Twenty Years Of Balkan Tangle Part 7

The Russian Minister Mansurov, however, called at once to offer his congratulations to Alexander, and called also upon Draga. It has even been suggested that Russia arranged the affair, and that Draga was her tool. This is, however, improbable. It was more likely the achievement of an ambitious and most foolish woman. But that Russia jumped at it as the very best means of compa.s.sing Alexander's ruin cannot be doubted, for no less a person than the Tsar accepted the post of k.u.m (G.o.dfather) at the wedding, thus publicly announcing his approval of the marriage at which he was represented by a proxy, when it was celebrated at Belgrade shortly afterwards. Alexander never saw either of his parents again. Milan resigned the command of the army and retired to Austria and his stormy and variegated career came to an end in the following year. He was only forty-seven at the time of his death, but had compressed into those years an amount of adventure unusual even in the Balkans.

Alexander's marriage, as doubtless foreseen by Russia, soon proved disastrous. Draga, having achieved her ambition and mounted the throne, showed none of the ability of Theodora. Clever enough to captivate the feeble-minded Alexander, she was too stupid to realize that her only chance lay in gaining the popularity of the people who were none too well disposed. With incredible folly, before in any way consolidating her position, she formed a plot worthy only of a second-rate cinematograph, pretended pregnancy and planned to foist a "supposit.i.tious child" upon the nation. A plan, foredoomed by its folly to failure, which brought down on her the contempt and ridicule not only of Serbia, but of all Europe. Such was the history of Serbia up to the date when I plunged into it and found it on the verge of a crisis.

CHAPTER SEVEN

1903 AND WHAT HAPPENED

For Leagues within a State are ever pernicious to Monarchic.

Early in 1903 I received an invitation to stay with certain of the partisans of the Karageorgevitches in Serbia. The "something" that was to happen had not yet come to pa.s.s. My sister wished to travel with me, and my experiences of last year were not such as to lead me to take her to Serbia. One takes risks without hesitation when alone, into which one cannot drag a comrade. We went to Montenegro.

It was hot even at Cetinje. We were resting in one of the back bedrooms of the hotel on the afternoon of June 11, when there came a loud knocking at the door and the voice of Ivan, the waiter, crying "telegramme, telegramme." We jumped up at once, fearing bad news, and Stvane cried excitedly as I opened the door, "The King and Queen of Serbia are both dead!" My brain re-acted instantly. The "something" had happened, the crisis had come. Without pausing a minute to reflect, I said: "Then Petar Karageorgevitch will be King!"

"No, no," cried Ivan; "Every one says it will be our Prince Mirko!"

"No," said I decidedly, for I was quite certain, "It will not be Mirko"; and I asked "How did they die?"

"G.o.d knows," said he; "some say they quarrelled and one shot the other and then committed suicide. And it will be Mirko, Gospodjitza.

There was an article in the paper about it only the other day." He ran off and fetched a paper. I regret now that I took no note what paper it was, but it certainly contained an article naming Mirko as heir to the Serb throne, supposing Alexander to die without issue.

Cetinje was excited as never before. Ordinarily, it lived on one telegram a day from the Correspondenz Bureau. Now the boys ran to and fro the telegraph office and bulletins poured in. One of the earliest stated that the King and Queen had died suddenly, cause of death unknown, but bullet wounds found in the bodies.

Later came full details. According to Belgrade papers a revolution had been planning for three months and there were secret committees all over the country; that the decision to slaughter both King and Queen had been taken by the Corps of Officers at Belgrade, and the work entrusted to the 6th Infantry Regiment; that the band of a.s.sa.s.sins gained access to the Palace at 11 p.m.; and, as the King refused to open the door of his bedroom, it was blown in by Colonel Naumovitch with a dynamite cartridge the explosion of which killed its user.

What followed was a shambles. The bodies of the victims, still breathing, but riddled with bullets, were pitched from the window.

Draga, fortunately for herself, expired at once. But the luckless Alexander lingered till 4 a.m.

According to current report the a.s.sa.s.sins, drunk with wine and blood, fell on the bodies and defiled them most filthily, even cutting portions of Draga's skin, which they dried and preserved as trophies. An officer later showed a friend of mine a bit which he kept in his pocket book.

Alexander was a degenerate. His removal may have been desirable. But not even in Dahomey could it have been accomplished with more repulsive savagery. And the Russian Minister, whose house was opposite the Konak, calmly watched the events from his window.

Having wreaked their fury on the bodies, the a.s.sa.s.sins rushed to kill also Draga's two brothers, one of whom it was rumoured was to be declared heir to the throne by Alexander. Some seventeen others were murdered that night and many wounded. These details we learned later.

The afternoon of the 11th pa.s.sed with excitement enough. Evening came and we went in to dinner. Upon each table, in place of the usual programme of the evening's performance at the theatre, lay a black edged sheet of paper informing us that the Serbian travelling company then playing in Cetinje "in consequence of the death of our beloved Sovereign King Alexander" had closed the theatre till further notice. The tourist table was occupied solely by my sister and myself; the diplomatic one solely by Mr. Shipley, who was temporarily representing England, and Count Bollati, the Italian Minister. Dinner pa.s.sed in complete silence. I was aching to have the opinion of the exalted persons at the other table on the startling news, but dared not broach so delicate a subject. The end came however. The servants withdrew and Count Bollati turned to me and said suddenly:

"Now, Mademoiselle, you know these countries What do you think of the situation?"

"Petar Karageorgevitch will be made King."

"People here all say it will be Mirko," said Mr. Shipley.

Count Bollati maintained it would be a republic. I told them the facts I had learned in Serbia, and said that Petar was practically a certainty. They were both much interested.

"In any case," said Mr. Shipley, "I should advise you to say nothing about it here. They are all for Mirko and you may get yourself into trouble."

"I have never seen them so excited," put in the Count.

"You are too late," said I; "I've told them already, Mirko has not a chance. He had better know the truth. You will see in a few days."

Both gentlemen expressed horror at the crudity of my methods. As a matter of fact a good deal of international misunderstanding could be avoided if the truth were always blurted out at once. The Italian thought I was stark mad. The Englishman, having a sense of humour, laughed and said, as I well recollect: "Your mission in life seems to be to tell home truths to the Balkans. It is very good for them.

But I wonder that they put up with it." Both gentlemen commented on the grim matter-of-factness of the telegrams. "Business carried on usual during the alterations," said Bollati. His blood was badly curdled by the fact that when he was in Belgrade he was well acquainted with Colonel Mashin, the ill-fated Draga's brother-in-law, who--according to the telegrams--had finished her off with a hatchet.

"And I have shaken hands with him!" said Bollati, disgustedly. Mr.

Shipley suggested that as I had first hand information I had better write an article or two for the English papers; which I did at once.

"It is an ill wind that blows n.o.body any good." I had written my first Balkan book and hawked it unsuccessfully round the publishers, who told me that as n.o.body in England took the faintest interest in the Balkans, they could not take it, though they kindly added that as travels went it was not so bad. But the a.s.sa.s.sination of a King appealed at once to the great heart of the British people and I sold that book as an immediate result. This, by the way.

I came down early next morning to post the articles written overnight, and found a whole crowd of officers and intelligentsia (for in no land are these necessarily the same) around the hotel door. Vuko Vulet.i.tch, the hotelier, in his green, red-embroidered coat, was haranguing them from the doorstep with the latest telegram in his hand. Loud and lively discussion filled the air.

Vuko waved his hand as I approached. "Here," he said, "is the Gospodjitza who says Petar Karageorgevitch will be King." I repeated my belief cheerfully: "Your man is elected!" cried Vuko, holding up the telegram. The news had arrived. Mirko's hopes were hopelessly dashed. The accuracy of my information caused a small sensation and I acquired a great reputation for political knowledge. Vuko never failed to ask me in future what I made of the situation.

It was the morning of the 12th when this news came in. Officially, Petar was not elected till the 15th, and then not by a really legal method. The military gang having chosen him, summoned a Parliament which had already been legally dissolved and was therefore non-existent, and caused it to ratify the choice. Whence it has been maintained by many that King Petar never was legally elected.

The 12th, 13th, and 14th pa.s.sed quietly, though there was a certain air of disappointment. More details came in. Murder is bound to be unlovely. This one was peculiarly so. One fact was prominent. And that was that although many persons expressed horror of the methods and condemned the treachery of officers who had sworn fealty, yet Cetinje as a whole regarded the affair as a blessing. Not only was the populace pleased, but, with childish ignorance of the Western point of view (and at that time West Europe was really very fairly civilized), actually expected Europe to rejoice with them. It was a cleansing of the Temple; a casting out of abominations.

And so ready was every one with a candidate for the throne that it was impossible not to suspect that there had been foreknowledge of the event.

Subsequent enquiry through persons connected with the post office revealed to me the fact that a most unusual amount of cypher telegrams had been buzzing between Belgrade and Cetinje immediately before the b.l.o.o.d.y climax.

Petar Karageorgevitch, we learnt by telegram, was dwelling in a "modest apartment" in Geneva, and was quite unable to furnish journalists with any information. The Paris Havas found Bozhidar Karageorgevitch more communicative and published an interview in which he pleasantly stated that the event had caused him no surprise as he had foreseen it ever since the marriage with Draga.

On the 14th I drove down to Cattaro with my sister to see her off by steamer. Cattaro, as usual in the summer, lay panting at the water's edge. No more news; any amount of gossip; the Petrovitches were tottering, said some; Prince Mirko had lately fought a duel upon Austrian territory with his brother, Prince Danilo; they would certainly fight for the throne. The Austrian papers were full of "digs" at the Petrovitches. I arrived back at Cetinje on the evening of the 15th to find it beflagged and rows of tallow candles stuck along my bedroom window for the coming illuminations. A telegram had announced the election by the Shkupstina of "our son-in-law" and his accession had already been celebrated by a service at the Monastery Church and a military parade.

"Bogati!" cried Vuko to me, "you are better informed than all the diplomatists." He added that there was to be a gala performance at the theatre. I flew to the Zetski Dom. Not a seat was to be had. "If you don't mind a crowd," said the ever-obliging Vuko, "you can come into my box." And he hurried up dinner that we might all be in time.

The diplomatic table complimented me on having "spotted the winner," and on either table lay a festive programme informing us that the Serbian theatrical company, which had abruptly shed its mourning, was giving a gala performance "in honour of the accession of our beloved King Petar."

The theatre was packed from roof to floor. The performance opened with a tableau--a portrait of Petar I, bewreathed and beflagged. A speech was made. There were shouts of "Zhivio!" ("Long life to him!"

an eminently suitable remark under the circ.u.mstances). The whole house cheered. I felt like an accessory after the act. Up in the Royal Box, the only representatives of the reigning house, sat Prince Mirko and his wife. I watched his stony countenance. But for the devil and Holy Russia, we might have been shouting "Zhivio Kralj Mirko!" I wondered if it hurt badly and felt sorry for him, for I have been ploughed in an exam, myself.

We were a tight fit in our box. Gazivoda, head of the police at Podgoritza and brother-in-law to Vuko, was there. He, too, was a.s.sa.s.sinated a few years afterwards. And there was a crowd of Vuko's pretty daughters. The eldest, still a pupil at the Russian Girls'

School (Russia Inst.i.tut) was shuddering with horror at the crime.

"Poor Queen, poor Queen!" she muttered at intervals, "she was still alive when they threw her from the window. If I had been there I would have wept on her grave." She was but fifteen, and it was her initiation into those Balkan politics in which, as Madame Rizoff, she was herself later to play a part.

We shouted our last "Zhivio!" The play was over. Petar was King and the Near East had entered upon a new path which led as yet none knew whither.

I noted in my diary, "Will the army, now that it has taken the bit between its teeth, be more than King Petar can manage?" In truth no greater curse can befall a land than to be ruled by its own army. A nation that chooses to be dictated to by its military has sunk low indeed.

Cetinje showed signs of relapsing into dullness. I started on a tour up country. The country I have described elsewhere, and will deal now only with the political situation.

There were no roads then over the mountains and travelling was very severe work. At every halt--for rest in the midday heat, or a cup of black coffee to stimulate me for another two or three hours on horse and on foot--the Serbian murders were the one topic. Boshko, my guide, with the latest news from Podgoritza was in great request and a proud man. Everywhere the crime was approved. The women raged against Draga, even saying "She ought to lie under the accursed stone heap!"--a reminiscence of the fact that stoning to death was actually inflicted in Montenegro in the old days, upon women for s.e.xual immorality. Vuk Vrchevitch records a case as late as 1770.

And in quite recent times a husband still, if he thought fit, would cut off the nose of his wife if he suspected her of infidelity. No man, it was explained to me cheerfully, was ever likely to make love to her again after that.

West Europe was, in 1903, quite ignorant of the state of primitive savagery from which the South Slavs were but beginning to rise.

Distinguished scientists travelled far afield and recorded the head hunters of New Guinea. But the ballads of Grand Voyvoda Mirko--King Nikola of Montenegro's father--gloating over slaughter, telling of the piles of severed heads, of the triumph with which they were carried home on stakes and set around the village, and the best reserved as an offering to Nikola himself for the adornment of Cetinje; and the stripping and mutilating of the dead foe, give us a vivid picture of life resembling rather that of Dahomey, than Europe in 1860.

In the breast of every human being there is a wolf. It may sleep for several generations. But it wakes at last and howls for blood. In the breast of the South Slav, both Serb and Montenegrin, it has not yet even thought of slumbering. Montenegro approved the crime.

It was to lead to "something"--indefinite, mysterious. Serdar Jovo Martinovitch ruled in Kolashin, a strong man then, who rode the clansmen on a strong curb. He had come up there as governor about four years ago on account of the constant fighting, not only on the border, but between the Montenegrin plemena (tribes). The latter he had put a stop to. Thirty years ago he a.s.sured me the clans were in a state of savagery. His own life was very Balkan; many women figured in it; and to escape blood-vengeance he had fled--with one of them--to Bulgaria, where he had served long years in the Bulgarian Army; and had returned to Montenegro only after the affair had blown over. Of the Bulgars he spoke in the highest terms.

At Andrijevitza, to which he pa.s.sed me on, great excitement reigned.