IN THE BALKANS
I Leave Vienna--Gay Bucharest--The Bandmaster’s Indiscretion--“_À
bas les allemands!_”--Roumania Eager for War--German Devices--An
English Cigarette--A Terrible Journey--The Spoils of War--The Wily
German--Bulgarian Poverty Under the Germans--Austrian Satisfaction
over the Serbian Victories--Compulsion in England--Bulgarian
Anxiety about the Attitude of Greece--The German Language in
Bulgaria.
At the end of about a fortnight I left Vienna, having received my
passport. I had become convinced of the uselessness of endeavouring
to travel over Serbia to Turkey, and therefore decided to go round by
way of Roumania. As a matter of fact, this was the only course open
to me. By way of Buda Pesth, where the Austrian State Railway ends,
and that of Hungary begins, I went to Brasso, the last station on
Hungarian territory. On my previous journey the frontier station had
been Pre-deal, but this being on Roumanian territory the Austrians
found that they had no power to act in the event of catching spies,
consequently they removed to Brasso. I arrived at Brasso at 5 a.m.,
after a thirty hours’ journey. As the train for Bucharest did not
leave until noon, I had time to look round the delightful little town,
nestling among the Carpathian mountains.
Although small, Brasso is of considerable importance at the present
moment, owing to its being the headquarters of the Austrian army
destined to act against Roumania should difficulties arise. The place
was full of soldiers, foot, horse and artillery, with guns of every
kind and calibre. The civil population seemed to have disappeared
entirely. On the surrounding mountains military manœvres were
everywhere in operation. I was told that there were 80,000 troops
concentrated at Brasso.
It was at Brasso railway station that I first discovered the great
value of the War Office passport I had obtained in Vienna. Without
looking at my luggage, and scarcely glancing at my papers, the
officials allowed me to pass, and I blessed my good friend the
Hofrat. A more miserable journey I have never experienced than that to
Bucharest. All the blinds in the carriages were lowered as a military
precaution, although Roumania is not at war. This circumstance,
however, testifies to the precautions being taken by the Roumanians
against the invasion of their territory. A Roumanian gentleman
travelling in the same carriage assured me that everywhere trenches and
field-works were in course of construction.
The difference between Vienna and Bucharest, “Little Paris,” as it is
called, where I arrived at seven in the evening, is most striking.
The Roumanian capital, always noted for its gaiety, is the Mecca
of pleasure lovers, and so far from the war having diminished this
spirit it seems greatly to have increased it. The population has been
considerably augmented, money is spent and wasted everywhere, cafés
and theatres do a thriving trade, and the number of motor cars and
pair-horse carriages is astonishing considering the smallness of the
city. Now that the export of wheat from Russia to the Central Empires
is no longer possible, Roumania has become the wheat market of the
Balkans. I was told that the third crop of the year had just been
harvested, and every quarter of cereals that can be produced is readily
sold. The result is that money flows everywhere like water.
I look back upon my stay in Bucharest as an oasis of peace in a desert
of danger. The Roumanians are a delightful people, and the Allies
should appreciate how much they owe to the strictly neutral attitude of
Roumania in regard to the war. The Roumanian Government prevented food,
coal, or other necessities from reaching either Austria or Turkey.
Owing to the new Balkan Express, the Roumanian preventive measures do
not now possess its former significance.
The Bulgarian attitude towards the Entente Powers was always a little
difficult to determine; the mass of the Bulgarian people is by no means
cordial to either Germany or Turkey. The politicians most likely
became nervous, and German gold did the rest. Nevertheless, I failed to
find any evidence of Bulgarian affection for Great Britain. The people
in general know hardly anything about this country. There is a vague
remembrance of Gladstone in the minds of the better-educated. About
Germany, however, every Bulgarian knows, thanks to the indefatigable
newspaper work, the German schools, the ubiquitous German kinematograph
exhibition, and the “peaceful penetration” by German bagmen, German
music, and other elements of German Kultur propaganda.
Little Roumania occupies an extraordinary position in the war.
Surrounded by the warring nations, she herself is at peace. There is no
doubt as to her friendly feelings towards the Quadruple Entente.
In Bucharest I stayed at the Hotel Frascati, where I spent four
delightful days entirely free from all anxiety. It was on the second
day of my visit that I received the first evidence of Roumania’s
attitude. In the evening I went to the Casino de Paris, where the
audience formed quite a cosmopolitan crowd. When the band played the
_Marseillaise_ a party of Germans, who had evidently been dining well
rather than judiciously, expressed their feelings by whistling loudly
and making other noises. The audience, however, loudly applauded the
band, and the incident terminated.
Shortly afterwards one of the thick-skinned Teutons offered the
bandmaster a 20 mark note (£1) to play _Die Wacht am Rhein_. The
bandmaster was willing to take the 20 marks, but expressed some doubt
as to whether the musicians would play the required air. Furthermore he
expressed himself as very doubtful as to the effect of the melody upon
the people assembled in the Casino. He eventually overcame alike the
compunction of his band and his own misgivings, but the orchestra had
hardly started before pandemonium broke out. “_À bas les Allemands!_”
and other cries were shouted on every side, with an occasional “_À bas
les bosches!_” and the band came to a sudden stop. The Germans left
the Casino in some haste, to the accompaniment of the hisses of the
audience.
Roumania is all for the Entente Powers, and in particular she is
pro-French. Her especial hatred is for Austria, and in a superlative
degree for Hungary. One evening I went to a kinematograph exhibition
entitled “Under the Yoke of Austria-Hungary,” which depicted the
sufferings of Roumanians living under Austrian rule. At one particular
incident the audience rose to their feet and shrieked “Down with
Austria! Down with Hungary!” These demonstrations are by no means
rare, and they show very clearly the general trend of Roumanian public
opinion.
The whole Roumanian army is eager for war. I reveal no secret in
stating this, for Roumania is overrun with German spies. During
my short stay I came in contact with many Roumanian officers, who
expressed themselves as very dissatisfied with the slowness of the
Entente operations. They are, however, firm believers in the eventual
victory of the Allies, and they assured me that no influence, no
pressure, political or otherwise, could induce them to join with
Germany. They do not appreciate quite all the difficulties with which
the Allies have to deal. Germany has been preparing for this war
for more than a generation; the Triple Entente Powers were taken by
surprise and have been greatly handicapped. This I strove to point out
to my Roumanian acquaintances, urging them to “wait and see.”
I hesitate to offer advice to the British Government; but I wish in the
interests of itself and its Allies that it could be persuaded as to
the necessity--no milder word is suitable--of making known in Roumania
the magnificent work of the British Army and Navy. The instinctive
sympathy of the Roumanians is with the French and Italians; for it must
be remembered that they are a Latin people. Their newspapers publish a
great deal about the French and Italian armies. The Germans have their
own newspapers, printed in the Roumanian tongue. German propaganda and
German gold are to be encountered everywhere, the chief object being to
keep Roumania neutral.
A favourite device with the Germans is to exaggerate every mishap to
the Allies, magnify every success of their own into a great victory,
and above all to point out to Roumania the magnitude of the task that
the Entente Powers have undertaken. When I was in Bucharest the chief
theme of the German newspapers was the Dardanelles. Long accounts of
English defeats appeared in their journals, all lavishly illustrated.
The Roumanian is not devoid of intelligence, and he can fairly well
appraise Prussian character, and he would rather fight to the last man
than share the fate of Belgium, Serbia, or Montenegro; still he cannot
be entirely indifferent to the clever German propaganda.
From the plenty, the music, and the white bread of Bucharest I set out
for Sofia. At Giugiu, the Roumanian frontier-station on the Danube, I
took the ferry across to Rustchouk, in Bulgarian territory. Here I had
to spend a day and night waiting for the train. Rustchouk is a terrible
little place, ankle-deep in mud, and I looked forward with dismay to
the dreary hours I should have to spend in this awful hole. But all
things have their compensations, and I was able to glean some very
interesting information.
On the Danube I noticed four Austrian monitors, which were there, I was
told, to protect the Austrian and Bulgarian cities on the river bank
against Russian attack. I also noticed with the keenest interest huge
quantities of light railway material, mostly rails and sleepers, which
were being brought down by boat and landed at the Bulgarian port on
their way to Turkey. All this material, I was told, is destined for the
campaign against Egypt.
I found the Bulgarian authorities much more difficult than the
Austrian; this I remembered from my previous trip, and I had taken the
precaution of obtaining a special passport at the Bulgarian Legation
in Vienna. Even with this invaluable document in my possession
I experienced considerable difficulty, and was subjected to much
questioning before I was allowed to pass. These unpleasant and
nerve-racking interrogations were dreadful ordeals, to which I never
seemed to be able to accustom myself. Perhaps I was too imaginative,
but the consequences of a possible slip were always before me.
During my first visit to Vienna in war time I had a very unpleasant
experience, showing the necessity for constant care. One day I
encountered in the streets of Vienna a young Englishman I had known
in London, who had not been interned. He gave me a cigarette, and
subsequently came to my hotel. I was promptly challenged for smoking
an English cigarette, which, coupled with the fact that I had some
acquaintance with an Englishman, resulted in my arrest, and I spent
an unpleasant day in an Austrian prison. This little incident, which
involved endless mental strain, shows how necessary it was for me to be
for ever watchful. It must be remembered that my journey occupied some
seven weeks.
As I slopped through the abominably muddy streets of Rustchouk, I
noticed German soldiers and non-commissioned officers everywhere; they
seemed to be in charge of everything, including the port works and all
the military buildings. I discovered that there was a serious shortage
of sugar, and I had to drink my tea and coffee without it. Milk
likewise was unobtainable, and if there is one thing in life above all
others that is necessary to me it is milk and cream. Some one once told
me that I must have been intended for a kitten.
I was obliged to stay in a very dirty hotel that rejoiced in the name
of the Hotel Bristol, where the available accommodation was of the
most primitive description. The bed was so dirty that I gave it up as
a bad job, and slept in two arm-chairs. The next day I left for Sofia,
a journey which occupied twenty hours, largely owing to the shortage
of coal. I have never had a more monotonous train journey. The windows
were painted white, as the suspicious Bulgars are determined that
no one shall learn any military secrets by looking out of the train.
Imagine the monotony of sitting for twenty hours in a small compartment
without a chance of glancing out at the countryside. I had no
newspapers, no cigarettes, and no food. Nothing but the opposite side
of the carriage at which to gaze, or the whited panes of glass with
which to occupy myself, for nearly a day and a night. I passed most of
the time by sleeping in fitful snatches.
At every little station where the train stopped I got out and
endeavoured to purchase food. At one place, to my great joy, I
succeeded in obtaining some stale bread and a piece of chocolate of
obviously pre-war manufacture. I did not dare to drink water for fear
of cholera, and when I eventually arrived in Sofia I was in a state of
collapse and was thankful to get to the “Splendid” Hotel, which lies in
the heart of the city.
There was none of the gaiety of Bucharest about Sofia. For four days
I had forgotten war, but here it was brought once more vividly to
my mind. Swaggering German officers were everywhere; for the German
occupation is firmly established, and nearly as complete as at
Constantinople. There seemed to be no social life, dulness reigning
supreme, and I longed for the brightness and plenty of Bucharest.
Curiously enough, the most striking thing about Sofia is the Turkish
Baths, which have their place in a wonderful new building; they are
considered the finest Turkish Baths in the world.
It was in Sofia that I heard another instance of German thoroughness
and subtilty. When, through the medium of Turkey the Germans were
bribing Arab chiefs to fight against the British, the gifts consisted
not only of money, jewellery and horses, but of Circassian beauties
from the Turkish harems. I had not the pleasure of seeing these ladies
who had the honour of cementing international alliances. In dealing
with the Bulgar the German is equally wily, and magnanimously hands
over to him all the tragic booty dragged from the poor Serbian homes.
Guns, munitions, rifles, household furniture and jewellery, and loot
of every possible description, from little Serbia, was to be found
everywhere in Sofia.
Nor has this system of bribery been without its marked effect, for I
saw everywhere German and Bulgarian officers mixing together and having
a good time, and a good deal of sweethearting was going on between
German soldiers and Bulgarian girls.
In Sofia only black bread is obtainable. Sugar was absolutely
unprocurable, coal was short, but prices were not so high as in
Constantinople. The Bulgarian people, however, are suffering the lot
which seems to follow inevitably in the wake of the German wherever he
goes--shortage of food and other supplies.
I wish that I could have had with me one or two British Cabinet
Ministers; not that they might suffer any harm, or endanger their
valuable lives, but that they might have learned to appreciate the
value of the weapon which they have not yet learned how to use--the
British Navy. One of the most certain ways of shortening the war is to
bring about dissensions, not only in Germany, but among the population
of her subjugated allies--Austria-Hungary, Bulgaria and Turkey--and
this can best be done by what the Germans call “Stomach Pressure.”
There seems to be still a small amount of silver in circulation in
Sofia, but the Bulgars, who have always been poor, are now realising an
unprecedented degree of poverty under their German masters. If properly
emphasised this must, in my opinion, bring about eventual trouble with
the Prussian Bully, who is at present cajoling them with gifts, but
principally with promises.
The conquest of Serbia has unquestionably greatly heartened the
Austrians, who are more anti-Serbian than anti-Russian. Since the war
broke out there have been periods when the Berlin taskmasters found
themselves in some difficulty as to how to maintain the enthusiasm of
their Austrian allies. Upon this I am absolutely convinced, there is
no such difficulty now. It is so many years since unhappy Austria has
had cause to celebrate a victory that the novelty of the sensation
has had a remarkably stimulating effect upon the whole country. Their
history has been a story of retreat and defeat. Prussia crushed them in
a few weeks in 1866, now they begin to regard themselves as the equals
of their overlords. In addition to their new port of Antivari on the
Adriatic, they confidently anticipate securing Venice and Northern
Serbia. For the moment they are intoxicated with victory which they
fondly imagine to be their own, but underneath there is the same hatred
of the Prussian that existed before the war.
The compulsion campaign in England has aroused great interest in
Austria, and has been the cause of innumerable heated arguments in
the thousands of cafés throughout the land. The popular idea that
Englishmen fight only when they are paid to do so, with extra for
battles, has been so assiduously fostered by Berlin propagandists that
it has become almost an article of Austrian faith. It is practically
impossible for them to understand the spirit of the new British
armies, to which men have flocked from all parts of the Empire. In
Vienna, as in other places, I was solemnly assured that the rich would
stay at home and play football, or live in their castles, hunting and
enjoying themselves. Not even eighteen months of war have dispelled the
Austrian belief in English “sportkrankheit” (sport disease).
The day after I arrived in Sofia, I had an interesting talk with two
Bulgarian officers who were staying in the same hotel. They told me of
the retreat of the Franco-British forces from Serbian territory into
Greece. The Bulgarian soldiers liked very much to fight the English,
for the reason that when they defeated them the booty they find is so
considerable. For instance, many of those Bulgarian farmers had never
seen or eaten chocolate in their lives, and were delighted to find,
when the English had to evacuate the camp, that they left behind them
considerable quantities of chocolate and marmalade.
In particular, these Bulgarian officers were keen to know something of
the situation in Greece. As I came from a foreign country they thought
I should be able to tell them much about what Greece was going to do.
After talking with them for a little while I got the impression that
they seemed to fear the participation of Greece in the war. They do
not like the Greeks; in fact, they hate them. There have always been
quarrels between these two countries; but, at the same time, these
Bulgarians were not particularly keen to fight the Greeks just then.
When I asked the reason why, they told me that a great part of the army
had to be ready for eventualities against Roumania and Russia, and that
the rest would not be sufficient to meet the Grecian army with any
chance of success, reinforced as it could be by a large Franco-British
army. I thought to myself, if only the leading Greek statesmen with
their pro-German king could hear this, what a fine opportunity it would
be for Greece to settle her old quarrels with Bulgaria.
One thing struck me very much, that wherever the Germans go a shortage
of food and other things seems to follow on their heels. When I had
visited Bulgaria eight months previously, there was not what one would
call an abundance of food, but there was enough to keep people going.
As soon as the Germans got the Bulgarians to march with them the
scarcity of food began. The first Sugar Ticket had just been issued
when I entered Bulgaria, and I dare say other tickets will soon follow.
People, particularly women, were worrying the officials as to where
these tickets were available, and shouts of all kinds showed abundantly
that the people were very little pleased with the new regulations.
The financial situation as well seems to be hopeless. There is paper
money everywhere. Of silver there is very little, and gold of course is
unknown.
It is a remarkable thing that of all the Balkan countries Bulgaria
is the only one where the German language is known to any extent.
They call themselves proudly “Little Germany,” but to the honour of
the Bulgarians I must say there is a marked difference between the
Bulgarian and the German. He is not brutal, very simple, and extremely
polite, three things of which no German can be accused. The officers go
about with the soldiers in the same way as the French. They are very
simple and unassuming. I saw in the train a Bulgarian captain produce
from his pocket a piece of sausage and start eating it sitting before
us, a thing a German officer would never do.
In most schools previous to the war French was the first language
taught; now they all start with German. All the same, fifty per cent.
of the Bulgarian officers I saw and spoke with completely ignored the
German language, and the only language in which we could make each
other understood was French.