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THE PASSING OF THE TURKISH EMPIRE IN EUROPE
[Illustration: SERAGLIO POINT
The entrance to the Golden Horn with foreign warships: a white-painted
Dutch man-of-war, the Gelderland; the French cruiser, Léon Gambetta;
H.M.S. Weymouth; and an Austrian battleship. In the distance the Tower
of Galata.]
THE PASSING
OF THE
TURKISH EMPIRE
IN EUROPE
BY
CAPTAIN B. GRANVILLE BAKER
LATE OF H.M. 21ST HUSSARS AND THE 9TH ROYAL PRUSSIAN HUSSARS
AUTHOR OF "THE WALLS OF CONSTANTINOPLE," "THE
DANUBE WITH PEN AND PENCIL," "A WINTER
HOLIDAY IN PORTUGAL," &c.
WITH 33 ILLUSTRATIONS & A MAP
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1913
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CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 9
CHAPTER I 17
CHAPTER II 29
CHAPTER III 46
CHAPTER IV 60
CHAPTER V 78
CHAPTER VI 94
CHAPTER VII 110
CHAPTER VIII 124
CHAPTER IX 141
CHAPTER X 155
CHAPTER XI 168
CHAPTER XII 186
CHAPTER XIII 203
CHAPTER XIV 215
CHAPTER XV 233
CHAPTER XVI 259
CHAPTER XVII 277
CHAPTER XVIII 294
CHAPTER XIX 318
INDEX 329
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Seraglio Point _Frontispiece_
PAGE
Map 16
Anatoli Kavak 43
Refugees 47
By the Seraglio Walls 61
Roumeli Hissar 64
A Deserted Street 69
The Mosque of St. Sophia 75
The Aqueduct of Valens 81
On the way to the Phanar 87
His Holiness Joachim III 90
The Mosque of Suleiman 99
A Disused Monastery 107
The Walls of Theodosius 117
The Sea-walls of Constantinople 120
The Burnt Column 125
A Byzantine Palace 130
The Lines of Chatalja 138
The Mosque of Mohammed 150
The Mosque of Eyub 164
The Gate of Adrianople 187
The Mosque of Suleiman and the Tower of the War Office 200
The Dardanelles 208
Semendria 208
Constantinople 222
At the Phanar 253
Funeral of an Armenian Archbishop 256
The Coast of Greece 260
Anatoli Hissar 274
Tenedos 290
Golubaç 299
Dedo 'Mitri 303
Radoïl 309
The Fountain at Radoïl 325
INTRODUCTION
Towards the end of a dismal summer, when everybody who is anybody in the
United Kingdom was departing for their annual holidays, dark clouds
began to gather on the political horizon overshadowing that European
storm-centre, the Balkan Peninsula. Angry clouds had gathered over the
seething races of those lands so frequently that no one heeded when the
cry "Wolf!" went up again. "Balkan troubles again," said those who
thought they knew, and they turned with renewed interest to places for
the holidays. But the clouds gathered apace, and ere Europe was fully
alive to the situation, protests, ultimata, and the usual amenities had
been exchanged; the world found itself confronted by a war between the
Ottoman Empire and its former subjects, now clearly defined
nationalities, united to one purpose, and that the end of Turkish rule
in Europe.
While the Great Powers slowly set in motion the cumbrous machinery of
diplomacy the storm-clouds discharged their lightnings, setting ablaze
all the country from the Danube to the Ægean Sea, from the Adriatic to
the Black Sea. Over the borders of Turkey in Europe came hosts of armed
men, ably led, well trained, and purposeful. They came down the Valley
of the Maritza, the Struma, down from the Black Mountains, and out of
Greece in the south, nations in arms, and determined to end oppression
in Turkey's European possessions. With desperate valour they beat down
fierce resistance until but a small shred was left of the Empire carved
by the sword of Othman out of South-Eastern Europe.
History was in the making while diplomacy still talked about the _status
quo_, and to my mind present events, if not an actual repetition of
former historic happenings, bear at least some resemblance to them.
Again an enemy's angry gaze is directed towards Constantinople, again,
as the early days of the ninth century into modern times, the Ruler in
the seat of Constantine prepares to meet invasion. And beneath the
surface of the troubled waters is there is the feeling of a heavy
ground-swell. The Goths came down the Valley of the Maritza and met the
Roman legions at Adrianople; the latter were defeated, Emperor Valens
left among the slain. Yet those Goths were only the fringe of that great
movement which broke the power of Rome. In those remote days of the
"Völkerwanderung" Central Europe seethed with strong young nations bent
on expansion forced by their growing numbers. Slav pressed on Teuton,
and both races overflowed the boundaries set them by the Cæsars.
Are matters very different now? Perhaps the only difference is that the
desire to expand, subconscious in early days of Christianity, is now
informed of consciousness, is born of clearly defined necessities, and
directed towards definite aims. The main line of advance since the first
Aryans crossed the Balkans, swarmed over the Peloponese, peopled the
islands of the Ægean Sea, and found their way to India has always been
to southward, towards warm water; their movements to the north and west
might be considered as purporting to guard their flanks, had they been
conscious of strategic necessities.
The main line of advance of those thronged peoples between the Ural and
the Vosges Mountains is from the Baltic to the Balkans, and Teuton and
Slav are pressing slowly, surely southward, as rivals, for they are
keenly conscious of their own and each other's aims. Even now this
movement is scarcely realized by the States of Western Europe, notably
Great Britain, though its tendency has been clearly defined for many
years, and on the Teuton side, a half-Slav people, Prussia gave it
impetus. The movement has been so slow as to pass unobserved for many
years, but it has been deliberate, because racial impulses have been
curbed by the arts of diplomacy, by the science of strategy, and by a
keen realization of economic necessities. Each of these three factors
has its victories to record, acts which to most people seemed but loose
links in the chain of history rather than the firm steps towards the
goal, distant but clearly seen by those who led the movement. The
science of strategy brought Schleswig-Holstein into the German Union,
welded the German States together, and extended their line of outposts
to the Vosges Mountains. Diplomacy, following victory in the field, made
of the German States an Empire, reconciled Austria, and forced Italy
into the Triple Alliance. Diplomacy again brought Heligoland as an
outpost in the sea to Germany, and political economy is endeavouring to
bring Holland into the German Zollverein. Thus we find the right flank
of the Teuton movement from the Baltic to the Balkans fully secured.
Neither has the left flank been neglected; wedged in between the Balkan
Kingdoms and Russia is Roumania. A Hohenzollern sits on the throne of
that country, and all who know Roumania will realize that Austria is
paramount there. In both Servia and Bulgaria _la Haute Finance_ is in
Austrian hands, and German commercial enterprise has extended feelers
into Asia Minor.
On the Slav side of this great movement Russia looms, apparently slow to
move; but the Slav temperament may be roused to dangerous frenzy, and
signs are not wanting that the troubles of their southern kinsmen may
cause a popular upheaval, forcing the Government into action. Meanwhile
Russia is deliberately organizing her vast resources.
Does it not seem as if the struggle between the Balkan Kingdoms and the
Porte were but the prelude, but a vanguard action, to clear the Turk out
of Europe, and so make room for the titanic conflict impending between
the Slav and Teuton peoples? When they meet, what then? Consider the
enormous highly organized strength available among the possible
combatants--Germany's millions, Austria's vast resources! Are those who
live on the flanks of the impending movement prepared to hold their own?
Outside the ring surrounding Slavs and Teutons, Denmark, Holland,
Belgium, France, Italy are the confines of a vast Empire.
When last the Teuton nations moved so many centuries ago a world-wide
Empire fell in ruins, an Empire glutted with wealth yet teeming with a
pauper population in its capital, luxurious, unnerved, disdaining any
service to their country, unconscious of any obligations in return for
the privileges of citizenship. So Rome fell before the Teuton.
Again the Teuton is stirring. Germany is daily perfecting an already
formidable navy, for flank defence first, then for further enterprise;
Austria has recently greatly added to the budget for naval and military
purposes, and the road to Saloniki is no longer closed by Turkey; Italy
with her considerable naval power is allied to Germany and Austria.
What is Great Britain, the vast Empire encircling the moving forces from
west to east, doing towards her own safety? When the nations of Europe
were well aware of the trouble which has now reached its climax in the
Balkan Peninsula, and were beginning to take at least diplomatic
action, Great Britain was having holidays and could not be disturbed. So
our naval force in the Mediterranean has been weakened to guard against
the German's left flank protection and the coast of Egypt is left
insufficiently protected.
While the Balkan Kingdoms were mobilizing the armies which have since
swept triumphant over Thrace, Macedonia, Thessaly, armies composed of
the whole manhood of each nation, not of hired soldiers, Great Britain
was collecting troops for Cambridgeshire manoeuvres, with much
self-laudation, and the assistance of the Territorial force, got
together a number about equal to Montenegro's first levy for the war
with Turkey; and Montenegro is about half the size of Wales and sparsely
populated. Servia, a country hitherto denied a voice in the great
Committee of European States, at once mobilized troops exceeding in
number the expeditionary force with which Great Britain proposes to take
part in an armed conflict of the Great Powers, and moreover that small
kingdom proved itself capable of even greater effort and produced as
many fighting men as Moltke required to vanquish France.
The Allies acted sharply and decisively. Seven weeks after the
declaration of war the Sultan's troops were forced to retire behind the
lines of Chatalja, the outer defences of Constantinople. Constantinople
was the seat of Cæsar from the middle of the fourth century until
Mohammed the Conqueror made it the capital of his Empire in 1453. From
here Ottoman armies marched to victory; Bulgars, Greeks, Serbs were
conquered, enslaved, their national identity swamped by the rising tide
of Moslems as it flowed on over the plains of Hungary even up to the
bastions of Vienna, that bulwark of the Western world.
From Stamboul, where I write, successive Sultans directed the policy of
Turkey as their power waned. Here plans were devised, intrigues
inaugurated to check the forces that threatened Ottoman supremacy. Here
the Sultan in his palace heard of fresh troubles in his Empire, of
defeats on the field of battle and in the council chamber. Here between
the deep calm of the Orient and the restless striving of the West
successive wearers of the sword of Othman must have marked the signs of
the times and wondered how disaster might be averted.
But disaster came, a swift retribution for years of indolence. As I
write this the sound of firing is borne on the westerly wind into the
City of Constantine, Tsarigrad, Stamboul.
I was mightily drawn to revisit this ancient city now in these days of
darkness, so I hurried out overland, crossing Germany, Poland, Roumania,
till I landed on the banks of the Golden Horn. When I had passed I noted
a feeling of deep anxiety, to account for which the present troubles of
Turkey are insufficient; there seemed to me an undercurrent of unrest
such as perchance preceded the "Völkerwanderung" of some fifteen
centuries ago. I came here to record as best I can the doings of these
days in Constantinople, the capital of a vanishing Empire, and while I
went about the city, revisiting places I have seen bathed in summer
sunshine, now gloomy under a lowering sky, as I noted the many signs of
"Sturm und Drang," I was filled with grave forebodings; here where a
mighty Empire is tottering to its fall under pressure of the vanguard of
a "Völkerwanderung" I pondered whether another world-wide Empire were as
secure as that of the Ottoman was till recently supposed to be.
B. G. B.
CONSTANTINOPLE
[Illustration: Map of Turkey]
The Passing of the Turkish Empire in Europe
CHAPTER I
The high road to the East--Roumania and the Carpathian
Mountains--Thracians and Dacians, and how the latter had dealings
with Emperor Trajan--The Roumanians, their origin, story, and
present condition--The "Tsigani"--Tales of Hunyadi Janos, Knjes
Lazar, Michael the Brave, and others--The story of Ghika the
cats'-meat man--Roumania and the Balkan conflict--A morning in the
Carpathian forests--Bucharest--The Roumanian Army.
It was with strangely mingled feelings that I left London one Saturday
evening, left the capital of one great Empire supposed to rest on firm
foundations, considered strong in the council of nations, to visit the
heart of yet another Empire once considered mighty and of weighty
influence in Europe, now tottering to its fall with alarming rapidity,
under the staggering blows of four small peoples, young and purposeful,
unspoilt by wealth and power.
The lights of Dover gleamed steadily in a black sky, the dark waters
gave back broken reflections from a brilliantly lit liner making her
stately way down Channel, as the throbbing turbines carried our little
ship towards the East. A grey morning rose over the Dutch landscape,
shrouded trees reflected heavily in the sullen waters of dykes and
canals. A grey sky hung heavily over the teeming life of industrial
Westphalia, and broke into heavy drops of rain over the wide plains of
Hanover, and poured in torrents into the well-lit streets of Berlin, the
"Ville Lumière" of Europe since Paris relinquished the splendour of an
Imperial Court.
From Berlin my road turned to south-east, past prosperous cities such as
Frankfort-on-the-Oder, Breslau, towards that corner of Europe where
three Empires meet on what was once part of the picturesque Kingdom of
Poland, long since forced into the realm of things forgotten by those
three Powers that meet here. It is a gloomy country, black and ungainly
in its tense industrial existence.
As it were, subconsciously, I felt like one hurrying to the death-bed of
a friend; strange, for I have no reason to consider the Turk my friend.
Indeed, though I like the individual Turks I have met, I cannot summon
up a really friendly feeling for a Power which has deliberately
mis-governed its varied subjects, has times out of number countenanced,
even encouraged, acts the remembrance of which makes the heart sick. Yet
in spite of reasoning, that feeling of hurrying to the death-bed of a
friend never left me, but it had in it something of the antagonism
which, as psychologists declare, is an ingredient of the love of a man
for a woman. No doubt pity was mingled with this feeling, pity for a
mighty race of conquerors now humbled to the dust, however much those
ruling them be to blame; again there was anxiety as to the fate of the
beautiful city, the City of Constantine, my destination; fear, a
nameless fear, filled me, the son of a great Empire, as I thought over
the fate of another Empire found unprepared to uphold a position it
insisted upon, and therefore rudely awakened and thrust aside by young,
strong nations whose sons know not how to shirk responsibility, neither
do the men and women of those peoples shun any sacrifice to gain what
they whole-heartedly desire.
This strange feeling that obsessed me became stronger as I left
well-ordered Germany behind, and felt the subtle influence of the East
on entering Austrian territory. In the first place the traveller's
comfort is affected, for German orderliness makes way to Austrian
_laisser-aller_, resulting in a want of cleanliness in the railway
carriages. Apologists say that this state is due to the many Polish Jews
who freely use their cheap season tickets; this might account for the
dirty condition of third-class carriages when packed with worthies in
greasy gaberdines, with ringlets dangling down from either temple; it is
no pleasure to pass through a third-class carriage on your way to the
dining-car. However well this excuse may serve, I found no attempted
cleanliness in any other class while travelling through Austrian
territory, and it seemed that the Roumanian railway authorities do not
set much store by the God-like virtue either, at least as far as the
accommodation of travellers is concerned.
Throughout my travels I have found that romance and picturesqueness are
seldom separated from dirt, and, fortunately, the former may often
outbalance the latter. The world of romance became gently insistent as
the railroad left the teeming coalfields of Prussian Poland behind and
passed on to places famous in the history of the Kingdom of
Poland--Cracow, still a centre of the refined and gracious
intellectuality which characterizes Polish nobility. Then, again, there
is Przemysl (hopeless the effort to pronounce it), yet it is the name of
a mighty dynasty which reigned over Bohemia from here for at least a
century in those days when the Christian world was moving eastward as
crusaders, under Frederick Barbarossa, and for a short time ousted the
Greek Emperors from the seat of Constantine in favour of the Latin
Emperors, Baldwin and his successors. Here, again, Empires have gone
under and their lands have been divided among younger races. We hurry on
ever to south-east, and shortly enter a land which was formerly a
portion of the Empire now on its death-bed--Moldavia, a province of
Roumania.
Roumania is a very interesting country, and I must own to a kind of
spell which its past history and its present prosperity cast upon me.
The former is stirring indeed. Memories of histories I had read came
crowding in upon me as I travelled through Moldavia, the country
separated from Russia by the Pruth, watered by the Sereth and its
tributaries, Moldava, Bistritza, and others that come down from the
Carpathian Mountains into the fertile plain. The Carpathians,
snow-tipped, densely wooded on their lower slopes, accompanied me in the
blue distance, until about the latitude of Galatz they turned away to
westward, curving round in their southern range until they meet the
Danube at Orsova, and force it to narrow down to a third of its stately
width in order to pass through the Iron Gates. I thought of all those
hordes of wandering barbarians whose course was deflected by the
Carpathians, showing again how nature's barriers form the destinies of
men. Streams of savages poured into this valley from the plains of
Western Russia. Who were the first inhabitants is matter of conjecture:
Scythians probably occupied the eastern districts, Thracians and Dacians
were found by Trajan in the western part. Trajan conquered the Dacians
in his campaign of 101-106 A.D., and founded a colony called Dacia
Trajana. The column to this Emperor's honour, in Rome, sets forth the
story of his conquest. The Dacians were by no means easy people to deal
with, and Rome--Imperial Rome--had much trouble with Decebal, their
King, who was finally vanquished, and committed suicide in order to
escape from the disgrace of following the conqueror's triumphal chariot
through the Roman Forum.
Among the Roman remains scattered about the western parts of Roumania
are the bridge-heads at Turn Severin and the ruined tower of Severus in
the public gardens of that thriving township. It is supposed by the
Roumanians themselves that they are descended from the Roman colonists
of Dacia Trajana, and they point to their language in evidence. Theirs
is indeed a Latin tongue, but language is often a false guide in the
difficult and intricate paths of ethnology. It seems to me open to doubt
that Rome of the second century could have afforded a sufficiently large
supply of emigrants to people a large colony; and that the whole
Roumanian nation should be descended from the Roman legionaries seems
unlikely, for in the first instance it does not follow that the
legionaries were all Romans, or even Latins, and again, if they had
been, there would have been only a small proportion of them who would be
permitted to bring wives and families with them. Moreover, the Roman
tenure of the land was short, only about a century and a half, as in 270
the Goths streamed in from the north-east, obliging Emperor Aurelian to
withdraw his troops into the province of Moesia, subsequently called
Dacia Aureliana. The Goths were not inclined to settle anywhere in those
days; they simply plundered and murdered as they went along, and
probably left no definite impression on the races they were pleased to
visit. We shall meet them again nearer Constantinople.
Huns and Gepidi probably left stronger traces in the population of the
former Roman province of Dacia Trajana when they swarmed through it in
the middle of the fifth century, and I am inclined to think that in the
middle of the next century the invading Avari made a deeper impression.
Slavs and Bulgars forced their way here, and of the former many traces
have been found, leading to the supposition that they enter largely into
the composition of the Roumanian people. The Hungarians may have
contributed something towards building up the present people of
Roumania, when they marched through in 830, and subsequent Slav races,
such as the Petschenegs in 900 and the Kumani, Tartars, in 1050,
probably added their quota. At any rate German influence had vanished,
and Slavs and Finns (Bulgars), with detachments of other wandering races
united, blended into one, and it is thus that the Roumanian nation of
to-day may be said to have originated. Dacia of Roman days extended well
into Hungary of the present day, Transylvania, and the Banat, with the
present divisions of Roumania, being a number of duchies still called
Dacia in those days, though Imperial Rome had long abandoned the part of
"Weltmacht." In the tenth and eleventh centuries, no doubt owing to the
intervening Carpathians, Transylvania and the Banat became subject to
Hungary, while the duchies of Wallachia and Moldavia crystallized into
political entities, and were found to be sufficiently powerful to keep
out the Kumani and check the Tartars in the fourteenth century.
Towards the end of the fourteenth century yet another race came into
Dacia from out of the East, driven from their homes in India by
Tamerlane. They are known by various names, and are spread all over
Europe. We call them gipsies, the Germans "Zigeuner," from "Tsigani,"
the name by which they are known in Eastern Europe. They call themselves
Romanies, probably because they made Roumania their home, and here they
are to be found in great numbers. Their language is Roumanian, though
they have acquired many others in the course of their wanderings.
Wherever they go they bring music with them, grand epics, love-songs,
quaint little popular ditties, which they sing to the accompaniment of
string instruments. It is these Tsigani who have been instrumental in
keeping alive the traditions of a great past among the peoples of the
Balkan countries. Together with religion, their songs have helped to
preserve the national identity of Roumanians and Serbs, have fostered
racial ambitions, and inspired heroes to fight for freedom. They sing in
soul-stirring epics of Stephan Dushan, of great Voivods who led men to
battle, of Hunyadi Janos and his paladins, of ill-fated Knjes Lazar,
whose army of crusaders went under in a sea of blood before the sword of
Othman on the Amselfeld at Kossovo, since recaptured by the Serbs. Their
songs tell of great men rulers of the independent principalities of
Wallachia and Moldavia; of Michael the Brave, who lived when Henri IV
was King of France. Michael showed the Osmanli that it is vain to
attempt the suppression of a strong race and its religion. No doubt the
attempt seemed successful for a while; Cantomir of Moldavia and
Brancovan of Wallachia, allied to Peter the Great of Russia, suffered
defeat at the hands of the Turks on the banks of the Pruth, and had to
submit to the rule of Greek hospodars, placed in power by the Porte, for
a period of fifty-eight years.
The duchies, like greater Powers in Eastern Europe, were unable for long
to withstand the influence of the latest race to come from out of the
East, and became subject to the Osmanli. During troubled centuries of
Turkish suzerainty the Roumanian people preserved their faith, their
national characteristics, and this enabled them to rise as a young,
strong race when the hour of deliverance came. They had absorbed from
their conquerors a number of able men, whose descendants have since
identified themselves with the ambitions of Roumania, whose names are
writ large on the tablets of fame among those who helped to make
Roumania free. Of one of these the following story is told. There lived
in Stamboul a gentle, business-like Armenian, by trade a cats'-meat man.
Among his customers he noticed an elderly, dejected individual who was
very particular in his choice of the daily morsel of meat, choosing
liver as a rule. Now it struck the Armenian that possibly this daily
purchase might be meant for human consumption, instead of for the
delectation of a pet cat; careful inquiries led to the following
discovery. His customer was an old servant, the only one who had
remained true to his master, and that master, once Grand Vizier, had
fallen from his high estate on very evil times. The Armenian cats'-meat
man thereupon thought fit to be charitable, provided his customer with
better wares, and suggested that payment might be deferred until a
brighter day. By one of those turns of the wheel not unusual in Oriental
countries, the former Grand Vizier rose from poverty and rags to power
again, and decided to reward the Armenian. Considering that one
candidate for the vacant post of Vali of Moldavia was likely to be as
bad as another, he decided to thus endow the cats'-meat man, who
possibly developed unsuspected talent in his new line of business. At
any rate, he is the putative ancestor of one of Roumania's greatest
princely houses, the Ghika family. There are descendants of yet more
ancient families still to be found in Roumania, amongst them some
Cantacuzene, of Byzantine fame.
Roumania followed Greece and Servia in wresting its freedom from the
Turk, and the Convention of Paris in 1856 assured the autonomous rights
of the principalities, their union into one State, and constitutional
government. A native magnate, Colonel Alexander Cusa, ruled as Prince
Alexander John I for ten years, and although his election to that
position was not in exact accordance with the Treaty of Paris, was
nevertheless sanctioned by the Powers. This Prince resigned in 1866, and
as a Count of Flanders, younger brother of the King of the Belgians,
declined the invitation to succeed him, Prince Charles of Hohenzollern
Sigmaringen accepted it as Carol I. In 1877 Roumania declared herself
completely independent of Turkey, much against Russia's wishes, and
ceased to pay tribute to the Porte. This precipitated the war against
Turkey, and three divisions of Roumanian troops, some 35,000 men, with
108 guns, led by their Prince, joined the Russian forces. Prince Charles
himself fired the first shot at Vidin, and his gallant troops followed
him on to victory. They particularly distinguished themselves by
spirited bayonet attacks at Plevna, and it was to the Roumanian troops
that Osman Pasha surrendered. Roumania was not called to the conference
at S. Stefano, and had to trust to Russia's good offices in order to get
her independence fully recognized. For this kindness Russia annexed
fruitful Bessarabia, leaving to Roumania the swamps of the Dobrutsha. On
the 22nd (10th) of May, 1881, the Hohenzollern Prince was crowned King
of Roumania, having been duly proclaimed by both Chambers of the
country's Parliament. He rules still, and wisely, over a prosperous
country of 50,702 square miles, with a population of six to seven
millions.
The majority of the people of Roumania belong to the Orthodox Greek
Church, have so far lived in peace with their neighbours, and are happy
and prosperous. But they have not remained unaffected by the desperate
events which brought such an upheaval to the other Balkan States. There
is among the younger generation considerable discontent at the supposed
subservience of Roumania's foreign policy to the dictates of her mighty
friend, Austria. It is argued that if Austria had not vetoed Roumania's
mobilization on the outbreak of the Balkan War, that war might have been
stopped. As matters stand at present, many Roumanians think that they
have missed an opportunity of getting some useful trifle of territory
for themselves, or that they have been deprived of opportunity, and are
consequently very sore about it. So here, too, threatening clouds
obscure the political horizon.
It would be a ghastly sequel to the indecision of the Great Powers if
this plucky little kingdom were called upon to face an invader, if
grim-visaged war were to cast its shadow over the fair fields and
fertile plains of Roumania. The rich soil produces abundance of wheat,
maize, and other cereals, and would produce more but for the summer
droughts. I have seen the rich yellow maize being garnered, and have
watched the golden wealth of corn shipped into boats and barges on the
Danube, to be taken down to Braila, Galatz, and thence onward to feed
other countries less bountifully supplied. Then there are vast forests,
another source of wealth. It is only a few weeks ago that I was tramping
over crisp snow in the shade of close-standing forest trees. A friend
had asked me to go out with him after wild boar. It was a glorious day;
cool greys and purples in the forest, with here and there a patch of
rich brown soil, and through the trees the sun, in a clear blue sky,
drew radiance from the snow, and showed up on a background of dark green
firs the golden glory of larches, the red and russet leaves of wild
cherry, and other trees, on which the foliage still lingered ere the
winter storms set in. Winter is very severe in this country, and wolves
come down from the mountains to the villages in the plains in search of
their prey. There is other game in plenty; bear may be found in the
depths of the Carpathian forests, and the wild cat, in thick black and
grey striped coat, steals through the undergrowth like his larger
kinsmen of the jungle.
Bucharest, the capital of Roumania, is a town for which I have a sincere
liking. It is not a large place, only some 300,000, but it is a
well-planned town, gay, just a little wicked, and above all, the
inhabitants insist on the best of music, and get it at such places as
the Continental Hotel, where you can dine well to the strains of an
excellent gipsy orchestra.
Roumania occupies a position of some danger in the complex polity of
South-East Europe. To eastward, across the Pruth, looms the massive
strength of Russia, never yet put to a severe test, so that its power is
still an unknown quantity. To southward across the Danube live the
Bulgarians, a strong, ambitious people, and, as far as I can ascertain,
not on the friendliest terms with Roumania. But behind Roumania is the
Empire of Kaiser Franz Josef, and Austrian influence is strong,
especially in the industrial life of Roumania. It would be piteous to
carry war into this happy country, with its flourishing agriculture, its
prosperous oil-fields, at Bustenari, Campiña, etc. But Roumania has
taken due precautions; a navy of some seventy-five small but
well-appointed vessels guards Roumanian interests on the Black Sea
coast; they may be seen occasionally on the lower reaches of the Danube,
by the huge bridge that carries the railway over to Constanza, the
Brighton of the Black Sea littoral, or perhaps Trouville is a more apt
comparison. Here also ends the wall which Trajan built from the Danube
across the narrowest part of the Dobrutsha.
Then, again, the Roumanian Army is well able to hold its own. The war
establishment of the regular army, well trained and well equipped,
numbers 175,000 troops, more by three-quarters than Great Britain's
expeditionary force. To this should be added a territorial force of
excellent quality of about equal numbers, altogether a formidable
obstacle to any one who wishes to interfere with Roumania's position in
the world. For this adequate defence Roumania pays somewhat less than
two and a half millions.
As I wrote this the political horizon of Roumania was dark with heavy
storm-clouds, for her eastern neighbour is like to be drawn into the
strife which is altering the state of Southern Europe, the onslaught of
the southern Slav nations on their old oppressors at Constantinople. The
southern frontier of Roumania at least was safe, for the Bulgarians were
hammering now at the gates of Constantinople, pouring out their blood
like water by the lines of Chatalja.