CHAPTER VI.

THE PANIC IN SERAJEVO.

Outbreak of the Insurrection in Bosnia—Roadside Precautions

against Brigands—Panorama of Serajevsko Polje—Roman Bas-Relief

of Cupid—Roman Remains in Bosnia—_Banja_ and _Balnea_—‘The

Damascus of the North’: first Sight of Serajevo—Her History and

Municipal Government—Fall of the Janissaries—Dangerous Spirit

of the Mahometan Population of Serajevo—Outbreak of Moslem

Fanaticism here on building of the new Serbian Cathedral—We

enter the City through smouldering Ruins—Hospitable Reception

at English Consulate—Great Fire in Serajevo—Consternation of

the Pashà—Panic among the Christians—Missionaries of Culture:

two English Ladies—Causes of the Insurrection in Bosnia: the

Tax-farmers: Rayahs tortured by Turks—‘Smoking’—The Outbreak

in Lower Bosnia—Paralysis of the Government, and Mahometan

Counter-Revolution—Conjuration of Leading Fanatics in the Great

Mosque—We are accused before the Pashà by forty Turks—Consular

Protection—The Fanariote Metropolitan and Bishops of

Bosnia—Their boundless Rapacity, and Oppression of the Rayah—A

Bosnian Bath—Mosques and Cloth-hall of Serajevo—Types of the

Population—Spanish Jews, and Pravoslave Merchants—Bosnian Ideas

of Beauty!—Opposition of Christians to Culture—Extraordinary

Proceedings of the Board of Health—The Zaptiehs—Continuance of

the Panic—Portentous Atmospheric Phenomenon—The Beginning of

the End.

While we were engaged in quaffing the sparkling draughts of nature under

the kiosque, up came a young Hungarian, and asked us whether we had heard

the news. On our confessing ignorance, he informed us that a revolution

had broken out in Bosnia—or rather several dozens of them; that a rising

of rayahs had taken place near Banjaluka, and along the Save; and that

this had been followed by a counter-rising in the Mahometan towns and

villages—and that especially the district about Dervent, through which

we had passed, was plunged in civil war. Vague rumours of other outbreaks

at Tašlidzje, Priepolje, and near Novipazar, had just come in; and,

from the localities of the risings, both in north and south, this much

was certain, that if the insurgents were successful, the only highways

connecting Bosnia with the rest of Turkey and the Save provinces of

Austria were cut off; while, from the sudden departure of the Pashà of

Bosnia for the Herzegovina, it seemed not unlikely that communication

with Dalmatia was equally threatened. But for details we had to wait

till we reached the capital, though we found the Hungarian’s account

trustworthy so far as it went.

_Aug. 21._—From the same informant I learnt that in a copse near here

were some monuments, locally known as the ‘Roman Stones,’ to the

investigation of which I devoted the morning grey before we started for

Serajevo. The stones proved to be of the same character as those already

described at Podove—of the usual tea-caddy shape—uninscribed, and even

more devoid of ornament than those we had seen before. There were several

of them scattered among the brushwood on a slight rise of the ground.

In the first part of our journey to Serajevo there was little remarkable.

As we ascended the pass between the Kobilaglava and Bulalovic ranges,

we noticed the forest cut away for a hundred yards or so on either side

of the high road; this was done for the safety of travellers, these

mountains having formerly been a nest of robbers. The same precaution

used to be taken in England in the good old days. In the Statute of

Winchester, Edward I. devotes a whole clause to enjoining the ‘abatement’

of the cover by the side of the highways: ‘It is commanded that highways

leading from one market town to another shall be enlarged wheresoever

bushes, woods, or dykes be, so that there be neither dyke, tree, nor bush

whereby a man may lurk to do hurt, within two hundred foot of the one

side, and two hundred foot of the other side of the way; so that this

statute shall not extend unto oaks nor unto great trees, so that it shall

be clear underneath. And if by default of the lord that will not abate

the dykes, underwood, or bushes, any robberies be done therein, the lord

shall be answerable for the felony; and if murder be done, the lord shall

make a fine at the king’s pleasure.’[231] The traveller in Bosnia is

still in the Middle Ages!

Having gained the summit of the mountain saddle, we began to descend

towards the Serajevsko Polje—the Plain of Serajevo—a level expanse shut

in on every side by mountains, and looking like the former bed of a large

lake. The Alpine amphitheatre was exquisite. One peak, loftier than the

rest, had been girdled by a silvery sea of mist, above which loomed its

limestone upper nakedness, draped in a Coan veil of aërial azure—the

island of a mirage, or one of those barren-beautiful _Scoglie_ that

start ever and anon from the slumbering bosom of the Adriatic! The heat

was suffocating, and a sultry haze seemed to flood the whole surface of

the plain and lower mountain-flanks, volatilizing every object in an

atmosphere half dusty, half lurid; and, with the faint, languid tints

of the surrounding heights, recalling to memory pictures of Eastern

scenery—but nothing within our own experience.

[Illustration: Bas-relief of Cupid.]

Near the spot where this fine panorama first opened out we came to a

small roadside Han, called Blazui, where we obtained welcome refreshments

in the shape of coffee and boiled eggs; a little bread we had luckily

brought with us. While waiting for these delicacies, we passed our time

in closely examining some old stone blocks which formed the basement

of the wooden buildings about, in hopes of finding perchance a Roman

inscription or some other relic of antiquity. Our desires were presently

gratified almost beyond expectation by the discovery of a Roman monument

walled into an old stone cistern, which acted as sub-structure for a

hen-roost. It was a bas-relief of Cupid, standing, apparently, on a

foliated capital, cross-legged, and leaning on a torch, which he is

thus extinguishing. It has suffered, as can be seen in the rough sketch

opposite, from the iconoclasm of ages, Christian and Mahometan; yet a

tutored eye could still trace the elegant outlines. A severe critic

might condemn the art; but, though falling short of Hellenic purity,

it was such as these benighted midlands of Illyria have not seen the

like of since the days when this was sculptured. But the delicacy of

the conception allows us to overlook the execution. The monument is

sepulchral, of a kind not uncommon among the Romans, but chiefly raised

to the memory of those who passed away in the youth and vigour of their

days.[232] The thoughts are turned from the unknown and the ghastly to

the memory of the beautiful and the known. _Vixit_—he has lived. The

torch of festal trippings has become the staff for his repose: the light

of love is put out: the great darkness is upon him: _nox est perpetua una

dormienda_. It may foreshadow annihilation, but, at least, it calls up no

bony phantoms of corruption. This mutilated, one-winged genius is indeed

the emanation of ages of refinement, set forth by the most exquisite

symbolism of ancient art. Here, truly, amidst dull and barbarous lands,

was roadside refection, spiritually, not less refreshing than were the

fragrant cups of mocha to those parched by a well-nigh Arabian sun!

It does not seem that any Roman remains had been discovered in this

immediate neighbourhood before,[233] though the appearance of some of

the other blocks of masonry made it probable that this was not the only

classic monument concealed in the foundations of the Mahometan Han and

its out-buildings. One would, indeed, expect to find Roman remains in

this vicinity, not holy from the fact that in the neighbouring mountains

about Foinica, and again to the east about Vareš, are traces of Roman

gold-mines, and that a Roman road has been traced tending from Salona

towards these centres of mineral wealth; but for another and still more

cogent reason. This is the presence of hot-springs, which we passed

to the right of us only a little way further on the road, at a place

called Illidzje. The Romans, with their usual instincts, tracked out

these natural baths among the Illyrian wilds; and Roman remains in

Bosnia, when not connected with mining enterprise, seem especially to

centre round such spas. At Novipazar,[234] in the province of Rascia,

the sulphur springs still bubble up into an octagonal marble basin near

eight yards in diameter, described as of Roman workmanship, and are

still sheltered from the elements by an octagonal chamber, supporting a

cupola, which also dates from the days of the Cæsars. At Banjaluka[235]

on the Verbas the hot-springs are still housed in a similar edifice;

and the curious may survey modern Mahometans taking their enjoyment in

one of these very baths which have supplied the prototype of the early

Christian baptistery. The name of Banjaluka[236] itself preserves a Roman

element, _Banja_ being no other than the Latin _balnea_. The Sclavonic

settlers borrowed the word from the earlier Roman population of these

lands—thus witnessing to the purely Roman associations of such spas;

and so completely has the word passed into their language that _Banja_

at the present day is applied by the Southern Sclaves to all hot-springs

and baths. But though not necessarily, therefore, proof positive of a

Roman connection, this derivative, when applied to local names, may

perhaps afford presumptive evidence that the virtues of such spots were

not unknown to the Romans. It is at least worth noticing that the thermal

springs at Illidzje, not far from the place where we found the bas-relief

of Cupid, are still known to the Bosniacs as ‘Banja.’

We now descended into the plain, passing the sources of the Bosna, not

far distant, on our left. The river from which this whole country derives

its name takes its origin from a number of small streams which, gushing

forth from the limestone slope of Mt. Igman, unite almost immediately

to form a full-volumed river of crystal purity, some fifty yards in

breadth—an Illyrian Timavus. We crossed this new-born river by a wooden

bridge of a form, if possible, more Roman than ordinary, and nearing the

capital descried several country houses of Turkish dignitaries, embosomed

in their shady gardens. Once or twice we met arabàs of state containing

Mahometan ladies, screened from the vulgar gaze by a brilliant scarlet

canopy supported by four posts; but feminine curiosity prompted them to

lift up the corners of the drapery that they might observe the Giaour;

and we should have seen more of their faces had they not been veiled as

well as curtained!

But a turn in the road reveals to us the Damascus of the North—for such

is the majestic title by which the Bosniac Turks, who consider it,

after Stamboul, the finest city in Turkey-in-Europe, delight to style

Serajevo. Seen, indeed, from above, in an atmosphere which the Bosniac

historian has not inaptly compared to that of Misr and Sham,[237]

it might well call up the pearl and emerald settings of Oriental

imagery.[238] The city is a vast garden, from amidst whose foliage swell

the domes and cupolas of mosques and baths; loftier still, rises the new

Serbian Cathedral; and lancing upwards, as to tourney with the sky, near

a hundred minarets. The airy height to the East, sceptred with these

slender spires of Islâm and turret-crowned with the Turkish fortress

(raised originally by the first Vizier of Bosnia on the site of the

older ‘Grad’ of Bosnian princes), commands the rest of the city, and

marks the domination of the infidel. Around it clusters the upper-town,

populated exclusively by the ruling caste; but the bulk of the city

occupies a narrow flat amidst the hills, cut in twain by the little river

Miljaška, and united by three stone and four wooden bridges. Around this

arena, tier above tier—at first wooded hills, then rugged limestone

precipices—rises a splendid amphitheatre of mountains culminating in the

peak of Trebović, which frowns over 3,000 feet above the city—herself

near 1,800 above sea-level.

The first beginnings of Serajevo, or Bosna as it was formerly called, are

said to have been due to the mining enterprise of the Ragusans in the

neighbouring mountains;[239] but though in 1236 (after the destruction of

Mileševo by the Patarenes) it was made the seat of the Roman Catholic

bishops, it appears to have been little more than a stronghold till the

year 1463, when it finally fell into the possession of the Turks. It

was in the year succeeding this event that the present town was founded

by the two Bosnian magnates, Sokolović, and Zlatarović, who claim the

doubtful honour of having been the first of the native nobility to

renegade to Islâm; and the Serai on the hill was shortly after erected,

and the upper town walled, by Khosrev Pashà, first Vizier of Bosnia. It

was from this Serai or fortress that the town began to be called Bosna

Serai, and finally, by the Sclaves, Serajevo. That it early attained to

some majesty is shown by the fact that it was given by Grand Signiors

as a dowry to widowed Sultanas; and early in the sixteenth century our

English traveller, Blunt, though he describes it as ‘but meanely built

and not great,’ yet reckons here ‘about four-score Mescheetoes and

twenty thousand houses.’[240] When Prince Eugene, during his twenty

days’ dash into Bosnia in 1697, penetrated to the capital, he found the

upper town so strong that, despairing of reducing it by a siege with

the small means at his disposal, he contented himself with burning the

lower town, and rode back to the Save. His chroniclers estimate the

population of Serajevo at 30,000, and set down the houses and mosques

then destroyed by the Imperialists as six thousand and a hundred and

fifty respectively.[241] In the middle of the next century the monks who

supplied the author of ‘Illyricum Sacrum’ with an account of ‘the present

state of Bosnia,’ speak of the Serai as being, though a decayed city, the

‘seat of Turkish commerce and the most renowned staple of the realm.’

Serajevo early became the head-quarters of the Bosnian Janissaries.

That in the seventeenth century it was hardly an eligible place for a

Giaour to find himself in, may be gathered from our English traveller’s

relation. Blunt is setting out for ‘Saraih,’ as he calls the city, ‘with

the Bashaw of Bosnah, his troopes going for the warre of Poland,’ and

his account gives a very pretty picture of the military turbulence that

must then have reigned within the walls. The soldiers, it appears, were

‘spirited many with drinke, discontent, and insolency: which made them

fitter companie for the Divell then for a Christian; my selfe after many

launces, and knives threatned upon me, was invaded by a drunken Janizary,

whose iron Mace entangled in his other furniture gave mee time to flee

among the Rocks, whereby I escaped untoucht.’

But the Janissaries who ruled the roast at the Serai were something more

than a turbulent rabble of bravoes. They were Sclaves, descendants, most,

of the ruling families of the older Bosnian kingdom. They spoke the

native tongue. They were imbued with provincial patriotism. They were in

close alliance with the haughty provincial aristocracy, who perpetuated

feudalism under a Mahometan guise. These Sclavonic Janissaries refused to

take to the celibacy and barrack-life of their order. They took wives.

They became landed proprietors. They even settled down to mercantile

pursuits. Thus, with their participation and patronage, Bosna Serai, the

chosen seat of the Bosnian nobility, the Camp of her Prætorians, acquired

rights and immunities which made her a Free City.

Nothing in this curious history is more interesting to observe than the

way in which the primitive institutions of Sclavonic family life assert

themselves in this municipal constitution. The Civic Communism—I use the

word in its uncorrupted sense—grows out of the domestic. Just as the

Bosnian family communities elected, and still elect, their elders, so

now the families who owned the surrounding lands were represented by a

hereditary _Starešina_; and the artisans and merchants bound themselves

into _Bratsva_ or brotherhoods, each guild electing its _Starost_ or

alderman. Thus arose a civic government, based on the possession of real

property and prosperity in trade.[242]

Enjoying such a municipal constitution, actively protected by the

Janissaries at Stamboul, the Serai rose to an almost sovereign position

in Bosnia. So jealous was its senate of its privileges, and so

irresistible its authority, that it actually established a municipal law

by which the Vizier of Bosnia was forbidden to tarry more than a day

at a time within the city walls. For a single night he was entertained

at the public expense; next morning he was escorted without the gates.

Even in the exercise of his shadowy authority at Travnik, the Sultan’s

lieutenant stood in perpetual fear of the patriarchs of the real capital;

for if he presumed to offend these haughty elders, they had but to lodge

a complaint against him with the Odjak of the Janissaries at Stamboul,

and the Vizier was forthwith recalled. The Porte, indeed, endeavoured

to assert its sovereignty within the city by appointing two officers to

decide disputes between Moslems and Rayahs, but the citizens retained the

right of dismissing these at their pleasure.

Thus Serajevo was the mouthpiece of the old Sclavonic national feeling of

Bosnia, as it survived in a Mahometan guise—the acknowledged protectress

of provincial interests against the hated Osmanlì. Bosnia had changed her

creed, but she clung to her independence; and when, at the beginning of

the present century, Sultan Mahmoud II. thought to stamp out provincial

liberties in Bosnia as elsewhere, it was the Serai that took the lead

in opposition. When the Janissaries were extinguished at Stamboul,

their tall ovoid turbans, the gold and imperial green, still flaunted

themselves unchallenged in the streets of Serajevo. The citadel on the

height was their last refuge. It was, however, successfully stormed by

the Vizier, and Serajevo was given over to the tender mercies of the

Sultan’s officer. A terrible vengeance was wreaked, and more than a

hundred of the leading citizens were proscribed and executed. The Vizier

took up his residence triumphantly in the fortress, but the reign of the

Osmanlì lasted only a few months. In July 1828 the citizens of Serajevo,

aided by those of Visoko, rose desperately against the oppressor. A

street fight followed, which lasted three days. The Vizier, who upheld

his authority with a garrison near 2,000 strong, made an obstinate

resistance, but the imperial troops were gradually beaten back from house

to house, from mosque to mosque, till, fairly overmastered, the Sultan’s

lieutenant was glad to escape with his life and the shattered remnant

of his troops. A few years later Serajevo again fell into the hands of

the destroyer of the Janissaries. But in the Bosnian rebellion of 1850

the citizens once more flew to arms. For a while they made themselves

masters of the Vizier’s fortress on the height, but finally succumbed to

Ali Pashà; and the municipal independence of Serajevo shared the ruin of

feudalism throughout Bosnia. The true capital of Bosnia has since been

the seat of the Turkish Governor of the Vilajet.

But though Serajevo herself has degenerated into the _chef-lieu_ of a

‘circle’—though an alien bureaucracy has succeeded the patriarchal sway

of her own landowners and merchants—though Giaour-Sultans and ‘New Turks’

from Stamboul—those muck-rakes of mendicant statecraft who filch their

political tinsel from the gutters of the boulevards!—have replaced her

native Agas and elders by an Osmanlì ‘_Préfet_,’ with the same apish

levity with which these same gentry toss aside the jewelled amber of

their forefathers for a Parisian cigarette!—nevertheless, despite of all

these tinkering experiments in centralization of which they have been

made the _corpus vile_, the citizens of this old stronghold of provincial

liberties have only clung with warmer attachment to the ‘true green’ of

Bosnian Toryism. Only what they can no longer practise in politics they

parade in religion, and Serajevo remains more than ever the focus of

the Mahometan fanaticism of Bosnia. This was the danger of the present

moment, and gave but too valid grounds for the wide-spread apprehension

among the Bosnian rayahs that the outbreak of the revolt might provoke

the bigots of the capital to a general massacre of the Christian minority

there; and that the Damascus of the North might, as she had already

threatened a year or two ago on a less provocation, reproduce the bloody

scenes which have made her Syrian namesake a word of terror to the

Christians of Turkey.

This is what happened here only three years ago, as we heard the story

from those who played a distinguished part in averting the impending

catastrophe; nor can anything give a better idea of the dangerous spirit

abroad among the Moslem population of Serajevo.

The new orthodox cathedral, which now forms the most prominent object in

the city, was begun a few years ago by the Serb or Greek Church here,

on a scale which seemed to make it a direct challenge to the Mahometan

part of the population. The presence of the consular body in the town

made it possible for the Christians to take advantage of the right of

church-building accorded by Firmans of the Grand Signior, and accordingly

the work proceeded without any interference. But the Christians were not

content with the permission to build a church in the most conspicuous

position in one of the main streets of the city, but must needs rear a

pretentious pile which should throw into the shade the biggest of the two

hundred and odd mosques with which Mahometan piety has adorned the Serai.

No expense was spared, and the total outlay reached, so we were credibly

informed, the (for this country) enormous sum of £13,000, exclusive of

the costly icons and other church-furniture presented by the Emperor of

Russia. A swaggering edifice—all of stone—built in the usual bastard

Byzantine taste of the Fanariote hierarchy, and of which the worst that

can be said is that it is worthy of its patrons—began to raise itself

above the neighbouring house-tops, and at last contemptuously looked

down on the dome of the Imperial Mosque itself—the Dzàmia of Sultan

Mahommed! It was perhaps hardly to be expected that the ignorant Moslem

fanatics should view with equanimity this last manifestation of Christian

humility.

What, however, seems especially to have stuck in their throats, was

the design of hanging bells in the cathedral tower. It is strange the

animosity which such an apparently harmless sound as that of a church

bell has always excited in the bosoms of those hostile to the Christian

faith. Those of us who have Norse blood running in their veins may

remember that their heathen ancestors showed just the same vehement

repugnance to the tintinnabulation of too officious missionaries. Perhaps

in a Mahometan country it may be feared by the faithful that the infidel

clangour might drown the prayers of the muezzin on neighbouring minarets;

perhaps the renegade population of Bosnia have inherited something of the

prejudice that led their Bogomilian forefathers to regard Church bells as

‘Devil’s trumpets’! But this, at least, is certain, that in Bosnia there

are few Christian churches where any other summons to the congregation

is allowed than that of a wooden clapper; and that to hang bells in a

centre of Moslem fanaticism like Serajevo was a deliberate and wanton

provocation.

The plain English of the matter is that the Christians of Serajevo,

relying on consular protection, saw in the erection of this new church

a fine opportunity for wiping off the scores of ancient insults against

the Mahometans. It was quite natural that they should do so. But it

was also natural that the Moslems should refuse to pocket the insult.

The ringleaders of fanaticism in the city took up the gauntlet thus

thrown down, and some time before the day of the opening ceremony it

oozed out that a Mahometan conspiracy was afoot by which short work

would be made of the unbelievers and their conventicle together. The

indefinite multiplication of evil passions caused by ecclesiastical

wrong-headedness had brought matters to such a pass, that Easter Day—the

date of the opening ceremony—might have proved a second St. Bartholomew’s

for the Christian minority of Serajevo.

Happily, at this crisis, the consular body stepped in. Mr. Holmes, our

representative—who took a prominent and worthy part in averting the

bloodshed—and the other Consuls, informed the Pashà of the imminence of

the danger, and unfolded to him the existence of a Mahometan conspiracy.

The Pashà sent some of the ringleaders out of the country, made the

leading Moslems responsible for the preservation of order, and finally

persuaded the Christians to forego the bell-ringing. As it was, the

opening ceremony took place under the protection of Turkish arms. The

city was placed in a state of siege. For three days previously all the

wine-shops in the town had been closed by order of the authorities. The

troops were held in barracks under arms. At intervals along the streets

trumpeters were stationed to give the earliest alarm; and, in fine, such

precautions were taken as prevented any actual disturbance of the peace.

It was not without some vague misgivings that we now found ourselves

entering the streets of this metropolis of fanaticism. But the sight

which presently broke on us, on turning a corner into the main street,

was such as might well convince us that the worst forebodings of the

Bosnian Christians had come true. We had emerged on the scene of a great

fire which had destroyed one entire side of the street, so that we were

obliged to pick our way among black and smouldering _débris_, through

which a party of Turks were engaged in clearing a path. They, however,

seemed peaceable enough, and we were further relieved by seeing the

cupola of the Serbian cathedral rising unscathed on the other side of the

way.

We presently met a consular Cavass, who politely conducted us to the

English Consulate, situate on the other side of the little river

Miljaška, which we crossed by a stone bridge. Our Consul was away, having

migrated to Mostar in order to be nearer the centre of the disturbances

in the Herzegovina; but we were hospitably taken in by his amiable

daughters, and Mr. Freeman, his _chargé d’affaires_; and found ourselves,

after our long course of roughing, once more among the comforts of an

English home, and surrounded by the quiet of an English garden. Here,

in this rich soil, under this Eastern sky, we saw for the first time in

Bosnia our familiar flowers—roses, verbenas, and petunias, and others

equally delicious—scenting the air, and making us realise what a paradise

this land might become in civilized hands. The fruit-trees—the stock

of which Mr. Holmes, who has great horticultural taste, had imported

from Malta—were weighed down with an exuberant crop of plums, peaches,

greengages, and apples, each of which would have secured a prize at a

show; and this though from the shallowness of the soil these trees only

flourish for a time. Contrast with these the miserable plums, pears,

and apples obtainable in the native markets of Serajevo! The Bosniacs

show themselves absolutely incapable of pomiculture; they plant their

fruit-trees almost as close together as cabbages, and expect them to

thrive. Our Consul produced magnificent peaches by simply planting the

miserable Bosnian substitute properly.

We found that affairs here had taken a very serious turn. On Saturday

last Dervish Pashà, the Vali or Governor-General of Bosnia, had left

to take the command in Herzegovina, where the revolt was making head.

On Sunday—this country being now left without any competent head—the

revolt broke out in Bosnia. The news, as may be imagined, produced

great excitement here, and threw the Christian minority into a state

verging on consternation. The old rumours of an approaching massacre

once more gained credence. But the panic became universal last night,

when flames were observed rising from the immediate neighbourhood of

the new cathedral, and in the centre of the Christian quarter, amongst

houses inhabited by the leading Christian merchants. The Governor,

Hussein Pashà, by repute a weak and incapable man, hearing the guns

and cannon—which are here the usual fire-signals—and seeing the

conflagration, at once jumped to the conclusion that the anticipated

outbreak was beginning; and instead of sending the troops—who in Serajevo

supply the place of a fire-brigade—to put out the fire, kept them in

barracks waiting for the light to reveal the supposed disturbers of the

peace. Thus the fire—which in its origin was, as we learnt from the most

authentic source, purely accidental, and so far from being the work of

a Moslem fanatic, had actually originated in the house of a well-known

Mahometan, a renegade detested by the Christians—was allowed to spread,

and fifteen houses in the most flourishing quarter of Serajevo were

reduced to ashes before the Pashà could be undeceived, or proper measures

be taken to bring the flames under. The danger to the whole city was

imminent, the houses being mostly of wood and plaster; and, indeed,

Serajevo had been previously burnt down on four several occasions.

Perhaps the motives which induced the Mahometans to lend active help to

the Christians in conquering the flames were not altogether disinterested.

Meanwhile, from the unfortunate quarter in which the conflagration had

arisen, and from the electric state of the political atmosphere, it lay

in the very nature of things that the origin of the disaster should

be misrepresented, and that the majority of the Christian population

took it for granted that it was the work of Moslem spite. Thus a purely

accidental circumstance had added fuel to the general uneasiness, and

to-day a panic prevailed among the Christians of Serajevo.

From the English Consulate, where we are now lodged, we hastened to pay

our respects to two English ladies whose acquaintance we had already

had the good fortune to make on the Save, and who are prosecuting a

work in Bosnia of which their own country may well be proud, and for

which a more civilised Bosnia may hereafter be grateful. Some years ago

Miss Irby first travelled through many of the wildest parts of Turkey

in Europe in company with Miss Muir Mackenzie, and the book composed

by these two ladies on the Sclavonic Provinces of Turkey is well known

to all Englishmen who take an interest in those neglected lands and

their down-trodden Sclavonic cousins. But Miss Irby, with the practical

spirit of her race, was not content with acquainting the world with the

lamentable condition of the Serbian people under the Turkish yoke, but

set herself to work to remedy these evils. It was the backward state of

education among the rayah women of even the better classes which struck

her as one of the peculiar obstacles in the way of national progress, and

it was this which she resolved to overcome. In 1865 Miss Irby settled in

Serajevo, and since that date she and a fellow-labourer, Miss Johnston,

have devoted their lives to a propaganda of culture among the Bosnian

Christian women. Nothing in their efforts has been more conspicuous

than their good sense. As the best way to promote the spread of a

liberal education among the women, these ladies have formed a school in

which to bring up native school-mistresses. There has been no attempt

at Protestant proselytism; the pupils, whether of the Greek or Romish

Church, being left to the spiritual charge of their own pastors.

We found these ladies engaged in packing up their effects preparatory

to removing from the country for the present with their most promising

pupils. They had only arrived the previous Thursday by the tedious post

from Brood; but the state of affairs seemed so threatening, that there

was nothing for it but to take the children elsewhere and wait for

quieter times. They experienced some difficulty in obtaining permission

from the Pashà to take the embryo school-mistresses with them, as the

Pashà considered that their departure would increase the panic among the

Christians of Serajevo, by whom they are widely known and respected.

It could not, however, well have been greater. Already, several of

the leading Serb merchants had presented themselves at the English

school-house, and begged to be allowed shelter if the expected butchery

commenced. The Austrian Consul had just taken away his wife, and a

general exodus of Christians from the city was going on. Miss Irby[243]

and Miss Johnston finally obtained the required permission, and, as we

were afterwards happy to learn, have succeeded in planting their school

at Prague till this tyranny be overpast. It is difficult indeed for the

liberal arts to flourish at the best of times in a Turkish province!

The other day, on the opening of a rayah school at Banjaluka, the

authorities issued peremptory orders prohibiting the teaching of history

or geography! So rigid has become the censorship of the press, that Miss

Irby, though provided, like ourselves, with an autograph Bujuruldu from

the Governor-General of Bosnia, was not allowed to bring her little store

of books into the country, and was forced to leave them at Brood. The

state of literature in Serajevo itself may be gathered from the following

fact: in a city of between fifty and sixty thousand inhabitants there is

not a single book-shop!

_Aug. 22._—To-day we made the acquaintance of the German Consul, Count

Von Bothmar, who expressed considerable surprise at our arriving here

unmolested. From him and the other members of the consular body, who were

very ready to supply us with full details as to the stirring events that

are taking place around us, we learnt many interesting facts relative to

the causes and course of the insurrection in Bosnia. These accounts, and

others from trustworthy sources, reveal such frantic oppression and gross

misgovernment as must be hardly credible to Englishmen. We have heard all

that can be said on the Turkish side, but the main facts remain unshaken.

The truth is that outside Serajevo and a few of the larger towns

where there are Consuls or resident ‘Europeans,’ neither the honour,

property, nor the lives of Christians are safe. Gross outrages against

the person—murder itself—can be committed in the rural districts with

impunity. The authorities are blind; and it is quite a common thing

for the gendarmes to let the perpetrator of the grossest outrage, if a

Mussulman, escape before their eyes. There is a proverb among the Bosnian

Serbs, ‘No justice for the Christian.’ Miss Irby, who has made many

enquiries on these subjects, estimates that in the Medjliss, the only

court where Christian evidence is even legally admitted, ‘the evidence

of twenty Christians would be outweighed by two Mussulmans.’[244] But

why, it may be asked, do not the Christians appeal to the Consuls for

protection? In the first place, in a mountainous country like Bosnia,

with little means of communication, to do so would in most cases be a

physical impossibility. In the second place, as Count Bothmar assured us,

if such complaint is made to a Consul, so surely is the complaining rayah

more cruelly oppressed than before; henceforth he is a marked man, nor

is consular authority so omnipresent as to save him and his family from

ruin. ‘God alone knows,’ he exclaimed, ‘what the rayahs suffer in the

country districts!’ Remembering the revolting scenes, of which I had been

a witness, at the Christian gathering near Comušina, I could believe this.

But the most galling oppression, and the main cause of the present

revolt, is to be found in the system and manner of taxation. The

centralised government set up in Bosnia since 1851 is so much machinery

for wringing the uttermost farthing out of the unhappy Bosniac rayah.

The desperate efforts of Turkish financiers on the eve of national

bankruptcy have at last made the burden of taxation more than even the

long-suffering Bosniac can bear. It was the last straw.

The principal tax—besides the house and land tax, the cattle tax,[245]

and that paid by the ‘Christian’ in lieu of military service which is

wrung from the poorest rayah for every male of his family down to the

baby in arms[246]—is the eighth,[247] or, as it is facetiously called

by the tax-collector, the tenth, which is levied on all produce of

the earth. With regard to the exaction of this tax, every conceivable

iniquity is practised. To begin with, its collection is farmed out to

middle-men, and these, ex-officio pitiless, are usually by origin the

scum of the Levant. The Osmanlì or the Sclavonic Mahometan possesses

a natural dignity and self-respect which disinclines him for such

dirty work. The men who come forward and offer the highest price

for the license of extortion are more often Christians—Fanariote

Greeks—adventurers from Stamboul, members of a race perhaps the vilest of

mankind. No considerations of honour, or religion, or humanity, restrain

these wretches. Having acquired the right to farm the taxes of a given

district, the Turkish officials and gendarmerie are bound to support them

in wringing the uttermost farthing out of the _misera contribuens plebs_,

and it is natural that this help should be most readily forthcoming when

needed to break the resistance of the rayah.

These men time their visitation well. They appear in the villages before

the harvest is gathered and assess the value of the crops according

to the present prices, which, of course, are far higher just before

the harvest than after it. But the rayahs would be well contented if

their exactions stopped here. They possess, however, a terrible lever

for putting the screw on the miserable tiller. The harvest may not be

gathered till the tax, which is pitilessly levied in cash, has been

extorted. If the full amount—and they often double or treble the legal

sum—is not forthcoming, the tax-gatherer simply has to say ‘then your

harvest shall rot on the ground till you pay it!’ And the rayah must see

the produce of his toil lost, or pay a ruinous imposition which more than

swamps his profits.

But supposing, as often happens, the Spahi, or tithe-farmer, who is

shrewd enough to know that _ex nihilo nihil fit_, sees no means of

wringing the required amount from the village till after the harvest has

been disposed of. In that case he imposes on the Knez or village elder,

who represents the commune in the transaction, an assessment drawn up

in the Turkish tongue,[248] and as intelligible to the rural Bosniac as

so much Chinese. The money from the grapes or corn or tobacco assessed

having been realised, the Spahi presents himself again to the village,

and demands, perhaps, double what had been agreed on. The astonished

Knez takes out the written agreement, a copy of which had been supplied

to him, and appeals to it against the extortioner. But if he carries the

matter before a Turkish court, the first Effendi who sets eyes on it

will tell him that every iota of the Spahi’s claims is borne out by that

precious document!

Or if he still remains obstinate, there are other paraphernalia of

torture worthy of the vaults of the Inquisition. A village will

occasionally band together to defend themselves from these extortioners.

Thereupon the tithe-farmer applies to the civil power, protesting that

if he does not get the full amount from the village, he will be unable

in his turn to pay the Government. The Zaptiehs, the factotums of the

Turkish officials, are immediately quartered on the villagers, and live

on them, insult their wives, and ill-treat their children. With the

aid of these gentry all kinds of personal tortures are applied to the

recalcitrant. In the heat of summer men are stripped naked, and tied to a

tree smeared over with honey or other sweet-stuff, and left to the tender

mercies of the insect world. For winter extortion it is found convenient

to bind people to stakes and leave them barefooted to be frost-bitten;

or at other times they are thrust into a pigsty and cold water poured on

them. A favourite plan is to drive a party of rayahs up a tree or into

a chamber, and then smoke them with green wood. Instances are recorded

of Bosniac peasants being buried up to their heads in earth, and left to

repent at leisure.[249]

I will quote a single instance of these practices, communicated by the

Princess Julia of Servia to the author of ‘Servia and the Servians.’ ‘A

poor woman, frantic with agony, burst into the palace of the Princess at

Belgrade. She had been assessed by the Turkish authorities of a village

in Bosnia of a sum which she had no means of paying.... _She was smoked._

This failed of extracting the gold. She begged for a remission, and

stated her inability to pay. In answer she was tossed into the river

Drina, and after her were thrown her two infant children—one of four

years old, the other of two. Before her eyes, notwithstanding her frantic

efforts to save them, her children perished. Half drowned and insensible,

she was dragged to land by a Serbian peasant. She made her way to

Belgrade, believing, from the character of the Princess for humanity,

that she would aid her. Of course to do so was out of the question.’[250]

Gustav Thoemmel, who was attached to the Austrian Consulate here,

relates how the application of such tortures drove many Bosnian rayahs

to desperation in 1865. No less than five hundred families took refuge

across the borders from these inquisitors in the spring of that year.

They were, however, turned back and forced to return to their homes in

Bosnia in a most deplorable state. ‘Complaint,’ says Thoemmel, ‘about

outrages of this kind are scarcely ever brought forward, since the

rayah seldom obtains evidence or even hearing, and his complaining only

brings down on him increased persecution. So it happens that the higher

officials often remain in entire ignorance of the barbarities perpetrated

by their underlings.’

It must not be supposed that the higher authorities here are altogether

blind as to the evils attendant on the tithe-farming. It will hardly

be believed that the present Governor-General, and his predecessor

Osman Pashà, have been doing their best to remove this abuse, but were

thwarted by the authorities at Stamboul, who have in recent years taken

away much of the independent power of the provincial Vali, the better

to suck everything into that sink of corruption. Our Consul has for

years directed his energies with the same object, and acting on his

representations, Lord Stratford de Redcliffe used all his influence to

support the appeal of Osman Pashà. But neither our most influential

ambassador nor the Turkish Governor-General of Bosnia could induce the

Porte to remove the abuse. The pretext by which these representations

were always eluded was that the tithe was a religious institution. The

present Vali,[251] a man of more subtle genius, had, however, succeeded

in drawing a distinction between this and the religious tithe, and

was confident that he would be shortly permitted to abolish it, and

substitute for it a land tax not farmed by middle-men. But it was already

too late. The present revolts, both in Bosnia and the Herzegovina, are

mainly due to the extortion of the ‘dime.’

It was on Sunday, August 15—the same day on which the great Christian

pilgrimage took place on the mountain above Comušina—that the peasants

of that part of Bosnia, who had been goaded to madness during the last

few weeks by the exactions of the tax-gatherer (with whom this year

the government, itself unable to meet its creditors, had driven a

harder bargain than usual), first took up arms. From the rapidity with

which the revolt spread through Lower Bosnia there seems to have been

a preconcerted movement—indeed, it was previously known at Belgrade

with sufficient accuracy what lines the outbreak would follow. The

first movement took place near Banjaluka, where the rayah villagers

rose on their extortioners and slew eight tax-gatherers. This was

immediately followed by other risings extending along the Possávina to

the neighbourhood of Brood and Dervent. Several of the watch-towers along

this frontier were surprised, and their Turkish garrison massacred.

Meanwhile, the Christian women and children are fleeing beyond the

Austrian border for protection; the banks of the Save at the present

moment are a piteous sight, and the forest border and willow river-hedge

are crowded with these harmless fugitives, holding out their hands and

entreating to be ferried over to the Slavonian shore. The news of the

outbreak quite bewildered the authorities at Serajevo. The Vali, the

only man capable of coping with the difficulties of the situation, had

just left for the Herzegovina. Bosnia was bereft of troops, for the

Seraskier at Stamboul, disregarding the earnest warnings of the Vali,

had persisted in withdrawing the regulars stationed in the province till

hardly any were left, and of these every available man, except those

absolutely necessary for garrison duty, had now been dispatched to the

Herzegovina.

Meantime, the Mahometan population of Lower Bosnia has taken the law

into its own hands, and the authorities have been forced to look on

and see the Mahometan volunteers, the Bashi-Bazouks—not long ago

suppressed for conduct too outrageous for even the worst of governments

to tolerate—spring once more into existence. Such were the ferocious

warriors whose acquaintance we had made at Travnik. To-day they are

streaming into Serajevo: we met a party of them defiling through the

street, and the leader of the gang, as he passed, glared savagely

at the Giaour. They are, from what we hear, mere organised brigands

headed by irresponsible partizans, and at present are committing the

wildest atrocities—cutting down women, children, and old men who come

in their way, and burning the crops and homesteads of the rayah. That

the defence of Bosnia should have fallen into the hands of such men is

one of the most terrible features of the situation, and nothing can

better show the abjectness of her present governors than that they have

now consented to accept the services of these bandits—and that even

the Turkish authorities are now calling them out as well as the Redìf.

There seems, however, to be little authority of any sort left to the

government at the seat of the insurrection in Bosnia, for the native

Mahometan population, seeing itself left defenceless by its Osmanlì

officials, has rudely thrust them aside, and the defensive measures

are now being carried out by self-constituted committees of public

safety, which have sprung up at Banjaluka, Dervent, and other towns. The

artificial bureaucracy of 1851 has collapsed under the shock, and the

long-restrained savagery of the old dominant caste has burst forth like a

caged lion for the defence of Islâm. The marauding bands now desolating

Bosnia are for the most part headed by Begs or Agas, scions of the old

Bosnian nobility: the Bashi-Bazouks are simply feudal retainers following

their lords. Thus, in Bosnia, the Christian outbreak has been opposed

by a counter-revolution of Moslem fanaticism in close alliance with the

still vital relics of Bosnian feudalism.

News of a sanguinary fight near Banjaluka, between five hundred

insurgents and the Turks, has just come in. It lasted eleven hours,

‘with uncertain results’—which means favourably to the Christians. The

number of the revolters at one spot, and the duration of the conflict,

alike witness the seriousness of the rising. The telegraph to Brood has

just been cut, but a battalion has been dispatched to keep open the

communication at this important point. We further hear that the streets

of Agram and Belgrade are placarded with inflammatory proclamations,

calling on the Southern Sclaves to rise in defence of their brothers.

Like manifestoes have appeared at Bucharest. The German Consul looks

on this South-Sclavonic agitation as one of the most serious features

of the present situation. As far as Serajevo is concerned, he already

telegraphed three days ago to Berlin and Constantinople that there was

no longer security here against any contingency.

Meanwhile, the events in the city seem to be shaping their course on

the model of 1872. To-day a conjuration of about three hundred of the

leading Turks took place in the great Mosque. They appeared there with

arms in their hands, and swore that there was a plot against their lives!

It has now oozed out that they have banded themselves together to fall

with their following on the Christians of Serajevo, should the revolt

break out any nearer here—as things go, a not unlikely contingency. The

Christians are more alarmed than ever, and appeal to consular protection.

Their apprehensions are further excited by the fact that a notorious

brigand—a certain Dervish Aga—has appeared at the head of the Mahometan

volunteers of this neighbourhood.

Now, it appears that even our humble selves have become the objects of

fanatical suspicion. We have been already honoured by having consular

reports sent to the representative of Austria regarding our motions and

conduct during our tour—which reports were the subject of an official

interview between that gentleman and our Consul, who endeavoured to

explain it to him—with what success is doubtful—that it was not the

practice of the English Government to send political agitators on

secret missions to nationalities! It is now the turn of the Mahometans

to suspect our intentions, and a few harmless sketches of Serajevan

costumes, and a little innocent curiosity as to the wares on some of

the Serajevan shop-boards, have excited such indignation in the bosoms

of true believers that a deputation of forty Turks waited on the Pashà

to complain of us, and entering, as it would appear, into a kind of

competition which could display the most Oriental inventiveness of

calumny—it has resulted in our being accused first of taking notes of

the fortress, and ultimately of violating a mosque! Of course we had

scrupulously avoided even approaching the portals of such a sacred

edifice; and as to the fortress, we had not even visited the quarter

of the town in which it stands. Mr. Freeman convinced the Pashà that

these accusations were false; but it was thought better after this that

we should be accompanied in our peregrinations by consular guards or

cavasses, English or German.

_Aug. 23rd._—This morning the German Consul, with whom we lunched,

informed us that he had just obtained an interview with the Pashà to

represent to him the threatening state of affairs, and especially this

new Mahometan conspiracy, and to ask what measures he intended to take

to protect the Christians in the event of a disturbance. The Pashà

explicitly declared that he was ready to use his troops and cannon

against the first disturbers of the peace, to whatever party they

belonged. The Consul is tolerably satisfied with this, and believes that

the troops are sufficiently Osmanlì and obedient to official commands to

be trusted not to fraternize with the native Mahometan fanatics.

We had been asked to meet the representatives of Austria and Russia,

and received quite an ovation at the Consulate. The conversation turned

on the Greek hierarchy of this country, and the worst that we had heard

of these wolves in sheep’s clothing was more than corroborated. Perhaps

the most terrible feature of the tyranny under which the Bosnian rayah

groans, is that those, who should protect, betray him, and that those,

to whom he looks for spiritual comfort, wring from him the last scrap of

worldly belongings which has escaped the rapacity of the infidel. Amongst

all the populations of modern Turkey there is only one so vile as to fawn

upon the tyrants. The modern Greeks of Constantinople—the Fanariotes,

let us call them—not to pollute a hallowed name—have inherited all the

corruption of a corrupt empire, and added to their hereditary store. It

is from these, as we have seen, that the odious class of middle-men, who

farm the taxes, is chiefly recruited. It is also from these that the

dignitaries of the Greek Church throughout Turkey are chosen.

The Turks have not hesitated to utilize the sleek knavery ready to their

beck. It has long been a part of Turkish policy to rivet the fetters of

their Sclavonic subjects by filling the high ecclesiastical offices of

the Greek Church with Fanariote bishops. The office of the old Serbian

metropolitans who resided at Ipek was suppressed, and Bosnia has since

been divided into four eparchies[252] under the immediate control of

the Patriarch of Constantinople, the Eparchs needing, like the head of

the Greek Church himself, an exequatur from the infidel before they can

enter on their functions. The Greek Patriarch takes good care that these

eparchies shall be filled by none but Fanariotes, and thus it happens

that the Pravoslaves or orthodox Christians of Bosnia, who form the

majority of the population,[253] are subjected to ecclesiastics, aliens

in blood, in language, in sympathies, who oppress them hand in hand with

the Turkish officials, and set them, often, an even worse example of

moral depravity.

It does not become the English language to record the Sejanian arts

by which they rise. Usually, as the lackey of a Pashà or some rich

Fanariote, they amass gains which they afterwards lay out in an episcopal

speculation—for sees go to the highest bidders at Stamboul.[254] The

new Metropolitan arrives at Serajevo, and immediately sets to work to

make the speculation pay. To retain their office they have further to

send enormous bribes yearly to the fountain-head of corruption. Thus

the simony which begins on the patriarchal throne descends to the

meanest pulpit, and the poorest pope in Bosnia has to bargain with his

bishop for his cure of souls! The shepherd, fleeced himself by his

bishop, must recoup himself from his flock. On every occasion of life

he levies a contribution in money or in kind, and in some cases he has

even succeeded in establishing a system of heriots. On the death of the

father of a family he takes the best ox; on the mother’s death, a cow.

Not infrequently children grew up unbaptized because the parents were

too poor to pay the fee required.[255] As to the parsons themselves,

their ignorance is usually so gross that they cannot read the Sclavonic

liturgy, and simply repeat it by rote! The Metropolitan of Serajevo is

said to wring as much as 10,000_l._ a year from his miserable flock: the

other three content themselves with about half that amount apiece. When

it is remembered that the salary of the Vali Pashà himself only amounts

to 500_l._ a year, the enormity of these figures may be appreciated.

These four successors of the fishermen of Galilee extort annually between

them a sum equal to one-sixteenth of the total income received by the

government of the province from taxation. Since, however, a large part of

what they extract from the unhappy rayahs must be transmitted in the form

of bribes to Stamboul, the Turkish authorities have orders to assist them

in levying their exactions; and whole Christian villages share the fate

of a sacked city from Turkish gendarmerie, for refusing, or too often

being unable, to comply with the exorbitant demands of Christian prelates.

_De_ vivis _nil nisi bonum_. The predecessor of the present Metropolitan

of Serajevo, amongst his other accomplishments, was an habitual drunkard.

He lived in Sardanapalian luxury—his table groaned with plate; and at

his death he left untold treasures in costly furs alone—the fleecings

of his flock! His rapacity was such that even the slavish spirit of the

Bosnian rayah was provoked to resistance, and in 1864 the agitation

became so dangerous that an assembly of the notables was called at

Serajevo to devise a remedy; and a certain standard of ecclesiastical

dues not to be transgressed was finally imposed on the bishops by the

Turkish authorities themselves. But the Metropolitan, with the shrewdness

of his race, read between the lines. All that was meant, as he had

the good sense to perceive, was a slight increase of his expenditure

under the head of _lubrication_. Thoemmel, writing so soon after these

events as 1867, mentions that ‘this standard has already become a dead

letter.’ It is no secret that one of the main provocations of the revolt

in the Herzegovina was the tyranny of the Turkophile bishop Prokopios.

When the storm burst, one of the first attempts at pacification was the

translation of this ghostly vampire to a fatter see!

Vain indeed must be the efforts of the rayah flock to save themselves

from the wolves while they have a hireling for their shepherd! These

episcopal sycophants of the infidel serve the Turk in a hundred ways—they

screen a hundred abuses. No sooner does an awkward revelation see the

light, than one of these renegade prelates steps forward to throw dust in

the eyes of the Christian West. They know well that to a certain class

of mind there is something comfortable in the very name of bishop. They

trade upon the saintly spell which throws a halo of veracity round any

lies they may invent to shield their patrons or themselves. Ill-founded,

indeed, seem the complaints of the rayah when his bishop comes forward

to confess, from a Christian love of truth and justice—but with how much

laudable reluctance!—that the wrongs of his too blatant flock are purely

imaginary, and that, if anyone has been aggrieved, it is the honest, the

moral, the merciful, the tolerant, Osmanlì![256]

As an useful sedative we have taken a Bosnian bath, and found both

building and ceremony deliciously Oriental. We entered to find ourselves

under a spacious dome, pierced with a constellation of star-like

openings, which shed a dim religious light on marble pavements, and ogee

archways and niches. In the centre a fountain, playing into a marble

basin, glittered and twinkled in the artificial starlight, and faintly

echoing with a cavernous murmur through vault and corridor, not only

added a refreshing chill to the atmosphere—cooled already by exclusion of

sunlight and the marble walls—but seemed to let in a sense of coolness

by the ears. Here a venerable Turk came up, and beckoning us to follow

him, led us up a flight of steps to an airy gallery opening from this

cool vault, where was a divan with couches for our repose. Hence we

presently emerged, attired, like the Turks about, in decorous togas and

turbans, convertible into towels, and with clogs on our feet, clattered

awkwardly through the spacious _Frigidarium_—how the whole brings to

life the luxurious days of ancient Rome!—and thence, after passing

through an antichamber still cool, plunged into the _Calidarium_ with a

vengeance. This was a domed chamber of equal dimensions with the first,

from which opened several lesser rooms swelling into cupolas above. But

we were so suffocated with the hot steamy atmosphere, that it was not

till after we had been seated by our attendant Turk on a daïs in one of

these side-vaults, that we recovered breath sufficient to take stock of

anything. Just behind us, from a leaden spout fixed in an ogival niche

in the wall, gushed forth a hot fountain into a marble basin, out of

which, after much patient endurance of preliminary sudation, we were

basted by our minister. Then succeeded excoriation by a rough gauntlet

that served as strigil, then we were well lathered, and so the process

was repeated till a final douche of cold water from a wooden bowl gave

the signal for girding ourselves once more and making our way through

the cool chamber—tenfold refreshing now!—to our couch. Here, in the same

turban and light attire as himself, we accompanied a Turk in _dolce far

niente_ tempered with fragrant mocha and cigarettes—though sherbet is

equally proper as a beverage, and a narghilé would perhaps have been more

decorous. The whole process, including the time spent in recovering from

our first succeeding lassitude, lasted about an hour.

Thus re-invigorated, we renewed our exploration of the streets of

Serajevo—this time accompanied by a gorgeous consular guard. Besides

the baths there are other fine stone buildings here, and the Bosniac

countryman gapes with as much wonderment at the domes of the two chief

mosques as an English rustic at first sight of St. Paul’s. Of these two

Dzàmias, or greater mosques, one, the Careva Dzàmia, is the work of

Sultan Mohammed, who conquered Bosnia; and the other, the Begova Dzàmia,

owes its foundation to Khosrev Beg, her first Vizier. This latter is the

largest, and externally, with its central dome, subsidiary cupolas, and

its portico in front, preserves faithfully enough the characteristics

of its Christian Byzantine prototypes. Before it is a plot planted with

trees, and containing a stone font filled with the purest water for

the _ghusél_ or religious lustrations. In the porch are two monolithic

columns of brown marble, taken from an earlier Christian church:

here, too, is a shrine or chapel, in which is a gigantic sarcophagus,

containing the bones of the founder, and a smaller one containing those

of his wife—both, especially the former, strewn with costly shawls by the

hands of the pious. The interior of the mosque is plain and whitewashed,

except for the texts of the Koràn upon the walls, and gay Persian carpets

strewn upon the pavement. There are two pulpits, one for ordinary lessons

and sermons; the other a loftier perch used on Fridays for reading the

prayer for the Sultan; and in the wall may be seen a square stone, the

_Kiblà_, which marks the direction of Mecca. But we ourselves were

advised not to enter, owing to the dangerous spirit of fanaticism abroad;

so these details are gathered second-hand.[257]

Besides her mosques, Serajevo boasts two _Bezestans_ or ‘cloth-halls,’

usually one of the chief public buildings of a Turkish city. The

larger of these includes a court, surrounded by cloisters, and with a

fountain in the middle; but from the outside you can see little of the

building except some stone cupolas, as the wooden shops of the market

are built against its walls. Inside we found ourselves wandering along

stone arcades vaulted above and bayed at the side with semi-circular

recesses, in which the wares are displayed. They consist mostly of

cloths; and though light is deficient, the brilliance of the effect is

astonishing—the rich display of drapery might recall a street of Ghent

in the Middle Ages! Round the Bezestan are crowded the narrow streets

of the _Caršia_ or market—by exploring which you can arrive at a fairly

exhaustive knowledge of the industries of Serajevo. There was not such

a jumble of wares here as in the smaller towns of Bosnia. Shops of a

similar kind succeeded each other in a row, or sometimes monopolised

a whole street. Here was the blacksmiths’ street, with a display of

colossal nails, and a large assortment of the elegant bosses of Turkish

door-handles with their knocker-like appendages. Another street was

sacred to harness-makers and sellers of horse-trappings; in a third was

a double arrangement—a lower row of boot-shops conveniently level with

the ground, while, as a roof above the opanka-sellers’ heads, ran the

counters of crockery-merchants, with a charming variety of _testjas_

and other water jars—so that foot and mouth could be suited at the same

moment! Another street resounded with the hammers of coppersmiths,

moulding their metal into coffee-pots or platters; here were rows of

salt-merchants, or we came upon a group of armourers’ shops—to-day

ominously thronged—bristling with knives and swords of the famed Bosnian

steel. In the smaller Bezestan were many second-hand goods, and amongst

them magnificent flint-locks of antique form, with stocks richly inlaid

with mother-of-pearl and golden arabesques—the masterpieces of the old

workshops of Prizren. Near these might be seen gun-flints such as have

been described already—the best quality of those imported from Avlona.

But the part of the bazaar which interested us most was the goldsmiths’

quarter. Here sate a whole street full of cunning artificers, pinching

and twisting the precious metals—but chiefly silver—into brooches, beads,

rings, and ear-rings of filigree work—charming, both from its intrinsic

elegance and from its clearly marked Byzantine parentage. The Serajevan

work, pure and simple, though not without merit, is somewhat coarse, and

we were pleased to find that the more graceful flowers of silver-work had

been engrafted on the rude Bosnian stock by the taste of an English lady.

Mrs. Holmes, the wife of our hospitable Consul, brought over some of the

chefs-d’œuvre of Maltese filigree-work and set these as models for the

smiths of Serajevo, who have so profited by the lesson that they are now

almost able to compete with the productions of the more refined Italian

artists. The Serajevan work has not, however, degenerated into mere

imitation: certain native characteristics are still traceable in the new

style.

Yet our Consul complained that, as regards skilful workmanship, the

incapacity of the Bosniacs was great even compared with the Asiatic

provinces of Turkey. In Kurdistan, for example, he found no difficulty in

obtaining articles of furniture—sofas, and so forth—of European elegance,

by simply supplying patterns to the native upholsterers; but here, when

he tried to do the same, people laughed at the very idea! The only

carpenters here are Austrians settled in Serajevo.

The motley groups of citizens of different denominations which one

comes upon in the streets of Serajevo are at least as Oriental as the

wares. Here is a kind of happy family of Turks, Jews, Heretics, and

Infidels. It will be noticed that the Mahometan women of the capital are

not so rigorously veiled as those of the provincial towns—Travnik, for

example. Those of the better condition here are infected with Stamboul

fashions, and now and then you will see a Mahometan lady pass in her

flowing peach-coloured silk, and a veil so transparent that she might

just as well have discarded it altogether. As we descend in the social

scale, modesty increases, and I will not deny that many of the Serajevan

women, with their long white shrouds, bear a certain resemblance to

Lot’s wife after her metamorphosis; though with reluctance it must be

confessed that we sometimes saw a nose or even an eye! It is amusing to

watch the gradual transformations of the little Mahometan girls here.

How charming was the little maiden opposite!—with her pale green vest

and flowing pink—can they be really pantaloons?—with her childish beauty

peeping forth from beneath a scarlet fez—and so demure, too, for all her

gorgeousness! But by the time she is eleven the transitionary process

will begin; for a while she will content herself with wrapping a cold

white mantle round her head and her pretty dress—for a while you may

still catch a glimpse of her face and the border of her fez—and then—the

cocoon!

[Illustration: BOSNIAN TYPES AT SERAJEVO.

JEWESS. ROMAN CATHOLIC. MAHOMETAN SCLAVES. TURKISH PRIEST. PRAVOSLAVES OR

‘SERBS.’]

To the left of the group before us will be observed two Jewesses

belonging to the wealthiest part of the Serajevan population. There are

in this city about 2,000 Jews, descendants of those who, in the fifteenth

and sixteenth centuries, took refuge from the persecutions of the

Catholic rulers of Spain within the dominions of the more tolerant Grand

Signior. But they still look back with a certain regretful longing to

the adopted land of their forefathers. Although they can speak Bosniac

to outsiders without an accent, they still converse among themselves

in a language which was that of Spain in the days of their expulsion;

and the pure Castilian of the Knight of La Mancha, antiquated in its

mother-country, is still to be heard in the streets of Serajevo![258]

They have a pride in those old days, and like to keep fresh their

remembrance. Their Chacham-bashi, or head Rabbi, serves his friends with

confection made of white of eggs and sugar, called ‘Spanish bread,’ as

a kind of memorial feast. But they cling with even warmer zeal to their

old Hebrew rites and customs, and are so intolerant of innovation that,

not long ago,[259] one of their leading merchants here was excommunicated

for letting his wife wear long hair and dress herself in European

fashion! She might well have contented herself with the coiffure of

her co-religionists; for, if too wanton tresses are curtailed, _en

revanche_ they wear a most gorgeous head-dress. We had seen in the bazaar

some tasteful discs of embroidered work—flowered with a humming-bird

brilliance of design—which we took to be meant for small mats, till we

found that they were worn at the back of their heads by Jewish women.

These Jews are the richest people in Serajevo, but alas! this is not

simply due to their commercial talents. It is unfortunately too true that

a few years ago these astute Israelites made nearly 100,000_l._ out of

Austrian and German houses by a system of fraudulent bankruptcy. They

act as treasurers and interpreters to the Turkish authorities in Bosnia,

and use the power thus acquired to amass further gains often not less

ill-gotten. They are also the chief bankers here, and the only usurers.

They are as dirty as their gains, and almost as degraded physically as

morally. That they are also undersized may possibly be connected with

the fact that they will only marry within their community. On the other

hand Miss Irby[260] states that ‘their poor are exceedingly well cared

for, and a Jewish beggar is never seen. No Jew is ever accused of murder,

theft, or violence, or found in Turkish prisons, except on account of

debt.’

The other members of our happy family are the Bosniacs of the Greek

Church—the Serbs or Pravoslaves, as they style themselves. Of these

there are about 6,000 in Serajevo, and they approach the Serbs of the

Free Principality in dress as well as in name. They show, as may be

seen, a great variety of head-dress—sometimes the hair plaited round a

central fez _à la Serbe_—sometimes light white muslin drapery—sometimes

a fez stuck coquettishly on one side, from which descends what looks

like a cascade of black hair flecked with golden spray, and of such a

length as to fall about the hips. It needs close inspection to detect

that this is really black silk interwoven with gold thread; so that the

Serbian maidens of Serajevo may be congratulated on adding a cubit to

their tresses! They further embellish their hair with flowery sprays,

and, on high days, both fez and bosom with a barbaric superfluity of

jewellery—especially coins. They carry their fortune about with them,

and a Bosniac girl is admired in proportion to the number of coins that

spangle her! Perhaps the same may be seen elsewhere under a civilized

disguise, but here it is paraded with all the naïveté of the savage!

‘What a pretty girl!’ enthusiastically exclaimed a Bosniac, in the

Russian Hilferding’s hearing; and on his asking with surprise what the

Serajevan might find to admire in a flat nose and a decided squint:

‘What? Don’t you see? There are ducats there to last a lifetime!’ But

there is one kind of beauty which even the Bosniacs can admire, and that

is—fatness! A fat[261] girl is here synonymous with a beauty.

The character of the Christian merchants of Serajevo is, perhaps,

sufficiently indicated. They are, in truth, a money-grubbing, unamiable

lot, and, it need hardly be added, set their faces against culture

in every form. Next to the Jews, they are the richest class in

Serajevo—richer than the Turks, for the Mahometan is incapacitated by

his fatalistic want of enterprize from taking part in any but small

retail trades. The Serbs, on the contrary, hold in their hands most of

the external commerce of the country, for which Serajevo is the natural

staple, being the meeting-place of the main roads leading to Austria,

North of the Save, Dalmatia, and Free Serbia, and being situate on

the caravan route to Stamboul. But they do not make use of the wealth

thus obtained either to elevate themselves or to aid their oppressed

countrymen who lie outside the pale of consular protection. On the

contrary, they form themselves into an exclusive caste, not only standing

apart from the miserable rayah, but even pooh-poohing his cry of agony

when it happens to stand a chance of being heard by Foreign Consuls

or the Turkish Governor. Is it likely, indeed, that they should do

otherwise, with such a spiritual guide as the Fanar Metropolitan?

Just as characteristic of a narrow-minded bourgeoisie is the way in which

they set their faces against any attempts to better their education. A

few years ago a Serb of Serajevo, who had amassed what for a Bosniac was

a fortune, as a merchant at Trieste, left a considerable sum of money

to be applied in erecting a good school for the Pravoslave community

here, on condition of a certain additional sum being subscribed by the

Serajevan merchants. The Pravoslave community at large seem to have

received the tidings of this generous bequest with sublime contempt; but

one or two individuals, who hoped to profit by it as teachers, took the

matter up and sent a circular to the European Consuls in the name of

the whole Serb community, stating that that body ‘feeling the want of a

good education for their sons, and wishing to carry out the design of

their benefactor, solicited the aid and patronage of the representatives

of enlightened Christendom.’ This sounded very fine. The Consuls took

the matter up. Mr. Holmes represented it to the English Government, and

though nothing could be given officially, Lord Clarendon very kindly

forwarded 30_l._ on his own behalf. Then the bubble burst. The Pravoslave

community held an indignation meeting, in which they disavowed the

circular of these interested enthusiasts for education: protesting that

their children were well enough taught at home, and that a new school

they did not want, and a new school they would not have!

Two other most prominent classes of Serajevan society call for mention.

One is the Board of Health, whose business it is to keep the streets

comparatively clean. The members of this sanitary staff exercise their

unclean office at night, when they patrol the streets in troops—and the

offal which they then pick up is their only food! At this season these

scavengers, who are perpetually falling out among themselves, raise such

a terrible hubbub as murders sleep to those unused to their rowdiness.

Moreover, it is hardly safe to walk across the street after dark, for

these gentry will patch up their own quarrels and unite to assault the

unwary foot-passenger; and, though they have no other weapons than those

wherewith nature has endowed them, such is the ferocity of their onset

that I have myself seen a Turkish soldier forced to keep these guardians

of the public health at bay with his sword. They do not wear either fez

or turban (so far as we were able to observe), and in this they differ

from the generality of Turkish officials; but they are uniformed in

a coarse hide of a muddy buff-colour, disfigured with mangy patches,

usually out at elbows, and tattered by reason of their nocturnal brawls,

in which they show themselves so transported with passion as to tear off

each other’s ears. By day they are very _lazzaroni_, and are to be seen

in the streets (their only home), lying across the path or roadway on

their stomachs—truly a disgusting spectacle. It is a custom not to be

transgressed, that both the passers-by, and even waggons, should move

out of their way while my lords are taking their repose; and it goes

ill with him who should kick, or even, without hostile intent, stumble

upon the prostrate sanitary officer, since he and his fellows—a score of

whom (you may be sure) are ready at hand—are quick in taking the law into

their own hands. Nor can their insulter expect either aid or pity from

the bystanders; for the citizens, rightly considering their profession

as necessary to the public health, invest their person with a certain

sanctity; and, doubtless, were these brutish scavengers expelled by one

gate, pestilence would stalk in by the other.

Then there is another class of functionaries with whom the streets

of Serajevo, and one in particular, are literally swarming, and who

are even more brutal than this precious Sanitary Board. These are

the Zaptiehs—call them, if you please, gendarmes, police, enlisting

sergeants, soldiers, tax-collectors, executioners—for they are

Jacks-of-all-trades. They are the factotums of the Mahometan government—a

terrible engine in the hands of tyranny—ready to execute its worst

behests. We have seen them as the instruments of the tax-farmer or the

bishop, wringing the little hoards of penury from the miserable rayah—or

playing the part of apparitors in those Inquisition scenes of torture.

These are the hired bravoes who live at free-quarters in the Christian

villages; rob, violate—and in many cases murder—whom they will. There

are of course exceptions; and their worst offences are nothing to the

infamy of the Government which lets loose ignorant fanatics among a

population whom their creed teaches them to count as dogs, and which

leaves them, without pay sufficient for their bare subsistence, to

plunder those whom they nominally protect. When in the presence of

Europeans they usually possess tact sufficient to keep on their good

behaviour; but from the atrocious scenes of which I myself was a witness

at the Christian pilgrimage, their conduct, when freed from any restraint

of foreign surveillance, may be faintly imagined. Those who have had

most acquaintance with the country described them to us as ‘covering

the land like a blight.’ Though there are enough of them in Serajevo

in all conscience, we were assured that the number at present here is

smaller than usual, since many have been sent out to collect the Redìf

or reserve, and many have been hastily draughted into the soldiery.

To-day a gang of these commissioned bandits has been scouring the country

with orders to seize thirty horses, but they have only been able to lay

hands on a couple. The Government exercises the right of seizing horses

at need. Nominally it is only a loan, but the peasants rarely see their

beasts back, and dare not hope for recompense of any kind; besides which

the owner is often impressed himself as kiradjì or driver, without

receiving a penny for this _corvée_. This forced labour and seizure of

horses was one of the most crying wrongs of the Bosnian and Herzegovinian

rayahs, and one of the many causes of the revolt. How inveterate must be

that misgovernment which continues to sow the wind at the very moment

that it is reaping the whirlwind!

Here, at least, affairs are becoming hourly more ominous. We hear tidings

of a Christian victory near Novipazar, which means that the single road

connecting Bosnia with the rest of Turkey is seriously threatened.

Isolated tales of bloodshed and massacre form the common topic of

conversation. A Serb cuts the throat of a Turkish Mollah near Mostar;

the Christian is hanged; his friends surprise a party of Mahometans in an

inn, and massacre them to a man; the cry for vengeance is now caught up

by the Turks, and so the tragedy developes. Such details are revolting,

but they give a true picture of the reign of terror which is setting in.

To-day a large number of Austrian women, the wives of artizans beyond the

Save, are leaving the town.

This evening, our last in this city, a strange atmospheric phenomenon

seemed to shadow forth the uncertainty of all around. In the afternoon

it began to pour, and at first the clouds, as they shifted hither and

thither, threw the mountains, that frown around the city on every side,

into strange and novel reliefs. Then they sank lower, till they hung like

a pall above mosque and minaret, and shrouded even the ‘nodding hills’

around in impenetrable gloom—half cloud, half mountain. The city alone

stood out with clear and well defined outlines in the livid half-light,

but the mist literally lapped its outer walls, and so thickly, that

a foe might have approached to the very entrance of the town without

possibility of detection. It was, indeed, portentous of the present

state of Serajevo; nothing but the present certain; her nearest future

overclouded; forebodings of internecine struggles within; the sulphurous

vapours of civil and religious war rising around her—doubly awful in

the uncertain light of rumour. ‘It is the beginning of the end,’ said a

foreign representative to us; ‘do not be surprised if you are surveying

the last days of Ottoman rule in the Serai.’