SERVIA,
YOUNGEST MEMBER OF THE EUROPEAN FAMILY:
OR, A
RESIDENCE IN BELGRADE,
AND
TRAVELS IN THE HIGHLANDS AND WOODLANDS OF THE INTERIOR,
DURING THE YEARS 1843 AND 1844.
BY
ANDREW ARCHIBALD PATON, ESQ.
CHAPTER XI.
Kaimak.—History of a Renegade.—A Bishop’s house.—Progress of Education.—Portrait of Milosh.—Bosnia and the Bosniacs.—Moslem Fanaticism.—Death of the Collector.
The fatigues of travelling procured me a sound sleep. I rose refreshed, and proceeded into the divan. The hostess then came forward, and before I could perceive, or prevent her object, she kissed my hand. “Kako se spavali; Dobro?”—”How have you slept? I hope you are refreshed,” and other kindly inquiries followed on, while she took from the hand of an attendant a silver salver, on which was a glass of slivovitsa, a plate of rose marmalade, and a large Bohemian cut crystal globular goblet of water, the contents of which, along with a chibouque, were the prelude to breakfast, which consisted of coffee and toast, and instead of milk we had rich boiled kaimak, as Turkish clotted cream is called.
I have always been surprised to find that this undoubted luxury, which is to be found in every town in Turkey, should be unknown throughout the greater part of Europe. After comfortably smoking another chibouque, and chatting about Shabatz and the Shabatzians, the collector informed me that the time was come for returning the visit of the Natchalnik, and paying that of the Bishop.
The Natchalnik received us in the Konak of Gospody Iefrem, the brother of Milosh [1], and our interview was in no respect different from a usual Turkish visit. We then descended to the street; the sun an hour before its meridian shone brightly, but the centre of the broad street was very muddy, from the late rain; so we picked our steps with some care, until we arrived in the vicinity of the bridge, when I perceived the eunuch-looking coffee-keeper navigating the slough, accompanied by a Mussulman in a red checked shawl turban.—”Here is a man that wishes to make your acquaintance,” said Eunuch-face.—”I heard you were paying visits yesterday in the Turkish quarter,” said the strange figure, saluting me. I returned the salute, and addressed him in Arabic; he answered in a strong Egyptian accent. However, as the depth of the surrounding mud, and the glare of the sun, rendered a further colloquy somewhat inconvenient, we postponed our meeting until the evening. On our way to the Bishop, I asked the collector what that man was doing there.
Collector. “His history is a singular one. You yesterday saw a Turk, who was baptized, and then returned to Islamism. This is a Servian, who turned Turk thirty years ago, and now wishes to be a Christian again. He has passed most of that time in the distant parts of Turkey, and has children grown up and settled there. He has come to me secretly, and declares his desire to be a Christian again; but he is afraid the Turks will kill him.”
Author. “Has he been long here?”
Collector. “Two months. He went first into the Turkish town; and having incurred their suspicions, he left them, and has now taken up his quarters in the khan, with a couple of horses and a servant.”
Author. “What does he do?”
Collector. “He pretends to be a doctor, and cures the people; but he generally exacts a considerable sum before prescribing, and he has had disputes with people who say that they are not healed so quickly as they expect.”
Author. “Do you think he is sincere in wishing to be a Christian again?”
Collector. “God knows. What can one think of a man who has changed his religion, but that no dependence can be placed on him? The Turks are shy of him.”
We had now arrived at the house of the Bishop, and were shown into a well-carpeted room, in the old Turkish style, with the roof gilded and painted in dark colours, and an un-artistlike panorama of Constantinople running round the cornice. I seated myself on an old-fashioned, wide, comfortable divan, with richly embroidered, but somewhat faded cushions, and, throwing off my shoes, tucked my legs comfortably under me.
“This house,” said the collector, “is a relic of old Shabatz; most of the other houses of this class were burnt down. You see no German furniture here; tell me whether you prefer the Turkish style, or the European.”
Author. “In warm weather give me a room of this kind, where the sun is excluded, and where one can loll at ease, and smoke a narghilé; but in winter I like to see a blazing fire, and to hear the music of a tea-urn.”
The Bishop now entered, and we advanced to the door to meet him. I bowed low, and the rest of the company kissed his hand; he was a middle sized man, of about sixty, but frail from long-continued ill health, dressed in a furred pelisse, a dark blue body robe, and Greek ecclesiastical cap of velvet, while from a chain hung round his neck was suspended the gold cross, distinctive of his rank. The usual refreshments of coffee, sweetmeats, &c. were brought in, not by servants, but by ecclesiastical novices.
Bishop. “I think I have seen you before?”
Author. “Indeed, you have: I met your reverence at the house of Gospody Ilia in Belgrade.”
Bishop. “Ay, ay,” (trying to recollect;) “my memory sometimes fails me since my illness. Did you stay long at Belgrade?”
Author. “I remained to witness the cathedral service for the return of Wucics and Petronievitch. I assure you I was struck with the solemnity of the scene, and the deportment of the archbishop. As I do not understand enough of Servian, his speech was translated to me word for word, and it seems to me that he has the four requisites of an orator,—a commanding presence, a pleasing voice, good thoughts, and good language.”
We then talked of education, on which the Bishop said, “The civil and ecclesiastical authorities go hand in hand in the work. When I was a young man, a great proportion of the youth could neither read nor write: thanks to our system of national education, in a few years the peasantry will all read. In the towns the sons of those inhabitants who are in easy circumstances, are all learning German, history, and other branches preparatory to the course of the Gymnasium of Belgrade, which is the germ of a university.”
Author. “I hope it will prosper; the Slavs of the middle ages did much for science.”*
Bishop. “I assure you times are greatly changed with us; the general desire for education surprises and delights me.
We now took our leave of the Bishop, and on our way homewards called at a house which contained portraits of Kara Georg, Milosh, Michael, Alexander, and other personages who have figured in Servian history. I was much amused with that of Milosh, which was painted in oil, altogether without chiaro scuro; but his decorations, button holes, and even a large mole on his cheek, were done with the most painful minuteness. In his left hand he held a scroll, on which was inscribed Ustav, or Constitution, his right hand was partly doubled à la finger post; it pointed significantly to the said scroll, the forefinger being adorned with a large diamond ring.
On arriving at the collector’s house, I found the Aga awaiting me. This man inspired me with great interest. I looked upon him, residing in his lone tower, the last of a once wealthy and powerful race now steeped in poverty, as a sort of master of Ravenswood in a Wolf’s crag. At first he was bland and ceremonious; but on learning that I had lived long in the interior of society in Damascus and Aleppo, and finding that the interest with which he inspired me was real and not assumed, he became expansive without lapsing into familiarity, and told me his sad tale, which I would place at the service of the gentle reader, could I forget the stronger allegiance I owe to the unsolicited confidence of an unfortunate stranger.
When I spoke of the renegade, he pretended not to know whom I meant; but I saw, by a slight unconscious wink of his eye, that knowing him too well, he wished to see and hear no more of him. As he was rising to take leave, a step was heard creaking on the stairs, and on turning in the direction of the door, I saw the red and white checked turban of the renegade emerging from the banister; but no sooner did he perceive the Aga, than, turning round again, down went the red checked turban out of sight.
When the Aga was gone, the collector gave me a significant look, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe into a plate on the floor, said, “Changed times, changed times, poor fellow; his salary is only 250 piastres a month, and his relations used to be little kings in Shabatz; but the other fellows in the Turkish quarter, although so wretchedly poor that they have scarcely bread to eat, are as proud and insolent as ever.”
Author. “What is the reason of that?”
Collector. “Because they are so near the Bosniac frontier, where there is a large Moslem population. The Moslems of Shabatz pay no taxes, either to the Servian government or the sultan, for they are accounted Redif, or Militia, for which they receive a ducat a year from the sultan, as a returning fee. The Christian peasants here are very rich; some of them have ten and twenty thousand ducats buried under the earth; but these impoverished Bosniacs in the fortress are as proud and insolent as ever.”
Author. “You say Bosniacs! Are they not Turks?”
Collector. “No, the only Turks here are the Aga and the Cadi; all the rest are Bosniacs, the descendants of men of our own race and language, who on the Turkish invasion accepted Islamism, but retained the language, and many Christian customs, such as saints’ days, Christian names, and in most cases monogamy.”
Author. “That is very curious; then, perhaps, as they are not full Moslems, they may be more tolerant of Christians.”
Collector. “The very reverse. The Bosniac Christians are not half so well off as the Bulgarians, who have to deal with the real Turks. The arch-priest will be here to dinner, and he will be able to give you some account of the Bosniac Christians. But Bosnia is a beautiful country; how do you intend to proceed from here?”
Author. “I intend to go to Vallievo and Ushitza.”
Collector. “He that leaves Servia without seeing Sokol, has seen nothing.”
Author. “What is to be seen at Sokol?”
Collector. “The most wonderful place in the world, a perfect eagle’s eyrie. A whole town and castle built on the capital of a column of rock.”
Author. “But I did not contemplate going there; so I must change my route: I took no letters for that quarter.”
Collector. “Leave all that to me; you will first go to Losnitza, on the banks of the Drina, and I will despatch a messenger to-night, apprising the authorities of your approach. When you have seen Sokol, you will admit that it was worth the journey.”
The renegade having seen the Aga clear off, now came to pay his visit, and the normal good-nature of the collector procured him a tolerant welcome. When we were left alone, the renegade began by abusing the Moslems in the fortress as a set of scoundrels. “I could not live an hour longer among such rascals,” said he, “and I am now in the khan with my servant and a couple of horses, where you must come and see me. I will give you as good a pipe of Djebel tobacco as ever you smoked.”
Author. “You must excuse me, I must set out on my travels to-morrow. You were in Egypt, I believe.”
Renegade. “I was long there; my two sons, and a married daughter, are in Cairo to this day.”
Author. “What do they do?”
Renegade. “My daughter is married, and I taught my sons all I know of medicine, and they practise it in the old way.”
Author. “Where did you study?”
Renegade (tossing his head and smiling). “Here, and there, and everywhere. I am no Ilekim Bashi; but I have an ointment that heals all bruises and sores in an incredibly short space of time.”
Me gave a most unsatisfactory account of his return to Turkey in Europe; first to Bosnia, or Herzegovina, where he was, or pretended to be, physician to Husreff Mehmed Pasha, and then to Seraievo. When we spoke of Hafiz Pasha, of Belgrade, he said, “I know him well, but he does not know me; I recollect him at Carpout and Diarbecr before the battle of Nisib, when he had thirty or forty pashas under him. He could shoot at a mark, or ride, with the youngest man in the army.”
The collector now re-entered with the Natchalnik and his captains, and the renegade took his leave, I regretting that I had not seen more of him; for a true recital of his adventures must have made an amusing chapter.
“Here is the captain, who is to escort you to Ushitza,” said the Natchalnik, pointing to a muscular man at his left. “He will take you safe and sound.”
Author. “I see he is a stout fellow. I would rather have him for a friend than meet him as an enemy. He has the face of an honest man, too.”
Natchalnik. “I warrant you as safe in his custody, as if you were in that of Gospody Wellington.”
Author. “You may rest assured that if I were in the custody of the Duke of Wellington, I should not reckon myself very safe. One of his offices is to take care of a tower, in which the Queen locks up traitorous subjects. Did you never hear of the Tower of London?”
Natchalnik. “No; all we know of London is the wonderful bridge that goes under the water, where an army can pass from one side to the other, while the fleet lies anchored over their heads.”
The Natchalnik now bid me farewell, and I gave my rendezvous to the captain for next morning. During the discussion of dinner, the arch-priest gave us an illustration of Bosniac fanaticism: A few months ago a church at Belina was about to be opened, which had been a full year in course of building, by virtue of a Firman of the Sultan; the Moslems murmuring, but doing nothing. When finished, the Bishop went to consecrate it; but two hours after sunset, an immense mob of Moslems, armed with pickaxes and shovels, rased it to the ground, having first taken the Cross and Gospels and thrown them into a latrina. The Bishop complained to the Mutsellim, who imprisoned one or two of them, exacted a fine, which he put in his own pocket, and let them out next day; the ruins of the Church remain in statu quo.
The collector now produced some famous wine, that had been eleven years in bottle. We were unusually merry, and fell into toasts and speeches. I felt as if I had been his intimate friend for years, for he had not one atom of Levantine “humbug” in his composition. Poor fellow, little did he think, that in a few short weeks from this period his blood would flow as freely as the wine which he poured into my cup.
Next morning, on awaking, all the house was in a bustle: the sun shone brightly on the green satin coverlet of my bed, and a tap at the door announced the collector, who entered in his dressing gown with the apparatus of brandy and sweetmeats, and joined his favourable augury to mine for the day’s journey.
“You will have a rare journey,” said the collector; “the country is a garden, the weather is clear, and neither hot nor cold. The nearer you get to Bosnia, the more beautiful is the landscape.”
We each drank a thimbleful of slivovitsa, he to my prosperous journey, while I proposed health and long life to him; but, as the sequel showed, “l’homme propose, et Dieu dispose.” After breakfast, I bade Madame Ninitch adieu, and descended to the court-yard, where two carriages of the collector awaited us, our horses being attached behind.
And now an eternal farewell to the worthy collector. At this time a conspiracy was organized by the Obrenowitch faction, through the emigrants residing in Hungary. They secretly furnished themselves with thirty-four or thirty-five hussar uniforms at Pesth, bought horses, and having bribed the Austrian frontier guard, passed the Save with a trumpeter about a month after this period, and entering Shabatz, stated that a revolution had broken out at Belgrade, that prince Kara Georgevitch [2] was murdered, and Michael proclaimed, with the support of the cabinets of Europe! The affrighted inhabitants knew not what to believe, and allowed the detachment to ride through the town. Arrived at the government-house, the collector issued from the porch, to ask what they wanted, and received for answer a pistol-shot, which stretched him dead on the spot. The soi-disant Austrian hussars subsequently attempted to raise the country, but, failing in this, were nearly all taken and executed.
*The first University in Europe was that of Prague. It was established some years before the University of Paris, if I recollect right.
[1] Tran. note: Miloš Obrenović, the leader of the Second Serbian Uprising, Knez (Prince) of Serbia 1817-1839 and 1858-1860. Miloš Obrenović was a pig merchant who stood out in the First Serbian Uprising (1804-1813) and rose to the position of vojvoda (military leader, nobility rank would be similar to a Duke). One of the few remaining vojvodas after the defeat of the First Serbian Uprising, Miloš was able to deftly negotiate increased rights for Serbia. In 1817, after the Second Serbian Uprising, he had Karađorđe, the leader of the First Serbian Uprising, killed in order to prevent loss of power and Ottoman concessions. Although an autocrat, Miloš ended feudalism in the first year of his reign and created the new, independent peasant class of society. During his first reign, the first Serbian constitution (1835 Sretenje Constitution) was written, but was revoked after 100 days after a joint threat by the Austrian, Russian and Ottoman Empires as being too liberal, including anti-slavery clauses. In his second reign, he persecuted political opponents who he saw responsible for this exile and the first law about legislature was passed, starting the parliamentary system in Serbia. Even though he was illiterate, 82 schools, 2 semi-gymnasiums, 1 gymnasium and the Liceum of the Principality of Serbia were founded during his first reign.
[2] Tran. note: Aleksandar Karađorđević, younger son of Karađorđe. Aleksandar returned to Serbia in 1839 and became an adjutant to Mihailo Obrenović, Knez of Serbia 1839-1842 and 1860-1868. Aleksandar became the Knez in 1842 after the Ustavobranitelji (defenders of the constitution) managed to depose Knez Mihailo and his reign was marked by the influence of that group, which is why the period is also called the Ustavobranitelji regime. In 1858, his abdication was secured due to conflicts in internal politics with the State Council.
