Through the Land of the Serb Part 6

BELGRADE

Servia is only some thirty-six hours distant from London by rail, but for England it is an almost undiscovered country. Nor do the other nations flock thither. I gathered this on my journey on the main line from Agram to Belgrade through the crown-lands of Hungary, over endless plains and miles of floods. Guards and ticket-collectors alike agreed in telling me that it was impossible for me to go to Belgrade. "You will require a pa.s.sport," they said. And when I said that I had one, they replied sadly, "It is probably not good." "Belgrade," said an old lady in the corner, "and you are English! Oh, then you are the new school inspector. You have come, have you not, from an English Society to report on Servian education? Two other ladies have been already."

"Perhaps I shall meet them," I suggested. "Oh no," said the old lady cheerfully; "that was when I was a girl. It was about 1864 that I saw them. Naturally I thought you came for the same purpose!" As I had no mission from the Government, she agreed with the guards that the expedition was impossible, and I was soon left alone in the carriage. As Agram had refused to book me farther than Semlin, I did not feel particularly cheery about it myself. Semlin opined I was a governess, and made no difficulty about booking me on! The train crashed across the iron bridge over the Save, and we arrived. It was half-past ten at night when I alighted in Belgrade--alone, friendless, and knowing nothing of either country or people except what I had gathered from a few books, mostly not up to date. Guide-book there is none, and a little of the language was all that I had to rely upon to see me through a strange land.

The first Servians I encountered were the two soldiers who take the pa.s.sports, which have to be reclaimed next day. I grasped this fact and pa.s.sed through, with some satisfaction, as I heard behind me the wrathful voices of several Italians and Germans who were fiercely refusing to part with their papers, and were being shouted at in Servian. Thinking it would wound their pride to be offered female British a.s.sistance, I left them to fight it out, and was the first, in consequence, to get through the "Customs." Then I rattled uphill through the dark deserted streets, where the night sentries with greatcoats and rifles were already on guard, and arrived at my hotel.

My only letter of introduction was a failure, as the addressee was abroad; the British Consul, whom I had been specially told to inform of my proceedings by the Servian Minister in London, had not yet arrived, and the secretaries at the British Ministry were quite new. This is a fate that pursues me. When I arrive at a place for the first time, the Powers that arrange such things always give the Consul a holiday, or appoint a new one who has not yet learnt the language. But having never yet failed to find friends on my travels, I did not worry about my possible fate up country. Several things began to happen at once.

"Where," said I to the waiter, when he brought me my coffee on the very first morning, "where am I likely to see the King and Queen?" He looked at me with a peculiar expression. "You want to see our King?" he said.

"You won't see him. He dare not come out of the konak. He is probably drunk," he added contemptuously. I made no remark, for there was none that it seemed expedient to make, and though I haunted the neighbourhood of the konak industriously, each time that I returned to Belgrade, I never saw either King or Queen. This was in the summer of 1902.

Belgrade (Beograd = "The White City") is most beautifully situated. For a capital to be so placed that the enemy can sh.e.l.l it comfortably from his own doorstep is of course ridiculous, but for sheer beauty of outlook Belgrade is not easy to surpa.s.s. Perched on a hill, at the foot of which Save joins Danube, it commands westwards a wonderful expanse of sky and stream and willows, with a pale mauve distance of Servian mountains, while opposite lie the rich plains of Hungary and the little town of Semlin. Belgrade is a new town, a quite new town, and no longer deserves the name of "The White City," its general effect from a distance being dark; but the name is an old one, and "white" is a favourite Servian adjective. It is a bright, clean town; the houses, seldom more than two storeys high, look solidly built; there are plenty of good shops, and the streets are wide and cheerful. It looks so prosperous and the inhabitants so very much up to date, its soldiers are so trim, its officers so gorgeous, and the new Government offices are so imposing, that one is surprised to find that the country, owing to mismanagement, is financially in an almost desperate condition.

There is little wheeled traffic in the streets, nor is this a wonder, for the pavement is indescribably vile. "Ah, but you should have seen it in Turkish times," say the Servians, and they do not worry about it; for they have two lines of electric trams, and your Servian is not a pedestrian. Coming as I did, straight from Cetinje, I spent the first few days in wondering whether the very dark, short people who crowded the trams of Belgrade, for lack of energy to walk up the street, were really blood-relations of the long-legged giants who stride tirelessly over the crags of Montenegro with never a sob. I never saw a Servian who looked as if he took exercise because he liked it. Neither did I ever see any attempt at an athletic sport. On the other hand, wherever I went, people expressed amazement that I could find any pleasure in travels that entailed so much exertion. I have never met folk that walked so slowly. I used to try not to pa.s.s people in the street, and vow it is as difficult as to win the slow bicycle race. An average Serb seems to think two miles an hour sharp going; his ordinary pace I cannot pretend to estimate, and when he has nothing particular to do, which is often, he sits down and plays cards. In my whole life I do not think I have seen so many cards as I did in Servia. In the cafes, hotels, and restaurants the soft slither and plap-plap of the painted pasteboards and the tap of the chalk as the players write the score goes on from morning till night, and forms a running accompaniment to every meal.

When asked what struck me most on arriving in Servia, I often referred to this habit, and astonished my questioners. "We are obliged to play cards," they said; "chess is too difficult, and we cannot afford billiard-tables." In public, very little money changes hands, it is merely a matter of a few coppers, a way of killing the time that hangs so heavily on their hands; for Servia, in spite of the West European look of its capital, has not yet I learned to be in a hurry.

Card-playing has comprehensible attractions, but the Servians are possessed of a quite original vice which is not likely to lead other folk astray. They drink too much cold water, and they drink it till they are pulpy. An average Serb drinks enough cold water for an English cow.

I doubt whether the language contains an equivalent for "bad training,"

for when I tried to explain the idea it created surprise. A doctor told me he had never heard the theory before. To him it seemed a natural and wholesome habit; moreover, he added, "there is plenty," and seemed to think it was rather wasteful to leave any unswallowed. To me it explained the lack of activity; the nation is water-logged. All day long and every day the Serb calls for a gla.s.s of cold water, and when he has drunk it he calls for another. Perhaps owing to this he has little s.p.a.ce left for alcohol; at any rate, I never saw a drunken man, even amongst the peasants returning from market.

Belgrade, in fine weather, is a very agreeable town to do nothing in for a day or two. But its historic fortress, its beautiful garden, and the woods of Topchider are all too well known to require describing. One mosque only, and that a dilapidated one, tells of the departed Turk. The ma.s.s of the inhabitants (60,000) are Orthodox Serbs, and a colony of Spanish-speaking Jews lives in the low-lying quarter called Dorchol. I think I saw the whole colony, from the tiniest beady-eyed baby to the stoutest grand-mamma, for they flocked to see me pa.s.s as though I were a coronation procession. Unaware that a foreign woman travelling alone in Servia was a unique event, I wished them "good day" cheerfully, and went my way.

The "old konak," a rather mean-looking building painted a raw cream colour, and standing in a small garden with sentry boxes in front of it, has since acquired hideous fame. For in it, but a year later, did Alexander's ill-starred reign come to its awful end. Belgrade was so civil to me, there was such perfect order in the streets both by day and night, all was outwardly so quiet, that even now I find it hard to realise that that ugly yellow house has been turned into a shambles.

That the King would have to leave and at no distant date was obvious, but I believed it would be by the usual route, and as I watched the swirly yellow Save hurrying along below, I murmured, "There's one more river, one more river to cross." It is a marvel that Servian rulers continue to dwell within sight of the Save. It is the most "men-may-come-and-men-may-go" river in all Europe. But in Servia, though you may flee from the Save, you can never lose sight of the political situation, which is a parlous one. Servia is too small to stand quite alone. Without, she is surrounded by Austria, Turkey, and Bulgaria. The first is slowly squeezing her, preparatory to swallowing her whole, should a favourable chance arise; the second yet holds the heart of the old Servian Empire; and with the third Servias quarrel dates from the seventh century. Internally Servia is torn by parties who differ as to which of the Powers it is advisable to propitiate, and these parties dance to external wirepulling.

Things being as they are, it is small wonder that the Serb suspects everyone that crosses his frontier and believes he has come for obscure political reasons. I entered Servia cheerfully unaware of this, and soon learnt that the police were watching my movements. Belgrade, like Montenegro and Dalmatia, took me for a Russian, otherwise I neither knew nor cared whether Belgrade thought about me at all. Wishful of learning the language and of seeing things Servian, I determined to go to the theatre, and in the old happy days, when I was as yet guileless and unsuspicious, I stopped and began to slowly decipher a playbill at a street corner. I had struggled through but little of it when I was approached by a policeman on duty, a picturesque personage in a brown uniform with red braiding. He touched his cap to me and said most politely in very fair French, "Our language, Mademoiselle, is very difficult for une Anglaise. Permit that I a.s.sist you," and proceeded to translate the bill. Surprised and pleased, I asked myself, "Which of our own bobbies could thus a.s.sist a foreigner?" and being accustomed to be called Russian, I asked, "How did you know that I am English?" "Oh," he replied cheerfully, "Mademoiselle only arrived here on Monday, and I, you see, am in the police. Naturally I know. Also the officer at the custom-house has stated that Mademoiselle knows some of our language, and that is most unusual in a foreigner." As a freeborn British subject, I was considerably taken aback to find that the police were so well informed about me. Immediately and rashly I said to myself, "When in Rome do as the Romans. I too can ask questions." There was something about the policeman that was oddly familiar; he was a tall fair man, quite unlike the short dark type that I was beginning to recognise as Belgrade-Servian. So I said to him, "Yes, I am English. Where do you come from? You are not a Serb of Servia." "Ah no," he said, with a sigh; "I am far from my people. I come from a quite little place of which Mademoiselle has never heard. I come from the neighbourhood of Kolashin." This at once enlightened me. Foolishly proud of my knowledge, I laughed and replied, "Kolashin? Oh yes, in Montenegro, near the Albanian frontier. You are Crnagorach!"

It was his turn to be astonished now, and he almost leapt with amazement. He broke into his native tongue. "You know my fatherland! You know my fatherland!" he cried in great excitement. "You have been there!

Have you seen my Prince, our gospodar Nikola? Have you seen Prince Danilo? Prince Mirko? the Princesses Milena? Militza? Have you been to Podgoritza? to Ostrog?" etc. "Yes, yes," said I to everything. "Bogami!

Bogami!" (Oh my G.o.d!), he cried. Then he took a long breath, pulled himself together, and started a torrent of the most fluent French.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "I will tell you everything. I came from Kolashin twelve years ago with a comrade. He also is a policeman; he is now in the next street. As soon as he arrived here he married a Servian woman, and he has been unhappy ever since. I, Mademoiselle, am unmarried. I detest these Servian women. They are bad, Mademoiselle, they are unfaithful! I would not take one on any account, and I cannot afford to go back to my own country for a wife. But you, Mademoiselle, you are half Montenegrin; you have the heart of a lion; you know my country; you have seen my Prince; you speak my language! Unfortunately, Mademoiselle, I must remain in this street,"--here I mentally offered thanks to the powers that had rooted him to this spot, "but on Sunday afternoon I shall be free. I shall come to take you out to Topchider. We shall have something to eat; soon we shall become good friends; soon we will be married. I am a very good man, Mademoiselle," here he smote his chest. "The British Consul can learn all about me from my captain. _You_ can teach English in Belgrade, and _we_ shall soon be very rich. But,"

he added very seriously, "you are staying at the Grand Hotel, a most expensive place! You must not stay there. I shall tell you of a much cheaper one, and on Sunday we will go out together!" He paused, rather for want of breath, I fancy, than for a reply, the favourable nature of which he took for granted. I seized the opportunity. "Thank you very much," I said, "but I am leaving Belgrade to-morrow, and I have no time." "Oh, but why, Mademoiselle? You have only been here a week, and it is a so charming town! Restes, je te prie, jusqu'a Dimanche, jusqu'a Dimanche!" "Impossible!" I cried; "adieu, adieu!" and fled round the nearest corner. As I left for Nish early next morning, I saw him no more, and on my subsequent return to Belgrade dodged, with the speed of a pickpocket, whenever I saw a tall policeman looming in the distance.

CHAPTER XI

SMEDEREVO--SHABATZ--VALJEVO--UB--OBRENOVATZ

Smederevo from the Danube is a most impressive sight. A huge brick fortress surrounds the promontory with castellated walls and a long perspective of towers; a grand mediaeval building lying grim on the water's edge, a monument of Servias death-struggle with the Turks. Built in 1432 by George Brankovich, son of Vuk the traitor of Kosovo, it was Servia's last stronghold, and its makers, in defiance of the Crescent, built the Cross in red bricks into the wall where, now the tide of invasion has at last ebbed, you may still see it. And all the nineteen towers still stand.

Having landed, and reflected that I could not escape for many hours, I walked up the main street and I prayed that the populace would prove friendly. It was--very. I had not gone far when I was marked by the policeman. He was much perturbed. He walked all round me at a very respectful distance, and discussed with everyone on the way what he had better do. Finally he came up and asked me in Servian, if I spoke it.

"Very little," said I, and volunteered that I was English, which caused him to call up reinforcements. By this time a fair audience was collected, for the hope of seeing some one "run in" will gather a crowd anywhere. Having ascertained that I understood German, he called up a man to speak to me. The man, pleased with the importance he was gaining, poured out a long string of mysterious noises which resembled no known tongue. Then he turned to the policeman and said, in Servian, "She doesn't know German." The policeman was in despair, and so was the populace. "Speak Servian slowly," I said. "Where do you come from?"

"London." "Where are your friends?" "In England." "What are you doing?"

"I have come to see Servia." This pleased him very much. "Have you any brothers?" "Yes." "Where are they?" I supplied the information and other family details. Finally he summed up the evidence, and imparted to the surrounding mult.i.tude the information that I had come all alone to see Servia and the Servians. This, he said, was "very good." He touched his cap and smiled affably, and the a.s.sembly broke up. All this amused me, but I lived to see the day when these interviews became a weariful burden.

I had luckily hit on the day of a great cattle and pig fair. The open s.p.a.ce between town and fortress was filled with peasants and their beasts, great grey draught oxen, sheep, horses, goats, and, above all, the staple product of Servia, pigs. The Servian pig is a great character. He rules indeed large tracts of country. He is cared for, tended, and waited upon. I have seen a large sow walking with dignity down the middle of the road, followed by a number of human retainers, each carrying one of her piglets like a baby in arms, while she set the pace, stopped to grubble at anything that interested her, and looked back from time to time with her beady little eyes to see that her infants were being properly cared for.

Here in the market the pigs were the most important personages present, and knew it. They are great woolly beasts, some of fair complexion, beautifully curly as to their backs. Their snouts are long and unringed.

Being of a highly practical nature, the first thing they did on arriving at the market field was to dig themselves cubby-houses. Those that were lucky enough to find a hole full of water sat in it, and were supremely happy. Some quite small mud-holes were packed with pigs lying on the black ooze and crammed together like sardines in oil. All talked incessantly. There were hundreds of tender babes wandering about, but the families never got mixed. The little ones are longitudinally striped, like young wild boars, and very elegant. Their mothers found mud-holes if possible, and the children sank in up to their eyes. All were extremely tame. If the owner of a pig family wished to shift camp, he strewed a few beans to start them with, and the whole lot followed, conversing cheerfully, and rearranged themselves neatly whenever he chose to sit down again. The mud-coated ones lay and baked in the sun, like live pork pies, till their mud casing was hard and bricky.

While I was absorbed in pigs, a gentleman came up, took off his hat, and launched me into the language again. He knew a very little French, and with that and Servian extracted the same information as the policeman had done. But he went farther. "Had I been into the fortress?" was his next. I have a great respect for frontier fortresses in all parts of the world, and it had not occurred to me to do more than examine it from a distance. "It is the only thing to see here; I will take you over it,"

he said. I gratefully accepted the offer, imagining the place was now public like the fortress of Belgrade, and we approached the gate and were saluted by the sentry, who made no objection. Pa.s.sing in, I found to my astonishment that it was full of soldiers, and very much the reverse of a public promenade. My friend, who seemed to be a well-known person, asked the first private we met for the Commandant. "The Commandant," he said, "is over there, with the artillery." Off we started in search of him, and were soon hotly pursued by an apologetic soldier, who explained that no foreigners were admitted. I suggested retreating, but my escort would not hear of it, and, quite undaunted, took me over to a party of very smart officers who were sitting at a table under some trees. To them he introduced me with a flourish. They leapt to their feet, made most elegant bows, and were all struck dumb with amazement. My friend then persisted that, as I was English and had come so far, I ought to be shown the fortress. None of them could speak anything but Servian, and were very shy. I said all I could to them in answer to their questions and tried to say good-bye, as it was obvious that their orders did not allow them to take foreigners round. Moreover, it did not seem to me that there was anything of further interest to me to be seen. I was inside and had a good view of the huge walls and towers, the great open s.p.a.ce they surrounded, and the rough irregular masonry they were built of. To send for the Commandant, as my friend urged, seemed absurd. I got up to go. However, after a whispered debate, the officers asked me if I would like to see the view from the walls, and one of them volunteered to take me. He hustled me with elaborate care quickly and guiltily past the artillerymen, who were taking a gun to pieces, and must have been inventing horrible secrets. Poor things!

they might have explained it all to me without my being any the wiser. I remembered Dreyfus, and could scarcely help laughing at the ridiculous position I had managed to get into. The wall was soon ascended, and the view over the Danube certainly very fine, but I felt sure I ought to depart, so skipped quickly down again; but the poor officer in spurs took a long while arriving at the bottom. We returned to the gate, and I endeavoured to thank him; he shook hands in an elaborate manner, saluted, and I emerged from George Brankovich's great fort, which has been besieged by Servian, Turk, and Hungarian, but never before, I believe, surprised by the English. My friend kept repeating, "You are English, and they ought to have shown it you," and was very much vexed.

Smederevo has no other sights, and Shabatz on the Save was my next experiment in towns. It can be reached by a local boat from Belgrade, also by rail. Let no one, however, be persuaded into taking the train unless he wishes to realise thoroughly, once and for all, the joys of living upon a hostile frontier. The train journey was an hour and a half shorter than that by boat, and I imagined that to book from one town to another in the same country was a simple matter, though I was aware that the frontier had to be crossed, so I walked cheerfully down to the station. I asked for a ticket to Shabatz, and was, as a result, immediately conducted to the station police bureau, where a youth in a light blue coat was busily stamping pa.s.sports and inquiring into every-one's past and future existence. My advent upset the dull current of everyday routine. I said I wanted to go to Shabatz, thinking to smooth matters down, but it only created more excitement. The pale blue youth put everything aside in order to fathom the mystery of my movements. Servian frontier police are funny and amusing people. They spare no pains to unravel plots; I hope they will find one some day as a reward for their efforts. If, instead of only myself, there had been say forty or fifty tourists in Servia, the entire land would possibly have been disorganised, trains delayed, criminals left unarrested, and burglaries committed, while the police officials were straining every nerve to ascertain the number of brothers and sisters, and past, present, and future actions of the visitors! I did my best to a.s.sist their plans, and have in fact provided them with the materials for a fairly accurate biography of myself, should one ever be required. Its excessive dulness went a long way towards soothing their agitated nerves. Pressure of business forced the pale blue youth to stamp my pa.s.sport and let me go while his appet.i.te for details was yet unsatisfied, and I hastened to buy a ticket for Shabatz. This was impossible. I could only book across the river to Semlin. By this time I was really interested in frontier existence, and began to regard the trip as a sporting event. Feeling righteous and bold as a lion, being armed with a stamped pa.s.sport and a ticket, I walked down the platform only to be stopped short by sentries. The pale blue youth from the office came flying up. Having hurried up through his business, he intended learning a little more about me while yet there was time. As he spoke nothing but his native tongue and was fluent and excited, we did not get on very well; but I imparted my proposed plan of seeing Servia to him, and he stood on the step of the carriage till the train started.

Hardly were we off when another officer turned up. He took the pa.s.sport and wrote my name in a little book, but had unfortunately no time to ask more than three or four questions.

At Semlin we were quite busy. First we went through the customs, and then we had to go and find our pa.s.sports. The stout and smiling police official selected mine, and without venturing to p.r.o.nounce my name cried, "The English one." More conversation, this time in German. I told him that I had made nine journeys with that pa.s.sport without its ever being looked at, and now it had been stamped twice in an hour. This pleased him, and he pointed out that it showed how superior the Hungarian police are to those of other nations. Then I re-booked, and learned that I had to change trains! My fellow-pa.s.sengers dazed me with Magyar. They none of them agreed as to where I must change, but were all convinced that I had been wrongly informed by the railway guard, and when I arrived at last on the banks of the Save and saw the ferry-boat, I felt as if I were returning to a well-known and civilised land. Even Servian is better than Magyar.

Hurrying to the boat, I was checked suddenly by crossed rifles. Magyar again. As I could not understand a word, I was conducted between the rifles to a police bureau hard by. Here it was explained that I had endeavoured to evade the sentries. I was regarded with extreme suspicion, and the officer a.s.sumed a fine air of standing no nonsense.

He poured out a torrent of Magyar. As I did not understand him, but wished to convey the idea that it is a waste of time to try to scare British subjects, I laughed, held out my pa.s.sport, and said "Good morning" in four languages. Of course he chose the worst, Servian, and as he had apparently never seen an English pa.s.sport before, said it was not correct. So bad did he consider it, in fact, that had I been coming into Hungary, he would have detained me if possible; as I was only going out of it into an enemy's country, he had not so many qualms about letting me loose. He began to inscribe me as "Salisbury" in the police-book, and was annoyed when corrected. Then he required my age, which I truthfully stated. Finally I held up my fingers for him to reckon it up on, but, for reasons best known to himself, he preferred to put it down according to his own fancy, some years too young, and did so defiantly, with the air of a man who will not let himself be taken in.

He tried to get my home address, but gave it up as too much for him. At last he stamped the pa.s.sport, and told me to be quick. I dashed on board, and the boat started. The transit only takes some five minutes, but the pa.s.sengers and crew found time to interview me, and then huddled up at the other end of the boat, presumably to show the Servian police they were not mixed up in the affair.

Shabatz had lately had a revolution. An enterprising personage disguised as a general had, not many weeks before, crossed the stream and had called out the police and garrison with a view--rather a confused one, I believe--of causing them to do something in favour of Prince Peter Karageogevich. The imposture being discovered, he found himself at the wrong end of a revolver, where he speedily expired; but Shabatz had not yet got over its surprise, and as it could not read my pa.s.sport, thought it best, though I was not really disguised as a general, to be careful.

I had only hand luggage with me, but this had four books in it, which I was told had to be examined, and "if in a foreign language, a reason must be given for importing them." The fact that they were all dictionaries, however, caused so much amus.e.m.e.nt that I got happily through.

I was in Shabatz at last. Before they drown, people are said in a few moments to live through a lifetime. It was only four and a half hours since I had left Belgrade, but into that short time had been compressed the experiences of a whole Continental tour. I had encountered three languages, studied the peculiarities of two nations, been in four police bureaus, two custom-houses, three trains and a boat, and bought two tickets in two coinages; all very amusing for once in a way, but hardly a good way of encouraging traffic on the line. Without these games the journey could be done in a couple of hours. They are, however, absolutely necessary, the Servians a.s.sured me, on account of the extreme wickedness of the Hungarians. The Hungarians, on their part, were the first to begin, and were, they tell me, driven to it by the depravity of all nations except themselves. The Hungarians, according to themselves, suffer a great deal for righteousness' sake.

Shabatz, when I had run the frontier gauntlet successfully, received me very kindly; for the Servian, when not soured by politics, is a most kindly creature. The town was quite accustomed to English tourists, for it had had no less than two in the last six years, but I was told that I was the first lady of any nationality that had ever toured round alone.

Servia had, in fact, not been aware that it was possible for a lady to do so. I was not at all pleased to learn this, as I knew that, in the future, wherever I went I should be an exciting event, and from the detailed account I received of the proceedings of the two fellow-countrymen who had visited Shabatz in recent times, I foresaw that all that I did would be considered typically English for the next twenty years. Shabatz, however, was very pleased with my plan, as it showed I knew the country was safe and displayed great confidence in the inhabitants. Mad though my proceedings were undoubtedly considered, they gave Servia the opportunity of showing she was trustworthy, and she rose to the occasion. Shabatz opined that I was "emanc.i.p.ated," but thought that now England had a King instead of a Queen, the liberty of women would probably be curtailed.

All Servian towns are much alike. They have wide, clean streets; solid red-roofed little houses built of stone; a church which is unlovely, for the modern Serb has no gift for church architecture; a school, which is often a handsome and very well-fitted building; a town hall, or something more or less equivalent to one; and a market-place. The houses in the suburbs all stand in their own gardens, and there are plenty of clipped acacias in the streets. And in every town a few tumbledown timber shops and shanties are almost all that is left of Turkish times. Shabatz is no exception to the general rule, and I left early next day for Valjevo.

It was a ten and a half hours' drive in a burning sun and a cloud of white dust, through miles of very fertile and most English-looking country, with English hedges, English oak trees, and English post and rail fences. My first experience of travelling inland in Servia was a very fair sample. There were days when I sighed for the drivers of Montenegro and their wiry ponies, but I always reflected that it was the Servians that I had come to see and that I was seeing them. The Montenegrin is always anxious to get to the journey's end, but the Servian never seems to care whether he arrives or not, provided he can get enough black coffee on the way. He slugs along, takes innumerable rests, and is disappointed if you won't go to sleep in the middle of the day at a way-side inn. Nothing hurries him up; he looks at his watch and says it isn't dark yet, and lets the horses stand still while he rolls his hundredth cigarette. The horses are like the driver, and seldom trot unless urged to, though they are generally in fair condition. But the average Servian does everything in a leisurely manner, and horses and driver but follow the national fashion. I thought at first I was being taken along slowly because I was a foreigner, but I found that when I had native fellow-travellers we went slower still. Though my driver was a slug, he was always a very amiable and honest one, and he more than once offered to pay for my drinks.

Valjevo is a large town (20,000 inhabitants), very prettily situated in well wooded country. Everyone was anxious to forward my plans. One gentleman most kindly made me out a tour for the whole of East Servia, drew me a map, and wrote the distances and fares upon the roads. Servia just now has a bad reputation in England; I owe it to Servia to say that in no other land have I met with greater kindness from complete strangers. Valjevo is a smart place, lighted by electric light. The crowd of fashionable ladies and swagger officers who were listening to the military band in the Park would not have looked out of place in the Rue de Rivoli or the Row. My new acquaintances were delighted to hear that I had learnt Servian in London. When I said that my teacher was a Pole, their joy was dashed, but they agreed that it was better than if I had learned from "a dirty Schwab" (_i.e_. German). The idea that the whole of London had to depend on one Pole for instruction did not seem right to them. Five million people in London and only one Pole to teach them! That Pole must be very rich! They were anxious to export native teachers at once, but I a.s.sured them that the Pole had all the pupils.

Valjevo is a garrison town, and this brings us to the subject of the Servian army. There is, of course, compulsory military service; this is for two years (with six years in the reserve), and is under the circ.u.mstances very necessary; moreover, to Servia the army means Old Servia, and Old Servia is yet to be redeemed. But self-defence is one thing and the military tournament another, and to the non-military outsider it appears that much of Servia's money is spent upon outward show, and that she is like one that walketh in silk attire and lacketh bread. Endeavouring to make a brave show in the eyes of Europe, she is being eaten out of house and home. She builds a n.o.ble War Office, and has not the wherewithal to pay her officers; and while she masquerades like the great Powers, the resources of the land, as they are at present, are strained almost to breaking point. Though inland Servia cries for capital and would pay good interest on it, Servia puts her money into military display. I have seen few armies more smartly uniformed. "Tommy" is very fine; but his officers are gorgeous. There seems no end to them; every garrison town--and that means every frontier town of importance and a good many inland ones--is filled with them.

Surely no land was ever so hopelessly over-officered. One wonders if there are privates enough to go round. I was told, on good authority, that there are more officers in training in the military schools of Servia than in those of our own country. Not all, however, that glitters is gold, as I learnt at a garrison town that shall be nameless.

I arrived late, tired and hungry, at the inn. The innkeeper and his wife were most anxious to accommodate me to the best of their ability, and called in the local money-changer to act as interpreter. The fame of my arrival spread like lightning through the place. Scarcely had the money-changer and the innkeeper left me alone, when a captain, in his anxiety to have first chance, introduced himself to me in such an impertinent manner that I had to speak to him very severely, and he fled covered with confusion.

Next morning early came the money-changer. He said the innkeeper was very much vexed, and feared that I had been annoyed by one of the officers; which one was it? I did not know, as they all looked alike to me, and a whole lot of them were having coffee at the other end of the room; so I said, "It was a tall ugly one, very ignorant and very young; I will say no more about it, because he knew no better." The money-changer grinned, and I felt sure that the remark would be repeated. Then he said, indicating the uniformed group, "It is very unfortunate that it should have occurred, for these gentlemen wish to speak to you, and they have asked me about you." "Why?" said I. He grinned again. "You do not understand them," he said. "It is true they are very ignorant, but they are perfectly honest. You need not be afraid. Ils ne desirent pas vous dire des choses sales, _seulement_ ils desirent vous marier! It is such a chance as has scarcely ever occurred.

And Someone-avich has an English wife! She is _very_ happy. What shall I tell them?" "Tell them I have no money," said I. "That is no use," said he; "what you call not rich, they call wealth. Perhaps what you spent coming here even would be enough for a 'dot.'" "That is spent," I remarked. "But you have some to return with." "Oh, tell them I don't want to marry them," I said, rather vexed, for the man stuck so fast to the point that I began to think he had been promised a percentage on the deal. He laughed. "Oh, that is no use; ces Messieurs are so handsome they believe that you would think differently if you would only speak to them." I tried again. "Well, tell them my money cannot come out of England." "Oh," he replied, "ces Messieurs don't mind where they live; they will leave the Servian army and live in England--or America.

Perhaps Mademoiselle lives with her father and mother? They wouldn't mind that at all." The idea of "them"--for it seemed "they" had to be taken wholesale--arriving at my suburban residence was too much for me, and I roared with laughter. He looked at me, saw his percentage was hopeless, then he roared also.

"Well," he said, "now I'll explain. I'm not ignorant, like they are.

I've been in Egypt and Malta and Gibraltar. I've met hundreds of English ladies travelling as you are, and I know how funny this must appear to you. I'll tell you how it is for them. They have sixty or seventy pounds a year, and not one of them has been paid for six months. They play cards with the trades-people in hopes of winning enough to buy tobacco.

I do wish you would point out to me the one that spoke to you last night; I think it is perhaps the one I lent ten francs to yesterday. The innkeeper is very pleased to see you, because he knows you will pay.

When these poor boys get their pay, it will all be taken from them at once for their debts. That is the situation. Then you come, as it were from the heavens! They hear you are English. It is seen at once you have no ring on your finger. It is evident, then, that you hate all Englishmen. On the other hand, you like Servia, or why should you have come? My G.o.d! they think, what a chance! Not twice in a hundred years!

But one of them was undoubtedly too hasty." He went on to inform me that a very nice one could be had for about forty pounds a year.

I gazed upon the enemy's entrenchment, decided that I was hopelessly outnumbered and that flight was the only way, mobilised my force of one man and two horses, and retired in good order while yet there was time, slightly humiliated by the feeling that Britain was flying from a foreign army, but bowing graciously to such of its representatives as were kind enough to salute as I pa.s.sed.

And as I left and pa.s.sed through the rich valleys and gra.s.sy uplands, and thought of the many kind friends who had helped me on my way, I was grieved that a land with so many possibilities and so much that is good and beautiful in it should be brought, by bad government, to such a pa.s.s that the officers are reduced to hawking themselves upon the streets.

But all this I was to learn later. At Valjevo I merely looked at the officers and admired.