River navigation is, to my mind, most captivating; but space forbids
that I should enlarge on it, and on many other points of interest in
this eventful voyage. I shall therefore pass over the Dardanelles and
the Bosporus, leaving the great and classic Stamboul itself behind
untouched, and transport the reader at once to one of those "touches of
nature" which "make the whole world kin."
It is a little village on the Danube river--the mighty Danube, which
bears the fleets of the world on its ample breast.
We had been a considerable time in the river, for we took things very
leisurely, before reaching the village to which I refer. It was named
Yenilik. While I had been rejoicing in the varied scenery--the lagoons
and marshes of the several mouths of the great river, and the bolder
prospects of hill and dale higher up--I had not been idling my time or
making entire holiday of it, for I had devoted myself to the study of
the Turkish language.
My powers as a linguist may not perhaps be above the average,
nevertheless I confess to a considerable facility in the acquisition of
languages. Russian I already knew very well, having, as before
intimated, spent a considerable time in St. Petersburg.
Desiring to perfect myself in Turkish, I undertook to teach my man
Lancey. Not that I had much opinion of his ability--far from it; but I
entertain a strong belief in the Scriptural idea that two are better
than one. Of course I do not hold that two fools are better than one
wise man; but two men of average ability are, in nearly all
circumstances, better than one, especially if one of them is decidedly
and admittedly superior to the other. Lancey's powers were limited, but
his ambition was not so, and I am bound to add that his application was
beyond all praise. Of course his attainments, like his powers, were not
great. His chief difficulty lay in his tendency to drop the letter _h_
from its rightful position in words, and to insert it, along with _r_
and _k_, in wrong places. But my efforts to impress Lancey's mind had
the satisfactory effect of imbedding minute points of the language
deeply in my own memory.
The village to which I have referred was in Bulgaria--on the right or
southern shore of the Danube. It was a pretty spot, and the bright
sunny weather lent additional charms to water, rock, and tree, while the
twittering of birds, to say nothing of the laughter and song of men,
women, and children working in the fields, or engaged in boisterous
play, added life to it.
Towards the afternoon I landed, and, accompanied by Lancey, went up to
the chief store or shop of the village. It was a primitive store, in
which the most varied and incongruous articles were associated.
The owner of the shop was engaged in bargaining with, I think, one of
the finest specimens of manhood I ever saw. His name I accidentally
learned on entering, for the shopman, at that moment, said--
"No, Dobri Petroff, I cannot let you have it for less."
The shopman spoke in the Bulgarian tongue, which, being a kindred
dialect of the Russian language, I understood easily.
"Too dear," said Petroff, as he turned over the article, a piece of
calico, with a good-humoured affectation of contempt.
Dobri Petroff was a young man, apparently not more than twenty-five,
tall, broad, deep-chested, small-waisted--a perfect study for an Apollo.
Both dress and language betokened him an uneducated man of the
Bulgarian peasantry, and his colour seemed to indicate something of
gipsy origin; but there was an easy frank deportment about him, and a
pleasant smile on his masculine countenance, which told of a naturally
free, if not free-and-easy, spirit. Although born in a land where
tyranny prevailed, where noble spirits were crushed, independence
destroyed, and the people generally debased, there was an occasional
glance in the black eye of Dobri Petroff which told of superior
intelligence, a certain air of natural refinement, and a strong power of
will.
"No, Dobri, no; not a rouble less," repeated the shopman.
Petroff smiled, and shook back his black curly hair, as a lion might in
sporting with an obstinate cub.
At that moment a Turk entered. His position in society I could not at
the time guess, but he had the overbearing manner of one who might have
been raised by favour from a low to a high station. He pushed Petroff
rudely out of his way, and claimed the entire attention of the shopman,
which was at once and humbly accorded.
A fine expression of fierce contempt flashed across Petroff's
countenance; but to my surprise, he at once drew aside.
When the Turk was served and had gone out, the shopman turned to me.
"After Petroff," I said, bowing towards the man.
The surprise and pleasure of Petroff was evidently great, but he refused
to take advantage of my courtesy, and seemed so overwhelmed with modest
confusion at my persisting that he should be served before me, that he
ultimately left the shop, much to my regret, without making his
purchase.
To my inquiries, the shopman replied that Dobri was the blacksmith of
the place, and one of its best and steadiest workmen.
After completing my purchases I left, and strolled through the village
towards its further extremity.
"The Turks seem to 'ave it all their own way ere, sir," said Lancey, as
we walked along.
"If the treatment we have seen that man receive were the worst of it," I
replied, "the Bulgarians would not have very much to complain of, though
insolence by superiors to inferiors is bad enough. They have, however,
more than that to bear, Lancey; the story of Bulgarian wrongs is a long
and a very sad one."
As we strolled beyond the village, and were engaged in earnest converse
on this subject, we suddenly came on a group of holiday-makers. A
number of the peasantry were assembled in a field, engaged in dances,
games, and athletic sports. We mingled with the crowd and looked on.
They were engaged at the time in a wrestling match. Little notice was
taken of our appearing, so intent were they on the proceedings. Two
strong men were engaged in what I may call a tremendous hug. Each was
stripped to the waist. Their muscles stood out like those of Hercules,
as they strained and tugged. At last they went down, one being
undermost, with both shoulder-blades touching the ground, and a loud
cheer greeted the victor as he stood up.
He was a splendid animal, unquestionably--over six feet, with immense
chest and shoulders, and modest withal; but a man of about five feet
eight stepped into the ring, and overthrew him with such ease that a
burst of laughter mingled with the cheer that followed. The triumph of
the little man was, however, short-lived, for a Bulgarian giant next
made his appearance--evidently a stranger to those present--and after a
prolonged struggle, laid the little man on his back.
For some time this giant strutted about defiantly, and it appeared as if
he were to remain the champion, for no one seemed fit or willing to cope
with him. At last some gipsy girls who were sitting in front of the
ring, urged one of their tribe, a tall, strong, young fellow, to enter
the lists against the giant.
The youth consented, and entered the ring; but a quick throw from the
giant sent him sprawling, to the great disappointment of his brunette
friends.
Amongst the girls present, there sat a remarkably pretty young woman,
whom the others endeavoured to urge to some course of action, to which
she at first objected. After a little persuasion, however, she appeared
to give in, and, rising, left the circle. Soon after she returned with
a magnificent specimen of humanity, whom she pushed into the ring with
evident pride.
It was Dobri Petroff. The villagers greeted him by name with a ringing
cheer as he advanced.
With a modest laugh he shook his huge antagonist by the hand.
He stripped to the waist, and each man presented a rounded development
of muscular power, which would have done credit to any of the homeric
heroes; but there was a look of grand intelligence and refinement in
Petroff's countenance, which would probably have enlisted the sympathies
of the villagers even if he had been an utter stranger.
Having shaken hands, the wrestlers began to walk round each other,
eagerly looking for a chance to get the "catch." It seemed at first as
if neither liked to begin, when, suddenly, the Bulgarian turned sharp on
Petroff, and tried a favourite throw; but with the lithe easy motion of
a panther, the blacksmith eluded his grasp. The excitement of the
spectators became intense, for it now seemed as if the two huge fellows
were well-matched, and that a prolonged struggle was about to take
place. This, however, was a mistake. The villagers apparently had
underrated the powers of their own champion, and the gipsy girls looked
anxious, evidently fearing that the hitherto victorious stranger would
again triumph.
For some moments the cautious walk-round continued, then there was a
sudden exclamation of surprise from the crowd, for the blacksmith seized
his adversary by the waist, and with a quick throw, caused him to turn
almost a somersault in the air, and to come down on his back with
stunning violence.
While the heavy fellow lay, as if slightly stunned, on the ground,
Petroff stooped, again shook hands with him, and then lifting him high
in the air, as though he had been but a boy, set him on his feet, and
turned to resume his jacket, amid the enthusiastic cheers of the people.
Petroff's jacket was handed to him by a pretty dark-eyed girl of about
five years of age, who bore so strong a resemblance to the young woman
who had brought the blacksmith on the scene, that I at once set them
down as sisters. The child looked up in the champion's face with such
innocence that he could not resist the temptation to stoop and kiss her.
Then, taking the little one's hand, he pushed through the crowd and
left the ring. I observed that the young woman also rose and went with
them.
Feeling interested in these people. Lancey and I followed, and overtook
them before they had quitted the field. I said in Russian:--
"Good-day, Petroff; you overthrew that fellow with greater ease than I
had expected."
The blacksmith gave me a look of pleased recognition as he returned my
salutation.
"Well, sir," he said, "it was not difficult. The man is strong enough,
but does not understand the art well. You are an Englishman, I think."
"I am," said I, somewhat surprised as well by the question as by the
superior manner and address of the man.
"It was a man from your land," returned Petroff, with a grave earnest
look, "who taught me to wrestle,--a man from Cornwall. He was a
sailor--a stout fellow, and a good man. His vessel had been anchored
off our village for some time, so that we saw a good deal of him. They
had a passenger on board, who landed and went much about among the
people. He was a German, and called himself a colporteur. He taught
strange doctrines, and gave away many Bibles, printed in the Bulgarian
tongue."
"Ah," said I, "no doubt he was an agent of the British and Foreign Bible
Society."
"Perhaps so," returned Petroff, with a somewhat perplexed look, "but he
said nothing about that. His chief desire seemed to be to get us to
listen to what he read out of his Bible. And some of us did listen,
too. He gave one of the Bibles to my wife here, and she has been
reading it pretty eagerly ever since."
"What! this, then, is your wife?" I exclaimed.
"Yes, Marika is my wife, and Ivanka is my daughter," replied Petroff,
with a tender glance at the little girl that trotted by his side.
"Perhaps, Marika, your Cornish friend may have taught you to speak
English," said I, in my native tongue, turning to the woman.
Marika shook her pretty head, laughed, and blushed. She seemed to
understand me, but would not consent to reply in English.
"The colporteur of whom you have spoken," said I, turning to the
blacksmith, and again speaking Russian, "did you a great service when he
gave your wife the Word of God."
Dobri Petroff assented, but a frown for a minute overspread his face.
"Yes," he said, "I admit that, but he also taught me to think, and it
might have been better for me--for many of us in this land--if we did
not think; if we could eat and sleep and work like the brutes that
perish."
I feared that I knew too well what the man referred to, and would gladly
have dropped the subject, but could not do so without appearing rude.
"It is always well to think," said I, "when we think rightly, that is,
in accordance with the teachings of the Bible, about which we have just
been speaking. Marika has read much of it to you, no doubt?"
"She has," said the blacksmith, with a touch of sternness, "and among
other things, she has read to me that `oppression driveth even a wise
man mad.' Am I to understand that as merely stating the fact, or
justifying the madness?"