INCIDENTS OF BULGARIAN CHARACTER
Some further incidents of Bulgarian life gleaned during war-time will
illustrate the national characteristics of the people.
Peter was a secretary-servant whom I engaged at Sofia to accompany me to
the front because he could speak English, a language he had learned at
the Robert (American) College in Constantinople, where he was educated.
Peter was to be partly a secretary, partly a servant. He was to
interpret for me, translate Bulgarian papers and documents, also to cook
and to carry if need be. He was destined to be a lawyer, and was the son
of a small trader.
[Illustration: A PEASANT OF THE TSARIBROD DISTRICT]
Peter was interesting as illustrating the transition stage between the
Bulgarian peasant (for whom I have the heartiest admiration) and the
Bulgarian statesman, diplomat, "personage" (for whom I have
not--generally speaking and with particular exceptions--nearly so much
admiration). He had not lost the peasant virtues. He was loyal, plucky,
patriotic. But he had lost the good health and the practical knowledge
of life of the peasant stock from which he sprang.
The Bulgarian on the land lives a laborious life, bread and cheese his
usual sole food, with a little meat as a rare treat, and a glass of
vodka as his indulgence for Sundays and feast days only. Marrying early
he is astonishingly fecund. Transfer him to town life and he soon shows
a weakening in physical fibre. The streets sap away his field-bred
health. A more elaborate diet attacks the soundness of his almost bovine
digestion. There is no greater contrast between the Bulgarian peasant on
the land, physically the healthiest type one could imagine, and the
Bulgarian town resident, who has not yet learned to adapt himself to the
conditions of closely hived life and shows a marked susceptibility to
dyspepsia, phthisis, and neurasthenia. The Bulgarian peasant has the
nerves, the digestion of an ox. The Bulgarian town-dweller, the son or
grandson of that peasant, might pass often for the tired-out progeny of
many generations of city workers.
Peter could not serve in the army because his lungs were affected. That
was why he was available as my secretary-servant. Peter was, as regards
any practical knowledge of life, the most pathetically useless young man
one could imagine. He could make coffee, after the Turkish fashion, and
had equipped himself for a long campaign with a most elaborate coffee
machine, all glass and gimcrackery, which of course did not survive one
day's travel. But he had not brought food nor cooking pots nor knife nor
fork nor spoon: no blankets had he, and no change of clothing--just the
coffee-pot, a picture of a saint, and an out-of-date book of Bulgarian
statistics, which he solemnly presented to me, with his name
affectionately inscribed on the fly-leaf. I dared not throw it away, and
so had to carry its useless bulk about with me until Peter and I parted.
In addition to his lack of equipment, Peter could not roll a rug, make a
bed, or fend for himself in any way.
The Bulgarian peasant in his life on the land is on the whole a very
clever chap as regards the practical things of existence. During the
campaign I noticed how he made himself very comfortable. Whenever he was
stationed as a guard for a railway bridge or in any other
semi-permanent post, he half-dug, half-thatched himself an excellent
shelter. He made use for food supplies of every scrap of eatable stuff
that came his way, and could do wonders in the manipulation and repair
of an ox-cart. But clearly these simple skills do not survive town life.
Peter was only one example of many that I encountered. The problem that
troubles Bulgaria to-day and will trouble her for some time to come is
that of finding from her almost exclusively peasant population enough
statesmen, lawyers, priests, teachers, leaders generally who will have
substituted for peasant virtues and peasant abilities the _savoir faire_
of the cultivated European. They show a tendency to lose the one before
they gain the other.
My life with Peter was brief. He was such a good fellow that I was quite
willing to retain him, even though I had to be the servant really, and
his services were only useful as interpreter. But his health improved.
Possibly the better food and the open-air regime that I insisted upon
were responsible. Peter became healthy enough to do something for the
army and, of course, he went away to do that something. Though he had
become a good deal devoted to me his chief devotion was to his country.
I honoured him for deserting me.
Incidents of the mobilisation of the troops showed this strong and
general patriotic ardour. At the call this trained nation was in arms in
a day. The citizen soldiers hurried to the depots for their arms and
uniforms. In one district the rumour that mobilisation had been
authorised was bruited abroad a day before the actual issue of the
orders, and the depot was besieged by the peasants who had rushed in
from their farms. The officer in charge could not give out the rifles,
so the men lit fires, got food from the neighbours, and camped around
the depot until they were armed. Some navvies received their
mobilisation orders on returning to their camp after ten hours' work at
railway-building. They had supper and marched through the night to their
respective headquarters. For one soldier, the march was twenty-four
miles. The railway carriages were not adequate to bring all the men to
their assigned centres. Some rode on the steps, on the roofs of
carriages, on the buffers even.
At Stara Zagora I noted a mother of the people who had come to see some
Turkish prisoners just brought in from Mustapha Pasha. To one she gave
a cake. "They are hungry," she said. This woman had five men at the war,
her four sons in the fighting-line, her husband under arms guarding a
line of communication. She had sent them proudly. It was the boast of
the Bulgarian women that not a tear was shed at the going away of the
soldiers.
At a little village outside Kirk Kilisse a young civil servant, an
official of the Foreign Office, spoke of the war whilst we ate a dish of
cheese and eggs. "It is a war," he said, "of the peasants and the
intellectuals. It is not a war made by the politicians or the soldiers
of the staff. That would be impossible. In our nation every soldier is a
citizen and every citizen a soldier. There could not be a war, unless it
were a war desired by the people. In my office it was with rage that
some of the clerks heard that they must stay at Sofia, and not go to the
front. We were all eager to take arms."
At Nova Zagora, travelling by a troop train carrying reserves to the
front, I crossed a train bringing wounded from the battlefields. For
some hours both trains were delayed. The men going to the front were
decorated with flowers as though going to a feast. They filled the
waiting time by dancing to the music of the national bagpipes, and
there joined in the dance such of the wounded as could stand on their
feet.
At Mustapha Pasha I arrived one night from Stara Zagora with a great
body of correspondents. With me I had brought about a week's supply of
food, leaving other supplies with my heavy baggage. But on the train
journey, taking up a full day, this supply disappeared. No one else
seemed to have food supplies handy, and I fed all I could, including a
Bulgarian bishop (who showed his gratitude afterwards by "cutting me
dead" when it was in his power to do me a slight favour). When we
reached Mustapha Pasha it was to find no hotels, lodging-houses, cafes,
or stores. All the food supplies had been requisitioned by the Bulgarian
military authorities. There was plenty of food in the town but none
could be bought. I tried to get a loaf of bread from a military bakery,
offering to the soldier in charge up to five francs for a loaf. He was
sturdily proof against bribes. But subsequently I was given a loaf for
nothing on the ground that I was "in distress"; as indeed I was, though
with L100 in my pocket.
Between Silivri and Ermenikioi, travelling with a fine equipment for
the time being--a cart and two good horses and a full supply of food,
purchased at Tchorlu and Silivri--I was eating lunch by the roadside
when four Bulgarian soldiers came up and with signs told me that they
were starving, and asked for food. They had become separated from their
regiment and, I gathered, had had no food for two days. They were armed
with rifles and bayonets and could have taken from me all they needed if
they had wished. But that thought did not seem to have entered their
heads. I gave them a meal and a little bread and cheese to see them on
their way. One of these poor peasant soldiers fumbled in his purse and
brought out some coppers, wishing to pay for what he had had.
Repeatedly in my travels I would come at nightfall to some little
vedette outpost and be made welcome of the officers' Mess. That meant
sharing their meal, whatever it was,--a very poor one sometimes. After
the main dish I would bring out dates and biscuits, of which I had a
small store, to find usually that the Bulgarian officers would refuse to
trench upon my supplies, as I was going forward "to the front" and
would need them. That was not the attitude of savages but of gentlemen.
These and a score of similar incidents showed me the Bulgarian national
character as kind, honest, patient, courageous. They made it impossible
for me to believe that by nature these people are invariably cruel,
rapacious, murderous. That in cases of Balkan massacres and outrages the
Bulgarian people have not been always the victims, and have not been
always blameless, I know. It is impossible to shut one's eyes to the
fact that something survives of the traditions of cruelty and reprisal
existing in the Balkans of the Middle Ages. In this Balkan peninsula
there is always a smell of blood in the nostrils, a mist of blood in the
eyes. The Bulgarians have taken their part in many incidents which seem
to deny the existence of Christian civilisation.
[Illustration: THE RATCHENITZA, THE NATIONAL DANCE OF BULGARIA]
But I speak of the people as I found them, and I came away from the
Balkans confident that my life and property would always be safe with
Bulgarian peasants, provided that I made no movement to begin trouble. I
came away, too, with a high idea of their essential soundness as a
nation and their certainty of a great future. Allowances have to be made
for the hostility of circumstances. As is insisted by the Bulgarians,
when the little nation started to restore its old home life, everything
had to be replaced. "It was not only the political conditions which had
altered, but social life itself. At a moment's notice, and practically
out of nothing, a new administration had to be organised and the diverse
organs of the national life to be improvised. Hardly anything valuable
of the preceding regime could be utilised. In this connection, it is
interesting to observe the different fortunes of a conquered province.
When a province which had formed part of a civilised country passes to a
nation equally civilised, one may say that in many respects the change
is an unimportant one, because in such a case the conqueror retains
almost all the institutions, the only difference being that in the
future they work in the name of the new sovereign authority. The
political condition of such a province is the only thing which is
affected, the administrative and judicial system and the wealth
continuing as before. On the other hand, if one attempted to form a
modern state out of a country which has been devastated for centuries,
or if one tried to transform a Turkish province into a country after the
pattern of the European States, every step would be strewn with
obstacles, and there would be nothing of the former state of things that
could be utilised. In such a case, the only thing to be done would be to
borrow from other nations the experience which they have accumulated
during their long efforts, and to transplant it into the desolated land.
This is practically what happened in Bulgaria, and it is only by taking
into account the exceptionally difficult conditions in which the
Principality found itself on the morrow of its liberation that one will
be able to appreciate the efforts displayed and the result obtained."
In one particular there is to a British observer a marked failing in the
Bulgarian character: the Bulgars are very nervous to "keep up
appearances" and that makes them appear snobbish and deceitful at times.
They are ashamed of poverty, a little ashamed, too, of their natural
manners. Always they wish to put the best face on things before the
world. If a Bulgarian understood that you recognised any crudeness
anywhere he liked to pretend that it was not a usual thing but a
temporary circumstance due to the war. I got quite tired of hearing "_La
guerre comme la guerre_" murmured to me by apologetic Bulgarians
wanting to pretend that under normal circumstances his countrymen always
had the best of table silver and napery.
One incident (which left nothing but amiable memories) of a day's march
north of Adrianople I can recall illustrating this desire to keep up
appearances. After an anxious day I had got to a Bulgarian camp, was
welcomed by an officer and brought around to a little hut where the mess
was established. My new-made friend knocked at the door and explained
things in Bulgarian. I heard a scuffle and could not help seeing through
the window two young officers who were comfortably enjoying supper with
their coats off rushing to get into full uniform. Until they were
dressed properly there was no admittance to the stranger. That showed on
the whole a good feeling of pride: but sometimes Bulgarian sensitiveness
to criticism and desire to appear grand was a little trying. I suppose,
however, it is natural in a "new" people.
In most things, however, the Bulgarian is intensely practical. That
sturdy panegyrist of the Bulgars, Mr. Noel Buxton, M.P., insists upon
this practicality even when its effects were notably absent:
"The Bulgarian mind," he writes, "is practical. It is no doubt
still debated, among European military experts, whether the army
succeeded through a well-organised transport or in spite of the
want of it. The foreign Red Cross contingents at the front were
inclined to the latter view. Judged by English or by German
standards, the system, or want of system, employed led them to
suppose that success came from 'muddling through.' They found
that nothing was prepared for their arrival, and no
classification of the wounded carried out. But it may be doubted
whether the Bulgarian mind does not include some elements of a
quality which is really higher than statistical efficiency."
It calls for a more affectionate eye towards the Bulgar people than I
possess to be blind to the fact that in their medical and sanitary
arrangements for the campaign against the Turks they were woefully
deficient. The excuse of ignorance is the only one that will serve. The
only alternative to that would be a complete recklessness for life. In
the Bulgarian camps sanitary precautions were absolutely lacking, and on
the battlefields the provision for dealing with the wounded was
shockingly inadequate. When I came back from Chatalja to Kirk Kilisse,
King Ferdinand sent his private secretary for me as an independent
witness of the state of things at the front. I took the occasion to
acquaint His Majesty frankly with the ghastly consequences that had
followed from the absence of all precautions to ensure a wholesome water
supply, from the neglect of latrine regulations in the camps and other
failures in the medical and sanitary service. I had no reason to feel
that my frankness was resented, and I believe that (too late in the day)
an effort at reform was made. Certainly since then there has been
reform, and if Bulgaria should unhappily have to enter upon another
campaign probably the medical and sanitary services will be brought to a
high pitch of organisation.
Yes, the Bulgarian is very practical in mind but he has suffered, and
has yet to suffer again perhaps, from lack of experience to instruct his
practical mind. If the national pride would allow of it, an excellent
thing for Bulgaria would be to import half a dozen skilled officials
from, say, England and France to nurse her departments through the stage
of infancy. The nation has plenty of natural genius but makes mistakes
through inexperience.