THROUGH
SAVAGE EUROPE
BEING THE NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY
(UNDERTAKEN AS SPECIAL CORRE-
SPONDENT OF THE "WESTMINSTER
GAZETTE"), THROUGHOUT THE BAL-
KAN STATES AND EUROPEAN RUSSIA
BY
HARRY DE WINDT, F.R.G.S.
AUTHOR OF "THE NEW SIBERIA," "A RIDE TO INDIA,"
"FROM PARIS TO NEW YORK BY LAND," ETC.
WITH ONE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN
ADELPHI TERRACE
MCMVII
CHAPTER VIII
BELGRADE
AT daybreak on a glorious April morning we
reached Belgrade, and as the train clattered across
the iron bridge which separates it from the town
of Semlin in Austrian territory I have seldom
looked upon a fairer picture than that of the
" White City," shining like a pearl through the
silvery mists of sunrise.
Mackenzie was enraptured
with the scene, and remarked that the Servian
capital must indeed be " a bonny spot," until I
warned him that "distance lends enchantment,"
and that recollections of my last visit here were
anything but pleasant ones. But nearly thirty
years had now elapsed since Servia last fought to
free herself from the yoke of the unspeakable
Turk.
In those days Belgrade contained perhaps
thirty thousand inhabitants, and was unlinked by
a ribbon of steel with civilised Europe. A tedious
river journey brought you, from East or West, to
a squalid, Eastern-looking town with ramshackle
buildings and unsavoury streets. The chief
thoroughfare was generally a sea of mud, although
Princess Nathalie (afterwards Queen of Servia)
might be seen there daily, rain or shine, the royal
barouche ploughing axle-deep through mire and
splashing its fair and elaborately gowned occupant.
This was then the only drivable road, which signi-
fied little, as carriages were so few and far between.
A truly dreary place was Belgrade in the seventies,
for everything was primitive, dirty, and comfort-
less. In those days the best inn was a caravanserai,
chiefly occupied by Russian volunteers, cavaliers of
fortune, who swarmed into the country long before
war had been officially declared.
Every night the
gloomy restaurant was crowded with these free-
lances, and bad champagne and fiery vodka flowed
freely while painted Jezebels from Vienna cackled
songs in bad French to the accompaniment of a
cracked piano.
Never had this remote Servian
city witnessed such orgies, for many of these
Russian allies had money to burn. They were of
all ranks, from dandified guardsmen in search of
fame to wild-eyed, ragged Cossacks with an eye
to loot and other things. It was a reckless,
undisciplined horde, eyed askance by civilians
with pretty wives, and cordially detested by
Servian warriors who, much as they love to
sport a uniform, strongly object to being shot
for disgracing it. And this frequently happened,
for it is a fact that Prince Milan's troops
were often driven into action like dogs by their
Russian commanders.
During the war of 1876
the spectacle of Servian privates strolling about
the capital with self-mutilated hands in order to
escape service was a common one. But Prince
Milan was a poor example to his army, for while
desperate battles were of daily occurrence in the
provinces this apathetic ruler passed most of his
time playing "Vint" with congenial companions
in the "Konak" or old Turkish palace, where his
only son was destined to meet, some years later,
with such a tragic fate.
A lively remembrance of old Belgrade and its
primitive methods made it a pleasant surprise on
this occasion to enter a palatial railway station
instead of being dumped down on a mud-bank
from the deck of a grimy steamer. There was
one advantage in those days, however, for travel-
lers were not subjected to the vexatious police
regulations which now exist, and which are chiefly
due to the unsettled condition of political affairs
since the assassination of Alexander I.
This time
it was quite as bad as entering the Russian Empire,
perhaps worse, for there, at least, the Custom
House officials are not (or used not to be) exacting.
But at Belgrade, in these days, everything in the
shape of baggage is turned upside down and closely
examined, and the passport examination often
occupies half a day a very obnoxious proceeding
to those who, like ourselves, had fasted for twenty-
four hours. (…)
Rip Van Winkle, after his long sleep in the
Katskills, can scarcely have been more astonished
at the altered appearance of his native village
than I was at the marvellous improvements which
less than thirty years have worked in Belgrade.
In 1876 a dilapidated Turkish fortress frowned
down upon a maze of buildings little better than
mud-huts and unpaved, filthy streets. I had to
splash my way from the river to the town through
an ocean of mud carrying my own luggage, for no
porters were procurable, and the half-dozen rough
country-carts at the landing-place were quickly
pounced upon by local magnates. Having reached
the so-called " hotel " I found that it provided
only black bread, a kind of peppery stew called
"Paprika," and nothing else in the way of food
although all kinds of villainous wines and spirits
were to be had at outrageous prices, having been
laid down by a cunning landlord to meet the re-
quirements of a thirsty Russian Legion. There
was no privacy by day or night, and I was com-
pelled to share a small, dark den with several
Cossacks, a Polish Jew, and numerous other in-
mates which shall be nameless.
To-day it seemed
like a dream to be whirled away from the railway
station in a neat fiacre, along spacious boulevards,
with well-dressed crowds and electric cars, to a luxu-
rious hotel. Here were gold-laced porters, lifts, and
even a Winter Garden, where a delicious dejeuner
(cooked by a Frenchman) awaited me.
Everything is now up to date in this city of murder and
mystery, for only two landmarks are left of the old
city: the cathedral and citadel, over which now
floats the tricolour of Servia. Of course ancient
portions of the place still exist, with low-eaved,
vine-trellised houses, cobbled streets, and quiet
squares, recalling some sleepy provincial town
in France; but these are now mere suburbs,
peopled by the poorer classes, along the banks
which form the junction of the Danube and
Sava.
Modern Belgrade is bisected by the
Teratsia, a boulevard, over a mile in length,
of fine buildings, overtopped, about midway,
by the golden domes of the new Palace. This is
the chief thoroughfare, and here are the principal
hotels, private residences, and shops, which latter,
towards evening, blaze with electric light.
The Teratsia then becomes a fashionable promenade,
and smart carriages, brilliant uniforms, and Vienna
toilettes add to the gaiety of the scene. Servia
is lavish in uniforms, most of them more sugges-
tive of opera-bouffe than modern warfare. From
dawn till midnight the streets and cafes swarm
with officers, who apparently have little to do but
show themselves to a rather unappreciative public.
On the other hand, I seldom saw a private soldier,
except those on sentry outside public buildings
and in barracks, and there is, no doubt, good
reason for keeping the garrison on the alert for
any emergency which may arise from the present
disturbed condition of affairs. This I shall refer
to in another chapter, and the reader will then
probably agree that " Scarlet " would be a more
suitable adjective than "White" for a city which
has witnessed such infamous deeds, committed
under the name of " patriotism."
Yet, outwardly, " White " is a sufficiently descriptive
term, for the snowy buildings, cheerful streets,
and luxuriant greenery undoubtedly render this
the most attractive capital throughout the Balkan
States. (…)
Servians of all classes are the politest people in the world,
who will always go out of their way to assist a
stranger. I once inquired my way of a police-
man, and he accompanied me for at least a quarter
of a mile to put me on the right road. (…)
During the spring-time a man need never feel
dull for a moment in Belgrade, especially if he can
present, as I did, letters of introduction to pleasant
people who will tell him what to do and how to do
it. For there is no lack of amusement at any time
or season amongst these careless, easy-going folk,
most of whom, like the Parisians, make a business
of pleasure and leave work to look after itself.
I strolled into the "Kalemegdan," or public gardens,
one Sunday afternoon, and the family groups sit-
ting under the trees or sipping " Bocks" at an
open-air cafe, the kiosk with its military band,
the nurses, soldiers, and goat-carriages, looked as
though a bit of the Tuileries or Park Monceau had
dropped out of the blue sky into the Balkans!
Come here at sunset and you will be repaid by a
view which I have seldom seen surpassed ; but it
must be in summer-time, when the eye can range
over leagues of forest, flood, and field, extending
from the broad and sullen river at your feet to
an horizon formed by the boundless prairies of
Hungary. But in early spring-time the Danube
overflows its banks and these steppes become a
waste of water, a vast grey sea, with desolate
islets formed by the higher ground, and you search
in vain for the kaleidoscopic effects cast by cloud
and sunshine over the fertile summer plains. On
this spot, when the Crescent waved over Belgrade,
stood Turkish sentinels, and here also was the
execution ground where the blackened corpses of
impaled Christians were exposed as a warning to
infidels by the reigning Pasha.
(…) As the reader is probably
aware, Queen Nathalie is a Russian by birth, and
was a mere schoolgirl, the daughter of a Colonel
Keshko, a wealthy landowner in Bessarabia, when
Prince Milan first made her acquaintance. A
marriage was arranged shortly after, but before
it took place Mademoiselle Keshko was persuaded
by some friends to visit a famous cheiromant.
"You will reign over a great people," said
the seer. "But your crown will be one of
thorns and sorrow. You will be driven into exile
from your adopted country, but your downfall
will be hastened from a journey you will make
on foot through thickly wooded ground a forest.
Avoid the neighbourhood of woods or forests as
you would the plague!"
The royal nuptials solemnised, King Milan
laughed this prediction to scorn, until his shallow,
scheming mind suddenly conceived a plan which
should turn the wizard's words to his own benefit.
The Queen then Princess Nathalie was inordi-
nately jealous, and her spouse chafed and fretted
under a ceaseless espionage which compelled
him to resort to all kinds of devices to maintain
the liaisons formed in his bachelor days. Here
was a chance not to be missed, and it was speedily
turned to good account by the wily Milan.
"You were told to avoid forests," he said casually
one day, having cunningly led the conversation
into the proper channel; " of course the thing is
as clear as a window-pane. The man meant
Topchider, where our ancestor Michael met with
a violent death. For the future, Madam, clearly
understand that I forbid you to go near the
place."
But this restriction by no means applied to
the Prince, whose frequent visits to the royal
demesne gradually aroused suspicions in the
mind of Nathalie, which were only increased by
the reports which occasionally reached her from
friends outside the Palace.
The suspense becoming unbearable, the Queen one day resolved to disregard the King's instructions, and to visit Top-
chider, whither Milan had already gone that morn-
ing ostensibly to shoot rabbits. And while strolling
through one of the most secluded parts of the park,
closely veiled and attended only by a lady-in-wait-
ing, the Queen suddenly came upon the truant in
such close converse with a well-known lady of
fashion that there could be no doubt as to the
nature of their relations.
Thus, indirectly, the
fortune-teller's prophecy was fulfilled, for a violent
altercation was followed by the estrangement
which ended a few years later in divorce and
the final banishment of Nathalie from Servia.
(…)
