The Zaitshar affair had shown King Milan pretty clearly that the

blood of the murdered Karageorge still howled for vengeance. His

position was further complicated by the fact that his beautiful

Russian wife, Natalie, was an ardent supporter of the plans of her

Fatherland.

He made a bold bid for popularity. Filled with exaggerated ideas of

his own prowess, and flushed by victories over the Turks, he rushed

to begin reconstructing Great Serbia by attacking Bulgaria, which,

though newly formed, had already shown signs of consolidating and

becoming a stumbling block in Serbia's path to glory. The

declaration of war was immensely popular. Had Milan succeeded, the

fate of the Obrenovitches might have been very different. But he and

his army were so badly beaten that only swift intervention by

Austria saved Serbia from destruction.

Pashitch, it should be noted, remained in Bulgaria during this war,

and in fact owed his life to that country which he has since done so

much to ruin.

The pieces on the Balkan chessboard then stood thus: A Serbia which

was the most bitter enemy of Bulgaria and whose King was

Austrophile.

A violently pro-Russian Montenegro, filled with contempt for the

beaten Serbs, and ruled by a Prince who regarded himself confidently

as the God-appointed restorer of Great Serbia, and who was openly

supporting his new son-in-law, the rival claimant to the Serb

throne.

The throne of Serbia, never too stable, now rocked badly. King Milan

declared that Pan-Slavism was the enemy of Serbia and he was

certainly right. For in those days it would have simply meant

complete domination by Russia--the great predatory power whose maw

has never yet been filled.

He pardoned Pashitch, thinking possibly it was better to come to

terms with him than to have him plotting in an enemy country,

Pashitch returned as head of the Radical party and Serbia became a

hot-bed of foul and unscrupulous intrigue into which we need not dig

now.

Between the partisans of Russia and Austria, Serbia was nearly torn

in half. After incessant quarrels with his Russian wife, Milan in

1888 divorced her--more or less irregularly--and in the following

year threw up the game and abdicated in favour of his only

legitimate child, the ill-fated Alexander who was then but fourteen.

Torn this way and that by his parents' quarrels, brought up in the

notoriously corrupt court of Belgrade and by nature, according to

the accounts of those who knew him, of but poor mental calibre,

Alexander is, perhaps, to be as much pitied as blamed. His nerves,

so Mr. Chedo Miyatovitch told me, never recovered from the shock of

a boating accident when young. He was the last and decadent scion of

the Obrenovitches and was marked down from his accession.

Vladan Georgevitch, who was Prime Minister of Serbia from 1897 till

1900, in his book The End of a Dynasty, throws much light on the

events that led up to the final catastrophe. It is highly

significant that after its publication he was sentenced to six

months' imprisonment, not for libel or false statements, but "on a

charge of having acted injuriously to Serbia by publishing State

secrets." His account is therefore in all probability correct. He

begins by relating Prince Alexander's visit to Montenegro shortly

after the termination of the Regency. Here the astute Prince Nikola

tried to persuade him to marry Princess Xenia. Princess Zorka was

dead; Prince Nikola had quarrelled rather badly with his son-in-law,

Petar Karageorgevitch, and, it would appear, meant to lose no chance

of obtaining a matrimonial alliance with any and every possible

claimant to the Serbian throne. Alexander would not consent to the

match, and stated that his object in visiting Montenegro was to

bring about a political alliance between that country and Serbia in

order to defend Serb schools and churches in Turkish territory and

generally protect Serb interests. This Nikola refused unless the

said lands were definitely partitioned into "spheres of interest"

and Prizren were included in his own. He was already determined to

occupy the throne of Stefan Dushan. The two ministers who

accompanied Alexander supported this claim. "I tell you," says

Alexander, "these two men when with me at Cetinje acted not as

Ministers of mine, but as Ministers of the Prince of Montenegro." He

denounced such a division of the territory and the negotiations

broke off. The visit to Montenegro was a failure.

Some years afterwards in Montenegro I was told triumphantly that the

match would not have been at all suitable for Princess Xenia and

that her father had refused it on the grounds that "no King of

Serbia has yet died except by murder, or in exile." But the death of

Alexander was then already planned--though I of course did not know

it--and Alexander's version of the affair is more probably correct.

In 1897 the nets began to close round the wretched youth. Russia

made up her long quarrel with Bulgaria and enlisted a new foe to the

Obrenovitches--Prince Ferdinand. She had long refused to recognize

this astute and capable Prince who was rapidly raising Bulgaria to

an important position in the Balkans, and now decided to make use of

him. The benefits might be mutual, for without Russian support

Ferdinand could not hope to reconstruct the Big Bulgaria of the

Middle Ages. Russia cynically used either Bulgaria or Serbia as best

suited her purpose at the moment. In August of the same year Russia

further strengthened her position by her alliance with France, who

at once obediently ranged herself against the Obrenovitches.

In the following October, Alexander appointed Vladan Georgevitch

Prime Minister, and bade him form a Government. The merits or

demerits of this Government we need not trouble about. What is of

interest is that it was at once attacked by the French Press. The

Temps accused Vladan of secret understandings with Goluchowsky and

Kallay, before forming it. The Courier de Soir thought that "such a

policy is the result of the Triple Alliance and is an offence to the

balance of Europe." Serbia apparently was to be used as the

determining weight on the European scales. La Souverainte went

farther and said boldly: "The moment has come when Tsar Nicholas

should show the same firmness of character as his father showed to

the Battenburg and Coburg in Bulgaria!" The Nova Vremya declared

"that the new Government clearly meant to bring Serbia into economic

dependence on Austria-Hungary."

And most of the newspapers of Europe announced the fact that the

Tsar had granted an audience to Prince Petar Karageorgevitch and had

conversed with him on the critical state of Serbia. Vladan then

recommended to Alexander the rash plan of inviting General von der

Golte to xmdertake the reform of the Serb Army as he had done that

of Turkey. The plan pleased von der Goltz, but was dropped in

consequence of the violent anti-Serb campaign which it aroused in

the French Press. The Serb Minister in Paris, Garashanin, tried to

buy some of the French papers, but had to report to his Government

that this was impossible so long as Serbia was hostile to Russia.

France was paying the Russian piper--but it was the piper that

called the tune. The Russo-French policy of ringing in the Central

Powers was already aimed at.

The wretched Alexander, not knowing whom to trust, nor where to

turn, then begged his exiled father to return from Austria and take

command of the army. Milan did so and Russia was more than ever

furious.

Warnings were now frequently received that Russia was planning the

deaths of both Milan and Alexander. One such warning was sent by the

Berlin Foreign Office.

In May 1898 Nikola Pashitch, who had been working an

anti-Obrenovitch propaganda in Bulgaria, was again in Serbia, and

led the Radical party in the general elections. The Government,

however, won by a large majority.

His work in Bulgaria seems to have been effective for in June the

Serb Minister to Sofia sent in a very important report to his

Government:

1. That Russia was determined that Milan should leave Serbia.

2. That Prince Ferdinand was willing to support Russia in this way

by any means--even bad ones.

3. That the Princes of Montenegro and Bulgaria were co-operating.

Shortly afterwards Ferdinand of Bulgaria, Nikola of Montenegro, the

Russian Minister and the Bulgarian diplomatic agent to Cetinje all

met at Abbazia. And Ferdinand is reported to have promised Nikola

the support of his army to overthrow the Obrenovitches with a view

to finally uniting Montenegro, Serbia, Bosnia and the Herzegovina

into one state with Nikola as head. Nikola began to sow the ground

by starting a newspaper which attacked Austrian policy in Bosnia

severely.

This is a most important turning point in Balkan history, and we

shall see many results.

Mr. J. D. Bourchier, whose knowledge of Bulgarian affairs is

unrivalled, has further told me that not only did Montenegro and

Bulgaria work together for a long while, but Bulgaria also supplied

Montenegro with much money--she was, in fact, another of the many

States who have put money into Montenegro--and lost it.

Things soon began to move. Prince Nikola got in touch with the

Radical party in Serbia and they began to prepare the downfall of

the Obrenovitches.

Bulgaria refortified her Serbian frontier. The Narodni Listy of

Prague described Prince Nikola as the only true Serb upon a throne.

King Alexander proposed at this time to visit Queen Victoria, but

was informed by Lord Salisbury that Her Majesty's health had already

obliged her to decline other visits and she was therefore unable to

receive him.

The Serb Government then complained that Queen Victoria had

conferred a high Order on Prince Nikola, who was but a vassal of

Russia, and had given nothing to the King of Serbia. Some papers

even declared she had shown preference to Nikola precisely on

account of his pro-Russian tendencies.

Russia showed her feelings plainly. The Tsar at a reception spoke

sharply to the Serbian Minister and ignored the new Serbian military

attache who had come to be presented.

Tension between Serbia and Montenegro was now acute. Large numbers

of Montenegrins had been emigrating into Serbia attracted by the

better livelihood to be obtained. The Serb Government in October

1898 formally notified Montenegro that this immigration must cease.

No more land was available for Montenegrins.

The Magyar Orsyagu went so far as to say "Montenegrin agents wander

over Serbia with their propaganda and Serbia has therefore forbidden

the further settlement of Montenegrins in Serbia." Pashitch again

came to the fore and was sentenced to nine months' imprisonment for

publishing an offensive letter to the ex-King Milan. And in November

a plot, alleged to be Bulgaro-Montenegrin, against Milan, was

discovered.

Russia was furious that Milan, in spite of these warnings, remained

in Serbia.

And in July 1899 he was fired at and slightly wounded. Milan

insisted on martial law being proclaimed and many arrests were made.

The would-be assassin was a young Bosnian--Knezhevitch. The Times

spoke of the conspiracy as a Russo-Bulgarian one. It is stated to

have been planned in Bucarest by Arsene Karageorgevitch and a

Russian agent.

Pashitch, who since 1888 had been in close connection with the

Karageorges, was accused of complicity and Milan insisted on his

execution. His guilt was by no means proved and he was finally

sentenced to five years' imprisonment, but at once pardoned by

Alexander. In reply he telegraphed, "I hasten in a moment so happy

and so solemn for my family, to lay before your Majesty my sincere

and humble gratitude for the very great mercy which you, Sire, have

shown me from the height of your throne. I declare to you, Sire,

that I will, in future . . . give my whole soul to strengthening

that order in the State which your Majesty introduced in 1897, from

which, thanks to your distinguished father, King Milan, as

commander-in-Chief of the Army, the country has derived so much

benefit." He further promised to put the remainder of his life to

the exclusive service of King Alexander and his country, and ends

with, "Long live the hope of the Serb nation, your Majesty our Lord

and King Alexander!" signed, "The most sincere and devoted servant

of the House of Obrenovitch and the throne of your Majesty, Nikola

Pashitch." This amazing telegram caused consternation in Russia. And

well it might. The annals of crime scarcely contain a more gross

example of perjury.

We now enter upon the last act of the sordid drama. For several

years Alexander had kept a mistress, Madame Draga Maschin, nee

Lungevitza, the widow of a Serbian officer. She was a handsome

woman, considerably older than Alexander, and possessed such a hold

over him that the more credulous of the Serbs--including an

ex-Minister to the Court at St. James's--believed that she had

bewitched him by means of a spell made by a gypsy woman who had

chopped some of Draga's hair fine and made a mixture which she put

into Alexander's food. Only by magic, I have been assured, could

such results have been obtained. Alexander "was crazy about her."

The Serbs are not particular about morals by any means. But this

liaison was a national misfortune Especially to all supporters of

the Obrenovitches. Not only under these circumstances could there be

no legitimate heir to the throne but a matrimonial alliance with one

of the Great Powers was desired by the country. By 1899 the

situation had become acute. The spectacle of Alexander waiting in

the street till Draga chose to admit him was a national scandal.

He was repeatedly approached on the subject, both by his father and

the nation, but Draga held him in a firm grip. Enmeshed as he knew

he was in hostile intrigues, surrounded by spies and traitors, and

himself a fool at best, maybe the luckless youth regarded her indeed

as the one human creature for whom he had any affection or trust. Be

that as it may Alexander, under her influence, promised his father

and Vladan Georgevitch that he would marry if a suitable match could

be arranged. He persuaded them to leave the country to visit a

foreign Court with this object, and so soon as they had gone he

publicly and formally announced his betrothal to Draga, and informed

his father of the fact by letter. Milan, horrified, replied that the

dynasty would not survive the blow, and that even a mere lieutenant

would scorn such a match.

The Russian Minister Mansurov, however, called at once to offer his

congratulations to Alexander, and called also upon Draga. It has

even been suggested that Russia arranged the affair, and that Draga

was her tool. This is, however, improbable. It was more likely the

achievement of an ambitious and most foolish woman. But that Russia

jumped at it as the very best means of compassing Alexander's ruin

cannot be doubted, for no less a person than the Tsar accepted the

post of Kum (Godfather) at the wedding, thus publicly announcing his

approval of the marriage at which he was represented by a proxy,

when it was celebrated at Belgrade shortly afterwards. Alexander

never saw either of his parents again. Milan resigned the command of

the army and retired to Austria and his stormy and variegated career

came to an end in the following year. He was only forty-seven at the

time of his death, but had compressed into those years an amount of

adventure unusual even in the Balkans.

Alexander's marriage, as doubtless foreseen by Russia, soon proved

disastrous. Draga, having achieved her ambition and mounted the

throne, showed none of the ability of Theodora. Clever enough to

captivate the feeble-minded Alexander, she was too stupid to realize

that her only chance lay in gaining the popularity of the people who

were none too well disposed. With incredible folly, before in any

way consolidating her position, she formed a plot worthy only of a

second-rate cinematograph, pretended pregnancy and planned to foist

a "supposititious child" upon the nation. A plan, foredoomed by its

folly to failure, which brought down on her the contempt and

ridicule not only of Serbia, but of all Europe. Such was the history

of Serbia up to the date when I plunged into it and found it on the

verge of a crisis.

CHAPTER SEVEN

1903 AND WHAT HAPPENED

For Leagues within a State are ever pernicious to Monarchic.

Early in 1903 I received an invitation to stay with certain of the

partisans of the Karageorgevitches in Serbia. The "something" that

was to happen had not yet come to pass. My sister wished to travel

with me, and my experiences of last year were not such as to lead me

to take her to Serbia. One takes risks without hesitation when

alone, into which one cannot drag a comrade. We went to Montenegro.

It was hot even at Cetinje. We were resting in one of the back

bedrooms of the hotel on the afternoon of June 11, when there came a

loud knocking at the door and the voice of Ivan, the waiter, crying

"telegramme, telegramme." We jumped up at once, fearing bad news,

and Stvane cried excitedly as I opened the door, "The King and Queen

of Serbia are both dead!" My brain re-acted instantly. The

"something" had happened, the crisis had come. Without pausing a

minute to reflect, I said: "Then Petar Karageorgevitch will be

King!"

"No, no," cried Ivan; "Every one says it will be our Prince Mirko!"

"No," said I decidedly, for I was quite certain, "It will not be

Mirko"; and I asked "How did they die?"

"God knows," said he; "some say they quarrelled and one shot the

other and then committed suicide. And it will be Mirko, Gospodjitza.

There was an article in the paper about it only the other day." He

ran off and fetched a paper. I regret now that I took no note what

paper it was, but it certainly contained an article naming Mirko as

heir to the Serb throne, supposing Alexander to die without issue.

Cetinje was excited as never before. Ordinarily, it lived on one

telegram a day from the Correspondenz Bureau. Now the boys ran to

and fro the telegraph office and bulletins poured in. One of the

earliest stated that the King and Queen had died suddenly, cause of

death unknown, but bullet wounds found in the bodies.

Later came full details. According to Belgrade papers a revolution

had been planning for three months and there were secret committees

all over the country; that the decision to slaughter both King and

Queen had been taken by the Corps of Officers at Belgrade, and the

work entrusted to the 6th Infantry Regiment; that the band of

assassins gained access to the Palace at 11 p.m.; and, as the King

refused to open the door of his bedroom, it was blown in by Colonel

Naumovitch with a dynamite cartridge the explosion of which killed

its user.

What followed was a shambles. The bodies of the victims, still

breathing, but riddled with bullets, were pitched from the window.

Draga, fortunately for herself, expired at once. But the luckless

Alexander lingered till 4 a.m.

According to current report the assassins, drunk with wine and

blood, fell on the bodies and defiled them most filthily, even

cutting portions of Draga's skin, which they dried and preserved as

trophies. An officer later showed a friend of mine a bit which he

kept in his pocket book.

Alexander was a degenerate. His removal may have been desirable. But

not even in Dahomey could it have been accomplished with more

repulsive savagery. And the Russian Minister, whose house was

opposite the Konak, calmly watched the events from his window.

Having wreaked their fury on the bodies, the assassins rushed to

kill also Draga's two brothers, one of whom it was rumoured was to

be declared heir to the throne by Alexander. Some seventeen others

were murdered that night and many wounded. These details we learned

later.

The afternoon of the 11th passed with excitement enough. Evening

came and we went in to dinner. Upon each table, in place of the

usual programme of the evening's performance at the theatre, lay a

black edged sheet of paper informing us that the Serbian travelling

company then playing in Cetinje "in consequence of the death of our

beloved Sovereign King Alexander" had closed the theatre till

further notice. The tourist table was occupied solely by my sister

and myself; the diplomatic one solely by Mr. Shipley, who was

temporarily representing England, and Count Bollati, the Italian

Minister. Dinner passed in complete silence. I was aching to have

the opinion of the exalted persons at the other table on the

startling news, but dared not broach so delicate a subject. The end

came however. The servants withdrew and Count Bollati turned to me

and said suddenly:

"Now, Mademoiselle, you know these countries What do you think of

the situation?"

"Petar Karageorgevitch will be made King."

"People here all say it will be Mirko," said Mr. Shipley.

Count Bollati maintained it would be a republic. I told them the

facts I had learned in Serbia, and said that Petar was practically a

certainty. They were both much interested.

"In any case," said Mr. Shipley, "I should advise you to say nothing

about it here. They are all for Mirko and you may get yourself into

trouble."

"I have never seen them so excited," put in the Count.

"You are too late," said I; "I've told them already, Mirko has not a

chance. He had better know the truth. You will see in a few days."

Both gentlemen expressed horror at the crudity of my methods. As a

matter of fact a good deal of international misunderstanding could

be avoided if the truth were always blurted out at once. The Italian

thought I was stark mad. The Englishman, having a sense of humour,

laughed and said, as I well recollect: "Your mission in life seems

to be to tell home truths to the Balkans. It is very good for them.

But I wonder that they put up with it." Both gentlemen commented on

the grim matter-of-factness of the telegrams. "Business carried on

usual during the alterations," said Bollati. His blood was badly

curdled by the fact that when he was in Belgrade he was well

acquainted with Colonel Mashin, the ill-fated Draga's brother-in-law,

who--according to the telegrams--had finished her off with a hatchet.

"And I have shaken hands with him!" said Bollati, disgustedly. Mr.

Shipley suggested that as I had first hand information I had better

write an article or two for the English papers; which I did at once.

"It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good." I had written my

first Balkan book and hawked it unsuccessfully round the publishers,

who told me that as nobody in England took the faintest interest in

the Balkans, they could not take it, though they kindly added that

as travels went it was not so bad. But the assassination of a King

appealed at once to the great heart of the British people and I sold

that book as an immediate result. This, by the way.

I came down early next morning to post the articles written

overnight, and found a whole crowd of officers and intelligentsia

(for in no land are these necessarily the same) around the hotel

door. Vuko Vuletitch, the hotelier, in his green, red-embroidered

coat, was haranguing them from the doorstep with the latest telegram

in his hand. Loud and lively discussion filled the air.

Vuko waved his hand as I approached. "Here," he said, "is the

Gospodjitza who says Petar Karageorgevitch will be King." I repeated

my belief cheerfully: "Your man is elected!" cried Vuko, holding up

the telegram. The news had arrived. Mirko's hopes were hopelessly

dashed. The accuracy of my information caused a small sensation and

I acquired a great reputation for political knowledge. Vuko never

failed to ask me in future what I made of the situation.

It was the morning of the 12th when this news came in. Officially,

Petar was not elected till the 15th, and then not by a really legal

method. The military gang having chosen him, summoned a Parliament

which had already been legally dissolved and was therefore

non-existent, and caused it to ratify the choice. Whence it has been

maintained by many that King Petar never was legally elected.

The 12th, 13th, and 14th passed quietly, though there was a certain

air of disappointment. More details came in. Murder is bound to be

unlovely. This one was peculiarly so. One fact was prominent. And

that was that although many persons expressed horror of the methods

and condemned the treachery of officers who had sworn fealty, yet

Cetinje as a whole regarded the affair as a blessing. Not only was

the populace pleased, but, with childish ignorance of the Western

point of view (and at that time West Europe was really very fairly

civilized), actually expected Europe to rejoice with them. It was a

cleansing of the Temple; a casting out of abominations.

And so ready was every one with a candidate for the throne that it

was impossible not to suspect that there had been foreknowledge of

the event.

Subsequent enquiry through persons connected with the post office

revealed to me the fact that a most unusual amount of cypher

telegrams had been buzzing between Belgrade and Cetinje immediately

before the bloody climax.

Petar Karageorgevitch, we learnt by telegram, was dwelling in a

"modest apartment" in Geneva, and was quite unable to furnish

journalists with any information. The Paris Havas found Bozhidar

Karageorgevitch more communicative and published an interview in

which he pleasantly stated that the event had caused him no surprise

as he had foreseen it ever since the marriage with Draga.

On the 14th I drove down to Cattaro with my sister to see her off by

steamer. Cattaro, as usual in the summer, lay panting at the water's

edge. No more news; any amount of gossip; the Petrovitches were

tottering, said some; Prince Mirko had lately fought a duel upon

Austrian territory with his brother, Prince Danilo; they would

certainly fight for the throne. The Austrian papers were full of

"digs" at the Petrovitches. I arrived back at Cetinje on the evening

of the 15th to find it beflagged and rows of tallow candles stuck

along my bedroom window for the coming illuminations. A telegram had

announced the election by the Shkupstina of "our son-in-law" and his

accession had already been celebrated by a service at the Monastery

Church and a military parade.

"Bogati!" cried Vuko to me, "you are better informed than all the

diplomatists." He added that there was to be a gala performance at

the theatre. I flew to the Zetski Dom. Not a seat was to be had. "If

you don't mind a crowd," said the ever-obliging Vuko, "you can come

into my box." And he hurried up dinner that we might all be in time.

The diplomatic table complimented me on having "spotted the

winner," and on either table lay a festive programme informing us

that the Serbian theatrical company, which had abruptly shed its

mourning, was giving a gala performance "in honour of the accession

of our beloved King Petar."

The theatre was packed from roof to floor. The performance opened

with a tableau--a portrait of Petar I, bewreathed and beflagged. A

speech was made. There were shouts of "Zhivio!" ("Long life to him!"

an eminently suitable remark under the circumstances). The whole

house cheered. I felt like an accessory after the act. Up in the

Royal Box, the only representatives of the reigning house, sat

Prince Mirko and his wife. I watched his stony countenance. But for

the devil and Holy Russia, we might have been shouting "Zhivio Kralj

Mirko!" I wondered if it hurt badly and felt sorry for him, for I

have been ploughed in an exam, myself.

We were a tight fit in our box. Gazivoda, head of the police at

Podgoritza and brother-in-law to Vuko, was there. He, too, was

assassinated a few years afterwards. And there was a crowd of Vuko's

pretty daughters. The eldest, still a pupil at the Russian Girls'

School (Russia Institut) was shuddering with horror at the crime.

"Poor Queen, poor Queen!" she muttered at intervals, "she was still

alive when they threw her from the window. If I had been there I

would have wept on her grave." She was but fifteen, and it was her

initiation into those Balkan politics in which, as Madame Rizoff,

she was herself later to play a part.

We shouted our last "Zhivio!" The play was over. Petar was King and

the Near East had entered upon a new path which led as yet none knew

whither.

I noted in my diary, "Will the army, now that it has taken the bit

between its teeth, be more than King Petar can manage?" In truth no

greater curse can befall a land than to be ruled by its own army. A

nation that chooses to be dictated to by its military has sunk low

indeed.

Cetinje showed signs of relapsing into dullness. I started on a tour

up country. The country I have described elsewhere, and will deal

now only with the political situation.

There were no roads then over the mountains and travelling was very

severe work. At every halt--for rest in the midday heat, or a cup of

black coffee to stimulate me for another two or three hours on horse

and on foot--the Serbian murders were the one topic. Boshko, my

guide, with the latest news from Podgoritza was in great request and

a proud man. Everywhere the crime was approved. The women raged

against Draga, even saying "She ought to lie under the accursed

stone heap!"--a reminiscence of the fact that stoning to death was

actually inflicted in Montenegro in the old days, upon women for

sexual immorality. Vuk Vrchevitch records a case as late as 1770.

And in quite recent times a husband still, if he thought fit, would

cut off the nose of his wife if he suspected her of infidelity. No

man, it was explained to me cheerfully, was ever likely to make love

to her again after that.

West Europe was, in 1903, quite ignorant of the state of primitive

savagery from which the South Slavs were but beginning to rise.

Distinguished scientists travelled far afield and recorded the head

hunters of New Guinea. But the ballads of Grand Voyvoda Mirko--King

Nikola of Montenegro's father--gloating over slaughter, telling of

the piles of severed heads, of the triumph with which they were

carried home on stakes and set around the village, and the best

reserved as an offering to Nikola himself for the adornment of

Cetinje; and the stripping and mutilating of the dead foe, give us a

vivid picture of life resembling rather that of Dahomey, than Europe

in 1860.

In the breast of every human being there is a wolf. It may sleep for

several generations. But it wakes at last and howls for blood. In

the breast of the South Slav, both Serb and Montenegrin, it has not

yet even thought of slumbering. Montenegro approved the crime.

It was to lead to "something"--indefinite, mysterious. Serdar

Jovo Martinovitch ruled in Kolashin, a strong man then, who rode the

clansmen on a strong curb. He had come up there as governor about

four years ago on account of the constant fighting, not only on the

border, but between the Montenegrin plemena (tribes). The latter he

had put a stop to. Thirty years ago he assured me the clans were in

a state of savagery. His own life was very Balkan; many women

figured in it; and to escape blood-vengeance he had fled--with one

of them--to Bulgaria, where he had served long years in the

Bulgarian Army; and had returned to Montenegro only after the affair

had blown over. Of the Bulgars he spoke in the highest terms.

At Andrijevitza, to which he passed me on, great excitement reigned.

Some great event was expected at no distant date. I was told that it

was now impossible for me to go to Gusinje, but that next year all

would be different. That they were well informed about the Bulgar

rising which was about to take place in Macedonia I cannot, in the

light of what followed, doubt. Prince Danilo's birthday was feted

magnificently with barbaric dances by firelight, national songs and

an ocean of rakija. We drank to the Prince and wished him soon on

the throne of Prizren, a wish which at that time every Montenegrin

expected to see soon realized. The reign of the Turk, I was told,

was all but over. I remarked that this had been said for a hundred

years at least and was told that the end must come some time, and

that I should see it soon.

Meanwhile, the' authorities of Andrijevitza were extremely anxious

to get me to go across the border. Though I was not aware of it at

the time, they meant to use me to cover a spy. That the expedition

was dangerous I knew. The Ipek district had scarcely been penetrated

by a foreigner for fifteen years, and was a forbidden one. The

danger I did not mind. My two months' liberty each year were like

Judas's fabled visit to the iceberg--but they made the endless vista

of grey imprisonment at home the more intolerable. And a bullet

would have been a short way out. I made the expedition and gained

thereby a reputation for courage which in truth I little deserved.

As I was being used for political purposes, though I did not know

it, I was, of course, shown only the Great Serbian view of things.

The plan was carefully laid. My guide, who was disguised, spoke

Albanian and some Turkish.

At Berani, our first stopping place, just over the Turkish border, I

met the first objectors to the murders--the monks at the very

ancient Church of Giurgevi Stupovi and a little company consisting

of a wild-looking priest clad as a peasant and with a heavy revolver

in his sash, and a couple of schoolmasters very heavily depressed.

They, too, had evidently expected "something" to happen soon. I

gathered, in fact, that an attack on the Turk had been planned, and

now with this revolution on their hands the Serbs would be able to

do nothing. In the town, however, I met the nephew of Voyvoda Gavro,

then Montenegro's Minister for Foreign Affairs--a decadent type of

youth on vacation from Constantinople, where he was at college. For

the Montenegrins, though always expressing a hatred of all things

Turkish, have never missed an opportunity of sending their sons for

Education--gratis--to the enemy's capital. His conversation--and he

was most anxious to pose as very "modern"--showed that Constantinople

is not a very nice place for boys to go to school in. He was furious

with me for daring to criticize the Serbian murders. He said no one

but an enemy of the Serb people would do so, and threatened to

denounce me to his uncle. Leaving Berani I plunged into Albanian

territory. This land, fondly called by the Serbs "Stara Srbija," Old

Serbia, was in point of fact Serb only for a short period.

The Serbs, or rather their Slav ancestors, poured into the Balkan

Peninsula in vast hordes in the sixth and seventh centuries and

overwhelmed the original inhabitant, the Albanian. But though they

tried hard, they did not succeed in exterminating him. The original

inhabitant, we may almost say, never is exterminated. The Albanian

was a peculiarly tough customer. He withdrew to the fastnesses of

the mountains, fought with his back to the wall, so to speak, and in

defiance of efforts to Serbize him, retained his language and

remained persistently attached to the Church of Rome. Serbia reached

her highest point of glory under Tsar Stefan Dushan. On his death in

1356, leaving no heir capable of ruling the heterogeneous empire he

had thrown together in the twenty years of his reign, the rival

feudal chieftains of Serbia fought with each other for power and the

empire was soon torn to pieces. Albania split off from the mass

almost at once, and was a separate principality under the Balsha

chiefs. And from that time Albania has never again fallen completely

under Serb power. The Turkish conquest crushed the Serbs and the

Albanians grew in power. We cannot here detail the history, suffice

it to say that in 1679 the Serbs of Kosovo, finding themselves

unable to resist the advance of the Albanians and the power of the

Turks, evacuated that district. Led by Arsenius, the Serb Patriarch,

thousands of families emigrated into Austria, who saved the Serb

people. Since then the Albanians had poured down and resettled in

the land of their ancestors.

From Berani our route lay through Arnaoutluk. We passed through

Rugova; nor did I know till afterwards that this was reputed one of

the most dangerous districts in Turkish territory and that no

European traveller had been that way for some twenty years. There

was a rough wooden mosque by the wayside. We halted. The people were

friendly enough and some one gave us coffee. I little thought 'that

in a few years time the place would be the scene of a hideous

massacre by the Montenegrins modelled on the Moslem-slaying of

Vladika Danilo. We reached Ipek after some sixteen hours of very

severe travel and knocked at the gates of the Patriarchia long after

nightfall--the very place whose Bishop had led the retreating Serb

population into Austria over two centuries before.

My arrival was a thunderbolt, both for the Patriarchia and the

Turkish authorities, who had forbidden the entry of strangers into

the district and closed the main routes to it, but had never

imagined any one would be so crazy as to drop in over the

Montenegrin frontier by way of Rugova.

The whole district was under military occupation. About thirty

thousand Turkish troops were camped in the neighbourhood, and I

learnt that a great deal of fighting had recently taken place.

Briefly, the position was that for the past two and a half centuries

the Albanians had been steadily re-occupying the lands of their

Illyrian ancestors and pressing back the small remaining Serb

population, and since the time of the Treaty of Berlin had been

struggling to wrest autonomy from the Turks and obtain recognition

as a nation. The whole of this district had been included in the

autonomous Albanian state proposed and mapped out by Lord Goschen

and Lord Fitzmaurice in 1880. Ipek, Jakova and Prizren were centres

of the Albanian League. The British Government report of August 1880

gives a very large Albanian majority to the whole district.

"The Albanians are numerically far superior to the Serbians, who are

not numerous in Kosovopolje and the Sanjak of Novibazar. The

Albanian population in the vilayet of Kosovo has lately (1880) been

still further increased by the accession of many thousands of

refugees from districts now, in virtue of the Treaty of Berlin, in

Serbian possession and which prior to the late war were exclusively

inhabited by descendants of the twelve Greg tribes, which at a

remote period emigrated from Upper Albania."

A fundamental doctrine of the Great Serb Idea is a refusal to

recognize that history existed before the creation of the Serb

Empire, or even to admit that Balkan lands had owners before the

arrival of the Serbs. Nothing infuriates a "Great Serbian" more

than to suggest that if he insists on appealing to history another

race has a prior claim to the land, and that in any case the Great

Serbia of Stefan Dushan lasted but twenty years.

In pursuance of this theory that the greater part of the Balkan

Peninsula is the birthright of the Serbs (who only began coming into

these lands at the earliest in the fourth century A.D.) the Serbs

behaved with hideous brutality to the inhabitants of the lands they

annexed in 1878, and swarms of starving and destitute persons were

hunted out, a large proportion of whom perished of want and

exposure.

The hatred between Serb and Albanian was increased a hundredfold,

and the survivors and their descendants struggled continuously to

gain complete control over the lands still theirs and to regain, if

possible, those that they had lost. The adoption of Lord

Fitzmaurice's plan would have spared the Balkans and possibly Europe

much bloodshed and suffering.

When I arrived on the scene in the summer of 1903 the Turks had sent

a large punitive expedition to enforce the payment of cattle tax

and, at the command of Europe, to introduce a new "reform" policy

in Kosovo vilayet.

The Albanians were well aware that the so-called reforms meant

ultimately the furtherance of Russia's pan-Slav schemes; that so

long as even a handful of Serbs lived in a place Russia would claim

it as Serb and enforce the claim to the best of her power; that the

"reforms" meant, In fact, the introduction of Serb and Russian

consulates, the erection of Serb schools and churches under Russian

protection, the planting of Serb colonies and ultimate annexation.

Russia was actively endeavouring to peg out fresh Serb claims. The

Russian Consul at Mitrovitza, M. Shtcherbina, had taken part in a

fight against the Albanians and was mortally wounded, it was

reported, while he was serving a gun.

Russia, in fact, having already made sure of the removal of the

pro-Austrian Obrenovitches and being in close touch with Montenegro

and Bulgaria was planning another coup in the Balkans. Albania was

resisting it. The Turks under pressure from the Powers were striving

to smooth matters down sufficiently to stave off the final crash

that drew ever nearer. They arrested a number of headmen and exacted

some punishment for Shtcherbina's death. Though if a consul chooses

to take part in a local fight he alone is responsible for results.

I had, in fact, arrived at a critical moment. The Turkish

authorities telegraphed all over the country to know what they were

to do about me. My Montenegrin guide showed anxiety also and begged

me on no account to reveal his origin.

From a little hill belonging to the Patriarchia I saw the widespread

Turkish camp on the plain.

The Igumen and the few monks and visitors gave me the Serb point of

view. Because some six centuries ago the Sveti Kralj had been

crowned in the church they regarded the land as rightfully and

inalienably Serb. They looked forward to the arrival of Russian

armies that should exterminate all that was not Serb. Shtcherbina to

them was a Christ-like man who had died to save them, and they

treasured his portrait. Russia, only the year before, had insisted

on planting a Consul at Mitrovitza against the wish of the Turkish

Government. Serb hopes had been raised. And it was possible that his

presence had in fact caused the fight.

They admitted, however, that the Turks were responsible for the

state of Albania, for they prohibited the formation of Albanian

schools and made progress impossible; an independent Albania would

be better.

News of the deaths of Alexander and Draga had reached Ipek, but no

details, for Serbian papers could only be smuggled in with great

difficulty. I gathered that the murders caused some anxiety, for a

great movement against the Turks was planned, and owing to the

upheaval in Serbia, perhaps Serbia would not now take part. As I was

English they believed that the Turks would be obliged to permit me

to travel further if I pleased. But they implored me on no account

if I went further afield, to take the train as all the railways were

shortly to be blown up.

Meanwhile the Turkish authorities could not decide what to do about

me and called me to the Konak about my passport. There I waited

hours. The place was crowded with applicants for permission to

travel. Half-starved wretches begged leave to go to another district

in search of harvest work and were denied. The Turks were in a

nervous terror and doubtless knew a crisis was at hand. As I waited

in the crowd a youth called to me across the room and said in

French: "It is pity you were not here a week or two ago. You could

have gone to Uskub and met all the foreign correspondents. Now they

have all gone. I was dragoman to The Times correspondent. He has

gone too. They think it is all over and it has not yet begun." He

laughed. I was terrified lest any one present should know French.

The boy declared they did not.

Finally, the Pasha refused me permission to go to Jakova as I had

asked. And quite rightly, for fighting was still going on there

between the troops and the Albanians. I was allowed only to visit

the monastery of Detchani, a few hours' ride distant. Detchani is

one of the difficulties in the drawing of a just frontier. Though in

a district that is wholly Albanian, it is one of the monuments of

the ancient Serb Empire and contains the shrine of the Sveti Kralj,

King Stefan Detchanski, who was strangled in 1336 in his castle of

Zvechani, it is said, by order of his son who succeeded him as the

great Tsar Stefan Dushan, and was in his turn murdered in 1356.

St. Stefan Dechansld is accounted peculiarly holy and yet to work

miracles. The Church, a fine one in pink and white marble, was built

by an architect from Cattaro, and shows Venetian influence. A rude

painting of the strangling of Stefan adorns his shrine. I thought of

the sordid details of the death of. Serbia's latest King and the old

world and the new seemed very close. Except in the matter of

armament, things Balkan had changed but little in over five

centuries.

A Turkish officer and some Nizams were quartered at the monastery,

but the few monks and students there seemed oddly enough to have

more faith in a guard of Moslem Albanians who lived near. They were

expecting shortly the arrival of Russian monks from Mount Athos.

Russia was, in fact, planting Russian subjects there for the express

purpose of making an excuse for intervention. The young Turkish

officer was very civil to me and offered to give me a military

escort to enable me to return to Montenegro by another route. My

disguised Montenegrin guide who was pledged to hand me over safe and

sound to Voyvoda Lakitch at Andrijevitza signalled to me in great

anxiety. Each day he remained on Turkish territory he risked

detection and the loss of his life.

I returned therefore to the Patriarchia, recovered my passport from

the Pasha and was given by him a mounted gendarme to ride with me as

far as Berani. This fellow, a cheery Moslem Bosniak, loaded his

rifle and kept a sharp look out. And a second gendarme accompanied

us till we were through the pass. And both vowed that a few months

ago they wouldn't have come with less than thirty men; Albanians

behind every rock and piff paff, a bullet in your living heart

before you knew where you were. They wondered much that I had made

the journey with only one old zaptieh. Still more, that I had been

allowed to come at all.

Berani received me with enthusiasm. Nor had my cheery Turkish

gendarme an idea that my guide was a Montenegrin till he took off

his fez at the frontier. Then the gendarme slapped his thigh, roared

with laughter and treated it as a good joke.

The said guide's relief on being once more in his own territory

showed clearly what the risks had been for him.

Andrijevitza gave us quite an ovation. Countless questions as to the

number and position of the Turkish Army were poured out. My guide

had fulfilled his task. I was reckoned a hero. What hold the Voyvoda

had over the Kaimmakam of Berani I never ascertained. But it was the

Voyvoda's letter to the Kaimmakam that got me over the border. All

that I gathered was that I had been made use of for political

purposes and successfully come through what every one considered a

very dangerous enterprise. The same people who had urged me to go

now addressed me as "one that could look death in the eyes."

Had I met death, what explanation would they have offered to the

questions that must have cropped up over the death of a British

subject?

A number of schoolmasters had gathered in Andrijevitza for their

holidays. Many of them were educated in Belgrade and these were

especially of the opinion that the murder of Alexander and Draga was

a splendid thing for Serbia, and when I said it might bring

misfortune were not at all pleased. Even persons who at first said

the murder was horrible now said since it was done it was well done.

The Voyvoda and the Kapetan told me that every country in Europe had

accepted King Petar except England and that the Serb Minister had

been sent from London. "England," they declared, "has often been our

enemy." They hoped that good, however, would result from my journey.

The whole of my return to Cetinje was a sort of triumphal progress.

Jovo Martinovitch, the Serdar at Kolashin, was delighted to hear of

the Ipek expedition, but admitted frankly that he had not dared

propose it himself. Voyvoda Lakitch, he said, was well informed and

no doubt knew the moment at which it could be safely attempted.

Every place I passed through was of opinion something was about to

happen soon. Next year the route to Gusinje would be open. At

Podgoritza I was received by the Governor Spiro Popovitch and taken

for a drive round the town.

I arrived at Cetinje in time for dinner and appeared in my usual

corner. Mr. Shipley and Count Bollati hailed me at once saying that

they thought I was about due. Where had I been? "Ipek," said I.

The effect on the diplomatic table was even more startling than upon

Montenegro. "But the route is closed!" said every one. I assured

them I had nevertheless been through it, and Mr. Shipley said if he

had had any idea I was going to attempt such a thing he would have

telegraphed all over the place and stopped it. At the same time he

admitted, "I rather thought you were up to something," and gave me a

piece of excellent advice, which I have always followed, which was

"Never consult a British representative if you want to make a risky

journey." Really, he was quite pleased about it and crowed over the

rest of the diplomatic table, that the British could get to places

that nobody else could. I received a note next morning from the

Bulgarian diplomatic agent praying for an interview.

He had not been long in Cetinje, but later became one of the best

known Balkan politicians. For he was Monsieur Rizoff, who, as Bulgar

Minister at Berlin, played a considerable part in the Balkan

politics of the great war.

He was a Macedonian Bulgar born at Resna, a typical Bulgar in build

and cast of countenance, and a shrewd and clever intriguer. His

excitement over my journey was great and he wanted every possible

detail as to what were the Turkish forces and where they were

situated. I told him that I understood a rising was planned. And he

told me quite frankly that all was being prepared and a rising was

to break out in Macedonia so soon as the crops were harvested.

I gathered that Rizoff himself was deeply mixed in the plot, an

idea which was confirmed later on. For among the papers captured on

a Bulgar comitadgi, Doreff, was a letter signed Grasdoff, describing

his attempts to import arms through Montenegro, a plan he found

impossible owing to the opposition of the Albanians in the

territories that must be passed through. He visited Cetinje and

reports: "I have spoken with M. Rizoff. With regard to the passage

of men and munitions through Montenegro . . . even at the risk of

losing his post he is disposed to give his assistance. But owing to

the great difficulty the plan would meet in Albania we must renounce

it. M. Rizoff hopes to be transferred soon to Belgrade. M. Rizoff

having met M. Milakoff (PMilukoff) at Abbazia, has decided to

continue the preparations for the organization until public opinion

is convinced of the inutility of the (Turkish) reforms or until the

term fixed--October 1905." Rizoff, in his talk with me, seemed

hopeful of inducing European intervention.

Desultory fighting between Bulgar bands and Turkish troops had been

going on in Macedonia throughout the year and many Bulgar peasants

had fled from Macedonia into Bulgaria where fresh bands were

prepared. A bad fight had taken place near Uskub, the Slav peasants

of which were then recognized as Bulgars. But the Serbo-Bulgar

struggle for Uskub--which, in truth, was then mainly Albanian--had

begun.

Throughout Turkish territory, Greek, Serb and Bulgar pegged out

their claims by the appointment of Bishops. Once a Bishop was

successfully planted, a school with Serb, Greek or Bulgar masters at

once sprang up and under the protection of one Great Power or

another a fresh propaganda was started.

Every time a Bishop was moved by one side, it meant "Check to your

King!" for the other. English Bishops talked piously of, and even

prayed for "our Christian brethren of the Balkans," happily unaware

that their Christian brethren were solely engaged in planning

massacres or betraying the priests of a rival nationality to the

Turks.

Serbia had just triumphantly cried "Check" to Bulgaria. In 1902 the

Bishop of Uskub had died. The Serbs had had no Bishop in Turkish

territory since the destruction of the Serb Bishopric of Ipek in

1766, which was the work of the Greek Patriarch rather than of the

Turk. They now put in a claim. The Russian Vjedomosti published a

learned article on the Ipek episcopate. The Porte regarded with

dread the increasing power of the Bulgars. So did the Greek

Patriarch at Constantinople. He of 1766 had aimed at the destruction

of Slavdom. He of 1902 thought Serbia far less dangerous than

Bulgaria. Firmilian was duly consecrated in June, 1902--a small

straw showing that Russia had begun to blow Serbwards. She began to

see she could not afford to have a powerful Bulgaria between herself

and Constantinople.

At Cetinje I gathered that my jpurney to Ipek was mysteriously

connected with "something" that was going to happen, and was

interested to find that though the populace still heartily approved

of the murder of Alexander and were filled with anger and dismay at

England's rupture of diplomatic relations, the mighty of the land

had realized that in public at any rate, it was as well to moderate

their transports. King Nikola had been interviewed by several

British and other journalists, had looked down his nose, lamented

the wickedness of the Serbs and assured his interviewers that the

Montenegrins were a far more virtuous people. Montenegro posed as

the good boy of the Serb race, and as the gentlemen in question had

not been present either at the thanksgiving in the church nor the

gala performance at the Zetski Dom, they accepted the statement.

Interviewing is, in fact, as yet the most efficient method by which

journalism can spread erroneous reports.

I returned to London and read shortly afterwards in The Times that

Macedonian troubles had settled down and recollecting that at Ipek I

had learnt they had not yet begun I wrote and told The Times so. But

it was far too well informed to print this statement. Had it not

withdrawn its correspondent? And, as Rizoff had told me, a general

Bulgar rising broke out all through Macedonia in August.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MACEDONIA, 1903-1904

THE Macedonian rising of 1903 was a purely Bulgar movement. As is

invariably the case with such risings, it was ill-planned; and

untrained peasants and irregular forces never in the long run have a

chance against regulars. Its history has been told more than once in

detail. I need only say that, instead of revolting simultaneously,

one village rose after another, and the Turkish forces rode round,

burning and pillaging in the usual fashion of punitive expeditions.

Thousands of refugees fled into Bulgaria--thus emphasizing their

nationality--and within the Bulgarian frontier organized komitadji

bands, which carried on a desultory guerrilla war with the Turkish

forces for some time. But it was soon obvious that, unless strongly

aided by some outside Power, the rising must fail.

The most important point to notice now is that not a single one of

these many revolutionaries fled to Serbia, or claimed that they were

Serbs. They received arms, munitions and other help from Bulgaria,

from Serbia nothing. They were rising to make Big Bulgaria, not

Great Serbia. Serbia now claims these people as Serbs. She did not

then extend one finger to assist them.

Milosh would not help the Greeks to obtain freedom because he did

not want a large Greece. Similarly, Serbia and Greece in 1903 did

nothing at all to aid the Macedonian revolutionaries. Most of us who

have worked in old days to free the people from the Turkish yoke

have now recognized what a farce that tale was. Not one of the

Balkan people ever wanted to "free" their "Christian brethren"

unless there was a chance of annexing them.

The Bulgar rising died down as winter came on and acute misery

reigned in the devastated districts. In December, as one who had

some experience of Balkan life, I was asked to go out on relief work

under the newly formed Macedonian Relief Committee. The invitation

came to me as an immense surprise and with something like despair.

I had had my allotted two months' holiday. I had never before been

asked to take part in any public work, and I wanted to go more than

words could express. Circumstances had forced me to refuse so many

openings. I was now forty, and this might be my last chance.

The Fates were kind, and I started for Salonika at a few days'

notice, travelling almost straight through. Serbia was depressed and

anxious, I gathered from my fellow travellers, as we passed through

it. Bishop Firmilian, whose election to the see of Uskub the Serbs

had with great difficulty obtained in June 1902, had just died. The

train was full of ecclesiastics going to his funeral at Uskub.

Russia had aided his election very considerably. It had coincided

with Russia's support of Petar Karageorgevitch to the throne of

Serbia, and all was part of Russia's new Balkan plans in which

Serbia was to play a leading role.

Petar was not received by Europe. Firmilian was dead. Serbia was

anxious. They buried Firmilian on Christmas Day in the morning,

dreading the while lest they were burying the bishopric too, so far

as Serbia was concerned--and I reached Salonika that night.

The tale of the relief work I have told elsewhere. I will now touch

only on the racial questions.

In Monastir I tried to buy some Serb books, for I was hard at work

studying the language, and had a dictionary and grammar with me.

Serbian propaganda in Monastir was, however, then only in its

infancy, and nothing but very elementary school books were to be

got. The Bulgars had a big school and church. If any one had

suggested that Monastir was Serb or ever likely to be Serb, folk

would have thought him mad--or drunk. The pull was between Greek and

Bulgar, there was no question of the Serbs. There was a large

"Greek" population, both in town and country, but of these a very

large proportion were Vlachs, many were South Albanians, others were

Slavs. Few probably were genuine Greeks. But they belonged to the

Greek branch of the Orthodox Church, and were reckoned Greek in the

census. Those Slavs who called themselves Serbs, and the Serb

schoolmasters who had come for propaganda purposes, all went to the

Greek churches.

As for the hatred between the Greek and Bulgar Churches--it was so

intense that no one from West Europe who has not lived in the land

with it, can possibly realize it. The Greeks under Turkish rule had

been head of the Orthodox Christians. True to Balkan type, they had

dreamed only of the reconstruction of the Big Byzantine Empire, and

had succeeded, by hooks and crooks innumerable, in suppressing and

replacing the independent Serb and Bulgar Churches.

But Russia, when she began to scheme for Pan-Slavism, had no

sympathy with Big Byzantium, and was aware that when you have an

ignorant peasantry to deal with, a National Church is one of the

best means for producing acute Nationalism. Under pressure from

Russia, who was supported by other Powers--some of whom really

believed they were aiding the cause of Christianity--the Sultan in

1870 created by firman the Bulgarian Exarchate. Far from "promoting

Christianity" the result of this was that the Greek Patriarch

excommunicated the Exarch and all his followers, and war was

declared between the two Churches. They had no difference of any

kind or sort as regards doctrine, dogma, or ceremonial. The

difference was, and is, political and racial.

Never have people been more deluded than have been the pious of

England about the Balkan Christians. In Montenegro I had heard all

the stock tales of the Christian groaning under the Turkish yoke,

and had believed them. I learnt in Macedonia the strange truth that,

on the contrary, it was the Christian Churches of the Balkans that

kept the Turk in power. Greek and Serb were both organizing

komitadjis bands and sending them into Macedonia, not to "liberate

Christian brethren"--no. That was the last thing they wanted. But to

aid the Turk in suppressing "Christian brethren."

I condoled with the Bulgar Bishop of Ochrida on the terrible

massacre of his flock by the Turks. He replied calmly that to him it

had been a disappointment. He had expected quite half the population

to have been killed, and then Europe would have been forced to

intervene. Not a quarter had perished, and he expected it would all

have to be done over again. "Next time there will be a great

slaughter. All the foreign consuls and every foreigner will be

killed too. It is their own fault." Big Bulgaria was to be

constructed at any price.

I suggested that, had the Bulgars risen in 1897 when the Greek made

war on the Turk, the whole land could have been freed. He replied

indignantly, "I would rather the land should remain for ever under

the Turk than that the Greeks should ever obtain a kilometre."

Later I met his rival, the Greek Bishop. He, too, loudly lamented

the suffering of the wretched Christian under the Turkish yoke. To

him I suggested that if Greece aided the Bulgar rising the Christian

might now be freed. The mere idea horrified him. Sooner than allow

those swine of Bulgars to obtain any territory he would prefer that

the land should be for ever Turkish.

Such was the Christianity which at that time was being prayed for in

English Churches.

Bulgars came to me at night and begged poison with which to kill

Greeks. Greeks betrayed Bulgar komitadjis to the Turkish

authorities. The Serbs sided with the Greeks. They had not then the

smallest desire "to liberate their Slav brethren in Macedonia." No.

They were doing all they could to prevent the Bulgars liberating

them. Of Serb conduct a vivid picture is given by F. Wilson in a

recently published book on the Serbs she looked after as refugees

during the late war. She gives details taken down from the lips of a

Serbian schoolmaster, who describes how he began Serb propaganda in

Macedonia in 1900. "We got the children. We made them realize they

were Serbs. We taught them their history. . . . Masters and

children, we were like secret conspirators." When the Bulgars

resisted this propaganda he describes how a gang of thirty Serbs

"met in a darkened room and swore for each Serb killed to kill two

Bulgars." Lots were drawn for who should go forth to assassinate.

"We broke a loaf in two and each ate a piece. It was our sacrament.

Our wine was the blood of the Bulgarians."

A small Serb school had recently been opened in Ochrida, and I was

invited there to the Feast of St. Sava. The whole Serb population of

Ochrida assembled. We were photographed together. Counting the Greek

priest, the schoolmaster and his family, who were from Serbia, and

myself, we were a party of some fifty people. Ochrida had a very

mixed population. More than half were Moslems, most of them

Albanians. Of the Christians the Bulgars formed the largest unit,

but there were many Vlachs. These were reckoned as Greeks by the

Greeks, but were already showing signs of claiming their own

nationality. The Serbs were by far the smallest group, so small in

fact as to be then negligible.

The Kaimmakam was an Albanian Moslem, Mehdi Bey, who kept the

balance well under very difficult circumstances, and to-day is one

of the leading Albanian Nationalists. He asserted always that

Ochrida should, of right, belong to Albania. Albanian it was indeed

considered until the rise of the Russo-Bulgar movement. As late as

1860 we find the Lakes of Ochrida and Presba referred to as the

Albanian Lakes by English travellers.

Through the winter of 1903-4 trouble simmered, arrests were made,

murders occurred. I learnt the ethics of murder, which, in

Macedonia, were simply: "When a Moslem kills a Moslem so much the

better. When a Christian kills a Christian it is better not talked

about, because people at home would not understand it; when a

Christian kills a Moslem it is a holy and righteous act. When a

Moslem kills a Christian it is an atrocity and should be telegraphed

to all the papers."

In February 1904 the Russo-Japanese quarrel, which had been for some

time growing hotter, burst into sudden war, and the whole complexion

of Balkan affairs changed.

At the beginning the Bulgar leaders took it for granted that Russia

was invincible, and anticipated speedy and complete victory for her.

They were also supplied with false news, and refused to credit at

first any Russian defeat. The Bishop of Ochrida was furious when I

reported to him the sinking of the Petropalovski, and fiercely

declared that the war was in reality an Anglo-Russian one, and that

Japan was merely our tool.

When riding on relief work among the burnt villages it was easy to

learn the great part Russia had taken in building up the Bulgar

rising in Macedonia. The same tale was told in almost each. Once

upon a time, not so very long ago, a rich, noble and generous

gentleman had visited the village. He was richer than you could

imagine; had paid even a white medjid for a cup of coffee; had

called the headmen and the priest together and had asked them if

they would like a church of their own in the village. And in due

time the church had been built. Followed, a list of silver

candlesticks, vestments, etc., presented by this same nobleman--the

Russian Consul. The Turks had looted the treasures. Could I cause

them to be restored? Sometimes the Consul had had an old church

restored. Sometimes he had given money to establish a school. Always

he stood for the people as something almost omnipotent.

In August M. Rostovsky, the Russian Consul at Monastir, had been

murdered. There was nothing political in the affair. The Russian had

imagined the land was already his, and that he was dealing with

humble mouzhiks. He carried a heavy riding-whip and used it when he

chose. I was told by an eye-witness that on one occasion he so

savagely flogged a little boy who had ventured to hang on behind the

consular carriage that a Turkish gendarme intervened. One day he

lashed an Albanian soldier. The man waited his opportunity and shot

Rostovsky dead on the main road near the Consulate. Russia treated

the murder as a political one, and demanded and obtained apology and

reparation of the Turkish Government. The Consul's remains were

transported to the coast with full honours. All this for a Russian

Consul in Turkey. Truly one man may steal a horse and another not

look over a fence. Russia mobilized when Austria insisted on enquiry

into the murder of an Archduke. So well was Rostovsky's funeral

engineered that the native Slav peasants looked on him as a martyr

to the sacred Slav cause, not as a man who had brought his

punishment on himself.

Russia was not, however, the only Power in Monastir. It seethed with

consuls. And the most prominent was Krai, the Austrian Consul-General,

a very energetic and scheming man who "ran" Austria for all she was

worth, and was a thorn in the side of the British Consul, whom he

endeavoured to thwart at every turn. He persuaded the American

missionaries, who were as innocent as babes about European politics,

though they had passed thirty years in the Balkan Peninsula, that he

and not the Englishman could best forward their interests, and they

foolishly induced the American Government to transfer them and their

schools to Austrian protection. And he pushed himself to the front

always, declaring that he had far more power to aid the relief work

and trying to make the English consult him instead of their own

representative. This annoyed me, and I therefore never visited him

at all. Up country among the revolted villages it was clear that the

luckless people had been induced to rise by the belief that, as in

1877, Russia would come to their rescue! But as time passed, and

Russia herself realized that the Japanese were a tough foe, it

became more and more apparent that no further rising would take

place in the spring. The Balkan Orthodox Lenten fast is so severe

that a rising before Easter was always improbable. This Easter would

see none.. I remembered with curious clearness the words of the Pole

who gave me my first Serbian lessons. "Russia is corrupt right

through. If there is a war--Russia will be like that!" and he threw

a rag of paper into the basket scornfully. His has been a twice true

prophecy. The Bulgarian Bishop of Ochrida still believed firmly in

Russia's invincibility. Furious when I refused to have cartridges,

etc., hidden in my room--which the Turks never searched--he turned

on me and declared that England was not a Christian country and

would be wiped out by Holy Russia, who had already taken half Japan

and would soon take the rest and all India too.

By the middle of March I was quite certain no rising would take

place. The Foreign Office in London still expected one, and notified

all relief workers up country to wind up work and return. The others

did, but I stayed and managed to ride right through Albania.

CHAPTER NINE.

ALBANIA

"Where rougher climes a nobler race displayed."--BYRON.

Study of the Macedonian question had shown me that one of the most

important factors of the Near Eastern question was the Albanian, and

that the fact that he was always left out of consideration was a

constant source of difficulty. The Balkan Committee had recently

been formed, and I therefore decided to explore right through

Albania, then but little known, in order to be able to acquire

first-hand information as to the aspirations and ideas of the

Albanians.

Throughout the relief work in Macedonia we had employed Albanians in

every post of trust--as interpreters, guides, kavasses and clerks.

The depot of the British and Foreign Bible Society at Monastir was

entirely in Albanian hands. The Albanian was invaluable to the Bible

Society, and the Bible Society was invaluable to the Albanians.

Albania was suffering very heavily. Every other of the Sultan

subject races had its own schools--schools that were, moreover,

heavily subsidized from abroad. The Bulgarian schools in particular

were surprisingly well equipped. Each school was an active centre of

Nationalist propaganda. All the schoolmasters were revolutionary

leaders. All were protected by various consulates which insisted on

opening new schools and protested when any were interfered with.

Only when it was too late to stop the schools did the Turks perceive

their danger. First came the school, then the revolution, then

foreign intervention--and another piece of the Turkish' Empire was

carved off. This had happened with Serbia, Greece and Bulgaria. The

Turks resolved it should not happen in the case of Albania.

Albania was faced by two enemies. Not only the Turk dreaded the

uprising of Albania, but Russia had already determined that the

Balkan Peninsula was to be Slav and Orthodox. Greece as Orthodox

might be tolerated. No one else.

The Turkish Government prohibited the printing and teaching of the

Albanian language under most severe penalties. Turkish schools were

established for the Moslem Albanians, and every effort made to bring

up the children to believe they were Turks. In South Albania, where

the Christians belong to the Orthodox Church, the Greeks were

encouraged to found schools and work a Greek propaganda. The Turks

hoped thus to prevent the rise of a strong national Albanian party.

The Greek Patriarch went so far as to threaten with excommunication

any Orthodox Albanian who should use the "accursed language" in

church or school. In North Albania, where the whole of the

Christians are Catholics, the Austrians, who had been charged by

Europe with the duty of protecting the Catholics, established

religious schools in which the teaching was in Albanian, and with

which the Turkish Government was unable to interfere. The Jesuits,

under Austrian protection, established a printing press in Scutari

for the printing in Albanian of religious books. But this movement,

being strictly Catholic, was confined to the North. It was,

moreover, initiated with the intent of winning over the Northern

Christians to Austria, and was directed rather to dividing the

Christians from the Moslems and to weakening rather than

strengthening the sense of Albanian nationality. The results of this

we will trace later.

None of these efforts on the part of Albania's enemies killed the

strong race instinct which has enabled the Albanian to survive the

Roman Empire and the fall of Byzantium, outlive the fleeting

mediaeval Empires of Bulgar and Serb, and finally emerge from the

wreck of the mighty Ottoman Empire, retaining his language, his

Customs and his primitive vigour--a rock over which the tides of

invasion have washed in vain.

When threatened with loss of much Albanian territory by the terms of

the Treaty of Berlin, the Albanians rose in force and demanded the

recognition of their rights. There is a popular ballad in Albanian

cursing Lord Beaconsfield, who went to Berlin in order to ruin

Albania and give her lands to her pitiless enemy the Slav. The

Treaty did nothing for Albania, but it caused the formation of the

Albanian League and a national uprising by means of which the

Albanians retained some of the said lands in spite of the Powers.

This induced Abdul Hamid for a short time to relax the ban upon the

Albanian language. At once national schools were opened, and books

and papers came from Albanian presses. The Sultan, alarmed by the

rapid success of the national movement, again prohibited the

language. Schoolmasters were condemned to long terms of

imprisonment. As much as fifteen years was the sentence that could

be, and was, inflicted upon any one found in possession of an

Albanian paper, and the Greek priests entered enthusiastically into

the persecution. But Albanian was not killed. Leaders of the

movement went to Bucarest, to Sofia, to Brussels, to London, and set

to work. With much difficulty and at great personal risk books and

papers published abroad were smuggled into Albania by Moslem

Albanian officials, many of whom suffered exile and confiscation of

all their property in consequence.

But there was another means by which printed Albanian was brought

into the country. During the short interval when the printing of

Albanian had been permitted, a translation of the Bible was made for

the British and Foreign Bible Society. This Society had the

permission of the Turkish Government to circulate its publications

freely. When the interdict on the language was again imposed a nice

question arose. Had the Society the right to circulate Albanian

Testaments? The Turkish Government had not the least objection to

the Gospels--only they must not be in Albanian. A constant war on

the subject went on. The director of the Bible Depot in Monastir was

an Albanian of high standing both as regards culture and energy.

Grasping the fact that by means of these publications an immense

national propaganda could be worked, he spared no pains, and by

carefully selecting and training Albanian colporteurs, whose

business it was to learn in which districts the officials were

dangerous, where they were sympathetic, and where there were

Nationalists willing themselves to risk receiving and distributing

books, succeeded to a remarkable degree.

The Greeks, of course, opposed the work. A Greek Bishop is, in fact,

declared to have denounced the dissemination of "the New Testament

and other works contrary to the teaching of the Holy and Orthodox

Church." Nevertheless it continued. It was with one of the Society's

colporteurs that I rode through Albania. I was thus enabled

everywhere to meet the Nationalists and to observe how very widely

spread was the movement. The journey was extremely interesting, and

as exciting in many respects as Borrow's Bible in Spain.

Leaving Monastir in a carriage and driving through much of the

devastated Slav area I was greatly struck on descending into the

plain land by Lake Malik to see the marked difference in the type of

man that swung past on the road. I saw again the lean, strong figure

and the easy stride of the Albanian, the man akin to my old friends

of Scutari, a wholly different type from the Bulgar peasants among

whom I had been working, and I felt at home.

Koritza, the home of Nationalism in the South, was my first

halting-place. It was celebrated as being the only southern town in

which there was still an Albanian school in spite of Turk and Greek.

Like the schools of Scutari, it owed its existence to foreign

protection. It was founded by the American Mission. Its plucky

teacher, Miss Kyrias (now Mrs. Dako), conducted it with an ability

and enthusiasm worthy of the highest praise. And in spite of the

fact that attendance at the school meant that parents and children

risked persecution by the Turk and excommunication by the Greek

priest, yet the school was always full. The girls learned to read

and write Albanian and taught their brothers. Many parents told me

very earnestly how they longed for a boys' school too. The

unfortunate master of the Albanian boys' school, permitted during

the short period when the interdiction was removed, was still in

prison serving his term of fifteen years. Could not England, I was

asked, open a school? Now either a child must learn Greek or not

learn to read at all. And the Greek teachers even told children that

it was useless to pray in Albanian, for Christ was a Greek, and did

not understand any other language.

Everywhere it was the same. Deputations came to me begging for

schools. Even Orthodox priests, who were Albanian, ventured to

explain that what they wanted was an independent Church. Roumania,

Serbia, Greece, even Montenegro, each was free to elect its own

clergy and to preach and conduct the service in its own language. At

Leskoviki and Premeti folk were particularly urgent both for schools

and church.

Not only among the Christians, but among the Moslems too, there was

a marked sense of nationality. A very large proportion of the

Moslems of the south were by no means, orthodox Moslems, but were

members of one of the Dervish sects, the Bektashi, and as such

suspect by the powers, at Constantinople. Between the Bektashi and

the Christians there appeared to be no friction. Mosques were not

very plentiful. I was assured by the Kaimmakam of Leskoviki that

many of the Moslem officials were Bekiashifj and attended mosque

only as a form without which they could not hold office. He was much

puzzled about Christianity and asked me to explain why the Greeks

and | Bulgars, who were both Christian, were always killing each

other. "They say to Europe," he said, "that they object to Moslem

rule. But they would certainly massacre each other if we went away.

What good is this Christianity to them?" I told him I could no more

understand it than he did.

The Bulgarian rising had had a strong repercussion in Albania. Our

relief work was everywhere believed to be a British Government

propaganda. Other Powers scattered money for their own purpose in

Turkish territory. Why not Great Britain? It was a natural

conclusion. Moreover the Bulgars themselves believed the help

brought them was from England the Power. And the name Balkan

Committee even was misleading. In the Near East a committee is a

revolutionary committee, and consists of armed komitadjis. Times

innumerable have I assured Balkan people of all races that the

Balkan Committee did not run contraband rifles, but they have never

believed it.

The Albanians everywhere asked me to assure Lord Lansdowne, then

Secretary for Foreign Affairs, that if he would only supply them

with as much money and as many arms as he had given the Bulgarians

they would undertake to make a really successful rising.

As for our Albanian testaments, Moslems as well as Christians bought

them; and the book of Genesis, with the tale of Potiphar's wife,

sold like hot cakes.

At Berat, where there was a Greek Consul and a Turkish Kaimmakam, we

were stopped by the police at the entrance of the town and all our

Albanian books were taken from us. But no objection was made to

those in Turkish and Greek. It was the language and not the contents

of the book that was forbidden. But there were plenty of

Nationalists in the town. It is noteworthy that though our errand

was well known everywhere, and people hastened to tell "the

Englishwoman" Albania's hopes and fears, not once did any one come

to tell me that Albania wanted to be joined to Greece. It was always

"Give us our own schools," "Free us from the Greek priest." At

Elbasan we found a bale of publications awaiting us, sent from

Monastir in anticipation of what would happen at Berat.

Here there was a charming old Albanian Mutasarrif, who did all he

could to make my visit pleasant and begged me to send many English

visitors. He had been Governor of Tripoli (now taken by Italy), and

told me that on returning home to Albania after very many years'

foreign service he was horrified to find his native land worse used

than any other part of the Turkish Empire with which he was

acquainted. He was hot on the school question, and declared his

intention of having Albanian taught. As for our books we might sell

as many as we pleased, the more the better. The little boys of the

Moslem school flocked to buy them, and we sold, too, to several

Albanians who wore the uniform of Turkish officers.

The Albanian periodical, published in London by Faik Bey, was known

here. A definite effort was being made at Elbasan to break with the

Greek Church. An Albanian priest had visited Rome, and there asked

leave to establish at Elbasan a Uniate Church. He was the son of a

rich man, and having obtained the assent of Rome returned with the

intention of building the church himself, and had even bought a

piece of land for it. But leave to erect a church had to be first

obtained from the Turkish Government. This he was hoping to receive

soon. The Turkish Government, aware that this was part of the

Nationalist movement, never granted the permit, though characteristically

it kept the question open for a long while. The mountains of Spata

near Elbasan are inhabited by a mountain folk in many ways

resembling the Maltsors of the north, who preserved a sort of

semi-independence. They were classed by the Christians as

crypto-Christians. I saw neither church nor mosque in the district I

visited. As for religion, each had two names. To a Moslem enquirer

he said he was Suliman; to a Christian that he was Constantino. When

called on to pay tax, as Christians in place of giving military

service, the inhabitants declined on the grounds that they all had

Moslem names and had no church. When on the other hand they were

summoned for military service they protested they were Christians.

And the Turks mostly left them alone. But they were Nationalists,

and when the proposal for a Uniate Church was mooted, declared they

would adhere to Rome. The news of this having spread, upset the

Orthodox Powers to such an extent that a Russian Vice-Consul was

sent hurriedly to the spot. The Spata men, however, who were vague

enough about religious doctrines, were very certain that they did

not want anything Russian, and the Russian who had been instructed

to buy them with gold if necessary had to depart in a hurry.

It was a district scarcely ever visited by strangers, and my visit

gave extraordinary delight.

So through Pekinj, Kavaia, Durazzo Tirana and Croia, the city of

Skenderbeg and the stronghold now of Bektashism, I arrived at last

at Scutari, and was welcomed by Mr. Summa, himself a descendant of

one of the mountain clans, formerly dragoman to the Consulate, and

now acting Vice-Consul. He was delighted about my journey, and told

me he could pass me up into the mountains wherever I pleased. He

explained to me that on my former visit, Mr. Prendergast being new

to the country had consulted the Austrian Consulate as to the

possibility of my travelling in the interior, and that the Austrians

who wished to keep foreigners out of the mountains, though they sent

plenty of their own tourists there, had given him such an alarming

account of the dangers as had caused him to tell me it was

impossible. He arranged at once for me to visit Mirdita.

The Abbot of the Mirdites, Premi Dochl, was a man of remarkable

capacity. Exiled from Albania as a young man for participation in

the Albanian league and inciting resistance to Turkish rule and the

decrees of the Treaty of Berlin, he had passed his years of exile in

Newfoundland and India as a priest, and had learned English and read

much. He was the inventor of an excellent system of spelling

Albanian by which he got rid of all accents and fancy letters and

used ordinary Roman type. He had persuaded the Austrian authorities

to use it in their schools, and was enthusiastic about the books

that he was having prepared. His schemes were wide and included the

translation of many standard English books into Albanian. And he had

opened a small school hard by his church in the mountains.

His talk was wise. He Was perhaps the most far-seeing of the

Albanian Nationalists. We stood on a height and looked over Albania

--range behind range like the stony waves of a great sea, sweeping

towards the horizon intensely and marvellously blue, and fading

finally into the sky in a pale mauve distance. He thrust out his

hands towards it with pride and enthusiasm. It was a mistake, he

said, now to work against Turkey. The Turk was no longer Albania's

worst foe. Albania had suffered woefully from the Turk. But Albania

was not dead. Far from it. There was another, and a far worse foe

--one that grew ever stronger, and that was the Slav: Russia with

her fanatical Church and her savage Serb and Bulgar cohorts ready to

destroy Albania and wipe out Catholic and Moslem alike.

He waved his hand in the direction of Ipek. "Over yonder," he said,

"is the land the Serbs called Old Serbia. But it is a much older

Albania. Now it is peopled with Albanians, many of whom are the

victims, or the children of the victims, of the Berlin Treaty:

Albanians, who had lived for generations on lands that that Treaty

handed over to the Serbs and Montenegrins, who drove them out to

starve. Hundreds perished on the mountains. Look at Dulcigno--a

purely Albanian town, threatened by the warships of the Great

Powers, torn from us by force. How could we resist all Europe? Our

people were treated by the invading Serb and Montenegrin with every

kind of brutality. And the great Gladstone looked on! Now there is

an outcry that the Albanians of Kosovo ill-treat the Slavs. Myself I

regret it. But what can they do? What can you expect? They know very

well that so long as ten Serbs exist in a place Russia will swear it

is a wholly Serb district. And they have sworn to avenge the loss of

Dulcigno.

"The spirit of the nation is awake in both Christian and Moslem.

People ask why should not we, like the Bulgars and Serbs, rule our

own land? But first we must learn, and organize. We must have time.

If another war took place now the Slavs would overwhelm us. We must

work our propaganda and teach Europe that there are other people to

be liberated besides Bulgars and Serbs. The Turk is now our only

bulwark against the Slav invader. I say therefore that we must do

nothing to weaken the Turk till we are strong enough to stand alone

and have European recognition. When the Turkish Empire breaks up, as

break it must, we must not fall either into the hands of Austria nor

of the Slavs."

And to this policy, which time has shown to have been the wise one,

he adhered steadily. He took no part in rising against the Turk, but

he worked hard by means of spread of education and information, to

attain ultimately the freedom of his country. His death during the

Great War is a heavy loss to Albania.

I promised him then that I would do all that lay in my power to

bring a knowledge of Albania to the English, and that I would work

for its freedom. He offered to pass me on to Gusihje, Djakova, or

any other district I wished, and to do all in his power to aid my

travels But I had already far exceeded my usual holiday, and appeals

to me to return to England were urgent.

I had to tear myself away from the wilderness and I was soon once

more steaming up the Lake of Scutari to Rijeka.

CHAPTER TEN.

MURDER WILL OUT

I ARRIVED in Cetinje with a Turkish trooper's saddle and a pair of

saddle-bags that contained some flintlock pistols and some beautiful

ostrich feathers given me by the Mutasarrif of Elbasan and not much

else but rags.

The news that I had come right through Albania excited Cetinje

vastly. Every English tourist who wanted to go to Scutari was warned

by the Montenegrins that it was death to walk outside the town; that

murders took place every day in the bazar; any absurd tale, in

fact, to blacken the Albanians. The Montenegrins were not best

pleased at my exploit, and full of curiosity.

I patched my elbows, clipped the ragged edge of my best skirt, and

was then told by Vuko Vuletitch that the Marshal of the Court was

waiting below to speak with me.

I descended and found the gentleman in full dress. It was a feast

day.

We greeted one another.

"His Royal Highness the Prince wishes to speak with you!" said he

with much flourish. "He requests you will name an hour when it is

convenient for you to come to the Palace."

It was the first time the Prince had noticed me, I was highly

amused, and replied:

"I can come now if His Royal Highness pleases!"

The Marshal of the Court eyed me doubtfully and hesitated. "I can

wash my hands," said I firmly, "and that is all; I have no clothes

but what I have on." My only other things were in the wash, and I

had repaired myself so far as circumstances allowed. The Marshal of

the Court returned with the message that His Royal Highness would

receive me at once "as a soldier."

I trotted obediently off with him. We arrived at the Palace. It was

a full-dress day, and the Montenegrins never let slip an occasion

for peacocking. The situation pleased me immensely. The Marshal

himself was in his very best white cloth coat and silken sash, gold

waistcoat, and all in keeping. Another glittering functionary

received me and between the two I proceeded upstairs. At the top of

the flight is a large full-length looking-glass, and for the first

time for four months I "saw myself as others saw me." Between the

two towering glittering beings was a small, wiry, lean object, with

flesh burnt copper-colour and garments that had never been anything

to boast of, and were now long past their prime. I could have

laughed aloud when I saw the Prince in full-dress with rows of

medals and orders across his wide chest, awaiting me. It is a

popular superstition, fostered by newspapers in the pay of modistes,

that in order to get on it is necessary to spend untold sums on

dress. But in truth if people really want to get something out of

you they do not care what you look like. Nor will any costume in the

world assist you if you have nothing to say.

The Prince conducted me to an inner room, greeted me politely,

begged me to be seated and then launched into a torrent of questions

about my previous years journey to Ipek. He seemed to think that my

life had not been worth a para, and that the Rugova route was

impossible. "Do you know, Mademoiselle, that what you did was

excessively dangerous?"

"Sire," said I, "it was your Montenegrins who made me do it." He

made no reply to this, but lamented that for him such a tour was out

of the question. And of all things he desired to see the Patriarchia

at Ipek and the Church of Dechani and the relics of the Sveti Kralj.

He had been told I had secured photographs of these places. If so,

would I give him copies?

I promised to send him prints from London. He thanked me, and there

was a pause. I wondered if this was what I had been summoned for,

and if I now ought to go. Then Nikita looked at me and suddenly

began: "I think, Mademoiselle, that you are acquainted with my

son-in-law, King Petar of Serbia."

Dear me, thought I, this is delicate ground. "I have not that

honour, Sire," I said. Now how far dare I go? I asked myself. Let us

proceed with caution. "I was in Serbia, Sire," I continued boldly,

"during the lifetime of the--er--late King Alexander." Nikita looked

at me. I looked at Nikita. Then he heaved a portentous sigh, a feat

for which his huge chest specially fitted him.

"A sad affair, was it not, Mademoiselle?" he asked. And he sighed

again.

Now or never, thought I, is the time for kite-flying. I gazed sadly

at Nikita; heaved as large a sigh as I was capable of, and said

deliberately: "Very sad, Sire--but perhaps necessary!"

The shot told. Nikita brought his hand down with a resounding smack

on his blue-knickerbockered thigh and cried aloud with the greatest

excitement: "Mon Dieu, but you are right, Mademoiselle! A thousand

times right! It was necessary, and it is you alone that understand.

Return, I beg you, to England. Explain it to your Foreign Office--to

your politicians--to your diplomatists!" His enthusiasm was

boundless and torrential. All would now be well, he assured me.

Serbia had been saved. If I would go to Belgrade all kinds of

facilities would be afforded me.

I was struck dumb by my own success. A reigning Sovereign had given

himself away with amazing completeness. I had but dangled the fly

and the salmon had gorged it. Such a big fish, too. Nikita, filled

with hopes that the result of this interview would be the resumption

<of diplomatic relations between England and Serbia, presented me

with a fine signed photograph of himself, summoned the Marshal of

the Court and instructed him to have it conveyed to the hotel. It

was not etiquette, it appeared, for me to carry such a burden

myself. The Interview was over.

It was abundantly clear that, in spite of all he had said to

journalists, the old man heartily approved of the manner of the

death of the last of the Obrenovitches, and had been "behind the

scenes" of it.

I had many subsequent interviews with Nikita, but though I strewed

many baits, never again caught him out so completely. Some people

think that Foreign Affairs can be successfully carried on by Prime

Ministers and Secretaries of State who speak nothing but English. I

submit that the above information could never have been extracted

through an interpreter. For an interpreter gives the other party

time to think.

By the end of a week I was back in London. It was not quite a year

since the death of Alexander. Nikita had shown plainly that he

regarded the event as a very important step in Serb history. And he

wanted me to go to Belgrade. But to me the situation was rather

obscure. I knew Montenegro was unpopular in Serbia. Perhaps Nikita

did not.

For purposes of their own the Montenegrins had risked my life

--according to their own statements--by sending me to Ipek. True, I

did not then set any value whatever on my life, so was not so brave

by a long way as they imagined, but all the same they had had no

right to do it. If I went to Belgrade at all, it should not be for

an unknown purpose and as emissary of Nikita.

Meanwhile, King Petar was necessarily entirely in the hands of the

Pretorian guard, which had put him on the throne and could send him

after Alexander if he did not please them. They soon occupied high

positions. Colonel Maschin, who had himself helped kill his

sister-in-law Draga, was made head of the General Staff, and Colonel

Damian Popovitch, the leader of the gang, who has since become

notorious for atrocities, even in the Balkans, was given the command

of the Belgrade-Danube Division, and King Petar obediently signed an

amended Constitution, which greatly curtailed his own power. An

attempt on the part of certain officers to resist the regicides was

crushed, and several were imprisoned. Serbia was, and remained,

under military rule, the object of which was the reconstruction of

Great Serbia. The Serbo-Bulgar question rapidly became acute. Prince

Ferdinand met King Petar informally in Nish railway station. In

October 1904, King Petar visited Sofia. The visit was a failure.

Prince Ferdinand was in favour of an autonomous Macedonia. The Serb

Press would not hear of such a thing. Pashitch, then Minister for

Foreign Affairs, declared that such an autonomy would injure Serbia

and be all in favour of Bulgaria. Simitch, diplomatic agent at

Sofia, insisted that under such an autonomy Bulgarian annexation was

concealed and should that take place, the Serbs would fight till

either Serbia or Bulgaria was destroyed. Both men thus admitted that

Macedonia was not Serb. But they wanted Bulgar aid to crush the

Albanian, in order that Serbia might take Albanian territory. "Heads

I win; tails you lose." Bulgaria was to gain nothing. Serbia meant

to be top dog. The Serbian Press attacked Prince Nikola so violently

that an indignation meeting was held at Cetinje and the populace

crowded outside the palace and shouted "Zhivio." The tug between

Petrovitch and Karageorgevitch had begun. The regicides had not

ended the Obrenovitches to be baulked by the Petrovitches.

A stealthy campaign against Prince Nikola now began, which emanated

from Belgrade and had, I am inclined to believe, Russian support.

A ludicrous episode was the arrival in London of Prince Albert

Ghika, a Roumanian, who announced himself to the Press as a claimant

to the Albanian throne, and was taken seriously even by some quite

respectable journals. It was indeed bad luck for him that he timed

his visit to correspond with my return from Albania, for I was able

to state that, far from being accepted by the whole nation, I had

never even heard his name mentioned. In a very amusing interview I

had with him I ascertained that he did not know a word of the

language of his adopted country. His plans were grandiose, and

included Constantinople as capital. "Pourquoi pas?" he asked. It

would prevent the Great Powers from quarrelling over it, and

therefore make for peace! His curled mustachios, his perfumes, his

incomparable aplomb, his airs of a "Serene Highness" formed a

magnificent stock-in-trade. But even the fact that he offered me a

magnificent salary to be Maid of Honour or Lady-in-Waiting (I forget

which) at the Court of Albania did not persuade me to espouse his

cause, which disappeared into thin air so soon as the newspapers had

a fresh sensation.

Nevertheless Albert Ghika hung around the back doors of the Balkans

for some time. It was only in Albania that he was unknown.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

1905

Coming events cast their shadows before.--CAMPBELL.

This holiday was eventful. On the steamer I was addressed politely

by an Albanian who had read my name on my bag. He said he had seen

me a week before in Venice, and proved it by describing my

companions. Said calmly he had purposely shipped on the same boat,

knew all about me, but preferred to be known himself as "the

Egyptian." He was a storehouse of tales of political intrigue, and

yarned till near midnight on the deck as we slid through the

phosphorescent sea. Of Ghika and his doings he was well informed.

All Ghikas, he said, suffered badly from the same incurable

complaint--a hole in the pocket--a disease, alas, common to many

other honest men! At any rate Albert Ghika's claim to the Albanian

throne had obtained him a rich bride, which was always something.

That he really expected to mount that throne was in the highest

degree improbable, for he was no fool. "How much has the lady?" I

could not enlighten him. "How the English journals accepted him

amazes me! But they gave him a reclame enorme. And he had not a sou.

Now he has some gold. But no one in Albania knows him, and he has no

party there." Followed tales of another "celebrity," Lazarevitch,

who claimed descent from Tsar Lazar of Kosovo fame and was,

according to "the Egyptian," the finest intriguer in Europe: "not a

plot has happened in which he has not had, if not his index, his

little finger. He played a large part in the Dreyfus case. And, like

Ghika, he has married a rich wife, Only once has he been taken in,

and that was by Shaban. You know Shaban? Shaban was really called

Dossi. He was employed by Cook in Egypt as a dragoman, and dismissed

from that service doubtless for good reasons. He dressed himself in

a Gheg costume, got an introduction to Lazarevitch, and said he was

an Albanian Bey who wanted to make a Serbo-Albanian alliance against

Bulgar pretensions. Lazarevitch jumped at this. The first time he

was ever taken in. He gave Shaban several hundred pounds. Shaban had

a friend who was a tailor. Faik Bey, who was in London, saw Shaban

and denounced him as an impostor. The tailor ran away to Greece with

all the money, and was at once arrested there. So Shaban got

nothing. Why did the Greeks arrest the tailor? Because of the

English gold of course. Probably he was guilty of something or other

too. But they would not have troubled about it but for the gold.

They got that." He out-Antonied Hope and made Phroso tame compared

to the real Balkans. Much more he told and much proved true. But he

was obviously a dangerous travelling companion, and when he told me

he proposed passing some days with me in the Bocche di Cattaro, I

abruptly changed my plan of staying there, hailed a Montenegrin

carriage which was waiting on the quay at Cattaro and drove straight

to Cetinje.

Later, I received from Paris a gilt-edged letter with a Royal crown

upon it from Aladri Kastrioti, the elderly and amiable gentleman who

claimed descent from Skenderbeg and toyed with the idea of ascending

the Albanian throne himself. He had, in fact, a considerable

following in the Northern mountains, for the name of Skenderbeg was

one to conjure with, and the Turkish Government prohibited the sale

of his picture post cards. He wrote that his secretary, "the

Egyptian," had reported his success in making my acquaintance and

begged that on my return I would meet him in Paris and discuss

matters of importance. This invitation I never accepted.

Cetinje I found bubbling over Albert Ghika. He had come with such

good letters of introduction that the Prince had appointed

Matanovitch as a sort of guard of honour to him. But when it became

apparent that he meant to use Montenegro as a safe spot whence to

make trouble across the border, and even began to scatter picture

post cards of the future King and Queen of Albania, he was asked to

leave the country. Matanovitch was very much chaffed about his share

in the expedition.

Orthodox Easter was due. I was told that having had an audience last

year it was correct for me to telegraph Easter greetings to Prince

Nikola, who was in his winter quarters at Rijeka. In reply came an

official intimation that I should call on him at three o'clock next

day. I was met by an officer of the Court and taken to the audience.

The old man was in the doorway when I arrived, and was very

friendly. He was, I fancy, bored to death at Rijeka, and glad of a

visitor from the great world outside. He led me into a small room

and insisted on my taking a very large chair, evidently his own

seat, while he sat down on one much too small for him, and began

very vividly to tell me of his first fight at Vuchidol in 1876 and

of the great battle of Grahovo where twelve of his relatives had

lost their heads. He was very lively, and there was something

extraordinarily old-world, even mediaeval, about him. I felt I was

in a by-gone century--at latest with Rob Roy. We must eat together

he said, and we had an odd meal of ham, hardboiled eggs, bread and

weak tea into which he hospitably insisted on putting five large

lumps of sugar with his Royal fingers. He pressed me to eat also the

wing of a fowl, but as it was but 3 p.m. this was quite impossible

for me. So after hoarse house-keeping whispers to his man, a bottle

of Marsala was produced and we drank healths. He questioned me about

my Albanian experiences and roared with laughter. He said the

Albanians would certainly put me to ransom some day, and promised

himself to contribute handsomely. He dug in the pockets of his

capacious breeches and fished out some beautifully decorated Easter

eggs a peasant had just given him, and presented one to me. Of his

people he spoke as though they were all little children. He meant

well by them. Truly. But so do many parents, who forget their

children are grown up. He meant them to go his way, not theirs. A

fatal error. He was very anxious to know how much money I had been

paid for my book, and was as inquisitive about my pecuniary

situation as the most upcountry of his subjects, and hoped the book

would bring hosts of wealthy tourists to the land. I stirred him up

by telling him that the Albanians intended some day to make a state

larger than Montenegro and take back Antivari and Podgoritza.

"Let them come!" said the old man stoutly. His eyes twinkled and he

laughed while he clasped his revolver, confessing he would not be

averse to a little war--but there was Europe to be considered.

Meanwhile I was to be sure and go to see Grahova and Vuchidol. After

a good three-quarters of an hour's talk he saw me to the door and

shouted good-bye from the doorstep.

At Nyegushi I engaged as guide one Krsto, recommended me in 1903 at

Andrijevitza by a botany professor from Prague, and while our start

was preparing went with Kapetan Gjuro Vrbitza and another officer by

a track to the mountain's edge whence we could look directly down

upon Cattaro. A gun emplacement was made there later. The two

Montenegrins amused themselves by hurling stones into Austrian

territory--feeling ran then strongly against Austria. For the first

time I heard the song:

Franz Josef da Bog ti ubio. Ti si strashno zlo uchinio!

(Franz Josef, may God strike thee dead. Thou hast wrought terrible

evil.)

Russia was still madly struggling with Japan. It was the Tsar's own

fault, said popular opinion. Prince Nikola had offered to send a

large Montenegrin army and he had declined it. Consequently only

nineteen volunteers, including two of Krsto's own relatives, had

gone to Russia's aid. Otherwise "Portartur" would never have

fallen. Krsto's cousin was engineer on one of Rozhdjestvcnski's

ships. Every one believed England had tried to Sink them by

concealing Japanese torpedo boats among the fishing fleet. They,

however, kindly absolved me from complicity in the affair, mainly

because I had been to Ipek.

France, as Russia's ally, had sprung into high favour and was

contemplating the erection of a "nouveau art" Legation. And the

new French Minister's little boy put his hands behind his back when

introduced to me, and said: "I cannot shake hands with you,

Mademoiselle, till you assure me you are not the friend of the

Yellow Monkeys." Thus are peace and goodwill taught to children in

the "civilized" lands of West Europe.

I started for Vuchidol, which the Prince had expressly desired me to

visit, by way of Grahovo. Each village knew of my ride to Ipek, and

received me with enthusiasm. Each told the same tale. The rising

planned to take place throughout the Balkans in 1904 had been

stopped by the misfortunes of the Russo-Japanese War. Montenegro was

aghast at the duration of the war, and her faith in Russia as a God

Almighty was badly shaken.

Feeling ran high against Bulgaria, for a rumour, started, it was

said, by Chedo Miyatovitch, declared that England had promised

Constantinople to Prince Ferdinand, and this would interfere with

the reconstruction of Great Serbia, which was to be made at all

costs. We little thought then the stupendous price the world would

pay for it!

There was some dread lest, Russia being now occupied in the Far

East, Austria should move. On the way we picked up an old man of the

Banyani tribe, over six feet, and hook-nosed. He pointed out

landmarks with his long chibouk, carried an old flintlock, and

seemed to live in terror of enemies. "Golden pobratim!" he said

earnestly to Krsto, "dear brother, listen! My house is but two hours

from the frontier. The Austrians can come. Thank God I have this

gun! The Tsar of Russia should send plenty of soldiers, then we

could live in safety." Nor could we reassure him. He was going to

Cetinje to beg the Gospodar to write to the Tsar for troops. "May God

slay me, dear brother, but the clanger is great." I stood him a

drink and he went tracking over the mountains Cetinje-wards with his

antique weapon.

We went on through a land the filth and poverty of which Is

unimaginable to those who have never left England. The sterile

waterless rocks make it impossible to live with any decency. The

worst English slum is luxury in comparison. Barely enough water to

drink. None to wash in. One day I had nothing but dirty melted snow

out of a hole. Vermin swarmed and no one worried about them. "If we

had only as many gold pieces as lice," said folk cheerfully, "this

would be the richest land in Europe." The population, in truth, was

probably better off in Turkish times, when it lived by sheep-stealing

and raiding caravans. Montenegro has never been self-supporting, and

since frontier raids were stopped the chief trade of the people had

been smuggling tobacco and coffee into Austria. Krsto and his

relative were keen smugglers, and knew every nook in the Bocche di

Cattaro. Now, in return for various works that she was to do, Italy

had been given the tobacco monopoly and a duty was imposed.

Montenegro was furious. The vigilance of the Austrian police had

made it hard enough to earn a living before. This made this worse.

Death to the Italians! God slay Austria! And Russia actually looking

on and doing nothing.

We arrived one evening at Crkvitza, near the Austrian frontier. A

dree hole; a han filthy beyond all words; no horse fodder, the

Kapetan absent and his secretary drunk; a lonely schoolhouse to

which some fifty children descended daily from the surrounding

mountains. To spare me the horrors of the han, the schoolmaster

kindly offered to put me up. But even his house swarmed with bugs

and ticks. I rose very early next morning, saddled and packed, and

was about to flee from the place, when the secretary came

triumphantly waving a telegram and told me I was under arrest. The

drink-fuddled creature, thinking to "cut a dash" during his chief's

absence, had wired to the police at Nikshitch, "A man dressed as a

woman has come from across the Austrian frontier." The reply said,

"Detain him till further orders." The telegraph station was eight

hours' march distant, but he had sent some one in haste on

horseback. There was a terrible row. The populace was on my side. My

British passport was, of course, useless. Krsto thought his honour

impugned, and I feared he would shoot. Might I return under armed

escort to the village of the telegraph office where they knew me?

No. All I was allowed to do was to send a man on foot with a

telegram for the Minister for Foreign Affairs and await the reply.

So I was interned for nearly twenty-four hours in the han and spent

the night in a filthy hole with a man, a boy, a woman, a quantity of

pigeons, and swarms of lice and bugs. When the reply came from

Voyvoda Gavro saying I was free to go where I pleased, the secretary

was flabbergasted. It sobered him, and he was afraid of what he had

done. I went on to Vuchidol as I had promised, though the Prince

little knew what he was letting me in for.

The affair excited Cetinje wildly. Before I left every one had been

lamenting that there was now no English Minister in Montenegro. I

had been prayed, by Dushan Gregovitch and others, to write to The

Times on the subject, to arouse Parliament, and somehow or other get

England represented in the country. Now the cry was changed: "God be

praised," cried they fervently, "there is no British Minister in

Cetinje." "Thanks be to God, there is not even a British Consul."

Voyvoda Gavro put his head out of "Foreign Affairs," which was then

a cottage in the main street, and shouted for explanations. The

dismay was comical. Early next morning an officer pursued me in the

street and said the Prince wanted to see me, at once. He was sitting

on the top of the steps as he was used to do before the palace was

altered, and he too seemed quite overwhelmed with the international

complication. Krsto had already given the police a highly coloured

account.

The secretary of Crkvitza, the Prince hastened to assure me, would

be punished. I said that if he were punished the result would be

that when a real spy arrived he would Hot be arrested. For me the

affair was a mere travel episode, not worth troubling about.

Then came the crux. The Prince was terrified lest I should write to

The Times and shatter his golden dreams of wealthy tourists. The

whole Montenegrin Government trembled before the possibility of such

a catastrophe. I promised cheerfully not to write to any paper at

all. |Nor till now have I mentioned the affairs.

So the matter was settled, to the obvious relief of poor old Nikita,

who was most grateful and seemed much surprised that I required no

vengeance.

I started again, this time for Nikshitch and the Durmitor, with the

intention of going into Turkish territory if possible.