, intended to build the hotel on English lines, with a few private sitting-rooms where the traveller can be quiet and rest in peace away from the turmoil and clatter inseparable from a huge garish café.

The streets are usually broad, straight, and if not actually handsome thoroughfares, are well adapted for improvement and the erection of larger buildings. Most of the suburban houses are of a ground floor only, which strike the Englishman as curious; for as the windows are on a level with the street, there is an utter lack of privacy in family life. Servians of both sexes, I noticed, are great cigarette-smokers, and Servian cigarettes I found were the best in the Balkans.

The pleasantest promenade is the Kalemegdan, the pretty gardens situated behind the old fortress which commands the junction of the Danube and the Save, while on the bank rises the Neboyscha (the fearless) tower, of which many terrible tales are told of the days of the Turks. In the Kalemegdan, adorned with bronze busts of Servian poets and savants, smart Belgrade promenades every afternoon and admires the beautiful view from the Fikir-Bair (“the slope of dreaming”), the smart uniforms of the officers lending the necessary touch of colour to complete a charming scene.

The religion is, of course, Greek Orthodox, with the independent Servian Church, while the population of Servia is about three millions. Some of the characteristic traits of the Servians are curious and interesting. Every Servian family has, each year, its saint’s day, and in every Servian drawing-room one finds a small wood panel with the image of that saint painted thereon. The day usually falls upon that of some great fête such as that of St. Nicholas, the Archangel Michael, etc., which are perhaps the two most fêted. The day in question is called the Slava (fête of the patron saint of the family). The saint fêted by the head of the family is also fêted by his wife, children, and servants.

Some days before the fête the priest visits the house for the benediction of water placed in a basin, after which he sprinkles with a bunch of basil all members of the family, as well as various rooms, and the image of the fêted saint.

All the household regard the week prior to the fête as a fast. The eve of the day of the Slava the lamp is lit before the image of the saint, and is burnt for two days. A couple of days before the anniversary a tasty dish is prepared, called the Koljivo, mainly composed of wheat, nuts, and almonds. Those families, however, who fête the Archangel Michael do not prepare this cake, for the people believe that the Archangel still lives, and cakes are only offerings to the dead.

His Excellency Dr. Milenko Vesnitch,
Servian Minister of Justice.

On the morning of the fête the head of the family lights a taper, and the priest, after a ceremony, cuts a kind of bread specially prepared and bearing a cross; after which he sprinkles wine upon it and upon the Koljivo.

Everybody, from early morning, salutes the head of the family with the words, “Sretna slava” (a happy fête), and grasps his hand. If the visitor is a man, he embraces the husband; if a woman, the wife. The daughter of the house offers the Koljivo to the guests, and everyone takes a spoonful of slatko—a kind of fruit preserve—brandy and coffee. At noon, wine is also drunk. To the houses of the better class telegrams and letters arrive all day. In the country districts the day is given up to eating, drinking, singing, and toasts.

The fêted saint is considered to be the protector of the family, to whom daily prayers are said and mediation asked with the Almighty.

Next to the Slava, the fête most widely celebrated is Christmas. There is a Servian couplet that runs—

“As there’s no day without light,

So there’s no rejoicing without the Servian Christmas.”

After a long fast, the Servian people await Christmas impatiently. It is a day of feasting in the whole country. Two days before Christmas Day—old style, of course—roasts are prepared, consisting of a lamb and a sucking-pig. On the morning of Christmas Eve one of the boys of the family goes into the forest and cuts the Christmas log or Badgnak—a usage which was recognised in the old days in France. Choosing a young tree, he recites a prayer and cuts it down, while another lad is careful that the first branch cut does not fall to the ground. He clutches hold of it, and it is placed in the milk, so that good cream shall be produced, or upon the beehive, that the bees may bring good honey. The bringing home of the Christmas log is attended by many quaint ceremonies.

That evening, while the family is at supper—which mostly consists of fruits—the head of the house takes three nuts in his right hand, and throwing them towards the east exclaims, “In the name of the Father”; then three others, which he throws to the west saying, “and of the Son”; and then three others he throws to the north, adding, “and of the Holy Ghost.” Then with three others he makes the sign of the cross, and throwing them to the south, exclaims “Amen.”

With the dawn of Christmas Day visits commence, the first person generally to arrive being a young man neighbour, known as the polaznik. He embraces the master of the house, makes the sign of the cross upon the Yule-log, and wishes good luck to the household. In the Christmas cake is placed a piece of money, and the person to whom it falls will have good fortune all the year.

The Easter feast comes third with the Servians, and is a great occasion for egg-breaking, one egg being broken against the other. Each visitor receives an egg, and the fête lasts three days. The gipsies, of whom there are very many in the Balkans, go from house to house at Easter, singing and wishing good fortune to the householders, receiving, of course, money in return for their good wishes.

There is also an extraordinary institution among the Servians called the pobratime. It often occurs that two persons of the same sex love one another very dearly, and regret that they are not allied by relationship. In such a case they go through a solemn ceremony, and become pobratimes, or brothers by election. It is the same with both sexes. In many cases religion or nationality does not count, for there are numbers of cases where a Serb has chosen for pobratime a Turk or an Albanian. In some cases the ceremony is a grave and solemn one before a priest. Sometimes, indeed, the two persons make a slight cut in each other’s hands, and suck each other’s blood, so becoming blood relations. This custom is, strangely enough, very prevalent among the more savage of the African tribes. The pobratimes remain faithful and devoted one to the other until death.

His Excellency Costa Stoyanovitch,
Servian Minister of Commerce.

Belgrade resembles no other European capital for several reasons. There are no poor quarters of squalor and misery, and pauperism is unknown. During the whole time I was in the capital not a single person solicited alms. During the last thirty years land in the vicinity of the city has quadrupled in value. Each house is generally occupied by one family, and almost every house has a pretty garden or courtyard. For many years there has been constant rebuilding, and nowadays houses are usually built of brick in preference to stone—although there is a Brick Trust in the country. A good granite is also employed, and the new buildings are mostly ornate and handsome.

Modern Belgrade is well planned. The Rue Terasia and the Rue Prince Michel run on the highest part of the plateau and form the main artery of traffic, while from these two streets diverge other thoroughfares, on the one side leading to the Danube, and on the other to the Save.

Viewed from the Danube, the panorama of Belgrade is a fine and imposing one. A commodious quay is badly required for the ever-increasing river traffic, but plans have already been prepared, and shortly the work will be put in hand. High above the river runs the pleasant promenade in the Kalemegdan Gardens, leading to the old fortress with its time-mellowed red brick bastions, now turned into a prison. The position of the city is certainly well adapted to expand into a really fine, handsome capital, as it must become in the near future. It is the centre of intellectual life of Servia. The Library and Museum testify to the literary tastes of the Servians. The Museum is very rich in antiques, and contains a highly interesting numismatic collection. Both science and art are well cultivated in the Servian capital, which is also the headquarters of the Metropolitan Archbishop, the courts of Cassation and of Appeal, the État Major, the Military School, the Faculties, and the Ecclesiastical School.

The capital of Servia therefore occupies a most favourable position, and is designed to become a very important centre of commerce. Its situation being at the junction of the Save and the Danube, at the head of the railway which unites the European capitals with the Black Sea ports, as well as with Salonica and Constantinople, it cannot fail to be the gate of the whole commerce of the Orient. It is, indeed, the Gateway of the East.

Nisch, in the south, is the town second in importance. In 1874 it contained only 12,000 population, while to-day it has more than 30,000 inhabitants. Standing as it does at the junction of the Oriental with the European railways, all the merchandise to or from Turkey passes through it: either by way of Sofia, or by Usküb and Macedonia. The old Turkish quarter has been recently destroyed, wide streets built, and the town thoroughly modernised and brought up to date, while there are several comfortable hotels. The country around Nisch is noted for its excellent light wines, which, having tasted, I can recommend. In Nisch, as in many other parts of Servia, there are many openings for the profitable employment of British capital.

The Servian Government is anxious to promote commerce and industry throughout the kingdom. It is ready to give facility and encouragement to foreigners—and especially the English—to exploit the wealth that undoubtedly abounds, and it will treat them honestly, justly, and well.

Country life presents many interesting features. The Servian is much more industrious than the Roumanian or the Bulgar, and consequently is much more the master of his own household. The house of the Servian peasant is generally constructed of brick, situate in the valleys and ravines, and is usually of one storey only. There are generally three or four rooms, the larger one being used as a common sitting and dining room. The furniture of the common room is very simple—a table, chairs, and settle and wardrobe; while upon the whitewashed walls are coloured religious prints. The other rooms are covered with bright-coloured Servian carpets, and in some villages of the Machva and the valley of the Morava—where the peasants appear to live in greater comfort—I found Viennese bent-wood furniture. In the poorer districts the house often consists of one room only, and is often constructed by the peasant himself. Each house has its little garden, cultivated by the women or the old folk, where vegetables are grown, more especially cabbages, of which there is a great consumption in various forms, often preserved as a kind of choucroute. Fresh-water fish is also a staple article of diet, while caviare too is plentiful.

In my journey through Servia I was struck by the prosperity of the peasant and his high intelligence everywhere. The country, especially in the more mountainous districts, is most picturesque, and the quaint costumes of both sexes are highly interesting. Time was when there were many brigands in the more remote districts. An officer of my acquaintance who has explored practically every corner of Servia told me an amusing episode that quite lately occurred to him. He was riding one day in the mountains in a far remote part of Servia, many miles from a town, when he overtook a rather evil-looking man, who scowled at him. He passed the time of day and inquired the road to his destination. Then he added, “I’ve heard there are brigands round about here. Is it true?”

“Brigands!” exclaimed the man. “Well, we used to be brigands. But nowadays the law is so strict that I and my comrades have given it up!”

The costume of the Servian peasant-women is quaint and of interest. It consists of an ample skirt of wool or silk and a corset on which, over the chest, is placed a piece of white gauze crossed. Over this is a kind of bolero of tanned skin with the fur inside, cut lower than the waist at the back, and open in front. Upon it are often gold or silver embroideries. Upon the head is worn a small scarlet fez, around which the plaited hair is coiled. The fez is often embroidered with seed pearls, which descend from generation to generation and are often worth twenty to thirty pounds. Then, lastly, there is the apron, which is part of the national costume, and is of wool, hand-embroidered in gay colours, many of them being of quaint and original design.

In the towns both men and women now adopt European costume. In the country every peasant possesses a gun, and shooting as they do from childhood, they are mostly very fine shots. They love the chase, and shoot everything they can, for the country is full of all kinds of birds and animals.

There is a good deal of superstition among the peasants, who are an imaginative people, who believe in vampires, evil spirits, and witches, and have many extraordinary legends and sayings concerning them.