Title: The Balkans: A History of Bulgaria—Serbia—Greece—Rumania—Turkey
Author: Toynbee, Arnold, Hogarth, D. G. (David George), Forbes, Nevill, Mitrany, David
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.


*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Balkans: A History of Bulgaria—Serbia—Greece—Rumania—Turkey" ***


The Balkans
A HISTORY OF BULGARIA—SERBIA—GREECE—RUMANIA—TURKEY

BY NEVILL FORBES, ARNOLD J. TOYNBEE, D. MITRANY, D.G. HOGARTH


Contents

 PREFACE
 BULGARIA AND SERBIA. By NEVILL FORBES.
 1. Introductory
 2. The Balkan Peninsula in Classical Times 400 B.C.— A.D. 500
 3. The Arrival of the Slavs in the Balkan Peninsula, A.D. 500-650

 BULGARIA.
 4. The Arrival of the Bulgars in the Balkan Peninsula, 600-700
 5. The Early Years of Bulgaria and the Introduction of Christianity, 700-893
 6. The Rise and Fall of the First Bulgarian Empire, 893-972
 7. The Rise and Fall of ‘Western Bulgaria’ and the Greek Supremacy, 963-1186
 8. The Rise and Fall of the Second Bulgarian Empire, 1186-1258
 9. The Serbian Supremacy and the Final Collapse, 1258-1393
 10. The Turkish Dominion and the Emancipation, 1393-1878
 11. The Aftermath, and Prince Alexander of Battenberg, 1878-86
 12. The Regeneration under Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg, 1886-1908
 13. The Kingdom, 1908-13

 SERBIA.
 14. The Serbs under Foreign Supremacy, 650-1168
 15. The Rise and Fall of the Serbian Empire and the Extinction of Serbian Independence, 1168-1496
 16. The Turkish Dominion, 1496-1796
 17. The Liberation of Serbia under Kara-George (1804-13) and Miloš Obrenović (1815-30): 1796-1830
 18. The Throes of Regeneration: Independent Serbia, 1830-1903
 19. Serbia, Montenegro, and the Serbo-Croats in Austria-Hungary, 1903-8
 20. Serbia and Montenegro, and the two Balkan Wars, 1908-13

 GREECE. By ARNOLD J. TOYNBEE.
 1. From Ancient to Modern Greece
 2. The Awakening of the Nation
 3. The Consolidation of the State

 RUMANIA: HER HISTORY AND POLITICS. By D. MITRANY
 1. Introduction
 2. Formation of the Rumanian Nation
 3. The Foundation and Development of the Rumanian Principalities
 4. The Phanariote Rule
 5. Modern Period to 1866
 6. Contemporary Period: Internal Development
 7. Contemporary Period: Foreign Affairs
 8. Rumania and the Present War

 TURKEY. By D. G. HOGARTH
 1. Origin of the Osmanlis
 2. Expansion of the Osmanli Kingdom
 3. Heritage and Expansion of the Byzantine Empire
 4. Shrinkage and Retreat
 5. Revival
 6. Relapse
 7. Revolution
 8. The Balkan War
 9. The Future

 INDEX



MAPS

The Balkan Peninsula: Ethnological
The Balkan Peninsula
The Ottoman Empire



PREFACE


The authors of this volume have not worked in conjunction. Widely
separated, engaged on other duties, and pressed for time, we have had
no opportunity for interchange of views. Each must be held responsible,
therefore, for his own section alone. If there be any discrepancies in
our writings (it is not unlikely in so disputed a field of history) we
can only regret an unfortunate result of the circumstances. Owing to
rapid change in the relations of our country to the several Balkan
peoples, the tone of a section written earlier may differ from that of
another written later. It may be well to state that the sections on
Serbia and Bulgaria were finished before the decisive Balkan
developments of the past two months. Those on Greece and Rumania
represent only a little later stage of the evolution. That on Turkey,
compiled between one mission abroad and another, was the latest to be
finished.

If our sympathies are not all the same, or given equally to friends and
foes, none of us would find it possible to indite a Hymn of Hate about
any Balkan people. Every one of these peoples, on whatever side he be
fighting to-day, has a past worthy of more than our respect and
interwoven in some intimate way with our history. That any one of them
is arrayed against us to-day is not to be laid entirely or chiefly at
its own door. They are all fine peoples who have not obtained their
proper places in the sun. The best of the Osmanli nation, the Anatolian
peasantry, has yet to make its physical and moral qualities felt under
civilized conditions. As for the rest—the Serbs and the Bulgars, who
have enjoyed brief moments of barbaric glory in their past, have still
to find themselves in that future which shall be to the Slav. The
Greeks, who were old when we were not as yet, are younger now than we.
They are as incalculable a factor in a political forecast as another
Chosen Race, the Jews. Their past is the world’s glory: the present in
the Near East is theirs more than any people’s: the future—despite the
laws of corporate being and decline, dare we say they will have no part
in it? Of Rumania what are we to think? Her mixed people has had the
start of the Balkan Slavs in modern civilization, and evidently her
boundaries must grow wider yet. But the limits of her possible
expansion are easier to set than those of the rest.

We hope we have dealt fairly with all these peoples. Mediaeval history,
whether of the East or the West, is mostly a record of bloodshedding
and cruelty; and the Middle Age has been prolonged to our own time in
most parts of the Balkans, and is not yet over in some parts. There are
certain things salutary to bear in mind when we think or speak of any
part of that country to-day. First, that less than two hundred years
ago, England had its highwaymen on all roads, and its smuggler dens and
caravans, Scotland its caterans, and Ireland its moonlighters. Second,
that religious fervour has rarely mitigated and generally increased our
own savagery. Thirdly, that our own policy in Balkan matters has been
none too wise, especially of late. In permitting the Treaty of Bucarest
three years ago, we were parties to making much of the trouble that has
ensued, and will ensue again. If we have not been able to write about
the Near East under existing circumstances altogether _sine ira et
studio_, we have tried to remember that each of its peoples has a case.

D.G. HOGARTH.


_November_, 1915.



BULGARIA AND SERBIA



1
_Introductory_


The whole of what may be called the trunk or _massif_ of the Balkan
peninsula, bounded on the north by the rivers Save and Danube, on the
west by the Adriatic, on the east by the Black Sea, and on the south by
a very irregular line running from Antivari (on the coast of the
Adriatic) and the lake of Scutari in the west, through lakes Okhrida
and Prespa (in Macedonia) to the outskirts of Salonika and thence to
Midia on the shores of the Black Sea, following the coast of the Aegean
Sea some miles inland, is preponderatingly inhabited by Slavs. These
Slavs are the Bulgarians in the east and centre, the Serbs and Croats
(or Serbians and Croatians or Serbo-Croats) in the west, and the
Slovenes in the extreme north-west, between Trieste and the Save; these
nationalities compose the southern branch of the Slavonic race. The
other inhabitants of the Balkan peninsula are, to the south of the
Slavs, the Albanians in the west, the Greeks in the centre and south,
and the Turks in the south-east, and, to the north, the Rumanians. All
four of these nationalities are to be found in varying quantities
within the limits of the Slav territory roughly outlined above, but
greater numbers of them are outside it; on the other hand, there are a
considerable number of Serbs living north of the rivers Save and
Danube, in southern Hungary. Details of the ethnic distribution and
boundaries will of course be gone into more fully later; meanwhile
attention may be called to the significant fact that the name of
Macedonia, the heart of the Balkan peninsula, has been long used by the
French gastronomers to denote a dish, the principal characteristic of
which is that its component parts are mixed up into quite inextricable
confusion.

Of the three Slavonic nationalities already mentioned, the two first,
the Bulgarians and the Serbo-Croats, occupy a much greater space,
geographically and historically, than the third. The Slovenes, barely
one and a half million in number, inhabiting the Austrian provinces of
Carinthia and Carniola, have never been able to form a political state,
though, with the growth of Trieste as a great port and the persistent
efforts of Germany to make her influence if not her flag supreme on the
shores of the Adriatic, this small people has from its geographical
position and from its anti-German (and anti-Italian) attitude achieved
considerable notoriety and some importance.

Of the Bulgars and Serbs it may be said that at the present moment the
former control the eastern, and the latter, in alliance with the
Greeks, the western half of the peninsula. It has always been the
ambition of each of these three nationalities to dominate the whole, an
ambition which has caused endless waste of blood and money and untold
misery. If the question were to be settled purely on ethnical
considerations, Bulgaria would acquire the greater part of the interior
of Macedonia, the most numerous of the dozen nationalities of which is
Bulgarian in sentiment if not in origin, and would thus undoubtedly
attain the hegemony of the peninsula, while the centre of gravity of
the Serbian nation would, as is ethnically just, move north-westwards.
Political considerations, however, have until now always been against
this solution of the difficulty, and, even if it solved in this sense,
there would still remain the problem of the Greek nationality, whose
distribution along all the coasts of the Aegean, both European and
Asiatic, makes a delimitation of the Greek state on purely ethnical
lines virtually impossible. It is curious that the Slavs, though
masters of the interior of the peninsula and of parts of its eastern
and western coasts, have never made the shores of the Aegean (the White
Sea, as they call it) or the cities on them their own. The Adriatic is
the only sea on the shore of which any Slavonic race has ever made its
home. In view of this difficulty, namely, the interior of the peninsula
being Slavonic while the coastal fringe is Greek, and of the
approximately equal numerical strength of all three nations, it is
almost inevitable that the ultimate solution of the problem and
delimitation of political boundaries will have to be effected by means
of territorial compromise. It can only be hoped that this ultimate
compromise will be agreed upon by the three countries concerned, and
will be more equitable than that which was forced on them by Rumania in
1913 and laid down in the Treaty of Bucarest of that year.

If no arrangement on a principle of give and take is made between them,
the road to the East, which from the point of view of the Germanic
powers lies through Serbia, will sooner or later inevitably be forced
open, and the independence, first of Serbia, Montenegro, and Albania,
and later of Bulgaria and Greece, will disappear, _de facto_ if not in
appearance, and both materially and morally they will become the slaves
of the central empires. If the Balkan League could be reconstituted,
Germany and Austria would never reach Salonika or Constantinople.



2
_The Balkan Peninsula in Classical Times_
400 B.C.–A.D. 500.


In the earlier historical times the whole of the eastern part of the
Balkan peninsula between the Danube and the Aegean was known as
Thracia, while the western part (north of the forty-first degree of
latitude) was termed Illyricum; the lower basin of the river Vardar
(the classical Axius) was called Macedonia. A number of the tribal and
personal names of the early Illyrians and Thracians have been
preserved. Philip of Macedonia subdued Thrace in the fourth century
B.C. and in 342 founded the city of Philippopolis. Alexander’s first
campaign was devoted to securing control of the peninsula, but during
the Third century B.C. Thrace was invaded from the north and laid waste
by the Celts, who had already visited Illyria. The Celts vanished by
the end of that century, leaving a few place-names to mark their
passage. The city of Belgrade was known until the seventh century A.D.
by its Celtic name of Singidunum. Naissus, the modern Nish, is also
possibly of Celtic origin. It was towards 230 B.C. that Rome came into
contact with Illyricum, owing to the piratical proclivities of its
inhabitants, but for a long time it only controlled the Dalmatian
coast, so called after the Delmati or Dalmati, an Illyrian tribe. The
reason for this was the formidable character of the mountains of
Illyria, which run in several parallel and almost unbroken lines the
whole length of the shore of the Adriatic and have always formed an
effective barrier to invasion from the west. The interior was only very
gradually subdued by the Romans after Macedonia had been occupied by
them in 146 B.C. Throughout the first century B.C. conflicts raged with
varying fortune between the invaders and all the native races living
between the Adriatic and the Danube. They were attacked both from
Aquileia in the north and from Macedonia in the south, but it was not
till the early years of our era that the Danube became the frontier of
the Roman Empire.

In the year A.D. 6 Moesia, which included a large part of the modern
kingdom of Serbia and the northern half of that of Bulgaria between the
Danube and the Balkan range (the classical Haemus), became an imperial
province, and twenty years later Thrace, the country between the Balkan
range and the Aegean, was incorporated in the empire, and was made a
province by the Emperor Claudius in A.D. 46. The province of Illyricum
or Dalmatia stretched between the Save and the Adriatic, and Pannonia
lay between the Danube and the Save. In 107 A.D. the Emperor Trajan
conquered the Dacians beyond the lower Danube, and organized a province
of Dacia out of territory roughly equivalent to the modern Wallachia
and Transylvania, This trans-Danubian territory did not remain attached
to the empire for more than a hundred and fifty years; but within the
river line a vast belt of country, stretching from the head of the
Adriatic to the mouths of the Danube on the Black Sea, was Romanized
through and through. The Emperor Trajan has been called the Charlemagne
of the Balkan peninsula; all remains are attributed to him (he was
nicknamed the Wallflower by Constantine the Great), and his reign
marked the zenith of Roman power in this part of the world. The Balkan
peninsula enjoyed the benefits of Roman civilization for three
centuries, from the first to the fourth, but from the second century
onwards the attitude of the Romans was defensive rather than offensive.
The war against the Marcomanni under the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, in
the second half of this century, was the turning-point. Rome was still
victorious, but no territory was added to the empire. The third century
saw the southward movement of the Germanic peoples, who took the place
of the Celts. The Goths invaded the peninsula, and in 251 the Emperor
Decius was killed in battle against them near Odessus on the Black Sea
(the modern Varna). The Goths reached the outskirts of Thessalonica
(Salonika), but were defeated by the Emperor Claudius at Naissus (Nish)
in 269; shortly afterwards, however, the Emperor Aurelian had
definitively to relinquish Dacia to them. The Emperor Diocletian, a
native of Dalmatia, who reigned from 284 to 305, carried out a
redistribution of the imperial provinces. Pannonia and western Illyria,
or Dalmatia, were assigned to the prefecture of Italy, Thrace to that
of the Orient, while the whole centre of the peninsula, from the Danube
to the Peloponnese, constituted the prefecture of Illyria, with
Thessalonica as capital. The territory to the north of the Danube
having been lost, what is now western Bulgaria was renamed Dacia, while
Moesia, the modern kingdom of Serbia, was made very much smaller.
Praevalis, or the southern part of Dalmatia, approximately the modern
Montenegro and Albania, was detached from that province and added to
the prefecture of Illyria. In this way the boundary between the
province of Dalmatia and the Balkan peninsula proper ran from near the
lake of Scutari in the south to the river Drinus (the modern Drina),
whose course it followed till the Save was reached in the north.

An event of far-reaching importance in the following century was the
elevation by Constantine the Great of the Greek colony of Byzantium
into the imperial city of Constantinople in 325. This century also
witnessed the arrival of the Huns in Europe from Asia. They overwhelmed
the Ostrogoths, between the Dnieper and the Dniester, in 375, and the
Visigoths, settled in Transylvania and the modern Rumania, moved
southwards in sympathy with this event. The Emperor Valens lost his
life fighting against these Goths in 378 at the great battle of
Adrianople (a city established in Thrace by the Emperor Hadrian in the
second century). His successor, the Emperor Theodosius, placated them
with gifts and made them guardians of the northern frontier, but at his
death, in 395, they overran and devastated the entire peninsula, after
which they proceeded to Italy. After the death of the Emperor
Theodosius the empire was divided, never to be joined into one whole
again. The dividing line followed that, already mentioned, which
separated the prefecture of Italy from those of Illyria and the Orient,
that is to say, it began in the south, on the shore of the Adriatic
near the Bocche di Cattaro, and went due north along the valley of the
Drina till the confluence of that river with the Save. It will be seen
that this division had consequences which have lasted to the present
day. Generally speaking, the Western Empire was Latin in language and
character, while the Eastern was Greek, though owing to the importance
of the Danubian provinces to Rome from the military point of view, and
the lively intercourse maintained between them, Latin influence in them
was for a long time stronger than Greek. Its extent is proved by the
fact that the people of modern Rumania are partly, and their language
very largely, defended from those of the legions and colonies of the
Emperor Trajan.

Latin influence, shipping, colonization, and art were always supreme on
the eastern shores of the Adriatic, just as were those of Greece on the
shores of the Black Sea. The Albanians even, descendants of the ancient
Illyrians, were affected by the supremacy of the Latin language, from
which no less than a quarter of their own meagre vocabulary is derived;
though driven southwards by the Romans and northwards by the Greeks,
they have remained in their mountain fastnesses to this day, impervious
to any of the civilizations to which they have been exposed.

Christianity spread to the shores of the peninsula very early;
Macedonia and Dalmatia were the parts where it was first established,
and it took some time to penetrate into the interior. During the reign
of Diocletian numerous martyrs suffered for the faith in the Danubian
provinces, but with the accession of Constantine the Great persecution
came to an end. As soon, however, as the Christians were left alone,
they started persecuting each other, and during the fourth century the
Arian controversy re-echoed throughout the peninsula.

In the fifth century the Huns moved from the shores of the Black Sea to
the plains of the Danube and the Theiss; they devastated the Balkan
peninsula, in spite of the tribute which they had levied on
Constantinople in return for their promise of peace. After the death of
Attila, in 453, they again retreated to Asia, and during the second
half of the century the Goths were once more supreme in the peninsula.
Theodoric occupied Singidunum (Belgrade) in 471 and, after plundering
Macedonia and Greece, settled in Novae (the modern Svishtov), on the
lower Danube, in 483, where he remained till he transferred the sphere
of his activities to Italy ten years later. Towards the end of the
fifth century Huns of various kinds returned to the lower Danube and
devastated the peninsula several times, penetrating as far as Epirus
and Thessaly.



3
_The Arrival of the Slavs in the Balkan Peninsula_, A.D. 500–650


The Balkan peninsula, which had been raised to a high level of security
and prosperity during the Roman dominion, gradually relapsed into
barbarism as a result of these endless invasions; the walled towns,
such as Salonika and Constantinople, were the only safe places, and the
country became waste and desolate. The process continued unabated
throughout the three following centuries, and one is driven to one of
two conclusions, either that these lands must have possessed very
extraordinary powers of recuperation to make it worth while for
invaders to pillage them so frequently, or, what is more probable,
there can have been after some time little left to plunder, and
consequently the Byzantine historians’ accounts of enormous drives of
prisoners and booty are much exaggerated. It is impossible to count the
number of times the tide of invasion and devastation swept southwards
over the unfortunate peninsula. The emperors and their generals did
what they could by means of defensive works on the frontiers, of
punitive expeditions, and of trying to set the various hordes of
barbarians at loggerheads with each other, but, as they had at the same
time to defend an empire which stretched from Armenia to Spain, it is
not surprising that they were not more successful. The growing riches
of Constantinople and Salonika had an irresistible attraction for the
wild men from the east and north, and unfortunately the Greek citizens
were more inclined to spend their energy in theological disputes and
their leisure in the circus than to devote either the one or the other
to the defence of their country. It was only by dint of paying them
huge sums of money that the invaders were kept away from the coast. The
departure of the Huns and the Goths had made the way for fresh series
of unwelcome visitors. In the sixth century the Slavs appear for the
first time. From their original homes which were immediately north of
the Carpathians, in Galicia and Poland, but may also have included
parts of the modern Hungary, they moved southwards and south-eastwards.
They were presumably in Dacia, north of the Danube, in the previous
century, but they are first mentioned as having crossed that river
during the reign of the Emperor Justin I (518-27). They were a
loosely-knit congeries of tribes without any single leader or central
authority; some say they merely possessed the instinct of anarchy,
others that they were permeated with the ideals of democracy. What is
certain is that amongst them neither leadership nor initiative was
developed, and that they lacked both cohesion and organisation. The
Eastern Slavs, the ancestors of the Russians, were only welded into
anything approaching unity by the comparatively much smaller number of
Scandinavian (Varangian) adventurers who came and took charge of their
affairs at Kiev. Similarly the Southern Slavs were never of themselves
able to form a united community, conscious of its aim and capable of
persevering in its attainment.

The Slavs did not invade the Balkan peninsula alone but in the company
of the Avars, a terrible and justly dreaded nation, who, like the Huns,
were of Asiatic (Turkish or Mongol) origin. These invasions became more
frequent during the reign of the Emperor Justinian I (527-65), and
culminated in 559 in a great combined attack of all the invaders on
Constantinople under a certain Zabergan, which was brilliantly defeated
by the veteran Byzantine general Belisarius. The Avars were a nomad
tribe, and the horse was their natural means of locomotion. The Slavs,
on the other hand, moved about on foot, and seem to have been used as
infantry by the more masterful Asiatics in their warlike expeditions.
Generally speaking, the Avars, who must have been infinitely less
numerous than the Slavs, were settled in Hungary, where Attila and the
Huns had been settled a little more than a century previously; that is
to say, they were north of the Danube, though they were always
overrunning into Upper Moesia, the modern Serbia. The Slavs, whose
numbers were without doubt very large, gradually settled all over the
country south of the Danube, the rural parts of which, as a result of
incessant invasion and retreat, had become waste and empty. During the
second half of the sixth century all the military energies of
Constantinople were diverted to Persia, so that the invaders of the
Balkan peninsula had the field very much to themselves. It was during
this time that the power of the Avars reached its height. They were
masters of all the country up to the walls of Adrianople and Salonika,
though they did not settle there. The peninsula seems to have been
colonized by Slavs, who penetrated right down into Greece; but the
Avars were throughout this time, both in politics and in war, the
directing and dominating force. During another Persian war, which broke
out in 622 and entailed the prolonged absence of the emperor from
Constantinople, the Avars, not satisfied with the tribute extorted from
the Greeks, made an alliance against them with the Persians, and in 626
collected a large army of Slavs and Asiatics and attacked
Constantinople both by land and sea from the European side, while the
Persians threatened it from Asia. But the walls of the city and the
ships of the Greeks proved invincible, and, quarrels breaking out
between the Slavs and the Avars, both had to save themselves in
ignominious and precipitate retreat.

After this nothing more was heard of the Avars in the Balkan peninsula,
though their power was only finally crushed by Charlemagne in 799. In
Russia their downfall became proverbial, being crystallized in the
saying, ‘they perished like Avars’. The Slavs, on the other hand,
remained. Throughout these stormy times their penetration of the Balkan
peninsula had been peacefully if unostentatiously proceeding; by the
middle of the seventh century it was complete. The main streams of
Slavonic immigration moved southwards and westwards. The first covered
the whole of the country between the Danube and the Balkan range,
overflowed into Macedonia, and filtered down into Greece. Southern
Thrace in the east and Albania in the west were comparatively little
affected, and in these districts the indigenous population maintained
itself. The coasts of the Aegean and the great cities on or near them
were too strongly held by the Greeks to be affected, and those Slavs
who penetrated into Greece itself were soon absorbed by the local
populations. The still stronger Slavonic stream, which moved westwards
and turned up north-westwards, overran the whole country down to the
shores of the Adriatic and as far as the sources of the Save and Drave
in the Alps. From that point in the west to the shores of the Black Sea
in the east became one solid mass of Slavs, and has remained so ever
since. The few Slavs who were left north of the Danube in Dacia were
gradually assimilated by the inhabitants of that province, who were the
descendants of the Roman soldiers and colonists, and the ancestors of
the modern Rumanians, but the fact that Slavonic influence there was
strong is shown by the large number of words of Slavonic origin
contained in the Rumanian language.

[Illustration: THE BALKAN PENINSULA ETHNOLOGICAL]

Place-names are a good index of the extent and strength of the tide of
Slav immigration. All along the coast, from the mouth of the Danube to
the head of the Adriatic, the Greek and Roman names have been retained
though places have often been given alternative names by the Slavonic
settlers. Thrace, especially the south-eastern part, and Albania have
the fewest Slavonic place-names. In Macedonia and Lower Moesia
(Bulgaria) very few classical names have survived, while in Upper
Moesia (Serbia) and the interior of Dalmatia (Bosnia, Hercegovina, and
Montenegro) they have entirely disappeared. The Slavs themselves,
though their tribal names were known, were until the ninth century
usually called collectively S(k)lavini ([Greek: Sklabaenoi]) by the
Greeks, and all the inland parts of the peninsula were for long termed
by them ‘the S(k)lavonias’ ([Greek: Sklabiniai]).

During the seventh century, dating from the defeat of the Slavs and
Avars before the walls of Constantinople in 626 and the final triumph
of the emperor over the Persians in 628, the influence and power of the
Greeks began to reassert itself throughout the peninsula as far north
as the Danube; this process was coincident with the decline of the
might of the Avars. It was the custom of the astute Byzantine diplomacy
to look on and speak of lands which had been occupied by the various
barbarian invaders as grants made to them through the generosity of the
emperor; by this means, by dint also of lavishing titles and
substantial incomes to the invaders’ chiefs, by making the most of
their mutual jealousies, and also by enlisting regiments of Slavonic
mercenaries in the imperial armies, the supremacy of Constantinople was
regained far more effectively than it could have been by the continual
and exhausting use of force.



BULGARIA



4
_The Arrival of the Bulgars in the Balkan Peninsula,_ 600–700


The progress of the Bulgars towards the Balkan peninsula, and indeed
all their movements until their final establishment there in the
seventh century, are involved in obscurity. They are first mentioned by
name in classical and Armenian sources in 482 as living in the steppes
to the north of the Black Sea amongst other Asiatic tribes, and it has
been assumed by some that at the end of the fifth and throughout the
sixth century they were associated first with the Huns and later with
the Avars and Slavs in the various incursions into and invasions of the
eastern empire which have already been enumerated. It is the tendency
of Bulgarian historians, who scornfully point to the fact that the
history of Russia only dates from the ninth century, to exaggerate the
antiquity of their own and to claim as early a date as possible for the
authentic appearance of their ancestors on the kaleidoscopic stage of
the Balkan theatre. They are also unwilling to admit that they were
anticipated by the Slavs; they prefer to think that the Slavs only
insinuated themselves there thanks to the energy of the Bulgars’
offensive against the Greeks, and that as soon as the Bulgars had
leisure to look about them they found all the best places already
occupied by the anarchic Slavs.

Of course it is very difficult to say positively whether Bulgars were
or were not present in the welter of Asiatic nations which swept
westwards into Europe with little intermission throughout the fifth and
sixth centuries, but even if they were, they do not seem to have
settled down as early as that anywhere south of the Danube; it seems
certain that they did not do so until the seventh century, and
therefore that the Slavs were definitely installed in the Balkan
peninsula a whole century before the Bulgars crossed the Danube for
good.

The Bulgars, like the Huns and the Avars who preceded them, and like
the Magyars and the Turks who followed them, were a tribe from eastern
Asia, of the stock known as Mongol or Tartar. The tendency of all these
peoples was to move westwards from Asia into Europe, and this they did
at considerable and irregular intervals, though in alarming and
apparently inexhaustible numbers, roughly from the fourth till the
fourteenth centuries. The distance was great, but the journey, thanks
to the flat, grassy, treeless, and well-watered character of the
steppes of southern Russia which they had to cross, was easy. They
often halted for considerable periods by the way, and some never moved
further westwards than Russia. Thus at one time the Bulgars settled in
large numbers on the Volga, near its confluence with the Kama, and it
is presumed that they were well established there in the fifth century.
They formed a community of considerable strength and importance, known
as Great or White Bulgaria. These Bulgars fused with later Tartar
immigrants from Asia and eventually were consolidated into the powerful
kingdom of Kazan, which was only crushed by the Tsar Ivan IV in 1552.
According to Bulgarian historians, the basins of the rivers Volga and
Don and the steppes of eastern Russia proved too confined a space for
the legitimate development of Bulgarian energy, and expansion to the
west was decided on. A large number of Bulgars therefore detached
themselves and began to move south-westwards. During the sixth century
they seem to have been settled in the country to the north of the Black
Sea, forming a colony known as Black Bulgaria. It is very doubtful
whether the Bulgars did take part, as they are supposed to have done,
in the ambitious but unsuccessful attack on Constantinople in 559 under
Zabergan, chief of another Tartar tribe; but it is fairly certain that
they did in the equally formidable but equally unsuccessful attacks by
the Slavs and Avars against Salonika in 609 and Constantinople in 626.

During the last quarter of the sixth and the first of the seventh
century the various branches of the Bulgar nation, stretching from the
Volga to the Danube, were consolidated and kept in control by their
prince Kubrat, who eventually fought on behalf of the Greeks against
the Avars, and was actually baptized in Constantinople. The power of
the Bulgars grew as that of the Avars declined, but at the death of
Kubrat, in 638, his realm was divided amongst his sons. One of these
established himself in Pannonia, where he joined forces with what was
left of the Avars, and there the Bulgars maintained themselves till
they were obliterated by the irruption of the Magyars in 893. Another
son, Asparukh, or Isperikh, settled in Bessarabia, between the rivers
Prut and Dniester, in 640, and some years later passed southwards.
After desultory warfare with Constantinople, from 660 onwards, his
successor finally overcame the Greeks, who were at that time at war
with the Arabs, captured Varna, and definitely established himself
between the Danube and the Balkan range in the year 679. From that year
the Danube ceased to be the frontier of the eastern empire.

The numbers of the Bulgars who settled south of the Danube are not
known, but what happened to them is notorious. The well-known process,
by which the Franks in Gaul were absorbed by the far more numerous
indigenous population which they had conquered, was repeated, and the
Bulgars became fused with the Slavs. So complete was the fusion, and so
preponderating the influence of the subject nationality, that beyond a
few personal names no traces of the language of the Bulgars have
survived. Modern Bulgarian, except for the Turkish words introduced
into it later during the Ottoman rule, is purely Slavonic. Not so the
Bulgarian nationality; as is so often the case with mongrel products,
this race, compared with the Serbs, who are purely Slav, has shown
considerably greater virility, cohesion, and driving-power, though it
must be conceded that its problems have been infinitely simpler.



5
_The Early Years of Bulgaria and the Introduction of Christianity_,
700–893


From the time of their establishment in the country to which they have
given their name the Bulgars became a thorn in the side of the Greeks,
and ever since both peoples have looked on one another as natural and
hereditary enemies. The Bulgars, like all the barbarians who had
preceded them, were fascinated by the honey-pot of Constantinople, and,
though they never succeeded in taking it, they never grew tired of
making the attempt.

For two hundred years after the death of Asparukh, in 661, the Bulgars
were perpetually fighting either against the Greeks or else amongst
themselves. At times a diversion was caused by the Bulgars taking the
part of the Greeks, as in 718, when they ‘delivered’ Constantinople, at
the invocation of the Emperor Leo, from the Arabs, who were besieging
it. From about this time the Bulgarian monarchy, which had been
hereditary, became elective, and the anarchy of the many, which the
Bulgars found when they arrived, and which their first few autocratic
rulers had been able to control, was replaced by an anarchy of the few.
Prince succeeded prince, war followed war, at the will of the feudal
nobles. This internal strife was naturally profitable to the Greeks,
who lavishly subsidized the rival factions.

At the end of the eighth century the Bulgars south of the Danube joined
forces with those to the north in the efforts of the latter against the
Avars, who, beaten by Charlemagne, were again pressing south-eastwards
towards the Danube. In this the Bulgars were completely successful
under the leadership of one Krum, whom, in the elation of victory, they
promptly elected to the throne. Krum was a far more capable ruler than
they had bargained for, and he not only united all the Bulgars north
and south of the Danube into one dominion, but also forcibly repressed
the whims of the nobles and re-established the autocracy and the
hereditary monarchy. Having finished with his enemies in the north, he
turned his attention to the Greeks, with no less success. In 809 he
captured from them the important city of Sofia (the Roman Sardica,
known to the Slavs as Sredets), which is to-day the capital of
Bulgaria. The loss of this city was a blow to the Greeks, because it
was a great centre of commerce and also the point at which the
commercial and strategic highways of the peninsula met and crossed. The
Emperor Nikiphóros, who wished to take his revenge and recover his lost
property, was totally defeated by the Bulgars and lost his life in the
Balkan passes in 811. After further victories, at Mesembria (the modern
Misivria) in 812 and Adrianople in 813, Krum appeared before the
capital, where he nearly lost his life in an ambush while negotiating
for peace. During preparations for a final assault on Constantinople he
died suddenly in 815. Though Krum cannot be said to have introduced
civilisation into Bulgaria, he at any rate increased its power and gave
it some of the more essential organs of government. He framed a code of
laws remarkable for their rigour, which was undoubtedly necessary in
such a community and beneficial in its effect. He repressed civil
strife, and by this means made possible the reawakening of commerce and
agriculture. His successor, of uncertain identity, founded in 822 the
city of Preslav (known to the Russians as Pereyaslav), situated in
eastern Bulgaria, between Varna and Silistria, which was the capital
until 972.

The reign of Prince Boris (852-88) is remarkable because it witnessed
the definitive conversion to Christianity of Bulgaria and her ruler. It
is within this period also that fell the activities of the two great
‘Slavonic’ missionaries and apostles, the brothers Cyril and Methodius,
who are looked upon by all Slavs of the orthodox faith as the founders
of their civilisation. Christianity had of course penetrated into
Bulgaria (or Moesia, as it was then) long before the arrival of the
Slavs and Bulgars, but the influx of one horde of barbarians after
another was naturally not propitious to its growth. The conversion of
Boris in 865, which was brought about largely by the influence of his
sister, who had spent many years in Constantinople as a captive, was a
triumph for Greek influence and for Byzantium. Though the Church was at
this time still nominally one, yet the rivalry between Rome and
Constantinople had already become acute, and the struggle for spheres
of spiritual influence had begun. It was in the year 863 that the
Prince of Moravia, anxious to introduce Christianity into his country
in a form intelligible to his subjects, addressed himself to the
Emperor Michael III for help. Rome could not provide any suitable
missionaries with knowledge of Slavonic languages, and the German, or
more exactly the Bavarian, hierarchy with which Rome entrusted the
spiritual welfare of the Slavs of Moravia and Pannonia used its greater
local knowledge for political and not religious ends. The Germans
exploited their ecclesiastical influence in order completely to
dominate the Slavs politically, and as a result the latter were only
allowed to see the Church through Teutonic glasses.

In answer to this appeal the emperor sent the two brothers Cyril and
Methodius, who were Greeks of Salonika and had considerable knowledge
of Slavonic languages. They composed the Slavonic alphabet which is
to-day used throughout Russia, Bulgaria, Serbia, and Montenegro, and in
many parts of Austria-Hungary and translated the gospels into Slavonic;
it is for this reason that they are regarded with such veneration by
all members of the Eastern Church. Their mission proved the greatest
success (it must be remembered that at this time the various Slavonic
tongues were probably less dissimilar than they are now), and the two
brothers were warmly welcomed in Rome by Pope Adrian II, who formally
consented to the use, for the benefit of the Slavs, of the Slavonic
liturgy (a remarkable concession, confirmed by Pope John VIII). This
triumph, however, was short-lived; St. Cyril died in 869 and St.
Methodius in 885; subsequent Popes, notably Stephen V, were not so
benevolent to the Slavonic cause; the machinations of the German
hierarchy (which included, even in those days, the falsification of
documents) were irresistible, and finally the invasion of the Magyars,
in 893, destroyed what was left of the Slavonic Church in Moravia. The
missionary brothers had probably passed through Bulgaria on their way
north in 863, but without halting. Many of their disciples, driven from
the Moravian kingdom by the Germans, came south and took refuge in
Bulgaria in 886, and there carried on in more favourable circumstances
the teachings of their masters. Prince Boris had found it easier to
adopt Christianity himself than to induce all his subjects to do the
same. Even when he had enforced his will on them at the price of
numerous executions of recalcitrant nobles, he found himself only at
the beginning of his difficulties. The Greeks had been glad enough to
welcome Bulgaria into the fold, but they had no wish to set up an
independent Church and hierarchy to rival their own. Boris, on the
other hand, though no doubt full of genuine spiritual ardour, was above
all impressed with the authority and prestige which the basileus
derived from the Church of Constantinople; he also admired the pomp of
ecclesiastical ceremony, and wished to have a patriarch of his own to
crown him and a hierarchy of his own to serve him. Finding the Greeks
unresponsive, he turned to Rome, and Pope Nicholas I sent him two
bishops to superintend the ecclesiastical affairs of Bulgaria till the
investiture of Boris at the hands of the Holy See could be arranged.
These bishops set to work with a will, substituted the Latin for the
Greek rite, and brought Bulgaria completely under Roman influence. But
when it was discovered that Boris was aiming at the erection of an
independent Church their enthusiasm abated and they were recalled to
Rome in 867.

Adrian II proved no more sympathetic, and in 870, during the reign of
the Emperor Basil I, it was decided without more ado that the Bulgarian
Church should be directly under the Bishop of Constantinople, on the
ground that the kingdom of Boris was a vassal-state of the basileus,
and that from the Byzantine point of view, as opposed to that of Rome,
the State came first and the Church next. The Moravian Gorazd, a
disciple of Methodius, was appointed Metropolitan, and at his death he
was succeeded by his fellow countryman and co-disciple Clement, who by
means of the construction of numerous churches and monasteries did a
great deal for the propagation of light and learning in Bulgaria. The
definite subjection of the Bulgarian Church to that of Byzantium was an
important and far-reaching event. Boris has been reproached with
submitting himself and his country to Greek influence, but in those
days it was either Constantinople or Rome (there was no third way); and
in view of the proximity of Constantinople and the glamour which its
civilization cast all over the Balkans, it is not surprising that the
Greeks carried the day.



6
_The Rise and Fall of the First Bulgarian Empire_, 893–972


During the reign of Simeon, second son of Boris, which lasted from 893
to 927, Bulgaria reached a very high level of power and prosperity.
Simeon, called the Great, is looked on by Bulgarians as their most
capable monarch and his reign as the most brilliant period of their
history. He had spent his childhood at Constantinople and been educated
there, and he became such an admirer of Greek civilization that he was
nicknamed _Hèmiargos_. His instructors had done their work so well that
Simeon remained spellbound by the glamour of Constantinople throughout
his life, and, although he might have laid the foundations of a solid
empire in the Balkans, his one ambition was to conquer Byzantium and to
be recognized as basileus—an ambition which was not to be fulfilled.
His first campaign against the Greeks was not very fruitful, because
the latter summoned the Magyars, already settled in Hungary, to their
aid and they attacked Simeon from the north. Simeon in return called
the Pechenegs, another fierce Tartar tribe, to his aid, but this merely
resulted in their definite establishment in Rumania. During the twenty
years of peace, which strange to say filled the middle of his reign
(894-913), the internal development of Bulgaria made great strides. The
administration was properly organized, commerce was encouraged, and
agriculture flourished. In the wars against the Greeks which occupied
his last years he was more successful, and inflicted a severe defeat on
them at Anchialo (the modern Ahiolu) in 917; but he was still unable to
get from them what he wanted, and at last, in 921, he was obliged to
proclaim himself _basileus_ and _autocratōr_ of all Bulgars and Greeks,
a title which nobody else recognized. He reappeared before
Constantinople the same year, but effected nothing more than the
customary devastation of the suburbs. The year 923 witnessed a solemn
reconciliation between Rome and Constantinople; the Greeks were clever
enough to prevent the Roman legates visiting Bulgaria on their return
journey, and thereby administered a rebuff to Simeon, who was anxious
to see them and enter into direct relations with Rome. In the same year
Simeon tried to make an alliance with the Arabs, but the ambassadors of
the latter were intercepted by the Greeks, who made it worth their
while not to continue the journey to Bulgaria.

In 924 Simeon determined on a supreme effort against Constantinople and
as a preliminary he ravaged Macedonia and Thrace. When, however, he
arrived before the city the walls and the catapults made him hesitate,
and he entered into negotiations, which, as usual, petered out and
brought him no adequate reward for all his hopes and preparations. In
the west his arms were more successful, and he subjected most of the
eastern part of Serbia to his rule. From all this it can be seen that
he was no diplomat, though not lacking in enterprise and ambition. The
fact was that while he made his kingdom too powerful for the Greeks to
subdue (indeed they were compelled to pay him tribute), yet
Constantinople with its impregnable walls, well-organized army,
powerful fleet, and cunning and experienced statesmen, was too hard a
nut for him to crack.

Simeon extended the boundaries of his country considerably, and his
dominion included most of the interior of the Balkan peninsula south of
the Danube and east of the rivers Morava and Ibar in Serbia and of the
Drin in Albania. The Byzantine Church greatly increased its influence
in Bulgaria during his reign, and works of theology grew like
mushrooms. This was the only kind of literature that was ever popular
in Bulgaria, and although it is usual to throw contempt on the literary
achievements of Constantinople, we should know but little of Bulgaria
were it not for the Greek historians.

Simeon died in 927, and his son Peter, who succeeded him, was a lover
of peace and comfort; he married a Byzantine princess, and during his
reign (927-69) Greek influence grew ever stronger, in spite of several
revolts on the part of the Bulgar nobles, while the capital Preslav
became a miniature Constantinople. In 927 Rome recognized the kingdom
and patriarchate of Bulgaria, and Peter was duly crowned by the Papal
legate. This was viewed with disfavour by the Greeks, and they still
called Peter only _archōn_ or prince (_knyaz_ in Bulgarian), which was
the utmost title allowed to any foreign sovereign. It was not until 945
that they recognized Peter as _basileus_, the unique title possessed by
their own emperors and till then never granted to any one else. Peter’s
reign was one of misfortune for his country both at home and abroad. In
931 the Serbs broke loose under their leader Časlav, whom Simeon had
captured but who effected his escape, and asserted their independence.
In 963 a formidable revolt under one Shishman undermined the whole
state fabric. He managed to subtract Macedonia and all western
Bulgaria, including Sofia and Vidin, from Peter’s rule, and proclaimed
himself independent _tsar (tsar_ or _caesar_ was a title often accorded
by Byzantium to relatives of the emperor or to distinguished men of
Greek or other nationality, and though it was originally the equivalent
of the highest title, it had long since ceased to be so: the emperor’s
designations were _basileus_ and _autocratōr_). From this time there
were two Bulgarias—eastern and western. The eastern half was now little
more than a Byzantine province, and the western became the centre of
national life and the focus of national aspirations.

Another factor which militated against the internal progress of
Bulgaria was the spread of the Bogomil heresy in the tenth century.
This remarkable doctrine, founded on the dualism of the Paulicians, who
had become an important political force in the eastern empire, was
preached in the Balkan peninsula by one Jeremiah Bogomil, for the rest
a man of uncertain identity, who made Philippopolis the centre of his
activity. Its principal features were of a negative character, and
consequently it was very difficult successfully to apply force against
them. The Bogomils recognized the authority neither of Church nor of
State; the validity neither of oaths nor of human laws. They refused to
pay taxes, to fight, or to obey; they sanctioned theft, but looked upon
any kind of punishment as unjustifiable; they discountenanced marriage
and were strict vegetarians. Naturally a heresy so alarming in its
individualism shook to its foundations the not very firmly established
Bulgarian society. Nevertheless it spread with rapidity in spite of all
persecutions, and its popularity amongst the Bulgarians, and indeed
amongst all the Slavs of the peninsula, is without doubt partly
explained by political reasons. The hierarchy of the Greek Church,
which supported the ruling classes of the country and lent them
authority at the same time that it increased its own, was antipathetic
to the Slavs, and the Bogomil heresy drew much strength from its
nationalistic colouring and from the appeal which it made to the
character of the Balkan Slavs, who have always been intolerant of
government by the Church. But neither the civil nor the ecclesiastical
authorities were able to cope with the problem; indeed they were apt to
minimize its importance, and the heresy was never eradicated till the
arrival on the scene of Islam, which proved as attractive to the
schismatics as the well-regulated Orthodox Church had been the reverse.

The third quarter of the tenth century witnessed a great recrudescence
of the power of Constantinople under the Emperor Nikiphóros Phokas, who
wrested Cyprus and Crete from the Arabs and inaugurated an era of
prosperity for the eastern empire, giving it a new lease of vigorous
and combative life. Wishing to reassert the Greek supremacy in the
Balkan peninsula his first act was to refuse any further payment of
tribute to the Bulgarians as from 966; his next was to initiate a
campaign against them, but in order to make his own success in this
enterprise less costly and more assured he secured the co-operation of
the Russians under Svyatoslav, Prince of Kiev; this potentate’s mother
Olga had visited Constantinople in 957 and been baptized (though her
son and the bulk of the population were still ardent heathens), and
commercial intercourse between Russia and Constantinople by means of
the Dnieper and the Black Sea was at that time lively. Svyatoslav did
not want pressing, and arriving with an army of 10,000 men in boats,
overcame northern Bulgaria in a few days (967); they were helped by
Shishman and the western Bulgars, who did not mind at what price Peter
and the eastern Bulgars were crushed. Svyatoslav was recalled to Russia
in 968 to defend his home from attacks by the Tartar Pechenegs, but
that done, he made up his mind to return to Bulgaria, lured by its
riches and by the hope of the eventual possession of Constantinople.

The Emperor Nikiphóros was by now aware of the danger he had
imprudently conjured up, and made a futile alliance with eastern
Bulgaria; but in January 969 Peter of Bulgaria died, and in December of
the same year Nikiphóros was murdered by the ambitious Armenian John
Tzimisces,[1] who thereupon became emperor. Svyatoslav, seeing the
field clear of his enemies, returned in 970, and in March of that year
sacked and occupied Philippopolis. The Emperor John Tzimisces, who was
even abler both as general and as diplomat than his predecessor,
quietly pushed forward his warlike preparations, and did not meet the
Russians till the autumn, when he completely defeated them at
Arcadiopolis (the modern Lule-Burgas). The Russians retired north of
the Balkan range, but the Greeks followed them. John Tzimisces besieged
them in the capital Preslav, which he stormed, massacring many of the
garrison, in April 972. Svyatoslav and his remaining troops escaped to
Silistria (the Durostorum of Trajan) on the Danube, where again,
however, they were besieged and defeated by the indefatigable emperor.
At last peace was made in July 972, the Russians being allowed to go
free on condition of the complete evacuation of Bulgaria and a gift of
corn; the adventurous Svyatoslav lost his life at the hands of the
Pechenegs while making his way back to Kiev. The triumph of the Greeks
was complete, and it can be imagined that there was not much left of
the earthenware Bulgaria after the violent collision of these two
mighty iron vessels on the top of it. Eastern Bulgaria (i.e. Moesia and
Thrace) ceased to exist, becoming a purely Greek province; John
Tzimisces made his triumphal entry into Constantinople, followed by the
two sons of Peter of Bulgaria on foot; the elder was deprived of his
regal attributes and created _magistros_, the younger was made a
eunuch.

[Footnote 1: John the Little.]



7
_The Rise and Fall of ‘Western Bulgaria’ and the Greek Supremacy_,
963–1186


Meanwhile western Bulgaria had not been touched, and it was thither
that the Bulgarian patriarch Damian removed from Silistria after the
victory of the Greeks, settling first in Sofia and then in Okhrida in
Macedonia, where the apostate Shishman had eventually made his capital.
Western Bulgaria included Macedonia and parts of Thessaly, Albania,
southern and eastern Serbia, and the westernmost parts of modern
Bulgaria. It was from this district that numerous anti-Hellenic revolts
were directed after the death of the Emperor John Tzimisces in 976.
These culminated during the reign of Samuel (977-1014), one of the sons
of Shishman. He was as capable and energetic, as unscrupulous and
inhuman, as the situation he was called upon to fill demanded. He began
by assassinating all his relations and nobles who resented his desire
to re-establish the absolute monarchy, was recognized as _tsar_ by the
Holy See of Rome in 981, and then began to fight the Greeks, the only
possible occupation for any self-respecting Bulgarian ruler. The
emperor at that time was Basil II (976-1025), who was brave and
patriotic but young and inexperienced. In his early campaigns Samuel
carried all before him; he reconquered northern Bulgaria in 985,
Thessaly in 986, and defeated Basil II near Sofia the same year. Later
he conquered Albania and the southern parts of Serbia and what is now
Montenegro and Hercegovina. In 996 he threatened Salonika, but first of
all embarked on an expedition against the Peloponnese; here he was
followed by the Greek general, who managed to surprise and completely
overwhelm him, he and his son barely escaping with their lives.

From that year (996) his fortune changed; the Greeks reoccupied
northern Bulgaria, in 999, and also recovered Thessaly and parts of
Macedonia. The Bulgars were subjected to almost annual attacks on the
part of Basil II; the country was ruined and could not long hold out.
The final disaster occurred in 1014, when Basil II utterly defeated his
inveterate foe in a pass near Seres in Macedonia. Samuel escaped to
Prilip, but when he beheld the return of 15,000 of his troops who had
been captured and blinded by the Greeks he died of syncope. Basil II,
known as Bulgaroctonus, or Bulgar-killer, went from victory to victory,
and finally occupied the Bulgarian capital of Okhrida in 1016. Western
Bulgaria came to an end, as had eastern Bulgaria in 972, the remaining
members of the royal family followed the emperor to the Bosphorus to
enjoy comfortable captivity, and the triumph of Constantinople was
complete.

From 1018 to 1186 Bulgaria had no existence as an independent state;
Basil II, although cruel, was far from tyrannical in his general
treatment of the Bulgars, and treated the conquered territory more as a
protectorate than as a possession. But after his death Greek rule
became much more oppressive. The Bulgarian patriarchate (since 972
established at Okhrida) was reduced to an archbishopric, and in 1025
the see was given to a Greek, who lost no time in eliminating the
Bulgarian element from positions of importance throughout his diocese.
Many of the nobles were transplanted to Constantinople, where their
opposition was numbed by the bestowal of honours. During the eleventh
century the peninsula was invaded frequently by the Tartar Pechenegs
and Kumans, whose aid was invoked both by Greeks and Bulgars; the
result of these incursions was not always favourable to those who had
promoted them; the barbarians invariably stayed longer and did more
damage than had been bargained for, and usually left some of their
number behind as unwelcome settlers.

In this way the ethnological map of the Balkan peninsula became ever
more variegated. To the Tartar settlers were added colonies of
Armenians and Vlakhs by various emperors. The last touch was given by
the arrival of the Normans in 1081 and the passage of the crusaders in
1096. The wholesale depredations of the latter naturally made the
inhabitants of the Balkan peninsula anything but sympathetically
disposed towards their cause. One of the results of all this turmoil
and of the heavy hand of the Greeks was a great increase in the
vitality of the Bogomil heresy already referred to; it became a refuge
for patriotism and an outlet for its expression. The Emperor Alexis
Comnenus instituted a bitter persecution of it, which only led to its
growth and rapid propagation westwards into Serbia from its centre
Philippopolis.

The reason of the complete overthrow of the Bulgarian monarchy by the
Greeks was of course that the nation itself was totally lacking in
cohesion and organization, and could only achieve any lasting success
when an exceptionally gifted ruler managed to discount the centrifugal
tendencies of the feudal nobles, as Simeon and Samuel had done. Other
discouraging factors wore the permeation of the Church and State by
Byzantine influence, the lack of a large standing army, the spread of
the anarchic Bogomil heresy, and the fact that the bulk of the Slav
population had no desire for foreign adventure or national
aggrandizement.



8
_The Rise and Fall of the Second Bulgarian Empire,_ 1186–1258


From 1186 to 1258 Bulgaria experienced temporary resuscitation, the
brevity of which was more than compensated for by the stirring nature
of the events that crowded it. The exactions and oppressions of the
Greeks culminated in a revolt on the part of the Bulgars, which had its
centre in Tirnovo on the river Yantra in northern Bulgaria—a position
of great natural strength and strategic importance, commanding the
outlets of several of the most important passes over the Balkan range.
This revolt coincided with the growing weakness of the eastern empire,
which, surrounded on all sides by aggressive enemies—Kumans, Saracens,
Turks, and Normans—was sickening for one of the severe illnesses which
preceded its dissolution. The revolt was headed by two brothers who
were Vlakh or Rumanian shepherds, and was blessed by the archbishop
Basil, who crowned one of them, called John Asen, as _tsar_ in Tirnovo
in 1186. Their first efforts against the Greeks were not successful,
but securing the support of the Serbs under Stephen Nemanja in 1188 and
of the Crusaders in 1189 they became more so; but there was life in the
Greeks yet, and victory alternated with defeat. John Asen I was
assassinated in 1196 and was succeeded after many internal discords and
murders by his relative Kaloian or Pretty John. This cruel and
unscrupulous though determined ruler soon made an end of all his
enemies at home, and in eight years achieved such success abroad that
Bulgaria almost regained its former proportions. Moreover, he
re-established relations with Rome, to the great discomfiture of the
Greeks, and after some negotiations Pope Innocent III recognized
Kaloian as _tsar_ of the Bulgars and Vlakhs (roi de Blaquie et de
Bougrie, in the words of Villehardouin), with Basil as primate, and
they were both duly consecrated and crowned by the papal legate at
Tirnovo in 1204. The French, who had just established themselves in
Constantinople during the fourth crusade, imprudently made an enemy of
Kaloian instead of a friend, and with the aid of the Tartar Kumans he
defeated them several times, capturing and brutally murdering Baldwin
I. But in 1207 his career was cut short; he was murdered while
besieging Salonika by one of his generals who was a friend of his wife.
After eleven years of further anarchy he was succeeded by John Asen II.
During the reign of this monarch, which lasted from 1218 till 1241,
Bulgaria reached the zenith of its power. He was the most enlightened
ruler the country had had, and he not only waged war successfully
abroad but also put an end to the internal confusion, restored the
possibility of carrying on agriculture and commerce, and encouraged the
foundation of numerous schools and monasteries. He maintained the
tradition of his family by making his capital at Tirnovo, which city he
considerably embellished and enlarged.

Constantinople at this time boasted three Greek emperors and one
French. The first act of John Asen II was to get rid of one of them,
named Theodore, who had proclaimed himself _basileus_ at Okhrida in
1223. Thereupon he annexed the whole of Thrace, Macedonia, Thessaly,
and Epirus to his dominions, and made Theodore’s brother Manuel, who
had married one of his daughters, viceroy, established at Salonika.
Another of his daughters had married Stephen Vladislav, who was King of
Serbia from 1233-43, and a third married Theodore, son of the Emperor
John III, who reigned at Nicaea, in 1235. This daughter, after being
sought in marriage by the French barons at Constantinople as a wife for
the Emperor Baldwin II, a minor, was then summarily rejected in favour
of the daughter of the King of Jerusalem; this affront rankled in the
mind of John Asen II and threw him into the arms of the Greeks, with
whom he concluded an alliance in 1234. John Asen II and his ally, the
Emperor John III, were, however, utterly defeated by the French under
the walls of Constantinople in 1236, and the Bulgarian ruler, who had
no wish to see the Greeks re-established there, began to doubt the
wisdom of his alliance. Other Bulgarian tsars had been unscrupulous,
but the whole foreign policy of this one pivoted on treachery. He
deserted the Greeks and made an alliance with the French in 1237, the
Pope Gregory IX, a great Hellenophobe, having threatened him with
excommunication; he went so far as to force his daughter to relinquish
her Greek husband. The following year, however, he again changed over
to the Greeks; then again fear of the Pope and of his brother-in-law
the King of Hungary brought him back to the side of Baldwin II, to
whose help against the Greeks he went with a large army into Thrace in
1239. While besieging the Greeks with indifferent success, he learned
of the death of his wife and his eldest son from plague, and
incontinently returned to Tirnovo, giving up the war and restoring his
daughter to her lonely husband. This adaptable monarch died a natural
death in 1241, and the three rulers of his family who succeeded him,
whose reigns filled the period 1241-58, managed to undo all the
constructive work of their immediate predecessors. Province after
province was lost and internal anarchy increased. This remarkable
dynasty came to an inglorious end in 1258, when its last representative
was murdered by his own nobles, and from this time onwards Bulgaria was
only a shadow of its former self.



9
_The Serbian Supremacy and the Final Collapse,_ 1258–1393


From 1258 onwards Bulgaria may be said to have continued flickering
until its final extinction as a state in 1393, but during this period
it never had any voice in controlling the destinies of the Balkan
peninsula. Owing to the fact that no ruler emerged capable of keeping
the distracted country in order, there was a regular _chassé-croisé_ of
rival princelets, an unceasing tale of political marriages and murders,
conspiracies and revolts of feudal nobles all over the country, and
perpetual ebb and flow of the boundaries of the warring principalities
which tore the fabric of Bulgaria to pieces amongst them. From the
point of view of foreign politics this period is characterized
generally by the virtual disappearance of Bulgarian independence to the
profit of the surrounding states, who enjoyed a sort of rotativist
supremacy. It is especially remarkable for the complete ascendancy
which Serbia gained in the Balkan peninsula.

A Serb, Constantine, grandson of Stephen Nemanja, occupied the
Bulgarian throne from 1258 to 1277, and married the granddaughter of
John Asen II. After the fall of the Latin Empire of Constantinople in
1261, the Hungarians, already masters of Transylvania, combined with
the Greeks against Constantine; the latter called the Tartars of
southern Russia, at this time at the height of their power, to his help
and was victorious, but as a result of his diplomacy the Tartars
henceforward played an important part in the Bulgarian welter. Then
Constantine married, as his second wife, the daughter of the Greek
emperor, and thus again gave Constantinople a voice in his country’s
affairs. Constantine was followed by a series of upstart rulers, whose
activities were cut short by the victories of King Uroš II of Serbia
(1282-1321), who conquered all Macedonia and wrested it from the
Bulgars. In 1285 the Tartars of the Golden Horde swept over Hungary and
Bulgaria, but it was from the south that the clouds were rolling up
which not much later were to burst over the peninsula. In 1308 the
Turks appeared on the Sea of Marmora, and in 1326 established
themselves at Brussa. From 1295 to 1322 Bulgaria was presided over by a
nobleman of Vidin, Svetoslav, who, unmolested by the Greeks, grown
thoughtful in view of the approach of the Turks, was able to maintain
rather more order than his subjects were accustomed to. After his death
in 1322 chaos again supervened. One of his successors had married the
daughter of Uroš II of Serbia, but suddenly made an alliance with the
Greeks against his brother-in-law Stephen Uroš III and dispatched his
wife to her home. During the war which ensued the unwonted allies were
utterly routed by the Serbs at Kustendil in Macedonia in 1330.

From 1331 to 1365 Bulgaria was under one John Alexander, a noble of
Tartar origin, whose sister became the wife of Serbia’s greatest ruler,
Stephen Dušan; John Alexander, moreover, recognized Stephen as his
suzerain, and from thenceforward Bulgaria was a vassal-state of Serbia.
Meanwhile the Turkish storm was gathering fast; Suleiman crossed the
Hellespont in 1356, and Murad I made Adrianople his capital in 1366.
After the death of John Alexander in 1365 the Hungarians invaded
northern Bulgaria, and his successor invoked the help of the Turks
against them and also against the Greeks. This was the beginning of the
end. The Serbs, during an absence of the Sultan in Asia, undertook an
offensive, but were defeated by the Turks near Adrianople in 1371, who
captured Sofia in 1382. After this the Serbs formed a huge southern
Slav alliance, in which the Bulgarians refused to join, but, after a
temporary success against the Turks in 1387, they were vanquished by
them as the result of treachery at the famous battle of Kosovo in 1389.
Meanwhile the Turks occupied Nikopolis on the Danube in 1388 and
destroyed the Bulgarian capital Tirnovo in 1393, exiling the Patriarch
Euthymus to Macedonia. Thus the state of Bulgaria passed into the hands
of the Turks, and its church into those of the Greeks. Many Bulgars
adopted Islam, and their descendants are the Pomaks or Bulgarian
Mohammedans of the present day. With the subjection of Rumania in 1394
and the defeat of an improvised anti-Turkish crusade from western
Europe under Sigismund, King of Hungary, at Nikopolis in 1396 the
Turkish conquest was complete, though the battle of Varna was not
fought till 1444, nor Constantinople entered till 1453.



10
_The Turkish Dominion and the Emancipation,_ 1393–1878


From 1393 until 1877 Bulgaria may truthfully be said to have had no
history, but nevertheless it could scarcely have been called happy.
National life was completely paralysed, and what stood in those days
for national consciousness was obliterated. It is common knowledge, and
most people are now reasonable enough to admit, that the Turks have
many excellent qualities, religious fervour and military ardour amongst
others; it is also undeniable that from an aesthetic point of view too
much cannot be said in praise of Mohammedan civilization. Who does not
prefer the minarets of Stambul and Edirne[1] to the architecture of
Budapest, notoriously the ideal of Christian south-eastern Europe? On
the other hand, it cannot be contended that the Pax Ottomana brought
prosperity or happiness to those on whom it was imposed (unless indeed
they submerged their identity in the religion of their conquerors), or
that its Influence was either vivifying or generally popular.

[Footnote 1: The Turkish names for Constantinople and Adrianople.]

To the races they conquered the Turks offered two alternatives—serfdom
or Turkdom; those who could not bring themselves to accept either of
these had either to emigrate or take to brigandage and outlawry in the
mountains. The Turks literally overlaid the European nationalities of
the Balkan peninsula for five hundred years, and from their own point
of view and from that of military history this was undoubtedly a very
splendid achievement; it was more than the Greeks or Romans had ever
done. From the point of view of humanitarianism also it is beyond a
doubt that much less human blood was spilt in the Balkan peninsula
during the five hundred years of Turkish rule than during the five
hundred years of Christian rule which preceded them; indeed it would
have been difficult to spill more. It is also a pure illusion to think
of the Turks as exceptionally brutal or cruel; they are just as
good-natured and good-humoured as anybody else; it is only when their
military or religious passions are aroused that they become more
reckless and ferocious than other people. It was not the Turks who
taught cruelty to the Christians of the Balkan peninsula; the latter
had nothing to learn in this respect.

In spite of all this, however, from the point of view of the Slavs of
Bulgaria and Serbia, Turkish rule was synonymous with suffocation. If
the Turks were all that their greatest admirers think them the history
of the Balkan peninsula in the nineteenth century would have been very
different from what it has been, namely, one perpetual series of
anti-Turkish revolts.

Of all the Balkan peoples the Bulgarians were the most completely
crushed and effaced. The Greeks by their ubiquity, their brains, and
their money were soon able to make the Turkish storm drive their own
windmill; the Rumanians were somewhat sheltered by the Danube and also
by their distance from Constantinople; the Serbs also were not so
exposed to the full blast of the Turkish wrath, and the inaccessibility
of much of their country afforded them some protection. Bulgaria was
simply annihilated, and its population, already far from homogeneous,
was still further varied by numerous Turkish and other Tartar colonies.

For the same reasons already mentioned Bulgaria was the last Balkan
state to emancipate itself; for these reasons also it is the least
trammelled by prejudices and by what are considered national
predilections and racial affinities, while its heterogeneous
composition makes it vigorous and enterprising. The treatment of the
Christians by the Turks was by no means always the same; generally
speaking, it grew worse as the power of the Sultan grew less. During
the fifteenth century they were allowed to practise their religion and
all their vocations in comparative liberty and peace. But from the
sixteenth century onwards the control of the Sultan declined, power
became decentralized, the Ottoman Empire grew ever more anarchic and
the rule of the provincial governors more despotic.

But the Mohammedan conquerors were not the only enemies and oppressors
of the Bulgars. The rôle played by the Greeks in Bulgaria during the
Turkish dominion was almost as important as that of the Turks
themselves. The contempt of the Turks for the Christians, and
especially for their religion, was so great that they prudently left
the management of it to them, knowing that it would keep them occupied
in mutual altercation. From 1393 till 1767 the Bulgarians were under
the Greco-Bulgarian Patriarchate of Okhrida, an organization in which
all posts, from the highest to the lowest, had to be bought from the
Turkish administration at exorbitant and ever-rising prices; the
Phanariote Greeks (so called because they originated in the Phanar
quarter at Constantinople) were the only ones who could afford those of
the higher posts, with the result that the Church was controlled from
Constantinople. In 1767 the independent patriarchates were abolished,
and from that date the religious control of the Greeks was as complete
as the political control of the Turks. The Greeks did all they could to
obliterate the last traces of Bulgarian nationality which had survived
in the Church, and this explains a fact which must never be forgotten,
which had its origin in the remote past, but grew more pronounced at
this period, that the individual hatred of Greeks and Bulgars of each
other has always been far more intense than their collective hatred of
the Turks.

Ever since the marriage of the Tsar Ivan III with the niece of the last
Greek Emperor, in 1472, Russia had considered itself the trustee of the
eastern Christians, the defender of the Orthodox Church, and the direct
heir of the glory and prestige of Constantinople; it was not until the
eighteenth century, however, after the consolidation of the Russian
state, that the Balkan Christians were championed and the eventual
possession of Constantinople was seriously considered. Russian
influence was first asserted in Rumania after the Treaty of
Kuchuk-Kainardji, in 1774. It was only the Napoleonic war in 1812 that
prevented the Russians from extending their territory south of the
Danube, whither it already stretched. Serbia was partially free by
1826, and Greece achieved complete independence in 1830, when the
Russian troops, in order to coerce the Turks, occupied part of Bulgaria
and advanced as far as Adrianople. Bulgaria, being nearer to and more
easily repressed by Constantinople, had to wait, and tentative revolts
made about this time were put down with much bloodshed and were
followed by wholesale emigrations of Bulgars into Bessarabia and
importations of Tartars and Kurds into the vacated districts. The
Crimean War and the short-sighted championship of Turkey by the western
European powers checked considerably the development at which Russia
aimed. Moldavia and Wallachia were in 1856 withdrawn from the
semi-protectorate which Russia had long exercised over them, and in
1861 formed themselves into the united state of Rumania. In 1866 a
German prince, Charles of Hohenzollern, came to rule over the country,
the first sign of German influence in the Near East; at this time
Rumania still acknowledged the supremacy of the Sultan.

During the first half of the nineteenth century there took place a
considerable intellectual renascence in Bulgaria, a movement fostered
by wealthy Bulgarian merchants of Bucarest and Odessa. In 1829 a
history of Bulgaria was published by a native of that country in
Moscow; in 1835 the first school was established in Bulgaria, and many
others soon followed. It must be remembered that not only was nothing
known at that time about Bulgaria and its inhabitants in other
countries, but the Bulgars had themselves to be taught who they were.
The Bulgarian people in Bulgaria consisted entirely of peasants; there
was no Bulgarian upper or middle or ‘intelligent’ or professional
class; those enlightened Bulgars who existed were domiciled in other
countries; the Church was in the hands of the Greeks, who vied with the
Turks in suppressing Bulgarian nationality.

The two committees of Odessa and Bucarest which promoted the
enlightenment and emancipation of Bulgaria were dissimilar in
composition and in aim; the members of the former were more intent on
educational and religious reform, and aimed at the gradual and peaceful
regeneration of their country by these means; the latter wished to
effect the immediate political emancipation of Bulgaria by violent and,
if necessary, warlike means.

It was the ecclesiastical question which was solved first. In 1856 the
Porte had promised religious reforms tending to the appointment of
Bulgarian bishops and the recognition of the Bulgarian language in
Church and school. But these not being carried through, the Bulgarians
took the matter into their own hands, and in 1860 refused any longer to
recognize the Patriarch of Constantinople. The same year an attempt was
made to bring the Church of Bulgaria under that of Rome, but, owing to
Russian opposition, proved abortive. In 1870, the growing agitation
having at last alarmed the Turks, the Bulgarian Exarchate was
established. The Bulgarian Church was made free and national and was to
be under an Exarch who should reside at Constantinople (Bulgaria being
still a Turkish province). The Greeks, conscious what a blow this would
be to their supremacy, managed for a short while to stave off the evil
day, but in 1872 the Exarch was triumphantly installed in
Constantinople, where he resided till 1908.

Meanwhile revolutionary outbreaks began to increase, but were always
put down with great rigour. The most notable was that of 1875,
instigated by Stambulóv, the future dictator, in sympathy with the
outbreak in Montenegro, Hercegovina, and Bosnia of that year; the
result of this and of similar movements in 1876 was the series of
notorious Bulgarian massacres in that year. The indignation of Europe
was aroused and concerted representations were urgently made at
Constantinople. Midhat Pasha disarmed his opponents by summarily
introducing the British constitution into Turkey, but, needless to say,
Bulgaria’s lot was not improved by this specious device. Russia had,
however, steadily been making her preparations, and, Turkey having
refused to discontinue hostilities against Montenegro, on April 24,
1877, war was declared by the Emperor Alexander II, whose patience had
become exhausted; he was joined by Prince Charles of Rumania, who saw
that by doing so he would be rewarded by the complete emancipation of
his country, then still a vassal-state of Turkey, and its erection into
a kingdom. At the beginning of the war all went well for the Russians
and Rumanians, who were soon joined by large numbers of Bulgarian
insurgents; the Turkish forces were scattered all over the peninsula.
The committee of Bucarest transformed itself into a provisional
government, but the Russians, who had undertaken to liberate the
country, naturally had to keep its administration temporarily in their
own hands, and refused their recognition. The Turks, alarmed at the
early victories of the Russians, brought up better generals and troops,
and defeated the Russians at Plevna in July. They failed, however, to
dislodge them from the important and famous Shipka Pass in August, and
after this they became demoralized and their resistance rapidly
weakened. The Russians, helped by the Bulgarians and Rumanians, fought
throughout the summer with the greatest gallantry; they took Plevna,
after a three months’ siege, in December, occupied Sofia and
Philippopolis in January 1878, and pushed forward to the walls of
Constantinople.

The Turks were at their last gasp, and at Adrianople, in March 1878,
Ignatiyev dictated the terms of the Treaty of San Stefano, by which a
principality of Bulgaria, under the nominal suzerainty of the Sultan,
was created, stretching from the Danube to the Aegean, and from the
Black Sea to Albania, including all Macedonia and leaving to the Turks
only the district between Constantinople and Adrianople, Chalcidice,
and the town of Salonika; Bulgaria would thus have regained the
dimensions it possessed under Tsar Simeon nine hundred and fifty years
previously.

This treaty, which on ethnological grounds was tolerably just, alarmed
the other powers, especially Great Britain and Germany, who thought
they perceived in it the foundations of Russian hegemony in the
Balkans, while it would, if put into execution, have blighted the
aspirations of Greece and Serbia. The Treaty of Berlin, inspired by
Bismarck and Lord Salisbury, anxious to defend, the former, the
interests of (ostensibly) Austria-Hungary, the latter (shortsightedly)
those of Turkey, replaced it in July 1878. By its terms Bulgaria was
cut into three parts; northern Bulgaria, between the Danube and the
Balkans, was made an autonomous province, tributary to Turkey; southern
Bulgaria, fancifully termed Eastern Rumelia (Rumili was the name always
given by the Turks to the whole Balkan peninsula), was to have
autonomous administration under a Christian governor appointed by the
Porte; Macedonia was left to Turkey; and the Dobrudja, between the
Danube and the Black Sea, was adjudged to Rumania.



11
_The Aftermath, and Prince Alexander of Battenberg, 1878–86_


The relations between the Russians and the Bulgarians were better
before the liberation of the latter by the former than after; this may
seem unjust, because Bulgaria could never have freed herself so
decisively and rapidly alone, and Russia was the only power in whose
interest it was to free her from the Turks, and who could translate
that interest so promptly into action; nevertheless, the laws
controlling the relationships of states and nationalities being much
the same as those which control the relationships of individuals, it
was only to be expected.

What so often happens in the relationships of individuals happened in
those between Russia and Bulgaria. Russia naturally enough expected
Bulgaria to be grateful for the really large amount of blood and
treasure which its liberation had cost Russia, and, moreover, expected
its gratitude to take the form of docility and a general acquiescence
in all the suggestions and wishes expressed by its liberator. Bulgaria
was no doubt deeply grateful, but never had the slightest intention of
expressing its gratitude in the desired way; on the contrary, like most
people who have regained a long-lost and unaccustomed freedom of action
or been put under an obligation, it appeared touchy and jealous of its
right to an independent judgement. It is often assumed by Russophobe
writers that Russia wished and intended to make a Russian province of
Bulgaria, but this is very unlikely; the geographical configuration of
the Balkan peninsula would not lend itself to its incorporation in the
Russian Empire, the existence between the two of the compact and
vigorous national block of Rumania, a Latin race and then already an
independent state, was an insurmountable obstacle, and, finally, it is
quite possible for Russia to obtain possession or control of
Constantinople without owning all the intervening littoral.

That Russia should wish to have a controlling voice in the destinies of
Bulgaria and in those of the whole peninsula was natural, and it was
just as natural that Bulgaria should resent its pretensions. The
eventual result of this, however, was that Bulgaria inevitably entered
the sphere of Austrian and ultimately of German influence or rather
calculation, a contingency probably not foreseen by its statesmen at
the time, and whose full meaning, even if it had, would not have been
grasped by them.

The Bulgarians, whatever the origin and the ingredients of their
nationality, are by language a purely Slavonic people; their ancestors
were the pioneers of Slavonic civilization as expressed in its
monuments of theological literature. Nevertheless, they have never been
enthusiastic Pan-Slavists, any more than the Dutch have ever been
ardent Pan-Germans; it is as unreasonable to expect such a thing of the
one people as it is of the other. The Bulgarians indeed think
themselves superior to the Slavs by reason of the warlike and glorious
traditions of the Tartar tribe that gave them their name and infused
the Asiatic element into their race, thus endowing them with greater
stability, energy, and consistency than is possessed by purely Slav
peoples. These latter, on the other hand, and notably the Serbians, for
the same reason affect contempt for the mixture of blood and for what
they consider the Mongol characteristics of the Bulgarians. What is
certain is that between Bulgarians and Germans (including German
Austrians and Magyars) there has never existed that elemental,
ineradicable, and insurmountable antipathy which exists between German
(and Magyar) and Slav wherever the two races are contiguous, from the
Baltic to the Adriatic; nothing is more remarkable than the way in
which the Bulgarian people has been flattered, studied, and courted in
Austria-Hungary and Germany, during the last decade, to the detriment
of the purely Slav Serb race with whom it is always compared. The
reason is that with the growth of the Serb national movement, from 1903
onwards, Austria-Hungary and Germany felt an instinctive and perfectly
well-justified fear of the Serb race, and sought to neutralize the
possible effect of its growing power by any possible means.

It is not too much to say, in summing up, that Russian influence, which
had been growing stronger in Bulgaria up till 1877-8, has since been
steadily on the decline; Germany and Austria-Hungary, who reduced
Bulgaria to half the size that Count Ignatiyev had made it by the
Treaty of San Stefano, reaped the benefit, especially the commercial
benefit, of the war which Russia had waged. Intellectually, and
especially as regards the replenishment and renovation of the Bulgarian
language, which, in spite of numerous Turkish words introduced during
the Ottoman rule, is essentially Slavonic both in substance and form,
Russian influence was especially powerful, and has to a certain extent
maintained itself. Economically, owing partly to geographical
conditions, both the Danube and the main oriental railway linking
Bulgaria directly with Budapest and Vienna, partly to the fact that
Bulgaria’s best customers for its cereals are in central and western
Europe, the connexion between Bulgaria and Russia is infinitesimal.
Politically, both Russia and Bulgaria aiming at the same thing, the
possession of Constantinople and the hegemony of the Balkan peninsula,
their relations were bound to be difficult.

The first Bulgarian Parliament met in 1879 under trying conditions.
Both Russian and Bulgarian hopes had been dashed by the Treaty of
Berlin. Russian influence was still paramount, however, and the viceroy
controlled the organization of the administration. An ultra-democratic
constitution was arranged for, a fact obviously not conducive to the
successful government of their country by the quite inexperienced
Bulgarians. For a ruler recourse had inevitably to be had to the
rabbit-warren of Germanic princes, who were still ingenuously
considered neutral both in religion and in politics. The choice fell on
Prince Alexander of Battenberg, nephew of the Empress of Russia, who
had taken part in the campaign of the Russian army. Prince Alexander
was conscientious, energetic, and enthusiastic, but he was no diplomat,
and from the outset his honesty precluded his success. From the very
first he failed to keep on good terms with Russia or its
representatives, who at that time were still numerous in Bulgaria,
while he was helpless to stem the ravages of parliamentary government.
The Emperor Alexander III, who succeeded his father Alexander II in
1881, recommended him to insist on being made dictator, which he
successfully did. But when he found that this only meant an increase of
Russian influence he reverted to parliamentary government (in September
1883); this procedure discomfited the representatives of Russia,
discredited him with the Emperor, and threw him back into the vortex of
party warfare, from which he never extricated himself.

Meanwhile the question of eastern Rumelia, or rather southern Bulgaria,
still a Turkish province, began to loom. A vigorous agitation for the
reunion of the two parts of the country had been going on for some
time, and on September 18, 1885, the inhabitants of Philippopolis
suddenly proclaimed the union under Prince Alexander, who solemnly
announced his approval at Tirnovo and triumphantly entered their city
on September 21. Russia frowned on this independence of spirit. Serbia,
under King Milan, and instigated by Austria, inaugurated the policy
which has so often been followed since, and claimed territorial
compensation for Bulgaria’s aggrandisement; it must be remembered that
it was Bismarck who, by the Treaty of Berlin, had arbitrarily confined
Serbia to its inadequate limits of those day.

On November 13 King Milan declared war, and began to march on Sofia,
which is not far from the Serbo-Bulgarian frontier. Prince Alexander,
the bulk of whose army was on the Turkish frontier, boldly took up the
challenge. On November 18 took place the battle of Slivnitsa, a small
town about twenty miles north-west of Sofia, in which the Bulgarians
were completely victorious. Prince Alexander, after hard fighting, took
Pirot in Serbia on November 27, having refused King Milan’s request for
an armistice, and was marching on Nish, when Austria intervened, and
threatened to send troops into Serbia unless fighting ceased. Bulgaria
had to obey, and on March 3, 1886, a barren treaty of peace was imposed
on the belligerents at Bucarest. Prince Alexander’s position did not
improve after this, indeed it would have needed a much more skilful
navigator to steer through the many currents which eddied round him. A
strong Russophile party formed itself in the army; on the night of
August 21, 1886, some officers of this party, who were the most capable
in the Bulgarian army, appeared at Sofia, forced Alexander to resign,
and abducted him; they put him on board his yacht on the Danube and
escorted him to the Russian town of Reni, in Bessarabia; telegraphic
orders came from St. Petersburg, in answer to inquiries, that he could
proceed with haste to western Europe, and on August 26 he found himself
at Lemberg. But those who had carried out this _coup d’état_ found that
it was not at all popular in the country. A counter-revolution, headed
by the statesman Stambulóv, was immediately initiated, and on September
3 Prince Alexander reappeared in Sofia amidst tumultuous applause.
Nevertheless his position was hopeless; the Emperor Alexander III
forced him to abdicate, and on September 7, 1886, he left Bulgaria for
good, to the regret of the majority of the people. He died in Austria,
in 1893, in his thirty-seventh year. At his departure a regency was
constituted, at the head of which was Stambulóv.



12
_The Regeneration under Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg,_ 1886–1908


Stambulóv was born at Tirnovo in 1854 and was of humble origin. He took
part in the insurrection of 1876 and in the war of liberation, and in
1884 became president of the Sóbraniye (Parliament). From 1886 till
1894 he was virtually dictator of Bulgaria. He was intensely patriotic
and also personally ambitious, determined, energetic, ruthlessly cruel
and unscrupulous, but incapable of deceit; these qualities were
apparent in his powerful and grim expression of face, while his manner
inspired the weak with terror and the strongest with respect. His
policy in general was directed against Russia. At the general election
held in October 1886 he had all his important opponents imprisoned
beforehand, while armed sentries discouraged ill-disposed voters from
approaching the ballot-boxes. Out of 522 elected deputies, there were
470 supporters of Stambulóv. This implied the complete suppression of
the Russophile party and led to a rupture with St. Petersburg.

Whatever were Stambulóv’s methods, and few would deny that they were
harsh, there is no doubt that something of the sort was necessary to
restore order in the country. But once having started on this path he
found it difficult to stop, and his tyrannical bearing, combined with
the delay in finding a prince, soon made him unpopular. There were
several revolutionary outbreaks directed against him, but these were
all crushed. At length the, at that time not particularly alluring,
throne of Bulgaria was filled by Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg, who
was born in 1861 and was the son of the gifted Princess Clémentine of
Bourbon-Orleans, daughter of Louis-Philippe. This young man combined
great ambition and tenacity of purpose with extreme prudence,
astuteness, and patience; he was a consummate diplomat. The election of
this prince was viewed with great disfavour by Russia, and for fear of
offending the Emperor Alexander III none of the European powers
recognized him.

Ferdinand, unabashed, cheerfully installed himself in Sofia with his
mother in July 1886, and took care to make the peace with his suzerain,
the Sultan Abdul Hamid. He wisely left all power in the hands of the
unattractive and to him, unsympathetic prime minister, Stambulóv, till
he himself felt secure in his position, and till the dictator should
have made himself thoroughly hated. Ferdinand’s clever and wealthy
mother cast a beneficent and civilizing glow around him, smoothing away
many difficulties by her womanly tact and philanthropic activity, and,
thanks to his influential connexions in the courts of Europe and his
attitude of calm expectancy, his prestige in his own country rapidly
increased. In 1893 he married Princess Marie-Louise of Bourbon-Parma.
In May 1894, as a result of a social misadventure in which he became
involved, Stambulóv sent in his resignation, confidently expecting a
refusal. To his mortification it was accepted; thereupon he initiated a
violent press campaign, but his halo had faded, and on July 15 he was
savagely attacked in the street by unknown men, who afterwards escaped,
and he died three days later. So intense were the emotions of the
people that his grave had to be guarded by the military for two months.
In November 1894 followed the death of the Emperor Alexander III, and
as a result of this double event the road to a reconciliation with
Russia was opened. Meanwhile the German Emperor, who was on good terms
with Princess Clémentine, had paved the way for Ferdinand at Vienna,
and when, in March 1896, the Sultan recognized him as Prince of
Bulgaria and Governor-General of eastern Rumelia, his international
position was assured. Relations with Russia were still further improved
by the rebaptism of the infant Crown Prince Boris according to the
rites of the eastern Church, in February 1896, and a couple of years
later Ferdinand and his wife and child paid a highly successful state
visit to Peterhof. In September 1902 a memorial church was erected by
the Emperor Nicholas II at the Shipka Pass, and later an equestrian
statue of the Tsar-Liberator Alexander II was placed opposite the House
of Parliament in Sofia.

Bulgaria meanwhile had been making rapid and astonishing material
progress. Railways were built, exports increased, and the general
condition of the country greatly improved. It is the fashion to compare
the wonderful advance made by Bulgaria during the thirty-five years of
its new existence with the very much slower progress made by Serbia
during a much longer period. This is insisted on especially by
publicists in Austria-Hungary and Germany, but it is forgotten that
even before the last Balkan war the geographical position of Bulgaria
with its seaboard was much more favourable to its economic development
than that of Serbia, which the Treaty of Berlin had hemmed in by
Turkish and Austro-Hungarian territory; moreover, Bulgaria being double
the size of the Serbia of those days, had far greater resources upon
which to draw.

From 1894 onwards Ferdinand’s power in his own country and his
influence abroad had been steadily growing. He always appreciated the
value of railways, and became almost as great a traveller as the German
Emperor. His estates in the south of Hungary constantly required his
attention, and he was a frequent visitor in Vienna. The German Emperor,
though he could not help admiring Ferdinand’s success, was always a
little afraid of him; he felt that Ferdinand’s gifts were so similar to
his own that he would be unable to count on him in an emergency.
Moreover, it was difficult to reconcile Ferdinand’s ambitions in
extreme south-eastern Europe with his own. Ferdinand’s relations with
Vienna, on the other hand, and especially with the late Archduke
Francis Ferdinand, were both cordial and intimate.

The gradual aggravation of the condition of the Turkish Empire, notably
in Macedonia, the unredeemed Bulgaria, where since the insurrection of
1902-3 anarchy, always endemic, had deteriorated into a reign of
terror, and, also the unmistakably growing power and spirit of Serbia
since the accession of the Karageorgevich dynasty in 1903, caused
uneasiness in Sofia, no less than in Vienna and Budapest. The Young
Turkish revolution of July 1908, and the triumph of the Committee of
Union and Progress, disarmed the critics of Turkey who wished to make
the forcible introduction of reforms a pretext for their interference;
but the potential rejuvenation of the Ottoman Empire which it
foreshadowed indicated the desirability of rapid and decisive action.
In September, after fomenting a strike on the Oriental Railway in
eastern Roumelia (which railway was Turkish property), the Sofia
Cabinet seized the line with a military force on the plea of political
necessity. At the same time Ferdinand, with his second wife, the
Protestant Princess Eleonora of Reuss, whom he had married in March of
that year, was received with regal honours by the Emperor of Austria at
Budapest. On October 5, 1908, at Tirnovo, the ancient capital,
Ferdinand proclaimed the complete independence of Bulgaria and eastern
Rumelia under himself as King (_Tsar_ in Bulgarian), and on October 7
Austria-Hungary announced the annexation of Bosnia and Hercegovina, the
two Turkish provinces administered by it since 1879, nominally under
Turkish suzerainty.



13
_The Kingdom_, 1908–13


(cf. Chaps. 14, 20)

The events which have taken place in Bulgaria since 1908 hinge on the
Macedonian question, which has not till now been mentioned. The
Macedonian question was extremely complicated; it started on the
assumption that the disintegration of Turkey, which had been proceeding
throughout the nineteenth century, would eventually be completed, and
the question was how in this eventuality to satisfy the territorial
claims of the three neighbouring countries, Bulgaria, Serbia, and
Greece, claims both historical and ethnological, based on the numbers
and distribution of their ‘unredeemed’ compatriots in Macedonia, and at
the same time avoid causing the armed interference of Europe.

The beginnings of the Macedonian question in its modern form do not go
farther back than 1885, when the ease with which eastern Rumelia (i.e.
southern Bulgaria) threw off the Turkish yoke and was spontaneously
united with the semi-independent principality of northern Bulgaria
affected the imagination of the Balkan statesmen. From that time Sofia
began to cast longing eyes on Macedonia, the whole of which was claimed
as ‘unredeemed Bulgaria’, and Stambulóv’s last success in 1894 was to
obtain from Turkey the consent to the establishment of two bishops of
the Bulgarian (Exarchist) Church in Macedonia, which was a heavy blow
for the Greek Patriarchate at Constantinople.

Macedonia had been envisaged by the Treaty of Berlin, article 23 of
which stipulated for reforms in that province; but in those days the
Balkan States were too young and weak to worry themselves or the
European powers over the troubles of their co-religionists in Turkey;
their hands were more than full setting their own houses in some sort
of order, and it was in nobody’s interest to reform Macedonia, so
article 23 remained the expression of a philanthropic sentiment. This
indifference on the part of Europe left the door open for the Balkan
States, as soon as they had energy to spare, to initiate their campaign
for extending their spheres of influence in Macedonia.

From 1894 onwards Bulgarian propaganda in Macedonia increased, and the
Bulgarians were soon followed by Greeks and Serbians. The reason for
this passionate pegging out of claims and the bitter rivalry of the
three nations which it engendered was the following: The population of
Macedonia was nowhere, except in the immediate vicinity of the borders
of these three countries, either purely Bulgar or purely Greek or
purely Serb; most of the towns contained a percentage of at least two
of these nationalities, not to mention the Turks (who after all were
still the owners of the country by right of conquest), Albanians,
Tartars, Rumanians (Vlakhs), and others; the city of Salonika was and
is almost purely Jewish, while in the country districts Turkish,
Albanian, Greek, Bulgar, and Serb villages were inextricably confused.
Generally speaking, the coastal strip was mainly Greek (the coast
itself purely so), the interior mainly Slav. The problem was for each
country to peg out as large a claim as possible, and so effectively, by
any means in their power, to make the majority of the population
contained in that claim acknowledge itself to be Bulgar, or Serb, or
Greek, that when the agony of the Ottoman Empire was over, each part of
Macedonia would automatically fall into the arms of its respective
deliverers. The game was played through the appropriate media of
churches and schools, for the unfortunate Macedonian peasants had first
of all to be enlightened as to who they were, or rather as to who they
were told they had got to consider themselves, while the Church, as
always, conveniently covered a multitude of political aims; when those
methods flagged, a bomb would be thrown at, let us say, a Turkish
official by an _agent provocateur_ of one of the three players,
inevitably resulting in the necessary massacre of innocent Christians
by the ostensibly brutal but really equally innocent Turks, and an
outcry in the European press.

Bulgaria was first in the field and had a considerable start of the
other two rivals. The Bulgars claimed the whole of Macedonia, including
Salonika and all the Aegean coast (except Chalcidice), Okhrida, and
Monastir; Greece claimed all southern Macedonia, and Serbia parts of
northern and central Macedonia known as Old Serbia. The crux of the
whole problem was, and is, that the claims of Serbia and Greece do not
clash, while that of Bulgaria, driving a thick wedge between Greece and
Serbia, and thus giving Bulgaria the undoubted hegemony of the
peninsula, came into irreconcilable conflict with those of its rivals.
The importance of this point was greatly emphasized by the existence of
the Nish-Salonika railway, which is Serbia’s only direct outlet to the
sea, and runs through Macedonia from north to south, following the
right or western bank of the river Vardar. Should Bulgaria straddle
that, Serbia would be economically at its mercy, just as in the north
it was already, to its bitter cost, at the mercy of Austria-Hungary.
Nevertheless, Bulgarian propaganda had been so effectual that Serbia
and Greece never expected they would eventually be able to join hands
so easily and successfully as they afterwards did.

The then unknown quantity of Albania was also a factor. This people,
though small in numbers, was formidable in character, and had never
been effectually subdued by the Turks. They would have been glad to
have a boundary contiguous with that of Bulgaria (with whom they had no
quarrel) as a support against their hereditary enemies, Serbs in the
north and Greeks in the south, who were more than inclined to encroach
on their territory. The population of Macedonia, being still under
Turkish rule, was uneducated and ignorant; needless to say it had no
national consciousness, though this was less true of the Greeks than of
the Slavs. It is the Slav population of Macedonia that has engendered
so much heat and caused so much blood to be spilt. The dispute as to
whether it is rather Serb or Bulgar has caused interminable and most
bitter controversy. The truth is that it _was_ neither the one nor the
other, but that, the ethnological and linguistic missionaries of
Bulgaria having been first in the field, a majority of the Macedonian
Slavs had been so long and so persistently told that they were Bulgars,
that after a few years Bulgaria could, with some truth, claim that this
fact was so.

Macedonia had been successively under Greek, Bulgar, and Serb, before
Turkish, rule, but the Macedonian Slavs had, under the last, been so
cut off both from Bulgars and Serbs, that ethnologically and
linguistically they did not develop the characteristics of either of
these two races, which originally belonged to the same southern Slav
stock, but remained a primitive neutral Slav type. If the Serbs had
been first in the field instead of the Bulgars, the Macedonian Slavs
could just as easily have been made into Serbs, sufficiently plausibly
to convince the most knowing expert. The well-known recipe for making a
Macedonian Slav village Bulgar is to add _-ov_ or _-ev_ (pronounced
_-off, -yeff_) on to the names of all the male inhabitants, and to make
it Serb it is only necessary to add further the syllable _-ich, -ov_
and _-ovich_ being respectively the equivalent in Bulgarian and Serbian
of our termination _-son,_ e. g. _Ivanov_ in Bulgarian, and _Jovanovit_
in Serbian = _Johnson_.

In addition to these three nations Rumania also entered the lists,
suddenly horrified at discovering the sad plight of the Vlakh
shepherds, who had probably wandered with unconcern about Macedonia
with their herds since Roman times. As their vague pastures could not
possibly ever be annexed to Rumania, their case was merely used in
order to justify Rumania in claiming eventual territorial compensation
elsewhere at the final day of reckoning. Meanwhile, their existence as
a separate and authentic nationality in Turkey was officially
recognized by the Porte in 1906.

The stages of the Macedonian question up to 1908 must at this point be
quite briefly enumerated. Russia and Austria-Hungary, the two ‘most
interested powers’, who as far back as the eighteenth century had
divided the Balkans into their respective spheres of interest, east and
west, came to an agreement in 1897 regarding the final settlement of
affairs in Turkey; but it never reached a conclusive stage and
consequently was never applied. The Macedonian chaos meanwhile grew
steadily worse, and the serious insurrections of 1902-3, followed by
the customary reprisals, thoroughly alarmed the powers. Hilmi Pasha had
been appointed Inspector-General of Macedonia in December 1902, but was
not successful in restoring order. In October 1903 the Emperor Nicholas
II and the Emperor of Austria, with their foreign ministers, met at
Mürzsteg, in Styria, and elaborated a more definite plan of reform
known as the Mürzsteg programme, the drastic terms of which had been
largely inspired by Lord Lansdowne, then British Secretary of State for
Foreign Affairs; the principal feature was the institution of an
international gendarmerie, the whole of Macedonia being divided up into
five districts to be apportioned among the several great powers. Owing
to the procrastination of the Porte and to the extreme complexity of
the financial measures which had to be elaborated in connexion with
this scheme of reforms, the last of the negotiations was not completed,
nor the whole series ratified, until April 1907, though the gendarmerie
officers had arrived in Macedonia in February 1904.

At this point again it is necessary to recall the position in regard to
this question of the various nations concerned. Great Britain and
France had no territorial stake in Turkey proper, and did their utmost
to secure reform not only in the _vilayets_ of Macedonia, but also in
the realm of Ottoman finance. Italy’s interest centred in Albania,
whose eventual fate, for geographical and strategic reasons, could not
leave it indifferent. Austria-Hungary’s only care was by any means to
prevent the aggrandizement of the Serb nationality and of Serbia and
Montenegro, so as to secure the control, if not the possession, of the
routes to Salonika, if necessary over the prostrate bodies of those two
countries which defiantly barred Germanic progress towards the East.
Russia was already fatally absorbed in the Far Eastern adventure, and,
moreover, had, ever since the war of 1878, been losing influence at
Constantinople, where before its word had been law; the Treaty of
Berlin had dealt a blow at Russian prestige, and Russia had ever since
that date been singularly badly served by its ambassadors to the Porte,
who were always either too old or too easy-going. Germany, on the other
hand, had been exceptionally fortunate or prudent in the choice of its
representatives. The general trend of German diplomacy in Turkey was
not grasped until very much later, a fact which redounds to the credit
of the German ambassadors at Constantinople. Ever since the triumphal
journey of William II to the Bosphorus in 1889, German influence, under
the able guidance of Baron von Radowitz, steadily increased. This
culminated in the régime of the late Baron Marschall von Bieberstein,
who was ambassador from 1897 to 1912. It was German policy to flatter,
support, and encourage Turkey in every possible way, to refrain from
taking part with the other powers in the invidious and perennial
occupation of pressing reforms on Abdul Hamid, and, above all, to give
as much pocket-money to Turkey and its extravagant ruler as they asked
for. Germany, for instance, refused to send officers or to have a
district assigned it in Macedonia in 1904, and declined to take part in
the naval demonstration off Mitylene in 1905. This attitude of Germany
naturally encouraged the Porte in its policy of delay and subterfuge,
and Turkey soon came to look on Germany as its only strong, sincere,
and disinterested friend in Europe. For the indefinite continuance of
chaos and bloodshed in Macedonia, after the other powers had really
braced themselves to the thankless task of putting the reforms into
practice, Germany alone was responsible.

The blow which King Ferdinand had inflicted on the prestige of the
Young Turks in October 1908, by proclaiming his independence, naturally
lent lustre to the Bulgarian cause in Macedonia. Serbia, baffled by the
simultaneous Austrian annexation of Bosnia and Hercegovina, and
maddened by the elevation of Bulgaria to the rank of a kingdom (its
material progress had hitherto been discounted in Serbian eyes by the
fact that it was a mere vassal principality), seemed about to be
crushed by the two iron pots jostling it on either side. Its
international position was at that time such that it could expect no
help or encouragement from western Europe, while the events of 1909
(cf. p. 144) showed that Russia was not then in a position to render
active assistance. Greece, also screaming aloud for compensation, was
told by its friends amongst the great powers that if it made a noise it
would get nothing, but that if it behaved like a good child it might
some day be given Krete. Meanwhile Russia, rudely awakened by the
events of 1908 to the real state of affairs in the Near East, beginning
to realize the growth of German influence at Constantinople, and seeing
the unmistakable resuscitation of Austria-Hungary as a great power,
made manifest by the annexation of Bosnia and Hercegovina, temporarily
reasserted its influence in Bulgaria. From the moment when Baron
Aehrenthal announced his chimerical scheme of an Austrian railway
through the _Sandjak_ of Novi Pazar in January 1908— everybody knows
that the railway already built through Serbia along the Morava valley
is the only commercially remunerative and strategically practicable
road from Berlin, Vienna, and Budapest to Salonika and
Constantinople—Russia realized that the days of the Mürzsteg programme
were over, that henceforward it was to be a struggle between Slav and
Teuton for the ownership of Constantinople and the dominion of the Near
East, and that something must be done to retrieve the position in the
Balkans which it was losing. After Baron Aehrenthal, in January 1909,
had mollified the Young Turks by an indemnity, and thus put an end to
the boycott, Russia in February of the same year liquidated the remains
of the old Turkish war indemnity of 1878 still due to itself by
skilfully arranging that Bulgaria should pay off its capitalized
tribute, owed to its ex-suzerain the Sultan, by very easy instalments
to Russia instead.

The immediate effects of the Young Turk revolution amongst the Balkan
States, and the events, watched benevolently by Russia, which led to
the formation of the Balkan League, when it was joyfully realized that
neither the setting-up of parliamentary government, nor even the
overthrow of Abdul Hamid, implied the commencement of the millennium in
Macedonia and Thrace, have been described elsewhere (pp. 141, 148).
King Ferdinand and M. Venezelos are generally credited with the
inception and realisation of the League, though it was so secretly and
skilfully concerted that it is not yet possible correctly to apportion
praise for the remarkable achievement. Bulgaria is a very democratic
country, but King Ferdinand, owing to his sagacity, patience, and
experience, and also thanks to his influential dynastic connexions and
propensity for travel, has always been virtually his own foreign
minister; in spite of the fact that he is a large feudal Hungarian
landlord, and has temperamental leanings towards the Central European
Empires, it is quite credible that King Ferdinand devoted all his
undeniable talents and great energy to the formation of the League when
he saw that the moment had come for Bulgaria to realize its destiny at
Turkey’s expense, and that, if the other three Balkan States could be
induced to come to the same wise decision, it would be so much the
better for all of them. That Russia could do anything else than
whole-heartedly welcome the formation of the Balkan League was
absolutely impossible. Pan-Slavism had long since ceased to be the
force it was, and nobody in Russia dreamed of or desired the
incorporation of any Balkan territory in the Russian Empire. It is
possible to control Constantinople without possessing the Balkans, and
Russia could only rejoice if a Greco-Slavonic league should destroy the
power of the Turks and thereby make impossible the further advance of
the Germanic powers eastward.

That Russia was ever in the least jealous of the military successes of
the league, which caused such gnashing of teeth in Berlin, Vienna, and
Budapest, is a mischievous fiction, the emptiness of which was evident
to any one who happened to be in Russia during the winter of 1912-13.

The years 1908 to 1912 were outwardly uneventful in Bulgaria, though a
great deal of quiet work was done in increasing the efficiency of the
army, and the material prosperity of the country showed no falling off.
Relations with the other Balkan States, especially with Serbia and
Montenegro, improved considerably, and there was ample room for such
improvement. This was outwardly marked by frequent visits paid to each
other by members of the several royal families of the three Slavonic
kingdoms of the Balkans. In May 1912 agreements for the eventual
delimitation of the provinces to be conquered from Turkey in the event
of war were signed between Bulgaria and Serbia, and Bulgaria and
Greece. The most controversial district was, of course, Macedonia.
Bulgaria claimed central Macedonia, with Monastir and Okhrida, which
was the lion’s share, on ethnical grounds which have been already
discussed, and it was expected that Greece and Serbia, by obtaining
other acquisitions elsewhere, would consent to have their territories
separated by the large Bulgarian wedge which was to be driven between
them. The exact future line of demarcation between Serbian and
Bulgarian territory was to be left to arbitration. The possible
creation of an independent Albania was not contemplated.

In August 1912 the twenty-fifth anniversary of King Ferdinand’s arrival
in Bulgaria was celebrated with much rejoicing at the ancient capital
of Tirnovo, and was marred only by the news of the terrible massacre of
Bulgars by Turks at Kochana in Macedonia; this event, however,
opportune though mournful, tended considerably to increase the volume
of the wave of patriotism which swept through the country. Later in the
same month Count Berchtold startled Europe with his ‘progressive
decentralization’ scheme of reform for Macedonia. The manner in which
this event led to the final arrangements for the declaration of war on
Turkey by the four Balkan States is given in full elsewhere (cf. p.
151).

The Bulgarian army was fully prepared for the fray, and the autumn
manoeuvres had permitted the concentration unobserved of a considerable
portion of it, ready to strike when the time came. Mobilisation was
ordered on September 30, 1912. On October 8 Montenegro declared war on
Turkey. On October 13 Bulgaria, with the other Balkan States, replied
to the remonstrances of Russia and Austria by declaring that its
patience was at length exhausted, and that the sword alone was able to
enforce proper treatment of the Christian populations in European
Turkey. On October 17 Turkey, encouraged by the sudden and unexpected
conclusion of peace with Italy after the Libyan war, declared war on
Bulgaria and Serbia, and on October 18 King Ferdinand addressed a
sentimental exhortation to his people to liberate their
fellow-countrymen, who were still groaning under the Crescent.

The number of Turkish troops opposing the Bulgarians in Thrace was
about 180,000, and they had almost exactly the same number wherewith to
oppose the Serbians in Macedonia; for, although Macedonia was
considered by the Turks to be the most important theatre of war, yet
the proximity of the Bulgarian frontier to Constantinople made it
necessary to retain a large number of troops in Thrace. On October 19
the Bulgarians took the frontier town of Mustafa Pasha. On October 24
they defeated the Turks at Kirk-Kilissé (or Lozengrad), further east.
From October 28 to November 2 raged the terrific battle of Lule-Burgas,
which resulted in a complete and brilliant victory of the Bulgarians
over the Turks. The defeat and humiliation of the Turks was as rapid
and thorough in Thrace as it had been in Macedonia, and by the middle
of November the remains of the Turkish army were entrenched behind the
impregnable lines of Chataldja, while a large garrison was shut up in
Adrianople, which had been invested by the end of October. The
Bulgarian army, somewhat exhausted by this brilliant and lightning
campaign, refrained from storming the lines of Chataldja, an operation
which could not fail to involve losses such as the Bulgarian nation was
scarcely in a position to bear, and on December 3 the armistice was
signed. The negotiations conducted in London for two months led,
however, to no result, and on February 3, 1913, hostilities were
resumed. These, for the Bulgarians, resolved themselves into the more
energetic prosecution of the siege of Adrianople, which had not been
raised during the armistice. To their assistance Serbia, being able to
spare troops from Macedonia, sent 50,000 men and a quantity of heavy
siege artillery, an arm which the Bulgarians lacked. On March 26, 1913,
the fortress surrendered to the allied armies.

The Conference of London, which took place during the spring of that
year, fixed the new Turco-Bulgarian boundary by drawing the famous
Enos-Midia line, running between these two places situated on the
shores respectively of the Aegean and the Black Sea. This delimitation
would have given Bulgaria possession of Adrianople. But meanwhile
Greece and especially Serbia, which latter country had been compelled
to withdraw from the Adriatic coast by Austria, and was further
precluded from ever returning there by the creation of the independent
state of Albania, determined to retain possession of all that part of
Macedonia, including the whole valley of the Vardar with its important
railway, which they had conquered, and thus secure their common
frontier. In May 1913 a military convention was concluded between them,
and the Balkan League, the relations between the members of which had
been becoming more strained ever since January, finally dissolved.
Bulgaria, outraged by this callous disregard of the agreements as to
the partition of Macedonia signed a year previously by itself and its
ex-allies, did not wait for the result of the arbitration which was
actually proceeding in Russia, but in an access of indignation rushed
to arms.

This second Balkan war, begun by Bulgaria during the night of June 30,
1913, by a sudden attack on the Serbian army in Macedonia, resulted in
its undoing. In order to defeat the Serbs and Greeks the south-eastern
and northern frontiers were denuded of troops. But the totally
unforeseen happened. The Serbs were victorious, defeating the Bulgars
in Macedonia, the Turks, seeing Thrace empty of Bulgarian troops,
re-occupied Adrianople, and the Rumanian army, determined to see fair
play before it was too late, invaded Bulgaria from the north and
marched on Sofia. By the end of July the campaign was over and Bulgaria
had to submit to fate.

By the terms of the Treaty of Bucarest, which was concluded on August
10, 1913, Bulgaria obtained a considerable part of Thrace and eastern
Macedonia, including a portion of the Aegean coast with the seaport of
Dedeagach, but it was forced to ‘compensate’ Rumania with a slice of
its richest province (the districts of Dobrich and Silistria in
north-eastern Bulgaria), and it lost central Macedonia, a great part of
which it would certainly have been awarded by Russia’s arbitration. On
September 22, 1913, the Treaty of Constantinople was signed by Bulgaria
and Turkey; by its terms Turkey retained possession of Adrianople and
of a far larger part of Thrace than its series of ignominious defeats
in the autumn of 1912 entitled it to.

In the fatal quarrel between Bulgaria and Serbia which caused the
disruption of the Balkan League, led to the tragic second Balkan war of
July 1913, and naturally left behind the bitterest feelings, it is
difficult to apportion the blame. Both Serbia and Bulgaria were
undoubtedly at fault in the choice of the methods by which they sought
to adjust their difference, but the real guilt is to be found neither
in Sofia nor in Belgrade, but in Vicuna and Budapest. The Balkan League
barred the way of the Germanic Powers to the East; its disruption
weakened Bulgaria and again placed Serbia at the mercy of the Dual
Monarchy. After these trying and unremunerative experiences it is not
astonishing that the Bulgarian people and its ambitious ruler should
have retired to the remote interior of their shell.


_Explanation of Serbian orthography_

c = ts
č = ch (as in _church_)
ć = ” ” ” but softer
š = sh
ž = zh (as z in _azure_)
gj = g (as in _George_)
j = y


[Illustration: THE BALKAN PENINSULA]



SERBIA



14
_The Serbs under Foreign Supremacy_, 650–1168


The manner of the arrival of the Slavs in the Balkan peninsula, of that
of the Bulgars, and of the formation of the Bulgarian nationality has
already been described (cf. p. 26). The installation of the Slavs in
the lands between the Danube, the Aegean, and the Adriatic was
completed by about A.D. 650. In the second half of the seventh century
the Bulgars settled themselves in the eastern half of the peninsula and
became absorbed by the Slavs there, and from that time the nationality
of the Slavs in the western half began to be more clearly defined.
These latter, split up into a number of tribes, gradually grouped
themselves into three main divisions: Serbs (or Serbians), Croats (or
Croatians), and Slovenes. The Serbs, much the most numerous of the
three, occupied roughly the modern kingdom of Serbia (including Old
Serbia and northern Macedonia), Montenegro, and most of Bosnia,
Hercegovina, and Dalmatia; the Croats occupied the more western parts
of these last three territories and Croatia; the Slovenes occupied the
modern Carniola and southern Carinthia. Needless to say, none of these
geographical designations existed in those days except Dalmatia, on the
coast of which the Latin influence and nomenclature maintained itself.
The Slovenes, whose language is closely akin to but not identical with
Serbian (or Croatian), even to-day only number one and a half million,
and do not enter into this narrative, as they have never played any
political rôle in the Balkan peninsula.

The Serbs and the Croats were, as regards race and language, originally
one people, the two names having merely geographical signification. In
course of time, for various reasons connected with religion and
politics, the distinction was emphasized, and from a historical point
of view the Serbo-Croatian race has always been divided into two. It is
only within the last few years that a movement has taken place, the
object of which is to reunite Serbs and Croats into one nation and
eventually into one state. The movement originated in Serbia, the Serbs
maintaining that they and the Croats are one people because they speak
the same language, and that racial and linguistic unity outweighs
religious divergence. A very large number of Croats agree with the
Serbs in this and support their views, but a minority for long
obstinately insisted that there was a racial as well as a religious
difference, and that fusion was impossible. The former based their
argument on facts, the latter theirs on prejudice, which is notoriously
difficult to overcome. Latterly the movement in favour of fusion grew
very much stronger among the Croats, and together with that in Serbia
resulted in the Pan-Serb agitation which, gave the pretext for the
opening of hostilities in July 1914.

The designation Southern Slav (or Jugo-Slav, _jug_, pronounced yug, =
_south_ in Serbian) covers Serbs and Croats, and also includes
Slovenes; it is only used with reference to the Bulgarians from the
point of view of philology (the group of South Slavonic languages
including Bulgarian, Serbo-Croatian and Slovene; the East Slavonic,
Russian; and the West Slavonic, Polish and Bohemian).

In the history of the Serbs and Croats, or of the Serbo-Croatian race,
several factors of a general nature have first to be considered, which
have influenced its whole development. Of these, the physical nature of
the country in which they settled, between the Danube and Save and the
Adriatic, is one of the most important. It is almost everywhere
mountainous, and though the mountains themselves never attain as much
as 10,000 feet in height, yet they cover the whole country with an
intricate network and have always formed an obstacle to easy
communication between the various parts of it. The result of this has
been twofold. In the first place it has, generally speaking, been a
protection against foreign penetration and conquest, and in so far was
beneficial. Bulgaria, further east, is, on the whole, less mountainous,
in spite of the Balkan range which stretches the whole length of it;
for this reason, and also on account of its geographical position, any
invaders coming from the north or north-east, especially if aiming at
Constantinople or Salonika, were bound to sweep over it. The great
immemorial highway from the north-west to the Balkan peninsula crosses
the Danube at Belgrade and follows the valley of the Morava to Nish;
thence it branches off eastwards, going through Sofia and again
crossing all Bulgaria to reach Constantinople, while the route to
Salonika follows the Morava southwards from Nish and crosses the
watershed into the valley of the Vardar, which flows into the Aegean.
But even this road, following the course of the rivers Morava and
Vardar, only went through the fringe of Serb territory, and left
untouched the vast mountain region between the Morava and the Adriatic,
which is really the home of the Serb race.

In the second place, while it has undoubtedly been a protection to the
Serb race, it has also been a source of weakness. It has prevented a
welding together of the people into one whole, has facilitated the rise
of numerous political units at various times, and generally favoured
the dissipation of the national strength, and militated against
national organization and cohesion. In the course of history this
process has been emphasized rather than diminished, and to-day the Serb
race is split up into six political divisions, while Bulgaria, except
for those Bulgars claimed as ‘unredeemed’ beyond the frontier, presents
a united whole. It is only within the last thirty years, with the
gradual improvement of communications (obstructed to an incredible
extent by the Austro-Hungarian government) and the spread of education,
that the Serbs in the different countries which they inhabit have
become fully conscious of their essential identity and racial unity.

No less important than the physical aspect of their country on the
development of the Serbs has been the fact that right through the
middle of it from south to north there had been drawn a line of
division more than two centuries before their arrival. Artificial
boundaries are proverbially ephemeral, but this one has lasted
throughout the centuries, and it has been baneful to the Serbs. This
dividing line, drawn first by the Emperor Diocletian, has been
described on p. 14; at the division of the Roman Empire into East and
West it was again followed, and it formed the boundary between the
dioceses of Italy and Dacia; the line is roughly the same as the
present political boundary between Montenegro and Hercegovina, between
the kingdom of Serbia and Bosnia; it stretched from the Adriatic to the
river Save right across the Serb territory. The Serbo-Croatian race
unwittingly occupied a country that was cut in two by the line that
divides East from West, and separates Constantinople and the Eastern
Church from Rome and the Western. This curious accident has had
consequences fatal to the unity of the race, since it has played into
the hands of ambitious and unscrupulous neighbours. As to the extent of
the country occupied by the Serbs at the beginning of their history it
is difficult to be accurate.

The boundary between the Serbs in the west of the peninsula and the
Bulgars in the east has always been a matter of dispute. The present
political frontier between Serbia and Bulgaria, starting in the north
from the mouth of the river Timok on the southern bank of the Danube
and going southwards slightly east of Pirot, is ethnographically
approximately correct till it reaches the newly acquired and
much-disputed territories in Macedonia, and represents fairly
accurately the line that has divided the two nationalities ever since
they were first differentiated in the seventh century. In the confused
state of Balkan politics in the Middle Ages the political influence of
Bulgaria often extended west of this line and included Nish and the
Morava valley, while at other times that of Serbia extended east of it.
The dialects spoken in these frontier districts represent a
transitional stage between the two languages; each of the two peoples
naturally considers them more akin to its own, and resents the fact
that any of them should be included in the territory of the other.
Further south, in Macedonia, conditions are similar. Before the Turkish
conquest Macedonia had been sometimes under Bulgarian rule, as in the
times of Simeon, Samuel, and John Asen II, sometimes under Serbian,
especially during the height of Serbian power in the fourteenth
century, while intermittently it had been a province of the Greek
Empire, which always claimed it as its own. On historical grounds,
therefore, each of the three nations can claim possession of Macedonia.
From an ethnographic point of view the Slav population of Macedonia
(there were always and are still many non-Slav elements) was originally
the same as that in the other parts of the peninsula, and probably more
akin to the Serbs, who are pure Slavs, than to the Slavs of Bulgaria,
who coalesced with their Asiatic conquerors. In course of time,
however, Bulgarian influences, owing to the several periods when the
Bulgars ruled the country, began to make headway. The Albanians also
(an Indo-European or Aryan race, but not of the Greek, Latin, or Slav
families), who, as a result of all the invasions of the Balkan
peninsula, had been driven southwards into the inaccessible mountainous
country now known as Albania, began to spread northwards and eastwards
again during the Turkish dominion, pushing back the Serbs from the
territory where they had long been settled. During the Turkish dominion
neither Serb nor Bulgar had any influence in Macedonia, and the
Macedonian Slavs, who had first of all been pure Slavs, like the Serbs,
then been several times under Bulgar, and finally, under Serb
influence, were left to themselves, and the process of differentiation
between Serb and Bulgar in Macedonia, by which in time the Macedonian
Slavs would have become either Serbs or Bulgars, ceased. The further
development of the Macedonian question is treated elsewhere (cf. chap.
13).

The Serbs, who had no permanent or well-defined frontier in the east,
where their neighbours were the Bulgars, or in the south, where they
were the Greeks and Albanians, were protected on the north by the river
Save and on the west by the Adriatic. They were split up into a number
of tribes, each of which was headed by a chief called in Serbian
_župan_ and in Greek _archōn_. Whenever any one of these managed,
either by skill or by good fortune, to extend his power over a few of
the neighbouring districts he was termed _veliki_ (=great) _župan_.
From the beginning of their history, which is roughly put at A.D. 650,
until A.D. 1196, the Serbs were under foreign domination. Their
suzerains were nominally always the Greek emperors, who had ‘granted’
them the land they had taken, and whenever the emperor happened to be
energetic and powerful, as were Basil I (the Macedonian, 867-86), John
Tzimisces (969-76), Basil II (976-1025), and Manuel Comnenus (1143-80),
the Greek supremacy was very real. At those times again when Bulgaria
was very powerful, under Simeon (893-927), Samuel (977-1014), and John
Asen II (1218-41), many of the more easterly and southerly Serbs came
under Bulgarian rule, though it is instructive to notice that the Serbs
themselves do not recognize the West Bulgarian or Macedonian kingdom of
Samuel to have been a Bulgarian state. The Bulgars, however, at no time
brought all the Serb lands under their sway.

Intermittently, whenever the power of Byzantium or of Bulgaria waned,
some Serb princeling would try to form a political state on a more
ambitious scale, but the fabric always collapsed at his death, and the
Serbs reverted to their favourite occupation of quarrelling amongst
themselves. Such wore the attempts of Časlav, who had been made captive
by Simeon of Bulgaria, escaped after his death, and ruled over a large
part of central Serbia till 960, and later of Bodin, whose father,
Michael, was even recognized as king by Pope Gregory VII; Bodin formed
a state near the coast, in the Zeta river district (now Montenegro),
and ruled there from 1081 to 1101. But as a rule the whole of the
country peopled by the Serbs was split into a number of tiny
principalities always at war with one another. Generally speaking, this
country gradually became divided into two main geographical divisions:
(1) the _Pomorje_, or country _by the sea_, which included most of the
modern Montenegro and the southern halves of Hercegovina and Dalmatia,
and (2) the _Zagorje_, or country _behind the hills_, which included
most of the modern Bosnia, the western half of the modern kingdom of
Serbia, and the northern portions of Montenegro and Hercegovina,
covering all the country between the _Pomorje_ and the Save; to the
north of the _Pomorje_ and _Zagorje_ lay Croatia. Besides their
neighbours in the east and south, those in the north and west played an
important part in Serbian history even in those early days.

Towards the end of the eighth century, after the decline of the power
of the Avars, Charlemagne extended his conquests eastwards (he made a
great impression on the minds of the Slavs, whose word for king, _kral_
or _korol_, is derived directly from his name), and his son Louis
conquered the Serbs settled in the country between the rivers Save and
Drave. This is commemorated in the name of the mass of hill which lies
between the Danube and the Save, in eastern Slavonia, and is to this
day known as _Fruška Gora_, or French Hill. The Serbs and Bulgars
fought against the Franks, and while the Bulgars held their own, the
Serbs were beaten, and those who did not like the rule of the
new-comers had to migrate southwards across the Save; at the same time
the Serbs between the rivers Morava and Timok (eastern Serbia) were
subjected by the Bulgars. With the arrival of the Magyars, in the ninth
century, a wall was raised between the Serbs and central and western
Europe on land. Croatia and Slavonia (between the Save and the Drave)
were gradually drawn into the orbit of the Hungarian state, and in
1102, on the death of its own ruler, Croatia was absorbed by Hungary
and has formed part of that country ever since. Hungary, aiming at an
outlet on the Adriatic, at the same time subjected most of Dalmatia and
parts of Bosnia. In the west Venice had been steadily growing in power
throughout the tenth century, and by the end of it had secured control
of all the islands off Dalmatia and of a considerable part of the
coast. All the cities on the mainland acknowledged the supremacy of
Venice and she was mistress of the Adriatic.

In the interior of the Serb territory, during the eleventh and twelfth
centuries, three political centres came into prominence and shaped
themselves into larger territorial units. These were: (1) Raska, which
had been Caslav’s centre and is considered the birth-place of the
Serbian state (this district, with the town of Ras as its centre,
included the south-western part of the modern kingdom of Serbia and
what was the Turkish _sandjak_ or province of Novi-Pazar); (2) Zeta, on
the coast (the modern Montenegro); and (3) Bosnia, so called after the
river Bosna, which runs through it. Bosnia, which roughly corresponded
to the modern province of that name, became independent in the second
half of the tenth century, and was never after that incorporated in the
Serbian state. At times it fell under Hungarian influence; in the
twelfth century, during the reign of Manuel Comnenus, who was
victorious over the Magyars, Bosnia, like all other Serb territories,
had to acknowledge the supremacy of Constantinople.

It has already been indicated that the Serbs and Croats occupied
territory which, while the Church was still one, was divided between
two dioceses, Italy and Dacia, and when the Church itself was divided,
in the eleventh century, was torn apart between the two beliefs. The
dividing line between the jurisdictions of Rome and Constantinople ran
from north to south through Bosnia, but naturally there has always been
a certain vagueness about the extent of their respective jurisdictions.
In later years the terms Croat and Roman Catholic on the one hand, and
Serb and Orthodox on the other, became interchangeable. Hercegovina and
eastern Bosnia have always been predominantly Orthodox, Dalmatia and
western Bosnia predominantly Roman Catholic. The loyalty of the
Croatians to Austria-Hungary has been largely owing to the influence of
Roman Catholicism.

During the first centuries of Serbian history Christianity made slow
progress in the western half of the Balkan peninsula. The Dalmatian
coast was always under the influence of Rome, but the interior was long
pagan. It is doubtful whether the brothers Cyril and Methodius (cf.
chap. 5) actually passed through Serb territory, but in the tenth
century their teachings and writings were certainly current there. At
the time of the division of the Churches all the Serb lands except the
Dalmatian coast, Croatia, and western Bosnia, were faithful to
Constantinople, and the Greek hierarchy obtained complete control of
the ecclesiastical administration. The elaborate organisation and
opulent character of the Eastern Church was, however, especially in the
hands of the Greeks, not congenial to the Serbs, and during the
eleventh and twelfth centuries the Bogomil heresy (cf. chap, 6), a much
more primitive and democratic form of Christianity, already familiar in
the East as the Manichaean heresy, took hold of the Serbs’ imagination
and made as rapid and disquieting progress in their country as it had
already done in the neighbouring Bulgaria; inasmuch as the Greek
hierarchy considered this teaching to be socialistic, subversive, and
highly dangerous to the ecclesiastical supremacy of Constantinople, all
of which indeed it was, adherence to it became amongst the Serbs a
direct expression of patriotism.



15
_The Rise and Fall of the Serbian Empire and the Extinction of Serbian
Independence_, 1168–1496


From 1168 the power of the Serbs, or rather of the central Serb state
of Raska, and the extent of its territory gradually but steadily
increased. This was outwardly expressed in the firm establishment on
the throne of the national Nemanja dynasty, which can claim the credit
of having by its energy, skill, and good fortune fashioned the most
imposing and formidable state the Serb race has ever known. This
dynasty ruled the country uninterruptedly, but not without many
quarrels, feuds, and rivalries amongst its various members, from 1168
until 1371, when it became extinct.

There were several external factors which at this time favoured the
rise of the Serbian state. Byzantium and the Greek Empire, to which the
Emperor Manuel Comnenus had by 1168 restored some measure of its former
greatness and splendour, regaining temporary control, after a long war
with Hungary, even over Dalmatia, Croatia, and Bosnia, after this date
began definitively to decline, and after the troublous times of the
fourth crusade (1204), when for sixty years a Latin empire was
established on the Bosphorus, never again recovered as a Christian
state the position in the Balkan peninsula which it had so long
enjoyed. Bulgaria, too, after the meteoric glory of its second empire
under the Asen dynasty (1186-1258), quite went to pieces, the eastern
and northern parts falling under Tartar, the southern under Greek
influence, while the western districts fell to Serbia. In the north, on
the other hand, Hungary was becoming a dangerous and ambitious
neighbour. During the thirteenth century, it is true, the attention of
the Magyars was diverted by the irruption into and devastation of their
country by their unwelcome kinsmen from Asia, the Tartars, who wrought
great havoc and even penetrated as far as the Adriatic coast.
Nevertheless Hungary was always a menace to Serbia; Croatia, Slavonia,
and the interior of Dalmatia, all purely Serb territories, belonged to
the Hungarian crown, and Bosnia was under the supremacy of the Magyars,
though nominally independent.

The objects of the Magyars were twofold—to attain the hegemony of the
Balkan peninsula by conquering all the still independent Serb
territories, and to bring the peninsula within the pale of Rome. They
were not successful in either of these objects, partly because their
wars with the Serbian rulers always failed to reach a decision, partly
because their plans conflicted with those of the powerful Venetian
republic. The relations between Venice and Serbia were always most
cordial, as their ambitions did not clash; those of Venice were not
continental, while those of Serbia were never maritime. The
semi-independent Slavonic city-republic of Ragusa (called Dubrovnik in
Serbian) played a very important part throughout this period. It was
under Venetian supremacy, but was self-governing and had a large fleet
of its own. It was the great place of exchange between Serbia and
western Europe, and was really the meeting-place of East and West. Its
relations with Serbia were by no means always peaceful; it was a
Naboth’s vineyard for the rulers and people of the inland kingdom, and
it was never incorporated within their dominions. Ragusa and the other
cities of the Dalmatian coast were the home during the Middle Ages of a
flourishing school of Serbian literature, which was inspired by that of
Italy. The influence of Italian civilization and of the Italian Church
was naturally strong in the Serb province, much of which was under
Venetian rule; the reason for this was that communication by sea with
Italy was easier and safer than that by land with Serbia. The long,
formidable ranges of limestone mountains which divide the Serbian
interior from the Adriatic in almost unbroken and parallel lines have
always been a barrier to the extension of Serb power to the coast, and
an obstacle to free commercial intercourse. Nevertheless Ragusa was a
great trade centre, and one of the factors which most contributed to
the economic strength of the Serbian Empire.

The first of the Nemanja dynasty was Stephen, whose title was still
only _Veliki Župan_; he extended Serb territory southwards at the
expense of the Greeks, especially after the death of Manuel Comnenus in
1180. He also persecuted the Bogomils, who took refuge in large numbers
in the adjacent Serb state of Bosnia. Like many other Serbian rulers,
he abdicated in later life in favour of his younger son, Stephen,
called Nemanjié (= Nemanya’s son), and himself became a monk (1196),
travelling for this purpose to Mount Athos, the great monastic centre
and home of theological learning of the Eastern Church. There he saw
his youngest son, who some years previously had also journeyed thither
and entered a monastery, taking the name of Sava.

It was the custom for every Serbian ruler to found a sort of memorial
church, for the welfare of his own soul, before his death, and to
decorate and endow it lavishly. Stephen and his son together
superintended the erection in this sense of the church and monastery of
Hilandar on Mount Athos, which became a famous centre of Serbian church
life. Stephen died shortly after the completion of the building in
1199, and was buried in it, but in 1207 he was reinterred in the
monastery of Studenica, in Serbia, also founded by him.

The reign of Stephen Nernanjić (1196-1223) opened with a quarrel
between him and his elder brother, who not unnaturally felt he ought to
have succeeded his father; the Bulgarians profited by this and seized a
large part of eastern Serbia, including Belgrade, Nish, Prizren, and
Skoplje. This, together with the fall of Constantinople and the
establishment of the Latin Empire in 1204, alarmed the Serbs and
brought about a reconciliation between the brothers, and in 1207 Sava
returned to Serbia to organise the Church on national lines. In 1219 he
journeyed to Nicaea and extracted from the Emperor Theodore Lascaris,
who had fallen on evil days, the concession for the establishment of an
autonomous national Serbian Church, independent of the Patriarch of
Constantinople. Sava himself was at the head of the new institution. In
1220 he solemnly crowned his brother King _(Kralj)_ of Serbia, the
natural consequence of his activities in the previous year. For this
reason Stephen Nemanjić is called ‘The First-Crowned’. He was succeeded
in 1223 by his son Stephen Radoslav, and he in turn was deposed by his
brother Stephen Vladislav in 1233. Both these were crowned by Sava, and
Vladislav married the daughter of Tsar John Asen II, under whom
Bulgaria was then at the height of her power. Sava journeyed to
Palestine, and on his return paid a visit to the Bulgarian court at
Tirnovo, where he died in 1236. His body was brought to Serbia and
buried in the monastery of Mileševo, built by Vladislav. This extremely
able churchman and politician, who did a great deal for the peaceful
development of his country, was canonized and is regarded as the patron
saint of Serbia.

The reign of Vladislav’s son and successor, Stephen Uroš I (1242-76),
was characterized by economic development and the strengthening of the
internal administration. In external affairs he made no conquests, but
defeated a combination of the Bulgarians with Ragusa against him, and
after the war the Bulgarian ruler married his daughter. In his wars
against Hungary he was unsuccessful, and the Magyars remained in
possession of a large part of northern Serbia. In 1276 he was deposed
by his son, Stephen Dragutin, who in his turn, after an unsuccessful
war against the Greeks, again masters of Constantinople since 1261, was
deposed and succeeded by his brother, Stephen Uroš II, named Milutin,
in 1282. This king ruled from 1282 till 1321, and during his reign the
country made very great material progress; its mineral wealth
especially, which included gold and silver mines, began to be
exploited. He extended the boundaries of his kingdom in the north,
making the Danube and the Save the frontier. The usual revolt against
paternal authority was made by his son Stephen, but was unsuccessful,
and the rebel was banished to Constantinople.

It was the custom of the Serbian kings to give appanages to their sons,
and the inevitable consequence of this system was the series of
provincial rebellions which occurred in almost every reign. When the
revolt succeeded, the father (or brother) was granted in his turn a
small appanage. In this case it was the son who was exiled, but he was
recalled in 1319 and a reconciliation took place. Milutin died in 1321
and was succeeded by his son, Stephen Uroš III, who reigned till 1331.
He is known as Stephen Dečanski, after the memorial church which he
built at Dečani in western Serbia. His reign was signalized by a great
defeat of the combined Bulgarians and Greeks at Kustendil in Macedonia
in 1330. The following year his son, Stephen Dušan, rebelled against
him and deposed him. Stephen Dušan, who reigned from 1331 till 1355,
was Serbia’s greatest ruler, and under him the country reached its
utmost limits. Provincial and family revolts and petty local disputes
with such places as Ragusa became a thing of the past, and he undertook
conquest on a grand scale. Between 1331 and 1344 he subjected all
Macedonia, Albania, Thessaly, and Epirus. He was careful to keep on
good terms with Ragusa and with Hungary, then under Charles Robert. He
married the sister of the Bulgarian ruler, and during his reign
Bulgaria was completely under Serbian supremacy. The anarchy and civil
war which had become perennial at Constantinople, and the weakening of
the Greek Empire in face of the growing power of the Turks, no doubt to
some extent explain the facility and rapidity of his conquests;
nevertheless his power was very formidable, and his success inspired
considerable alarm in western Europe. This was increased when, in 1345,
he proclaimed his country an empire. He first called together a special
Church council, at which the Serbian Church, an archbishopric, whose
centre was then at Peć (in Montenegro, Ipek in Turkish), was proclaimed
a Patriarchate, with Archbishop Joannice as Patriarch; then this
prelate, together with the Bulgarian Patriarch, Simeon, and Nicholas,
Archbishop of Okhrida, crowned Stephen Tsar of the Serbs, Bulgars, and
Greeks. Upon this the Patriarch of Constantinople gave himself the vain
satisfaction of anathematizing the whole of Serbia, as a punishment for
this insubordination.

In 1353 the Pope, Innocent VI, persuaded King Louis of Hungary to
undertake a crusade against Serbia in the name of Catholicism, but
Stephen defeated him and re-established his frontier along the Save and
Danube. Later he conquered the southern half of Dalmatia, and extended
his empire as far north as the river Cetina. In 1354 Stephen Dušan
himself approached the Pope, offering to acknowledge his spiritual
supremacy, if he would support him against the Hungarians and the
Turks. The Pope sent him an embassy, but eventually Stephen could not
agree to the papal conditions, and concluded an alliance, of greater
practical utility, with the Venetians. In 1355, however, he suddenly
died, at the age of forty-six, and thus the further development and
aggrandisement of his country was prematurely arrested.

Stephen Dušan made a great impression on his contemporaries, both by
his imposing personal appearance and by his undoubted wisdom and
ability. He was especially a great legislator, and his remarkable code
of laws, compiled in 1349 and enlarged in 1354, is, outside his own
country, his greatest title to fame. During Stephen Dušan’s reign the
political centre of Serbia, which had for many years gradually tended
to shift southwards towards Macedonia, was at Skoplje (Üsküb in
Turkish), which he made his capital. Stephen Dušan’s empire extended
from the Adriatic in the west to the river Maritsa in the east, from
the Save and Danube in the north to the Aegean; it included all the
modern kingdoms of Serbia, Montenegro, Albania, and most of Greece,
Dalmatia as far north as the river Cetina, as well as the fertile
Morava valley, with Nish and Belgrade—the whole eastern part of Serbia,
which had for long been under either Bulgar or Magyar control. It did
not include the cities of Salonika or Ragusa, nor any considerable part
of the modern kingdom of Bulgaria, nor Bosnia, Croatia, North Dalmatia,
nor Slavonia (between the Save and Drave), ethnologically all purely
Serb lands. From the point of view of nationality, therefore, its
boundaries were far from ideal.

Stephen Dušan was succeeded by his son, known as Tsar Uroš, but he was
as weak as his father had been strong. Almost as soon as he succeeded
to the throne, disorders, rebellions, and dissensions broke out and the
empire rapidly fell to pieces. With Serbia, as with Bulgaria, the
empire entirely hinged on the personality of one man, and when he was
gone chaos returned. Such an event for Serbia at this juncture was
fatal, as a far more formidable foe than the ruler’s rebellious
relations was advancing against it. The Turkish conquests were
proceeding apace; they had taken Gallipoli in 1354 and Demotika and
Adrianople in 1361. The Serbs, who had already had an unsuccessful
brush with the advance guard of the new invaders near Demotika in 1351,
met them again on the Maritsa river in 1371, and were completely
defeated. Several of the upstart princes who had been pulling Stephen
Dušan’s empire to pieces perished, and Tsar Uroš only survived the
battle of the Maritsa two months; he was unmarried, and with him died
the Nemanja dynasty and the Serbian Empire.

After this disaster the unity of the Serbian state was completely
destroyed, and it has never since been restored in the same measure.

That part of the country to the south of Skoplje fell completely under
Turkish control; it was here that the famous national hero, Marko
Kraljević (or King’s son), renowned for his prowess, ruled as a vassal
prince and mercenary soldier of the Turks; his father was one of the
rebel princes who fell at the battle of the river Maritsa in 1371.
North of Skoplje, Serbia, with Kruševac as a new political centre,
continued to lead an independent but precarious existence, much reduced
in size and glory, under a native ruler, Prince Lazar; all the
conquests of Stephen Dušan were lost, and the important coastal
province of Zeta, which later developed into Montenegro, had broken
away and proclaimed its autonomy directly after the death of Tsar Uroš.

In 1375 a formal reconciliation was effected with the Patriarch of
Constantinople; the ban placed on the Serbian Church in 1352 was
removed and the independence of the Serbian Patriarchate of Peć (Ipek)
recognised. Meanwhile neither Greeks, Bulgars, nor Serbs were allowed
any peace by the Turks.

In 1389 was fought the great battle of Kosovo Polje, or the Field of
Blackbirds, a large plain in Old Serbia, at the southern end of which
is Skoplje. At this battle Serbian armies from all the Serb lands,
including Bosnia, joined together in defence of their country for the
last time. The issue of the battle was for some time in doubt, but was
decided by the treachery and flight at the critical moment of one of
the Serb leaders, Vuk Branković, son-in-law of Prince Lazar, with a
large number of troops. Another dramatic incident was the murder of
Sultan Murad in his tent by another Serbian leader, Miloš Obilić, who,
accused of treachery by his own countrymen, vowed he would prove his
good faith, went over to the Turks and, pretending to be a traitor,
gained admission to the Sultan’s presence and proved his patriotism by
killing him. The momentary dismay was put an end to by the energetic
conduct of Bayezid, son of Murad, who rallied the Turkish troops and
ultimately inflicted total defeat on the Serbians. From the effects of
this battle Serbia never recovered; Prince Lazar was captured and
executed; his wife, Princess Milica, had to give her daughter to
Bayezid in marriage, whose son thus ultimately claimed possession of
Serbia by right of inheritance. Princess Milica and her son Stephen
continued to live at Kruševac, but Serbia was already a tributary of
Turkey. In the north, Hungary profited by the course of events and
occupied Belgrade and all northern Serbia, but in 1396 the Turks
defeated the Magyars severely at the battle of Nikopolis, on the
Danube, making the Serbs under Stephen fight on the Turkish side.
Stephen also had to help Sultan Bajazet against the Tartars, and fought
at the battle of Angora, in 1402, when Tamerlane captured Bayezid.

After Stephen returned to Serbia he made an alliance with Hungary,
which gave him back Belgrade and northern Serbia; it was at this time
(1403) that Belgrade first became the capital, the political centre
having in the course of fifty years moved from the Vardar to the
Danube. The disorders which followed the defeat of Bayezid gave some
respite to the Serbs, but Sultan Murad II (1421-51) again took up arms
against him, and invaded Serbia as far as Kruševac.

At the death of Stephen (Lazarević), in 1427, he was succeeded as
_Despot_ by his nephew, George Branković; but the Sultan, claiming
Serbia as his own, immediately declared war on him. The Serbian ruler
had to abandon Belgrade to the Magyars, and Nish and Kruševac to the
Turks. He then built and fortified the town of Smederevo (or Semendria)
lower down on the Danube, in 1428, and made this his capital. He gave
his daughter in marriage to the Sultan, but in spite of this war soon
broke out again, and in 1441 the Turks were masters of nearly the whole
of Serbia. Later George Branković made another alliance with Hungary,
and in 1444, with the help of John Hunyadi, defeated the Turks and
liberated the whole of Serbia as far as the Adriatic, though he
remained a tributary of the Sultan. The same year, however, the Magyars
broke the treaty of peace just concluded with the Turks, and marched
against them under their Polish king, Ladislas; this ended in the
disastrous battle of Varna, on the Black Sea, where the king lost his
life. In 1451 Sultan Murad II died and was succeeded by the Sultan
Mohammed. In 1453 this sultan captured Constantinople (Adrianople had
until then been the Turkish capital); in 1456 his armies were besieging
Belgrade, but were defeated by John Hunyadi, who, unfortunately for the
Serbs, died of the plague shortly afterwards. George Branković died the
same year, and at his death general disorder spread over the country.
The Turks profited by this, overran the whole of Serbia, and in 1459
captured Smederevo, the last Serbian stronghold.

Meanwhile Bosnia had been for nearly a hundred years enjoying a false
security as an independent Serb kingdom. Its rulers had hitherto been
known by the title of _Ban_, and were all vassals of the King of
Hungary; but in 1377 Ban Tvrtko profited by the embarrassments of his
suzerain in Poland and proclaimed himself king, the neighbouring
kingdom of Serbia having, after 1371, ceased to exist, and was duly
crowned in Saint Sava’s monastery of Mileševo. The internal history of
the kingdom was even more turbulent than had been that of Serbia. To
the endemic troubles of succession and alternating alliances and wars
with foreign powers were added those of confession. Bosnia was always a
no man’s land as regards religion; it was where the Eastern and Western
Churches met, and consequently the rivalry between them there was
always, as it is now, intense and bitter. The Bogomil heresy, too,
early took root in Bosnia and became extremely popular; it was the
obvious refuge for those who did not care to become involved in the
strife of the Churches. One of the kings of Bosnia, Stephen Thomas, who
reigned from 1444 till 1461, was himself a Bogomil, and when at the
insistence of the Pope and of the King of Hungary, whose friendship he
was anxious to retain, he renounced his heresy, became ostensibly a
Roman Catholic, and began to persecute the Bogomils, he brought about a
revolution. The rebels fled to the south of Bosnia, to the lands of one
Stephen, who sheltered them, proclaimed his independence of Bosnia, and
on the strength of the fact that Saint Sava’s monastery of Mileševo was
in his territory, announced himself Herzog, or Duke (in Serbian Herceg,
though the real Serb equivalent is _Vojvoda_) of Saint Sava, ever since
when (1448) that territory has been called Hercegovina. In spite of
many promises, neither the Pope nor the King of Hungary did anything to
help Bosnia when the Turks began to invade the country after their
final subjection of Serbia in 1459. In 1463 they invaded Bosnia and
pursued, captured, and slew the last king; their conquest of the
country was complete and rapid. A great exodus of the Serb population
took place to the south, west, and north; but large numbers, especially
of the landowning class, embraced the faith of their conquerors in
order to retain possession of their property. In 1482 a similar fate
befell Hercegovina. Albania had already been conquered after stubborn
resistance in 1478. There remained only the mountainous coastal
province of Zeta, which had been an independent principality ever since
1371. Just as inland Serbia had perished between the Turkish hammer and
the Hungarian anvil, so maritime Serbia was crushed between Turkey and
Venice, only its insignificance and inaccessibility giving it a longer
lease of independent life. Ivan Crnojević, one of the last independent
rulers of Zeta, who had to fly to Italy in 1480, abandoning his
capital, Žabljak, to the Turks, returned in 1481, when the death of
Sultan Mohammed temporarily raised the hopes of the mountaineers, and
founded Cetinje and made it his capital. His son George, who succeeded
him and ruled from 1490 till 1496, is famous as having set up the first
Serbian printing-press there. Its activities were naturally not
encouraged by the Turkish conquest, but it was of great importance to
the national Serbian Church, for which books were printed with it.

In 1496, Venice having wisely made peace with the Sultan some years
previously, this last independent scrap of Serb territory was finally
incorporated in the Turkish dominions. At the end of the fifteenth
century the Turks were masters of all the Serb lands except Croatia,
Slavonia, and parts of Dalmatia, which belonged to Hungary, and the
Dalmatian coast and islands, which were Venetian. The Turkish conquest
of Serbia, which began in 1371 at the battle of the Maritsa, and was
rendered inevitable by the battle of Kosovo Polje, in 1389, thus took a
hundred and twenty-five years to complete.



16
_The Turkish Dominion_, 1496–1796


The lot of the Serbs under Turkish rule was different from that of
their neighbours the Bulgars; and though it was certainly not enviable,
it was undoubtedly better. The Turks for various reasons never
succeeded in subduing Serbia and the various Serb lands as completely
as they had subdued, or rather annihilated, Bulgaria. The Serbs were
spread over a far larger extent of territory than were the Bulgars,
they were further removed from the Turkish centre, and the wooded and
mountainous nature of their country facilitated even more than in the
case of Bulgaria the formation of bands of brigands and rebels and
militated against its systematic policing by the Turks. The number of
centres of national life, Serbia proper, Bosnia, Hercogovina, and
Montenegro, to take them in the chronological order of their conquest
by the Turks, had been notoriously a source of weakness to the Serbian
state, as is still the case to-day, but at the same time made it more
difficult for the Turks to stamp out the national consciousness. What
still further contributed to this difficulty was the fact that many
Serbs escaped the oppression of Turkish rule by emigrating to the
neighbouring provinces, where they found people of their own race and
language, even though of a different faith. The tide of emigration
flowed in two directions, westwards into Dalmatia and northwards into
Slavonia and Hungary. It had begun already after the final subjection
of Serbia proper and Bosnia by the Turks in 1459 and 1463, but after
the fall of Belgrade, which was the outpost of Hungary against the
Turks, in 1521, and the battle of Mohacs, in 1526, when the Turks
completely defeated the Magyars, it assumed great proportions. As the
Turks pushed their conquests further north, the Serbs migrated before
them; later on, as the Turks receded, large Serb colonies sprang up all
over southern Hungary, in the Banat (the country north of the Danube
and east of the Theiss), in Syrmia (or Srem, in Serbian, the extreme
eastern part of Slavonia, between the Save and the Danube), in Bačka
(the country between the Theiss and Danube), and in Baranya (between
the Danube and the Drave). All this part of southern Hungary and
Croatia was formed by the Austrians into a military borderland against
Turkey, and the Croats and immigrant Serbs were organized as military
colonists with special privileges, on the analogy of the Cossacks in
southern Russia and Poland. In Dalmatia the Serbs played a similar rôle
in the service of Venice, which, like Austria-Hungary, was frequently
at war with the Turks. During the sixteenth century Ragusa enjoyed its
greatest prosperity; it paid tribute to the Sultan, was under his
protection, and never rebelled. It had a quasi monopoly of the trade of
the entire Balkan peninsula. It was a sanctuary both for Roman Catholic
Croats and for Orthodox Serbs, and sometimes acted as intermediary on
behalf of its co-religionists with the Turkish authorities, with whom
it wielded great influence. Intellectually also it was a sort of Serb
oasis, and the only place during the Middle Ages where Serbian
literature was able to flourish.

Montenegro during the sixteenth century formed part of the Turkish
province of Scutari. Here, as well as in Serbia proper, northern
Macedonia (known after the removal northwards of the political centre,
in the fourteenth century, as Old Serbia), Bosnia, and Hercegovina, the
Turkish rule was firmest, but not harshest, during the first half of
the sixteenth century, when the power of the Ottoman Empire was at its
height. Soon after the fall of Smederevo, in 1459, the Patriarchate of
Peć (Ipek) was abolished, the Serbian Church lost its independence, was
merged in the Greco-Bulgar Archbishopric of Okhrida (in southern
Macedonia), and fell completely under the control of the Greeks. In
1557, however, through the influence of a Grand Vizier of Serb
nationality, the Patriarchate of Peć was revived. The revival of this
centre of national life was momentous; through its agency the Serbian
monasteries were restored, ecclesiastical books printed, and priests
educated, and more fortunate than the Bulgarian national Church, which
remained under Greek management, it was able to focus the national
enthusiasms and aspirations and keep alive with hope the flame of
nationality amongst those Serbs who had not emigrated.

Already, in the second half of the sixteenth century, people began to
think that Turkey’s days in Europe were numbered, and they were
encouraged in this illusion by the battle of Lepanto (1571). But the
seventeenth century saw a revival of Turkish power; Krete was added to
their empire, and in 1683 they very nearly captured Vienna. In the war
which followed their repulse, and in which the victorious Austrians
penetrated as far south as Skoplje, the Serbs took part against the
Turks; but when later the Austrians were obliged to retire, the Serbs,
who had risen against the Turks at the bidding of their Patriarch Arsen
III, had to suffer terrible reprisals at their hands, with the result
that another wholesale emigration, with the Patriarch at its head, took
place into the Austro-Hungarian military borderland. This time it was
the very heart of Serbia which was abandoned, namely, Old Serbia and
northern Macedonia, including Peć and Prizren. The vacant Patriarchate
was for a time filled by a Greek, and the Albanians, many of whom were
Mohammedans and therefore Turcophil, spread northwards and eastwards
into lands that had been Serb since the seventh century. From the end
of the seventeenth century, however, the Turkish power began
unmistakably to wane. The Treaty of Carlowitz (1699) left the Turks
still in possession of Syrmia (between the Danube and Save) and the
Banat (north of the Danube), but during the reign of the Emperor
Charles VI their retreat was accelerated. In 1717 Prince Eugen of Savoy
captured Belgrade, then, as now, a bulwark of the Balkan peninsula
against invasion from the north, and by the Treaty of Passarowitz
(Požarevac, on the Danube), in 1718, Turkey not only retreated
definitively south of the Danube and the Save, but left a large part of
northern Serbia in Austrian hands. By the same treaty Venice secured
possession of the whole of Dalmatia, where it had already gained
territory by the Treaty of Curlowitz in 1699.

But the Serbs soon found out that alien populations fare little better
under Christian rule, when they are not of the same confession as their
rulers, than under Mohammedan. The Orthodox Serbs in Dalmatia suffered
thenceforward from relentless persecution at the hands of the Roman
Catholics. In Austria-Hungary too, and in that part of Serbia occupied
by the Austrians after 1718, the Serbs discovered that the Austrians,
when they had beaten the Turks largely by the help of Serbian levies,
were very different from the Austrians who had encouraged the Serbs to
settle in their country and form military colonies on their frontiers
to protect them from Turkish invasion. The privileges promised them
when their help had been necessary were disregarded as soon as their
services could be dispensed with. Austrian rule soon became more
oppressive than Turkish, and to the Serbs’ other woes was now added
religious persecution. The result of all this was that a
counter-emigration set in and the Serbs actually began to return to
their old homes in Turkey. Another war between Austria-Hungary and
Turkey broke out in 1737, in which the Austrians were unsuccessful.
Prince Eugen no longer led them, and though the Serbs were again
persuaded by their Patriarch, Arsen IV, to rise against the Turks, they
only did so half-heartedly. By the Treaty of Belgrade, in 1739, Austria
had to withdraw north of the Save and Danube, evacuating all northern
Serbia in favour of the Turks. From this time onwards the lot of the
Serbs, both in Austria-Hungary and in Turkey, went rapidly from bad to
worse. The Turks, as the power of their empire declined, and in return
for the numerous Serb revolts, had recourse to measures of severe
repression; amongst others was that of the final abolition of the
Patriarchate of Peé in 1766, whereupon the control of the Serbian
Church in Turkey passed entirely into the hands of the Greek
Patriarchate of Constantinople.

The Austrian Government similarly, perceiving now for the first time
the elements of danger which the resuscitation of the Serbian
nationality would contain for the rule of the Hapsburgs, embarked on a
systematic persecution of the Orthodox Serbs in southern Hungary and
Slavonia. During the reign of Maria Theresa (1740-80), whose policy was
to conciliate the Magyars, the military frontier zone was abolished, a
series of repressive measures was passed against those Serbs who
refused to become Roman Catholics, and the Serbian nationality was
refused official recognition. The consequence of this persecution was a
series of revolts which were all quelled with due severity, and finally
the emigration of a hundred thousand Serbs to southern Russia, where
they founded New Serbia in 1752-3.

During the reigns of Joseph II (1780-90) and Leopold II (1790-2) their
treatment at the hands of the Magyars somewhat improved. From the
beginning of the eighteenth century Montenegro began to assume greater
importance in the extremely gradual revival of the national spirit of
the Serbs. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries it had formed
part of the Turkish dominions, though, thanks to the inaccessible
nature of its mountain fastnesses, Turkish authority was never very
forcibly asserted. It was ruled by a prince-bishop, and its religious
independence thus connoted a certain secular freedom of thought if not
of action. In the seventeenth century warlike encounters between the
Turks and the Montenegrins increased in frequency, and the latter tried
to enlist the help of Venice on their side but with indifferent
success. The fighting in Montenegro was often rather civil in
character, being caused by the ill-feeling which existed between the
numerous Montenegrins who had become Mohammedans and those who remained
faithful to their national Church. In the course of the eighteenth
century the rôle which fell to Montenegro became more important. In all
the other Serb countries the families which naturally took a leading
part in affairs were either extinct or in exile, as in Serbia, or had
become Mohammedan, and therefore to all intents and purposes Turkish,
as in Bosnia and Hercegovina. Ragusa, since the great earthquake in
1667, had greatly declined in power and was no longer of international
importance. In Montenegro, on the other hand, there had survived both a
greater independence of spirit (Montenegro was, after all, the ancient
Zeta, and had always been a centre of national life) and a number of at
any rate eugenic if not exactly aristocratic Serb families; these
families naturally looked on themselves and on their bishop as destined
to play an important part in the resistance to and the eventual
overthrow of the Turkish dominion. The prince-bishop had to be
consecrated by the Patriarch of Peć, and in 1700 Patriarch Arsen III
consecrated one Daniel, of the house (which has been ever since then
and is now still the reigning dynasty of Montenegro) of
Petrović-Njegoš, to this office, after he had been elected to it by the
council of notables at Cetinje. Montenegro, isolated from the Serbs in
the north, and precluded from participating with them in the wars
between Austria and Turkey by the intervening block of Bosnia, which
though Serb by nationality was solidly Mohammedan and therefore
pro-Turkish, carried on its feuds with the Turks independently of the
other Serbs. But when Peter the Great initiated his anti-Turkish
policy, and, in combination with the expansion of Russia to the south
and west, began to champion the cause of the Balkan Christians, he
developed intercourse with Montenegro and laid the foundation of that
friendship between the vast Russian Empire and the tiny Serb
principality on the Adriatic which has been a quaint and persistent
feature of eastern European politics ever since. This intimacy did not
prevent the Turks giving Montenegro many hard blows whenever they had
the time or energy to do so, and did not ensure any special protective
clauses in favour of the mountain state whenever the various treaties
between Russia and Turkey were concluded. Its effect was rather
psychological and financial. From the time when the _Vladika_ (=
Bishop) Daniel first visited Peter the Great, in 1714, the rulers of
Montenegro often made pilgrimages to the Russian capital, and were
always sure of finding sympathy as well as pecuniary if not armed
support. Bishops in the Orthodox Church are compulsorily celibate, and
the succession in Montenegro always descended from uncle to nephew.
When Peter I Petrović-Njegoš succeeded, in 1782, the Patriarchate of
Peć was no more, so he had to get permission from the Austrian Emperor
Joseph II to be consecrated by the Metropolitan of Karlovci
(Carlowitz), who was then head of the Serbian national Church.

About the same time (1787) an alliance was made between Russia and
Austria-Hungary to make war together on Turkey and divide the spoils
between them. Although a great rising against Turkey was organised at
the same time (1788) in the district of Šumadija, in Serbia, by a
number of Serb patriots, of whom Kara-George was one and a certain
Captain Koča, after whom the whole war is called Kočina Krajina
(=Koča’s country), another, yet the Austrians were on the whole
unsuccessful, and on the death of Joseph II, in 1790, a peace was
concluded between Austria and Turkey at Svishtov, in Bulgaria, by which
Turkey retained the whole of Bosnia and Serbia, and the Save and Danube
remained the frontier between the two countries. Meanwhile the Serbs of
Montenegro had joined in the fray and had fared better, inflicting some
unpleasant defeats on the Turks under their bishop, Peter I. These
culminated in two battles in 1796 (the Montenegrins, not being
mentioned in the treaty of peace, had continued fighting), in which the
Turks were driven back to Scutari. With this triumph, which the Emperor
Paul of Russia signalized by decorating the Prince-Bishop Peter, the
independence of the modern state of Montenegro, the first Serb people
to recover its liberty, was _de facto_ established.



17
_The Liberation of Serbia under Kara-George_ (1804–13) _and Miloš
Obrenović_ (1815–30): 1796–1830


The liberation of Serbia from the Turkish dominion and its
establishment as an independent state were matters of much slower and
more arduous accomplishment than were the same processes in the other
Balkan countries. One reason for this was that Serbia by its peculiar
geographical position was cut off from outside help. It was easy for
the western powers to help Greece with their fleets, and for Russia to
help Rumania and, later, Bulgaria directly with its army, because
communication between them was easy. But Serbia on the one hand was
separated from the sea, first by Dalmatia, which was always in foreign
possession, and then by Bosnia, Hercegovina, and the _sandjak_ (or
province) of Novi-Pazar, all of which territories, though ethnically
Serb, were strongholds of Turkish influence owing to their large
Mohammedan population. The energies of Montenegro, also cut off from
the sea by Dalmatia and Turkey, were absorbed in self-defence, though
it gave Serbia all the support which its size permitted. Communication,
on the other hand, between Russia and Serbia was too difficult to
permit of military help being rapidly and effectively brought to bear
upon the Turks from that quarter. Bessarabia, Wallachia, and Moldavia
were then still under Turkish control, and either they had to be
traversed or the Danube had to be navigated from its mouth upwards
through Turkish territory. The only country which could have helped
Serbia was Austria, but as it was against their best interests to do
so, the Austrians naturally did all they could not to advance, but to
retard the Serbian cause. As a result of all this Serbia, in her long
struggle against the Turks, had to rely principally on its own
resources, though Russian diplomacy several times saved the renascent
country from disaster.

Another reason for the slowness of the emancipation and development of
modern Serbia has been the proneness of its people to internal
dissension. There was no national dynasty on whom the leadership of the
country would naturally devolve after the first successful revolution
against Turkish rule, there was not even any aristocracy left, and no
foreign ruler was ever asked for by the Serbs or was ever imposed on
them by the other nations as in the case of Greece, Rumania, and
Bulgaria. On the other hand the rising against Turkey was a rising of
the whole people, and it was almost inevitable that as soon as some
measure of independence was gained the unity the Serbs had shown when
fighting against their oppressors should dissolve and be replaced by
bitter rivalries and disputes amongst the various local leaders who had
become prominent during the rebellion.

These rivalries early in the nineteenth century resolved themselves
into a blood-feud between two families, the Karagjorgjević and the
Obrenović, a quarrel that filled Serbian history and militated against
the progress of the Serb people throughout the nineteenth century.

The same reasons which restricted the growth of the political
independence of Serbia have also impeded, or rather made impossible,
its economic development and material prosperity. Until recent years
Austria-Hungary and Turkey between them held Serbia territorially in
such a position that whenever Serbia either demurred at its neighbours’
tariffs or wished to retaliate by means of its own, the screw was
immediately applied and economic strangulation threatened. Rumania and
Bulgaria economically could never be of help to Serbia, because the
products and the requirements of all three are identical, and Rumania
and Bulgaria cannot be expected to facilitate the sale of their
neighbours’ live stock and cereals, when their first business is to
sell their own, while the cost of transit of imports from western
Europe through those countries is prohibitive.

After the unsuccessful rebellion of 1788, already mentioned, Serbia
remained in a state of pseudo-quiescence for some years. Meanwhile the
authority of the Sultan in Serbia was growing ever weaker and the real
power was wielded by local Turkish officials, who exploited the
country, looked on it as their own property, and enjoyed
semi-independence. Their exactions and cruelties were worse than had
been those of the Turks in the old days, and it was against them and
their troops, not against those of the Sultan, that the first battles
in the Serbian war of independence were fought. It was during the year
1803 that the Serbian leaders first made definite plans for the rising
which eventually took place in the following year. The ringleader was
George Petrović, known as Black George, or Kara-George, and amongst his
confederates was Miloš Obrenović. The centre of the conspiracy was at
Topola, in the district of Šumadija in central Serbia (between the
Morava and the Drina rivers), the native place of Kara-George. The
first two years of fighting between the Serbians and, first, the
provincial janissaries, and, later, the Sultan’s forces, fully rewarded
the bravery and energy of the insurgents. By the beginning of 1807 they
had virtually freed all northern Serbia by their own unaided efforts
and captured the towns of Požarevac, Smederevo, Belgrade, and Šabac.
The year 1804 is also notable as the date of the formal opening of
diplomatic relations directly between Serbia and Russia. At this time
the Emperor Alexander I was too preoccupied with Napoleon to be able to
threaten the Sultan (Austerlitz took place in November 1805), but he
gave the Serbs financial assistance and commended their cause to the
especial care of his ambassador at Constantinople.

In 1807 war again broke out between Russia and Turkey, but after the
Peace of Tilsit (June 1807) fighting ceased also between the Turks and
the Russians and the Serbs, not before the Russians had won several
successes against the Turks on the Lower Danube. It was during the two
following years of peace that dissensions first broke out amongst the
Serbian leaders; fighting the Turks was the sole condition of existence
which prevented them fighting each other. In 1809-10 Russia and the
Serbs again fought the Turks, at first without success, but later with
better fortune. In 1811 Kara-George was elected _Gospodar_, or
sovereign, by a popular assembly, but Serbia still remained a Turkish
province. At the end of that year the Russians completely defeated the
Turks at Rustchuk in Bulgaria, and, if all had gone well, Serbia might
there and then have achieved complete independence.

But Napoleon was already preparing his invasion and Russia had to
conclude peace with Turkey in a hurry, which necessarily implied that
the Sultan obtained unduly favourable terms. In the Treaty of Bucarest
between the two countries signed in May 1812, the Serbs were indeed
mentioned, and promised vague internal autonomy and a general amnesty,
but all the fortified towns they had captured were to be returned to
the Turks, and the few Russian troops who had been helping the Serbs in
Serbia had to withdraw. Negotiations between the Turks and the Serbs
for the regulation of their position were continued throughout 1812,
but finally the Turks refused all their claims and conditions and,
seeing the European powers preoccupied with their own affairs, invaded
the country from Bosnia in the west, and also from the east and south,
in August 1813. The Serbs, left entirely to their own resources,
succumbed before the superior forces of the Turks, and by the beginning
of October the latter were again masters of the whole country and in
possession of Belgrade. Meanwhile Kara-George, broken in health and
unable to cope with the difficulties of the situation, which demanded
successful strategy both against the overwhelming forces of the Turks
in the field and against the intrigues of his enemies at home, somewhat
ignominiously fled across the river to Semlin in Hungary, and was duly
incarcerated by the Austrian authorities.

The news of Napoleon’s defeat at Leipsic (October 1813) arrived just
after that of the re-occupation of Belgrade by the Turks, damped
_feu-de-joie_ which they were firing at Constantinople, and made them
rather more conciliatory and lenient to the Serbian rebels. But this
attitude did not last long, and the Serbs soon had reason to make fresh
efforts to regain their short-lived liberty. The Congress of Vienna met
in the autumn of 1814, and during its whole course Serbian emissaries
gave the Russian envoys no peace. But with the return of Napoleon to
France in the spring of 1815 and the break-up of the Congress, all that
Russia could do was, through its ambassador at Constantinople, to
threaten invasion unless the Turks left the Serbs alone. Nevertheless,
conditions in Serbia became so intolerable that another rebellion soon
took shape, this time under Miloš Obrenović. This leader was no less
patriotic than his rival, Kara-George, but he was far more able and a
consummate diplomat. Kara-George had possessed indomitable courage,
energy, and will-power, but he could not temporize, and his arbitrary
methods of enforcing discipline and his ungovernable temper had made
him many enemies. While the credit for the first Serbian revolt
(1804-13) undoubtedly belongs chiefly to him, the second revolt owed
its more lasting success to the skill of Miloš Obrenović. The fighting
started at Takovo, the home of the Obrenović family, in April 1815, and
after many astonishing successes against the Turks, including the
capture of the towns of Rudnik, Čačak, Požarevac, and Kraljevo, was all
over by July of the same year. The Turks were ready with large armies
in the west in Bosnia, and also south of the Morava river, to continue
the campaign and crush the rebellion, but the news of the final defeat
of Napoleon, and the knowledge that Russia would soon have time again
to devote attention to the Balkans, withheld their appetites for
revenge, and negotiations with the successful rebels were initiated.
During the whole of this period, from 1813 onwards, Miloš Obrenović, as
head of a district, was an official of the Sultan in Serbia, and it was
one of his principles never to break irreparably with the Turks, who
were still suzerains of the country. At the same time, owing to his
skill and initiative he was recognized as the only real leader of the
movement for independence. From the cessation of the rebellion in 1815
onwards he himself personally conducted negotiations in the name of his
people with the various pashas who were deputed to deal with him. While
these negotiations went on and the armistice was in force, he was
confronted, or rather harassed from behind, by a series of revolts
against his growing authority on the part of his jealous compatriots.

In June 1817 Kara-George, who had been in Russia after being released
by the Austrians in 1814, returned surreptitiously to Serbia,
encouraged by the brighter aspect which affairs in his country seemed
to be assuming. But the return of his most dangerous rival was as
unwelcome to Miloš as it was to the Turkish authorities at Belgrade,
and, measures having been concerted between them, Kara-George was
murdered on July 26,1817, and the first act in the blood-feud between
the two families thus committed. In November of the same year a
_skupština_, or national assembly, was held at Belgrade, and Miloš
Obrenović, whose position was already thoroughly assured, was elected
hereditary prince (_knez_) of the country.

Meanwhile events of considerable importance for the future of the Serb
race had been happening elsewhere. Dalmatia, the whole of which had
been in the possession of Venice since the Treaty of Carlowitz in 1699,
passed into the hands of Austria by the Treaty of Campo Formio in 1797,
when the Venetian republic was extinguished by Napoleon. The Bocche di
Cuttaro, a harbour both strategically and commercially of immense
value, which had in the old days belonged to the Serb principality of
Zeta or Montenegro, and is its only natural outlet on the Adriatic,
likewise became Venetian in 1699 and Austrian in 1797, one year after
the successful rebellion of the Montenegrins against the Turks.

By the Treaty of Pressburg between France and Austria Dalmatia became
French in 1805. But the Montenegrins, supported by the Russians,
resisted the new owners and occupied the Bocche; at the Peace of Tilsit
in 1807, however, this important place was assigned to France by
Russia, and Montenegro had to submit to its loss. In 1806 the French
occupied Ragusa, and in 1808 abolished the independence of the ancient
Serb city-republic. In 1812 the Montenegrins, helped by the Russians
and British, again expelled the French and reoccupied Cattaro; but
Austria was by now fully alive to the meaning this harbour would have
once it was in the possession of Montenegro, and after the Congress of
Vienna in 1815 took definitive possession of it as well as of all the
rest of Dalmatia, thus effecting the complete exclusion of the Serb
race for all political and commercial purposes from the Adriatic, its
most natural and obvious means of communication with western Europe.

Though Miloš had been elected prince by his own people, it was long
before he was recognized as such by the Porte. His efforts for the
regularization of his position entailed endless negotiations in
Constantinople; these were enlivened by frequent anti-Obrenović revolts
in Serbia, all of which Miloš successfully quelled. The revolution in
Greece in 1821 threw the Serbian question from the international point
of view into the shade, but the Emperor Nicholas I, who succeeded his
brother Alexander I on the Russian throne in 1825, soon showed that he
took a lively and active interest in Balkan affairs. Pan-Slavism had
scarcely become fashionable in those days, and it was still rather as
the protector of its co-religionists under the Crescent that Russia
intervened. In 1826 Russian and Turkish delegates met at Akerman in
Bessarabia, and in September of that year signed a convention by which
the Russian protectorate over the Serbs was recognized, the Serbs were
granted internal autonomy, the right to trade and erect churches,
schools, and printing-presses, and the Turks were forbidden to live in
Serbia except in eight garrison towns; the garrisons were to be
Turkish, and tribute was still to be paid to the Sultan as suzerain.
These concessions, announced by Prince Miloš to his people at a special
_skupština_ held at Kragujevac in 1827, evoked great enthusiasm, but
the urgency of the Greek question again delayed their fulfilment. After
the battle of Navarino on October 20, 1827, in which the British,
French, and Russian fleets defeated the Turkish, the Turks became
obstinate and refused to carry out the stipulations of the Convention
of Akerman in favour of Serbia. Thereupon Russia declared war on Turkey
in April 1828, and the Russian armies crossed the Danube and the
Balkans and marched on Constantinople.

Peace was concluded at Adrianople in 1829, and Turkey agreed to carry
out immediately all the stipulations of the Treaty of Bucarest (1812)
and the Convention of Akerman (1826). The details took some time to
settle, but in November 1830 the _hatti-sherif_ of the Sultan,
acknowledging Miloš as hereditary prince of Serbia, was publicly read
in Belgrade. All the concessions already promised were duly granted,
and Serbia became virtually independent, but still tributary to the
Sultan. Its territory included most of the northern part of the modern
kingdom of Serbia, between the rivers Drina, Save, Danube, and Timok,
but not the districts of Nish, Vranja, and Pirot. Turkey still retained
Bosnia and Hercegovina, Macedonia, the _sandjak_ of Novi-Pazar, which
separated Serbia from Montenegro, and Old Serbia (northern Macedonia).



18
_The Throes of Regeneration: Independent Serbia,_ 1830–1903


During his rule of Serbia, which lasted virtually from 1817 till 1839,
Prince Miloš did a very great deal for the welfare of his country. He
emancipated the Serbian Church from the trammels of the Greek
Patriarchate of Constantinople in 1831, from which date onwards it was
ruled by a Metropolitan of Serb nationality, resident at Belgrade. He
encouraged the trade of the country, a great deal of which he held in
his own hands; he was in fact a sort of prototype of those modern
Balkan business-kings of whom King George of Greece and King Carol of
Rumania were the most notable examples. He raised an army and put it on
a permanent footing, and organized the construction of roads, schools,
and churches. He was, however, an autocratic ruler of the old school,
and he had no inclination to share the power for the attainment of
which he had laboured so many years and gone through so much. From his
definite installation as hereditary prince discontent at his arbitrary
methods of government amongst his ex-equals increased, and after
several revolts he was forced eventually to grant a constitution in
1835. This, however, remained a dead letter, and things went on as
before. Later in the same year he paid a prolonged visit to his
suzerain at Constantinople, and while he was there the situation in
Serbia became still more serious. After his return he was, after
several years of delay and of growing unpopularity, compelled to agree
to another constitution which was forced on him, paradoxically enough,
by the joint efforts of the Tsar and of the Sultan, who seemed to take
an unnatural pleasure in supporting the democratic Serbians against
their successful colleague in autocracy, who had done so much for his
turbulent subjects. Serbia even in those days was essentially and
uncompromisingly democratic, but even so Miloš obstinately refused to
carry out the provisions of the constitution or in any way to submit to
a curtailment of his power, and in 1839 he left his ungrateful
principality and took refuge in Rumania, where he possessed an estate,
abdicating in favour of his elder son Milan. This Prince Milan, known
as Obrenović II, was seriously ill at the time of his accession, and
died within a month of it. He was succeeded by his younger brother
Michael, known as Obrenović III, who was then only sixteen years of
age. This prince, though young, had a good head on his shoulders, and
eventually proved the most gifted ruler modern Serbia has ever had. His
first reign (1840-2), however, did not open well. He inaugurated it by
paying a state visit to Constantinople, but the Sultan only recognized
him as elective prince and insisted on his having two advisers approved
and appointed by the Porte. Michael on his return showed his
determination to have nothing to do with them, but this led to a
rebellion headed by one of them, Vučić, and, though Michael’s rule was
not as arbitrary as his father’s, he had to bow to the popular will
which supported Vučić and cross the river to Semlin. After a stormy
interval, during which the Emperor Nicholas I tried to intervene in
favour of Michael, Alexander Karagjorgjević, son of Kara-George, was
elected prince (1843). No sooner was this representative of the rival
dynasty installed, however, than rebellions in favour of Michael
occurred. These were thrown into the shade by the events of 1848, In
that memorable year of revolutions the Magyars rose against Austria and
the Serbs in southern Hungary rose against the Magyars. Prince
Alexander resolved to send military help to his oppressed countrymen
north of the Save and Danube, and, though the insurgents were
unsuccessful, Prince Alexander gained in popularity amongst the Serbs
by the line of action he had taken. During the Crimean War, on the
other hand, Serbia remained strictly neutral, to the annoyance of the
Tsar; at the Congress of Paris (1856) the exclusive protectorate of
Russia was replaced by one of all the powers, and Russian influence in
the western Balkans was thereby weakened. Prince Alexander’s prudence,
moreover, cost him his popularity, and in 1858 he in his turn had to
bid farewell to his difficult countrymen.

In December of the same year the veteran Prince Miloš Obrenović I was
recalled to power as hereditary prince. His activities during his
second reign were directed against Turkish influence, which was still
strong, and he made efforts to have the Turkish populations removed
from the eight garrison towns, including Belgrade, where they still
lived in spite of the fact that their emigration had been stipulated
for in 1830. Unfortunately he did not live long enough to carry out his
plans, for he fell ill at Topchider, the summer palace near Belgrade,
in the autumn of 1860, and died a few days afterwards. He was again
succeeded by his son Michael Obrenović III, who was already thirty-six
years of age. This able prince’s second reign was brilliantly
successful, and it was a disaster for which his foolish countrymen had
to pay dearly, when, by their fault, it was prematurely cut short in
1868. His first act was with the consent of a specially summoned
_skupština_ to abolish the law by which he could only appoint and
remove his counsellers with the approval of the Porte. Next he set
about the organization and establishment of a regular army of 30,000
men. In 1862 an anti-Turkish rebellion broke out amongst the Serbs in
Hercegovina (still, with Bosnia, a Turkish province), and the Porte,
accusing Prince Michael of complicity, made warlike preparations
against him.

Events, however, were precipitated in such a way that, without waiting
for the opening of hostilities, the Turkish general in command of the
fortress of Belgrade turned his guns on the city; this provoked the
intervention of the powers at Constantinople, and the entire civilian
Turkish population had to quit the country (in accordance with the
stipulations of 1830), only Turkish garrisons remaining in the
fortresses of Šabac, Belgrade, Smederevo, and Kladovo, along the
northern river frontier, still theoretically the boundary of the
Sultan’s dominions. After this success Prince Michael continued his
military preparations in order to obtain final possession of the
fortresses when a suitable occasion should arise. This occurred in
1866, when Austria was engaged in the struggle with Prussia, and the
policy of Great Britain became less Turcophil than it had hitherto
been. On April 6, 1867, the four fortresses, which had been in Serbian
possession from 1804 to 1813, but had since then been garrisoned by the
Turks, were delivered over to Serbia and the last Turkish soldier left
Serbian soil without a shot having been fired. Though Serbia after this
was still a vassal state, being tributary to the Sultan, these further
steps on the road to complete independence were a great triumph,
especially for Prince Michael personally. But this very triumph
actuated his political opponents amongst his own countrymen, amongst
whom were undoubtedly adherents of the rival dynasty, to revenge, and
blind to the interests of their people they foolishly and most brutally
murdered this extremely capable and conscientious prince in the deer
park near Topchider on June 10, 1868. The opponents of the Obrenović
dynasty were, however, baulked in their plans, and a cousin of the late
prince was elected to the vacant and difficult position. This ruler,
known as Milan Obrenović IV, who was only fourteen years of age at the
time of his accession (1868), was of a very different character from
his predecessor. The first thing that happened during his minority was
the substitution of the constitution of 1838 by another one which was
meant to give the prince and the national assembly much more power, but
which, eventually, made the ministers supreme.

The prince came of age in 1872 when he was eighteen, and he soon showed
that the potential pleasures to be derived from his position were far
more attractive to him than the fulfilment of its obvious duties. He
found much to occupy him in Vienna and Paris and but little in
Belgrade. At the same time the Serb people had lost, largely by its own
faults, much of the respect and sympathy which it had acquired in
Europe during Prince Michael’s reign. In 1875 a formidable anti-Turkish
insurrection (the last of many) broke out amongst the Serbs of Bosnia
and Hercegovina, and all the efforts of the Turks to quell it were
unavailing. In June 1876 Prince Milan was forced by the pressure of
public opinion to declare war on Turkey in support of the ‘unredeemed’
Serbs of Bosnia, and Serbia was joined by Montenegro. The country was,
however, not materially prepared for war, the expected sympathetic
risings in other parts of Turkey either did not take place or failed,
and the Turks turned their whole army on to Serbia, with the result
that in October the Serbs had to appeal to the Tsar for help and an
armistice was arranged, which lasted till February 1877. During the
winter a conference was held in Constantinople to devise means for
alleviating the lot of the Christians in Turkey, and a peace was
arranged between Turkey and Serbia whereby the _status quo ante_ was
restored. But after the conference the heart of Turkey was again
hardened and the stipulations in favour of the Christians were not
carried out.

In 1877 Russia declared war on Turkey (cf. chap. 10), and in the autumn
of the same year Serbia joined in. This time the armies of Prince Milan
were more successful, and conquered and occupied the whole of southern
Serbia including the towns and districts of Nish, Pirot, Vranja, and
Leskovac, Montenegro, which had not been included in the peace of the
previous winter, but had been fighting desperately and continuously
against the Turks ever since it had begun actively to help the Serb
rebels of Hercegovina in 1875, had a series of successes, as a result
of which it obtained possession of the important localities of Nikšić,
Podgorica, Budua, Antivari, and Dulcigno, the last three on the shore
of the Adriatic. By the Treaty of San Stefano the future interests of
both Serbia and Montenegro were jeopardised by the creation of a Great
Bulgaria, but that would not have mattered if in return they had been
given control of the purely Serb provinces of Bosnia and Hercegovina,
which ethnically they can claim just as legitimately as Bulgaria claims
most of Macedonia. The Treaty of San Stefano was, however, soon
replaced by that of Berlin. By its terms both Serbia and Montenegro
achieved complete independence and the former ceased to be a tributary
state of Turkey. The Serbs were given the districts of southern Serbia
which they had occupied, and which are all ethnically Serb except
Pirot, the population of which is a sort of cross between Serb and
Bulgar. The Serbs also undertook to build a railway through their
country to the Turkish and Bulgarian frontiers. Montenegro was nearly
doubled in size, receiving the districts of Nikšić, Podgorica, and
others; certain places in the interior the Turks and Albanians
absolutely refused to surrender, and to compensate for these Montenegro
was given a strip of coast with the townlets of Antivari and Dulcigno.
The memory of Gladstone, who specially espoused Montenegro’s cause in
this matter, is held in the greatest reverence in the brave little
mountain country, but unfortunately the ports themselves are
economically absolutely useless. Budua, higher up the Dalmatian coast,
which would have been of some use, was handed over to Austria, to which
country, already possessed of Cattaro and all the rest of Dalmatia, it
was quite superfluous. Greatest tragedy of all for the future of the
Serb race, the administration of Bosnia and Hercegovina was handed over
‘temporarily’ to Austria-Hungary, and Austrian garrisons were quartered
throughout those two provinces, which they were able to occupy only
after the most bitter armed opposition on the part of the inhabitants,
and also in the Turkish _sandjak_ or province of Novi-Pazar, the
ancient Raska and cradle of the Serb state; this strip of mountainous
territory under Turkish administrative and Austrian military control
was thus converted into a fortified wedge which effectually kept the
two independent Serb states of Serbia and Montenegro apart. After all
these events the Serbs had to set to work to put their enlarged house
in order. But the building of railways and schools and the organization
of the services cost a lot of money, and as public economy is not a
Serbian virtue the debt grew rapidly. In 1882 Serbia proclaimed itself
a kingdom and was duly recognized by the other nations. But King Milan
did not learn to manage the affairs of his country any better as time
went on. He was too weak to stand alone, and having freed himself from
Turkey he threw himself into the arms of Austria, with which country he
concluded a secret military convention. In 1885, when Bulgaria and
‘Eastern Rumelia’ successfully coalesced and Bulgaria thereby received
a considerable increase of territory and power, the Serbs, prompted by
jealousy, began to grow restless, and King Milan, at the instigation of
Austria, foolishly declared war on Prince Alexander of Battenberg. This
speedily ended in the disastrous battle of Slivnitsa (cf. chap. II);
Austria had to intervene to save its victim, and Serbia got nothing for
its trouble but a large increase of debt and a considerable decrease of
military reputation. In addition to all this King Milan was unfortunate
in his conjugal relations; his wife, the beautiful Queen Natalie, was a
Russian, and as he himself had Austrian sympathies, they could scarcely
be expected to agree on politics. But the strife between them extended
from the sphere of international to that of personal sympathies and
antipathies. King Milan was promiscuous in affairs of the heart and
Queen Natalie was jealous. Scenes of domestic discord were frequent and
violent, and the effect of this atmosphere on the character of their
only child Alexander, who was born in 1876, was naturally bad.

The king, who had for some years been very popular with, his subjects
with all his failings, lost his hold on the country after the
unfortunate war of 1885, and the partisans of the rival dynasty began
to be hopeful once more. In 1888 King Milan gave Serbia a very much
more liberal constitution, by which the ministers were for the first
time made really responsible to the _skupština_ or national assembly,
replacing that of 1869, and the following year, worried by his
political and domestic failures, discredited and unpopular both at home
and abroad, he resigned in favour of his son Alexander, then aged
thirteen. This boy, who had been brought up in what may be called a
permanent storm-centre, both domestic and political, was placed under a
regency, which included M. Ristić, with a radical ministry under M.
Pašić, an extremely able and patriotic statesman of pro-Russian
sympathies, who ever since he first became prominent in 1877 had been
growing in power and influence. But trouble did not cease with the
abdication of King Milan. He and his wife played Box and Cox at
Belgrade for the next four years, quarrelling and being reconciled,
intriguing and fighting round the throne and person of their son. At
last both parents agreed to leave the country and give the unfortunate
youth a chance. King Milan settled in Vienna, Queen Natalie in
Biarritz. In 1893 King Alexander suddenly declared himself of age and
arrested all his ministers and regents one evening while they were
dining with him. The next year he abrogated the constitution of 1888,
under which party warfare in the Serbian parliament had been bitter and
uninterrupted, obstructing any real progress, and restored that of
1869. Ever since 1889 (the date of the accession of the German Emperor)
Berlin had taken more interest in Serbian affairs, and it has been
alleged that it was William II who, through the wife of the Rumanian
minister at his court, who was sister of Queen Natalie, influenced King
Alexander in his abrupt and ill-judged decisions. It was certainly
German policy to weaken and discredit Serbia and to further Austrian
influence at Belgrade at the expense of that of Russia. King Milan
returned for a time to Belgrade in 1897, and the reaction, favourable
to Austria, which had begun in 1894, increased during his presence and
under the ministry of Dr. Vladan Gjorgjević, which lasted from 1897
till 1900. This state of repression caused unrest throughout the
country. All its energies were absorbed in fruitless political party
strife, and no material or moral progress was possible. King Alexander,
distracted, solitary, and helpless in the midst of this unending welter
of political intrigue, committed an extremely imprudent act in the
summer of 1900. Having gone for much-needed relaxation to see his
mother at Biarritz, he fell violently in love with her lady in waiting,
Madame Draga Mašin, the divorced wife of a Serbian officer. Her
somewhat equivocal past was in King Alexander’s eyes quite eclipsed by
her great beauty and her wit, which had not been impaired by conjugal
infelicity. Although she was thirty-two, and he only twenty-four, he
determined to marry her, and the desperate opposition of his parents,
his army, his ministers, and his people, based principally on the fact
that the woman was known to be incapable of child-birth, only
precipitated the accomplishment of his intention. This unfortunate and
headstrong action on the part of the young king, who, though deficient
in tact and intuition, had plenty of energy and was by no means stupid,
might have been forgiven him by his people if, as was at first thought
possible, it had restored internal peace and prosperity in the country
and thereby enabled it to prepare itself to take a part in the solution
o£ those foreign questions which vitally affected Serb interests and
were already looming on the horizon. But it did not. In 1901 King
Alexander granted another constitution and for a time attempted to work
with a coalition ministry; but this failed, and a term of reaction with
pro-Austrian tendencies, which were favoured by the king and queen, set
in. This reaction, combined with the growing disorganization of the
finances and the general sense of the discredit and failure which the
follies of its rulers had during the last thirty years brought on the
country; completely undermined the position of the dynasty and made a
catastrophe inevitable. This occurred, as is well known, on June 10,
1903, when, as the result of a military conspiracy, King Alexander, the
last of the Obrenović dynasty, his wife, and her male relatives were
murdered. This crime was purely political, and it is absurd to gloss it
over or to explain it merely as the result of the family feud between
the two dynasties. That came to an end in 1868, when the murder of
Kara-George in 1817 by the agency of Miloš Obrenović was avenged by the
lunatic assassination of the brilliant Prince Michael Obrenović III. It
is no exaggeration to say that, from the point of view of the Serbian
patriot, the only salvation of his country in 1903 lay in getting rid
of the Obrenović dynasty, which had become pro-Austrian, had no longer
the great gifts possessed by its earlier members, and undoubtedly by
its vagaries hindered the progress of Serbia both in internal and
external politics. The assassination was unfortunately carried out with
unnecessary cruelty, and it is this fact that made such a bad
impression and for so long militated against Serbia in western Europe;
but it must be remembered that civilization in the Balkans, where
political murder, far from being a product of the five hundred years of
Turkish dominion, has always been endemic, is not on the same level in
many respects as it is in the rest of Europe. Life is one of the
commodities which are still cheap in backward countries.

Although King Alexander and his wife can in no sense be said to have
deserved the awful fate that befell them, it is equally true that had
any other course been adopted, such as deposition and exile, the
wire-pulling and intriguing from outside, which had already done the
country so much harm, would have become infinitely worse. Even so, it
was long before things in any sense settled down. As for the alleged
complicity of the rival dynasty in the crime, it is well established
that that did not exist. It was no secret to anybody interested in
Serbian affairs that something catastrophic was about to happen, and
when the tragedy occurred it was natural to appeal to the alternative
native dynasty to step into the breach. But the head of that dynasty
was in no way responsible for the plot, still less for the manner in
which it was carried out, and it was only after much natural hesitation
and in the face of his strong disinclination that Prince Peter
Karagjorgjević was induced to accept the by no means enviable, easy, or
profitable task of guiding Serbia’s destiny. The Serbian throne in 1903
was a source neither of glory nor of riches, and it was notoriously no
sinecure.

After the tragedy, the democratic constitution of 1888 was first of all
restored, and then Prince Peter Karagjorgjević, grandson of
Kara-George, the leader of the first Serbian insurrection of 1804-13,
who was at that time fifty-nine years of age, was unanimously elected
king. He had married in 1883 a daughter of Prince Nicholas of
Montenegro and sister of the future Queen of Italy, but she had been
dead already some years at the time of his accession, leaving him with
a family of two sons and a daughter.



19
_Serbia, Montenegro, and the Serbo-Croats in Austria-Hungary,_ 1903–8


It was inevitable that, after the sensation which such an event could
not fail to cause in twentieth-century Europe, it should take the
country where it occurred some time to live down the results. Other
powers, especially those of western Europe, looked coldly on Serbia and
were in no hurry to resume diplomatic intercourse, still less to offer
diplomatic support. The question of the punishment and exile of the
conspirators was almost impossible of solution, and only time was able
to obliterate the resentment caused by the whole affair. In Serbia
itself a great change took place. The new sovereign, though he laboured
under the greatest possible disadvantages, by his irreproachable
behaviour, modesty, tact, and strictly constitutional rule, was able to
withdraw the court of Belgrade from the trying limelight to which it
had become used. The public finances began to be reorganized, commerce
began to improve in spite of endless tariff wars with Austria-Hungary,
and attention was again diverted from home to foreign politics. With
the gradual spread of education and increase of communication, and the
growth of national self-consciousness amongst the Serbs and Croats of
Austria-Hungary and the two independent Serb states, a new movement for
the closer intercourse amongst the various branches of the Serb race
for south Slav unity, as it was called, gradually began to take shape.
At the same time a more definitely political agitation started in
Serbia, largely inspired by the humiliating position of economic
bondage in which the country was held by Austria-Hungary, and was
roughly justified by the indisputable argument: ‘Serbia must expand or
die.’ Expansion at the cost of Turkey seemed hopeless, because even the
acquisition of Macedonia would give Serbia a large alien population and
no maritime outlet. It was towards the Adriatic that the gaze of the
Serbs was directed, to the coast which was ethnically Serbian and could
legitimately be considered a heritage of the Serb race.

Macedonia was also taken into account, schools and armed bands began
their educative activity amongst those inhabitants of the unhappy
province who were Serb, or who lived in places where Serbs had lived,
or who with sufficient persuasion could be induced to call themselves
Serb; but the principal stream of propaganda was directed westwards
into Bosnia and Hercegovina. The antagonism between Christian and
Mohammedan, Serb and Turk, was never so bitter as between Christian and
Christian, Serb and German or Magyar, and the Serbs were clever enough
to see that Bosnia and Hercegovina, from every point of view, was to
them worth ten Macedonias, though it would he ten times more difficult
to obtain. Bosnia and Hercegovina, though containing three confessions,
were ethnically homogeneous, and it was realised that these two
provinces were as important to Serbia and Montenegro as the rest of
Italy had been to Piedmont.

It must at this time be recalled in what an extraordinary way the Serb
race had fortuitously been broken up into a number of quite arbitrary
political divisions. Dalmatia (three per cent. of the population of
which is Italian and all the rest Serb or Croat, preponderatingly Serb
and Orthodox in the south and preponderating Croat or Roman Catholic in
the north) was a province of Austria and sent deputies to the
Reichsrath at Vienna; at the same time it was territorially isolated
from Austria and had no direct railway connexion with any country
except a narrow-gauge line into Bosnia. Croatia and Slavonia,
preponderatingly Roman Catholic, were lands of the Hungarian crown, and
though they had a provincial pseudo-autonomous diet at Agram, the
capital of Croatia, they sent deputies to the Hungarian parliament at
Budapest. Thus what had in the Middle Ages been known as the triune
kingdom of Croatia, Slavonia, and Dalmatia, with a total Serbo-Croat
population of three millions, was divided between Austria and Hungary.

Further, there were about 700,000 Serbs and Croats in the south of
Hungary proper, cast and north of the Danube, known as the Banat and
Bačka, a district which during the eighteenth and early nineteenth
centuries was the hearth and home of Serb literature and education, but
which later waned in importance in that respect as independent Serbia
grew. These Serbs were directly dependent on Budapest, the only
autonomy they possessed being ecclesiastical. Bosnia and Hercegovina,
still nominally Turkish provinces, with a Slav population of nearly two
million (850,000 Orthodox Serbs, 650,000 Mohammedan Serbs, and the rest
Roman Catholics), were to all intents and purposes already imperial
lands of Austria-Hungary, with a purely military and police
administration; the shadow of Turkish sovereignty provided sufficient
excuse to the _de facto_ owners of these provinces not to grant the
inhabitants parliamentary government or even genuine provincial
autonomy. The Serbs in Serbia numbered nearly three millions, those in
Montenegro about a quarter of a million; while in Turkey, in what was
known as Old Serbia (the _sandjak_ of Novi-Pasar between Serbia and
Montenegro and the vilayet of Korovo), and in parts of northern and
central Macedonia, there were scattered another half million. These
last, of course, had no voice at all in the management of their own
affairs. Those in Montenegro lived under the patriarchal autocracy of
Prince Nicholas, who had succeeded his uncle, Prince Danilo, in 1860,
at the age of nineteen. Though no other form of government could have
turned the barren rocks of Montenegro into fertile pastures, many of
the people grew restless with the restricted possibilities of a career
which the mountain principality offered them, and in latter years
migrated in large numbers to North and South America, whither
emigration from Dalmatia and Croatia too had already readied serious
proportions. The Serbs in Serbia were the only ones who could claim to
be free, but even this was a freedom entirely dependent on the economic
malevolence of Austria-Hungary and Turkey. Cut up in this way by the
hand of fate into such a number of helpless fragments, it was
inevitable that the Serb race, if it possessed any vitality, should
attempt, at any cost, to piece some if not all of them together and
form an ethnical whole which, economically and politically, should be
master of its own destinies. It was equally inevitable that the policy
of Austria-Hungary should be to anticipate or definitively render any
such attempt impossible, because obviously the formation of a large
south Slav state, by cutting off Austria from the Adriatic and
eliminating from the dual monarchy all the valuable territory between
the Dalmatian coast and the river Drave, would seriously jeopardize its
position as a great power; it must be remembered, also, that
Austria-Hungary, far from decomposing, as it was commonly assumed was
happening, had been enormously increasing in vitality ever since 1878.

The means adopted by the governments of Vienna and Budapest to nullify
the plans of Serbian expansion were generally to maintain the political
_émiettement_ of the Serb race, the isolation of one group from
another, the virtually enforced emigration of Slavs on a large scale
and their substitution by German colonists, and the encouragement of
rivalry and discord between Roman Catholic Croat and Orthodox Serb. No
railways were allowed to be built in Dalmatia, communication between
Agram and any other parts of the monarchy except Fiume or Budapest was
rendered almost impossible; Bosnia and Hercegovina were shut off into a
watertight compartment and endowed with a national flag composed of the
inspiring colours of brown and buff; it was made impossible for Serbs
to visit Montenegro or for Montenegrins to visit Serbia except via
Fiume, entailing the bestowal of several pounds on the Hungarian state
steamers and railways. As for the _sandjak_ of Novi-Pazar, it was
turned into a veritable Tibet, and a legend was spread abroad that if
any foreigner ventured there he would be surely murdered by Turkish
brigands; meanwhile it was full of Viennese ladies giving picnics and
dances and tennis parties to the wasp-waisted officers of the Austrian
garrison. Bosnia and Hercegovina, on the other hand, became the model
touring provinces of Austria-Hungary, and no one can deny that their
great natural beauties were made more enjoyable by the construction of
railways, roads, and hotels. At the same time this was not a work of
pure philanthropy, and the emigration statistics are a good indication
of the joy with which the Bosnian peasants paid for an annual influx of
admiring tourists. In spite of all these disadvantages, however, the
Serbo-Croat provinces of Austria-Hungary could not be deprived of all
the benefits of living within a large and prosperous customs union,
while being made to pay for all the expenses of the elaborate imperial
administration and services; and the spread of education, even under
the Hapsburg régime, began to tell in time. Simultaneously with the
agitation which emanated from Serbia and was directed towards the
advancement, by means of schools and religious and literary propaganda,
of Serbian influence in Bosnia and Hercegovina, a movement started in
Dalmatia and Croatia for the closer union of those two provinces. About
1906 the two movements found expression in the formation of the
Serbo-Croat or Croato-Serb coalition party, composed of those elements
in Dalmatia, Croatia, and Slavonia which favoured closer union between
the various groups of the Serb race scattered throughout those
provinces, as well as in Serbia, Montenegro, Bosnia, Hercegovina, and
Turkey. Owing to the circumstances already described, it was impossible
for the representatives of the Serb race to voice their aspirations
unanimously in any one parliament, and the work of the coalition,
except in the provincial diet at Agram, consisted mostly of conducting
press campaigns and spreading propaganda throughout those provinces.
The most important thing about the coalition was that it buried
religious antagonism and put unity of race above difference of belief.
In this way it came into conflict with the ultramontane Croat party at
Agram, which wished to incorporate Bosnia, Hercegovina, and Dalmatia
with Croatia and create a third purely Roman Catholic Slav state in the
empire, on a level with Austria and Hungary; also to a lesser extent
with the intransigent Serbs of Belgrade, who affected to ignore Croatia
and Roman Catholicism, and only dreamed of bringing Bosnia,
Hercegovina, and as much of Dalmatia as they could under their own
rule; and finally it had to overcome the hostility of the Mohammedan
Serbs of Bosnia, who disliked all Christians equally, could only with
the greatest difficulty be persuaded that they were really Serbs and
not Turks, and honestly cared for nothing but Islam and Turkish coffee,
thus considerably facilitating the germanization of the two provinces.
The coalition was wisely inclined to postpone the programme of final
political settlement, and aimed immediately at the removal of the
material and moral barriers placed between the Serbs of the various
provinces of Austria-Hungary, including Bosnia and Hercegovina. If they
had been sure of adequate guarantees they would probably have agreed to
the inclusion of _all_ Serbs and Croats within the monarchy, because
the constitution of all Serbs and Croats in an independent state (not
necessarily a kingdom) without it implied the then problematic
contingencies of a European war and the disruption of Austria-Hungary.
Considering the manifold handicaps under which Serbia and its cause
suffered, the considerable success which its propaganda met with in
Bosnia and Hercegovina and other parts of Austria-Hungary, from 1903
till 1908, is a proof, not only of the energy and earnestness of its
promoters and of the vitality of the Serbian people, but also, if any
were needed, of the extreme unpopularity of the Hapsburg régime in the
southern Slav provinces of the dual monarchy. Serbia had no help from
outside. Russia was entangled in the Far East and then in the
revolution, and though the new dynasty was approved in St. Petersburg
Russian sympathy with Serbia was at that time only lukewarm. Relations
with Austria-Hungary were of course always strained; only one single
line of railway connected the two countries, and as Austria-Hungary was
the only profitable market, for geographical reasons, for Serbian
products, Serbia could be brought to its knees at any moment by the
commercial closing of the frontier. It was a symbol of the economic
vassalage of Serbia and Montenegro that the postage between both of
these countries and any part of Austria-Hungary was ten centimes, that
for letters between Serbia and Montenegro, which had to make the long
détour through Austrian territory, was twenty-five. But though this
opened the Serbian markets to Austria, it also incidentally opened
Bosnia, when the censor could be circumvented to propaganda by pamphlet
and correspondence. Intercourse with western Europe was restricted by
distance, and, owing to dynastic reasons, diplomatic relations were
altogether suspended for several years between this country and Serbia.
The Balkan States Exhibition held in London during the summer of 1907,
to encourage trade between Great Britain and the Balkans, was hardly a
success. Italy and Serbia had nothing in common. With Montenegro even,
despite the fact that King Peter was Prince Nicholas’s son-in-law,
relations were bad. It was felt in Serbia that Prince Nicholas’s
autocratic rule acted as a brake on the legitimate development of the
national consciousness, and Montenegrin students who visited Belgrade
returned to their homes full of wild and unsuitable ideas. However, the
revolutionary tendencies, which some of them undoubtedly developed, had
no fatal results to the reigning dynasty, which continued as before to
enjoy the special favour as well as the financial support of the
Russian court, and which, looked on throughout Europe as a picturesque
and harmless institution, it would have been dangerous, as it was quite
unnecessary, to touch.

Serbia was thus left entirely to its own resources in the great
propagandist activity which filled the years 1903 to 1908. The
financial means at its disposal were exiguous in the extreme,
especially when compared with the enormous sums lavished annually by
the Austrian and German governments on their secret political services,
so that the efforts of its agents cannot be ascribed to cupidity. Also
it must be admitted that the kingdom of Serbia, with its capital
Belgrade, thanks to the internal chaos and dynastic scandals of the
previous forty years, resulting in superficial dilapidation,
intellectual stagnation, and general poverty, lacked the material as
well as the moral glamour which a successful Piedmont should possess.
Nobody could deny, for instance, that, with all its natural advantages,
Belgrade was at first sight not nearly such an attractive centre as
Agram or Sarajevo, or that the qualities which the Serbs of Serbia had
displayed since their emancipation were hardly such as to command the
unstinted confidence and admiration of their as yet unredeemed
compatriots. Nevertheless the Serbian propaganda in favour of what was
really a Pan-Serb movement met with great success, especially in
Bosnia, Hercegovina, and Old Serbia (northern Macedonia).

Simultaneously the work of the Serbo-Croat coalition in Dalmatia,
Croatia, and Slavonia made considerable progress in spite of clerical
opposition and desperate conflicts with the government at Budapest.
Both the one movement and the other naturally evoked great alarm and
emotion in the Austrian and Hungarian capitals, as they were seen to be
genuinely popular and also potentially, if not actually, separatist in
character. In October 1906 Baron Achrenthal succeeded Count Goluchowski
as Minister for Foreign Affairs at Vienna, and very soon initiated a
more vigorous and incidentally anti-Slav foreign policy than his
predecessor. What was now looked on as the Serbian danger had in the
eyes of Vienna assumed such proportions that the time for decisive
action was considered to have arrived. In January 1908 Baron Achrenthal
announced his scheme for a continuation of the Bosnian railway system
through the _sandjak_ of Novi-Pazar to link up with the Turkish
railways in Macedonia. This plan was particularly foolish in
conception, because, the Bosnian railways being narrow and the Turkish
normal gauge, the line would have been useless for international
commerce, while the engineering difficulties were such that the cost of
construction would have been prohibitive. But the possibilities which
this move indicated, the palpable evidence it contained of the
notorious _Drang nach Osten_ of the Germanic powers towards Salonika
and Constantinople, were quite sufficient to fill the ministries of
Europe, and especially those of Russia, with extreme uneasiness. The
immediate result of this was that concerted action between Russia and
Austria-Hungary in the Balkans was thenceforward impossible, and the
Mürzsteg programme, after a short and precarious existence, came to an
untimely end (cf. chap. 12). Serbia and Montenegro, face to face with
this new danger which threatened permanently to separate their
territories, were beside themselves, and immediately parried with the
project, hardly more practicable in view of their international credit,
of a Danube-Adriatic railway. In July 1908 the nerves of Europe were
still further tried by the Young Turk revolution in Constantinople. The
imminence of this movement was known to Austro-German diplomacy, and
doubtless this knowledge, as well as the fear of the Pan-Serb movement,
prompted the Austrian foreign minister to take steps towards the
definitive regularization of his country’s position in Bosnia and
Hercegovina—provinces whose suzerain was still the Sultan of Turkey.
The effect of the Young Turk coup in the Balkan States was as any one
who visited them at that time can testify, both pathetic and intensely
humorous. The permanent chaos of the Turkish empire, and the process of
watching for years its gradual but inevitable decomposition, had
created amongst the neighbouring states an atmosphere of excited
anticipation, which was really the breath of their nostrils; it had
stimulated them during the endless Macedonian insurrections to commit
the most awful outrages against each other’s nationals and then lay the
blame at the door of the unfortunate Turk; and if the Turk should
really regenerate himself, not only would their occupation be gone, but
the heavily-discounted legacies would assuredly elude their grasp. At
the same time, since the whole policy of exhibiting and exploiting the
horrors of Macedonia, and of organizing guerilla bands and provoking
intervention, was based on the refusal of the Turks to grant reforms,
as soon as the ultra-liberal constitution of Midhat Pasha, which, had
been withdrawn after a brief and unsuccessful run in 1876, was restored
by the Young Turks, there was nothing left for the Balkan States to do
but to applaud with as much enthusiasm as they could simulate. The
emotions experienced by the Balkan peoples during that summer, beneath
the smiles which they had to assume, were exhausting even for southern
temperaments. Bulgaria, with its characteristic matter-of-factness, was
the first to adjust itself to the new and trying situation in which the
only certainty was that something decisive had got to be done with all
possible celerity. On October 5, 1908, Prince Ferdinand sprang on an
astonished continent the news that he renounced the Turkish suzerainty
(ever since 1878 the Bulgarian principality had been a tributary and
vassal state of the Ottoman Empire, and therefore, with all its
astonishingly rapid progress and material prosperity, a subject for
commiseration in the kingdoms of Serbia and Greece) and proclaimed the
independence of Bulgaria, with himself, as Tsar of the Bulgars, at its
head. Europe had not recovered from this shock, still less Belgrade and
Athens, when, two days later. Baron Aehrenthal announced the formal
annexation of Bosnia and Hercegovina by the Emperor Francis Joseph.
Whereas most people had virtually forgotten the Treaty of Berlin and
had come to look on Austria as just as permanently settled in these two
provinces as was Great Britain in Egypt and Cyprus, yet the formal
breach of the stipulations of that treaty on Austria’s part, by
annexing the provinces without notice to or consultation with the other
parties concerned, gave the excuse for a somewhat ridiculous hue and
cry on the part of the other powers, and especially on that of Russia.
The effect of these blows from right and left on Serbia was literally
paralysing. When Belgrade recovered the use of its organs, it started
to scream for war and revenue, and initiated an international crisis
from which Europe did not recover till the following year. Meanwhile,
almost unobserved by the peoples of Serbia and Montenegro, Austria had,
in order to reconcile the Turks with the loss of their provinces,
good-naturedly, but from the Austrian point of view short-sightedly,
withdrawn its garrisons from the _sandjak_ of Novi-Pazar, thus
evacuating the long-coveted corridor which was the one thing above all
else necessary to Serbia and Montenegro for the realization of their
plans.



20
_Serbia and Montenegro, and the two Balkan Wars,_ 1908–13 (cf. Chap,
13)


The winter of 1908-9 marked the lowest ebb of Serbia’s fortunes. The
successive _coups_ and _faits accomplis_ carried out by Austria,
Turkey, and Bulgaria during 1908 seemed destined to destroy for good
the Serbian plans for expansion in any direction whatever, and if these
could not be realized then Serbia must die of suffocation. It was also
well understood that for all the martial ardour displayed in Belgrade
the army was in no condition to take the field any more than was the
treasury to bear the cost of a campaign; Russia had not yet recovered
from the Japanese War followed by the revolution, and indeed everything
pointed to the certainty that if Serbia indulged in hostilities against
Austria-Hungary it would perish ignominiously and alone. The worst of
it was that neither Serbia nor Montenegro had any legal claim to Bosnia
and Hercegovina: they had been deluding themselves with the hope that
their ethnical identity with the people of these provinces, supported
by the effects of their propaganda, would induce a compassionate and
generous Europe at least to insist on their being given a part of the
coveted territory, and thus give Serbia access to the coast, when the
ambiguous position of these two valuable provinces, still nominally
Turkish but already virtually Austrian, came to be finally regularized.
As a matter of fact, ever since Bismarck, Gorchakóv, and Beaconsfield
had put Austria-Hungary in their possession in 1878, no one had
seriously thought that the Dual Monarchy would ever voluntarily retire
from one inch of the territory which had been conquered and occupied at
such cost, and those who noticed it were astonished at the evacuation
by it of the _sandjak_ of Novi-Pazar. At the same time Baron Achrenthal
little foresaw what a hornet’s nest he would bring about his ears by
the tactless method in which the annexation was carried out. The first
effect was to provoke a complete boycott of Austro-Hungarian goods and
trading vessels throughout the Ottoman Empire, which was so harmful to
the Austrian export trade that in January 1909 Count Achrenthal had to
indemnify Turkey with the sum of £2,500,000 for his technically stolen
property. Further, the attitude of Russia and Serbia throughout the
whole winter remained so provocative and threatening that, although war
was generally considered improbable, the Austrian army had to be kept
on a war footing, which involved great expense and much popular
discontent. The grave external crisis was only solved at the end of
March 1909; Germany had had to deliver a veiled ultimatum at St.
Petersburg, the result of which was the rescue of Austria-Hungary from
an awkward situation by the much-advertised appearance of its faithful
ally in shining armour. Simultaneously Serbia had to eat humble pie and
declare, with complete absence of truth, that the annexation of Bosnia
and Hercegovina had not affected its interests.

Meanwhile the internal complications in the southern Slav provinces of
Austria-Hungary were growing formidable. Ever since the summer of 1908
arrests had been going on among the members of the Croato-Serb
coalition, who were accused of favouring the subversive Pan-Serb
movement. The press of Austria-Hungary magnified the importance of this
agitation in order to justify abroad the pressing need for the formal
annexation of Bosnia and Hercegovina. The fact was that, though
immediate danger to the monarchy as a result of the Pan-Serb agitation
was known not to exist, yet in the interests of Austrian foreign
policy, the Serbs had to be compromised in the eyes of Europe, the
Croato-Serb coalition within the Dual Monarchy had to be destroyed to
gratify Budapest in particular, and the religious and political discord
between Croat and Serb, on which the foundation of the power of
Austria-Hungary, and especially that of Hungary, in the south rested,
and which was in a fair way of being eliminated through the efforts of
the coalition, had to be revived by some means or other. It is not
possible here to go into the details of the notorious Agram high
treason trial, which was the outcome of all this. It suffices to say
that it was a monstrous travesty of justice which lasted from March
till October 1909, and though it resulted in the ostensible destruction
of the coalition and the imprisonment of many of its members, it
defeated its own ends, as it merely fanned the flame of nationalistic
feeling against Vienna and Budapest, and Croatia has ever since had to
be governed virtually by martial law. This was followed in December
1909 by the even more famous Friedjung trial. In March 1909 Count
Achrenthal had begun in Vienna a violent press campaign against Serbia,
accusing the Serbian Government and dynasty of complicity in the
concoction of nefarious designs and conspiracies against the integrity
of Austria-Hungary. This campaign was thought to be the means of
foreshadowing and justifying the immediate military occupation of
Serbia. Unfortunately its instigator had not been sufficiently
particular as to the choice of his tools and his methods of using them.
Among the contributors of the highly tendencious articles was the
well-known historian Dr. Friedjung, who made extensive use of documents
supplied him by the Vienna Foreign Office. His accusations immediately
provoked an action for libel on the part of three leaders of the
Croato-Serb coalition who were implicated, in December 1909. The trial,
which was highly sensational, resulted in the complete vindication and
rehabilitation both of those three Austrian subjects in the eyes of the
whole of Austria-Hungary and of the Belgrade Foreign Office in those of
Europe; the documents on which the charges were based were proven to be
partly forgeries, partly falsified, and partly stolen by various
disreputable secret political agents of the Austrian Foreign Office,
and one of the principal Serbian ‘conspirators’, a professor of
Belgrade University, proved that he was in Berlin at the time when he
had been accused of presiding over a revolutionary meeting at Belgrade.
But it also resulted in the latter discrediting of Count Achrenthal as
a diplomat and of the methods by which he conducted the business of the
Austrian Foreign Office, and involved his country in the expenditure of
countless millions which it could ill afford.

There never was any doubt that a subversive agitation had been going
on, and that it emanated in part from Serbia, but the Serbian Foreign
Office, under the able management of Dr. Milovanović and Dr.
Spalajković (one of the principal witnesses at the Friedjung trial),
was far too clever to allow any of its members, or indeed any
responsible person in Serbia, to be concerned in it, and the brilliant
way in which the clumsy and foolish charges were refuted redounded
greatly to the credit of the Serbian Government. Count Achrenthal had
overreached himself, and moreover the wind had already been taken out
of his sails by the public recantation on Serbia’s part of its
pretensions to Bosnia, which, as already mentioned, took place at the
end of March 1909, and by the simultaneous termination of the
international crisis marked by Russia’s acquiescence in the _fait
accompli_ of the annexation. At the same time the Serbian Crown Prince
George, King Peter’s elder son, who had been the leader of the
chauvinist war-party in Serbia, and was somewhat theatrical in
demeanour and irresponsible in character, renounced his rights of
succession in favour of his younger brother Prince Alexander, a much
steadier and more talented young man. It is certain that when he
realized how things were going to develop Count Achrenthal tried to
hush up the whole incident, but it was too late, and Dr. Friedjung
insisted on doing what he could to save his reputation as a historian.
In the end he was made the principal scapegoat, though the press of
Vienna voiced its opinion of the Austrian Foreign Office in no measured
tones, saying, amongst other things, that if the conductors of its
diplomacy must use forgeries, they might at any rate secure good ones.
Eventually a compromise was arranged, after the defendant had clearly
lost his case, owing to pressure being brought to bear from outside,
and the Serbian Government refrained from carrying out its threat of
having the whole question threshed out before the Hague Tribunal.

The cumulative effect of all these exciting and trying experiences was
the growth of a distinctly more sympathetic feeling towards Serbia in
Europe at large, and especially a rallying of all the elements
throughout the Serb and Croat provinces of Austria-Hungary, except the
extreme clericals of Agram, to the Serbian cause; briefly, the effect
was the exact opposite of that desired by Vienna and Budapest.
Meanwhile events had been happening elsewhere which revived the
drooping interest and flagging hopes of Serbia in the development of
foreign affairs. The attainment of power by the Young Turks and the
introduction of parliamentary government had brought no improvement to
the internal condition of the Ottoman Empire, and the Balkan peoples
made no effort to conceal their satisfaction at the failure of the
revolution to bring about reform by magic. The counter-revolution of
April 1909 and the accession of the Sultan Mohammed V made things no
better. In Macedonia, and especially in Albania, they had been going
from bad to worse. The introduction of universal military service and
obligatory payment of taxes caused a revolution in Albania, where such
innovations were not at all appreciated. From 1909 till 1911 there was
a state of perpetual warfare in Albania, with which the Young Turks, in
spite of cruel reprisals, were unable to cope, until, in the summer of
that year, Austria threatened to intervene unless order were restored;
some sort of settlement was patched up, and an amnesty was granted to
the rebels by the new Sultan. This unfortunate man, after being
rendered almost half-witted by having been for the greater part of his
life kept a prisoner by his brother the tyrant Abdul Hamid, was now the
captive of the Young Turks, and had been compelled by them to make as
triumphal a progress as fears for his personal safety would allow
through the provinces of European Turkey. But it was obvious to Balkan
statesmen that Turkey was only changed in name, and that, if its
threatened regeneration had slightly postponed their plans for its
partition amongst themselves, the ultimate consummation of these plans
must be pursued with, if possible, even greater energy and expedition
than before. It was also seen by the more perspicacious of them that
the methods hitherto adopted must in future be radically altered. A
rejuvenated though unreformed Turkey, bent on self-preservation, could
not be despised, and it was understood that if the revolutionary bands
of the three Christian nations (Greece, Serbia, and Bulgaria) were to
continue indefinitely to cut each others’ throats in Macedonia the
tables might conceivably be turned on them.

From 1909 onwards a series of phenomena occurred in the Balkans which
ought to have given warning to the Turks, whose survival in Europe had
been due solely to the fact that the Balkan States had never been able
to unite. In the autumn of 1909 King Ferdinand of Bulgaria met Crown
Prince Alexander of Serbia and made an expedition in his company to
Mount Kopaonik in Serbia, renowned for the beauty of its flora. This
must have struck those who remembered the bitter feelings which had
existed between the two countries for years and had been intensified by
the events of 1908. Bulgaria had looked on Serbia’s failures with
persistent contempt, while Serbia had watched Bulgaria’s successful
progress with speechless jealousy, and the memory of Slivnitsa was not
yet obliterated. In the summer of 1910 Prince Nicholas of Montenegro
celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of his reign and his golden
wedding. The festivities were attended by King Ferdinand of Bulgaria
and the Crown Prince Boris, by the Crown Prince Alexander of Serbia and
his sister, grandchildren of Prince Nicholas, by his two daughters the
Queen of Italy and the Grand Duchess Anastasia of Russia, and by their
husbands, King Victor Emmanuel and the Grand Duke Nicholas. The
happiness of the venerable ruler, who was as respected throughout
Europe as he was feared throughout his principality, was at the same
time completed by his recognition as king by all the governments and
sovereigns of the continent. The hopes that he would simultaneously
introduce a more liberal form of government amongst his own people were
unfortunately disappointed.

The year 1911, it need scarcely be recalled, was extremely fateful for
the whole of Europe. The growing restlessness and irritability
manifested by the German Empire began to make all the other governments
feel exceedingly uneasy. The French expedition to Fez in April was
followed by the Anglo-Franco-German crisis of July; war was avoided,
and France was recognized as virtually master of Morocco, but the
soreness of the diplomatic defeat rendered Germany a still more trying
neighbour than it had been before. The first repercussion was the war
which broke out in September 1911 between Italy and Turkey for the
possession of Tripoli and Cyrenaica, which Italy, with its usual
insight, saw was vital to its position as a Mediterranean power and
therefore determined to acquire before any other power had time or
courage to do so. In the Balkans this was a year of observation and
preparation. Serbia, taught by the bitter lesson of 1908 not to be
caught again unprepared, had spent much money and care on its army
during the last few years and had brought it to a much higher state of
efficiency. In Austria-Hungary careful observers wore aware that
something was afoot and that the gaze of Serbia, which from 1903 till
1908 had been directed westwards to Bosnia and the Adriatic, had since
1908 been fixed on Macedonia and the Aegean. The actual formation of
the Balkan League by King Ferdinand and M. Venezelos may not have been
known, but it was realized that action of some sort on the part of the
Balkan States was imminent, and that something must be done to
forestall it. In February 1912 Count Aehrenthal died, and was succeeded
by Count Berchtold as Austro-Hungarian Minister for Foreign Affairs. In
August of the same year this minister unexpectedly announced his new
and startling proposals for the introduction of reforms in Macedonia,
which nobody in the Balkans who had any material interest in the fate
of that province genuinely desired at that moment; the motto of the new
scheme was ‘progressive decentralization’, blessed words which soothed
the great powers as much as they alarmed the Balkan Governments. But
already in May 1912 agreements between Bulgaria and Greece and between
Bulgaria and Serbia had been concluded, limiting their respective zones
of influence in the territory which they hoped to conquer. It was, to
any one who has any knowledge of Balkan history, incredible that the
various Governments had been able to come to any agreement at all. That
arrived at by Bulgaria and Serbia divided Macedonia between them in
such a way that Bulgaria should obtain central Macedonia with Monastir
and Okhrida, and Serbia northern Macedonia or Old Serbia; there was an
indeterminate zone between the two spheres, including Skoplje (Üsküb,
in Turkish), the exact division of which it was agreed to leave to
arbitration at a subsequent date.

The Macedonian theatre of war was by common consent regarded as the
most important, and Bulgaria here promised Serbia the assistance of
100,000 men. The Turks meanwhile were aware that all was not what it
seemed beyond the frontiers, and in August 1912 began collecting troops
in Thrace, ostensibly for manoeuvres. During the month of September the
patience of the four Governments of Greece, Bulgaria, Serbia, and
Montenegro, which had for years with the utmost self-control been
passively watching the awful sufferings of their compatriots under
Turkish misrule, gradually became exhausted. On September 28 the four
Balkan Governments informed Russia that the Balkan League was an
accomplished fact, and on the 30th the representatives of all four
signed the alliance, and mobilization was ordered in Greece, Bulgaria,
and Serbia. The population of Montenegro was habitually on a war
footing, and it was left to the mountain kingdom from its
geographically favourable position to open hostilities. On October 8
Montenegro declared war on Turkey, and after a series of brilliant
successes along the frontier its forces settled down to the wearisome
and arduous siege of Scutari with its impregnable sentinel, Mount
Taraboš, converted into a modern fortress; the unaccustomed nature of
these tasks, to which the Montenegrin troops, used to the adventures of
irregular warfare, were little suited, tried the valour and patience of
the intrepid mountaineers to the utmost. By that time Europe was in a
ferment, and both Russia and Austria, amazed at having the initiative
in the regulation of Balkan affairs wrested from them, showered on the
Balkan capitals threats and protests, which for once in a way were
neglected.

On October 13 Greece, Bulgaria, and Serbia replied that the offer of
outside assistance and advice had come too late, and that they had
decided themselves to redress the intolerable and secular wrongs of
their long-suffering compatriots in Macedonia by force of arms. To
their dismay a treaty of peace was signed at Lausanne about the same
time between Turkey and Italy, which power, it had been hoped, would
have distracted Turkey’s attention by a continuance of hostilities in
northern Africa, and at any rate immobilized the Turkish fleet.
Encouraged by this success Turkey boldly declared war on Bulgaria and
Serbia on October 17, hoping to frighten Greece and detach it from the
league; but on the 18th the Greek Government replied by declaring war
on Turkey, thus completing the necessary formalities. The Turks were
confident of an early and easy victory, and hoped to reach Sofia, not
from Constantinople and Thrace, but pushing up north-eastwards from
Macedonia. The rapid offensive of the Serbian army, however, took them
by surprise, and they were completely overwhelmed at the battle of
Kumanovo in northern Macedonia on October 23-4, 1912. On the 31st King
Peter made his triumphal entry into Skoplje (ex-Üsküb), the ancient
capital of Serbia under Tsar Stephen Dušan in the fourteenth century.
From there the Serbian army pursued the Turks southward, and at the
battles of Prilep (November 5) and Monastir (November 19), after
encountering the most stubborn opposition, finally put an end to their
resistance in this part of the theatre of war. On November 9 the Greeks
entered Salonika.

Meanwhile other divisions of the Serbian army had joined hands with the
Montenegrins, and occupied almost without opposition the long-coveted
_sandjak_ of Novi-Pazar (the ancient Serb Raška), to the inexpressible
rage of Austria-Hungary, which had evacuated it in 1908 in favour of
its rightful owner, Turkey. At the same time a Serbian expeditionary
corps marched right through Albania, braving great hardships on the
way, and on November 30 occupied Durazzo, thus securing at last a
foothold on the Adriatic. Besides all this, Serbia, in fulfilment of
its treaty obligations, dispatched 50,000 splendidly equipped men,
together with a quantity of heavy siege artillery, to help the
Bulgarians at the siege of Adrianople. On December 3 an armistice was
signed between the belligerents, with the condition that the three
besieged Turkish fortresses of Adrianople, Scutari, and Yanina must not
be re-victualled, and on December 16, 1912, peace negotiations were
opened between representatives of the belligerent countries in London.
Meanwhile the Germanic powers, dismayed by the unexpected victories of
the Balkan armies and humiliated by the crushing defeats in the field
of the German-trained Turkish army, had since the beginning of November
been doing everything in their power to support their client Turkey and
prevent its final extinction and at the same time the blighting of
their ambitions eventually to acquire the Empire of the Near East.
During the conference in London between the plenipotentiaries of the
belligerents, parallel meetings took place between the representatives
of the great powers, whose relations with each other were strained and
difficult in the extreme. The Turkish envoys prolonged the
negotiations, as was their custom; they naturally were unwilling to
concede their European provinces to the despised and hated Greek and
Slavonic conquerors, but the delays implied growing hardships for their
besieged and starving garrisons in Thrace, Epirus, and Albania. On
January 23, 1913, a quasi-revolution occurred in the Turkish army,
headed by Enver Bey and other Young Turk partisans, and approved by the
Austrian and German embassies, with the object of interrupting the
negotiations and staking all on the result of a final battle. As a
result of these events, and of the palpable disingenuousness of the
Turks in continuing the negotiations in London, the Balkan delegates on
January 29 broke them off, and on February 3, 1913, hostilities were
resumed. At length, after a siege of nearly five months, Adrianople,
supplied with infinitely better artillery than the allies possessed,
was taken by the combined Serbian and Bulgarian forces on March 26,
1913. The Serbian troops at Adrianople captured 17,010 Turkish
prisoners, 190 guns, and the Turkish commander himself, Shukri Pasha.

At the outbreak of the war in the autumn of 1912 the Balkan States had
observed all the conventions, disavowing designs of territorial
aggrandizement and proclaiming their resolve merely to obtain
guarantees for the better treatment of the Christian inhabitants of
Macedonia; the powers, for their part, duly admonished the naughty
children of south-eastern Europe to the effect that no alteration of
the territorial _status quo ante_ would under any circumstances be
tolerated. During the negotiations in London, interrupted in January,
and resumed in the spring of 1913 after the fall of Adrianople, it was
soon made clear that in spite of all these magniloquent declarations
nothing would be as it had been before. Throughout the winter
Austria-Hungary had been mobilizing troops and massing them along the
frontiers of Serbia and Montenegro, any increase in the size of which
countries meant a crushing blow to the designs of the Germanic powers
and the end to all the dreams embodied in the phrase ‘Drang nach Osten’
(‘pushing eastwards’).

In the spring of 1913 Serbia and Montenegro, instead of being defeated
by the brave Turks, as had been confidently predicted in Vienna and
Berlin would be the case, found themselves in possession of the
_sandjak_ of Novi-Pazar, of northern and central Macedonia (including
Old Serbia), and of the northern half of Albania. The presence of
Serbian troops on the shore of the Adriatic was more than Austria could
stand, and at the renewed conference of London it was decided that they
must retire. In the interests of nationality, in which the Balkan
States themselves undertook the war, it was desirable that at any rate
an attempt should be made to create an independent state of Albania,
though no one who knew the local conditions felt confident as to its
ultimate career. Its creation assuaged the consciences of the Liberal
Government in Great Britain and at the same time admirably suited the
strategic plans of Austria-Hungary. It left that country a loophole for
future diplomatic efforts to disturb the peace of south-eastern Europe,
and, with its own army in Bosnia and its political agents and irregular
troops in Albania, Serbia and Montenegro, even though enlarged as it
was generally recognized they must be, would be held in a vice and
could be threatened and bullied from the south now as well as from the
north whenever it was in the interests of Vienna and Budapest to apply
the screw. The independence of Albania was declared at the conference
of London on May 30, 1913. Scutari was included in it as being a purely
Albanian town, and King Nicholas and his army, after enjoying its
coveted flesh-pots for a few halcyon weeks, had, to their
mortification, to retire to the barren fastnesses of the Black
Mountain. Serbia, frustrated by Austria in its attempts, generally
recognized as legitimate, to obtain even a commercial outlet on the
Adriatic, naturally again diverted its aims southwards to Salonika. The
Greeks were already in possession of this important city and seaport,
as well as of the whole of southern Macedonia. The Serbs were in
possession of central and northern Macedonia, including Monastir and
Okhrida, which they had at great sacrifices conquered from the Turks.
It had been agreed that Bulgaria, as its share of the spoils, should
have all central Macedonia, with Monastir and Okhrida, although on
ethnical grounds the Bulgarians have only very slightly better claim to
the country and towns west of the Vardar than any of the other Balkan
nationalities. But at the time that the agreement had been concluded it
had been calculated in Greece and Serbia that Albania, far from being
made independent, would be divided between them, and that Serbia,
assured of a strip of coast on the Adriatic, would have no interest in
the control of the river Vardar and of the railway which follows its
course connecting the interior of Serbia with the port of Salonika.
Greece and Serbia had no ground whatever for quarrel and no cause for
mutual distrust, and they were determined, for political and commercial
reasons, to have a considerable extent of frontier from west to east in
common. The creation of an independent Albania completely altered the
situation. If Bulgaria should obtain central Macedonia and thus secure
a frontier from north to south in common with the newly-formed state of
Albania, then Greece would be at the mercy of its hereditary enemies
the Bulgars and Arnauts (Albanians) as it had previously been at the
mercy of the Turks, while Serbia would have two frontiers between
itself and the sea instead of one, as before, and its complete economic
strangulation would be rendered inevitable and rapid. Bulgaria for its
own part naturally refused to waive its claim to central Macedonia,
well knowing that the master of the Vardar valley is master of the
Balkan peninsula. The first repercussion of the ephemeral treaty of
London of May 30, 1913, which created Albania and shut out Serbia from
the Adriatic, was, therefore, as the diplomacy of the Germanic powers
had all along intended it should be, the beginning of a feud between
Greece and Serbia on the one hand, and Bulgaria on the other, the
disruption of the Balkan League and the salvation, for the ultimate
benefit of Germany, of what was left of Turkey in Europe.

The dispute as to the exact division of the conquered territory in
Macedonia between Serbia and Bulgaria had, as arranged, been referred
to arbitration, and, the Tsar of Russia having been chosen as judge,
the matter was being threshed out in St. Petersburg during June 1913.
Meanwhile Bulgaria, determined to make good its claim to the chestnuts
which Greece and Serbia had pulled out of the Turkish fire, was
secretly collecting troops along its temporary south-western
frontier[1] with the object, in approved Germanic fashion, of suddenly
invading and occupying all Macedonia, and, by the presentation of an
irrevocable _fait accompli_, of relieving the arbitrator of his
invidious duties or at any rate assisting him in the task.

[Footnote 1: This was formed by the stream Zletovska, a tributary of
the river Bregalnica, which in its turn falls into the Vardar on its
left or eastern bank about 40 miles south of Skoplje (Üsküb).]

On the other hand, the relations between Bulgaria and its two allies
had been noticeably growing worse ever since January 1913; Bulgaria
felt aggrieved that, in spite of its great sacrifices, it had not been
able to occupy so much territory as Greece and Serbia, and the fact
that Adrianople was taken with Serbian help did not improve the feeling
between the two Slav nations. The growth of Bulgarian animosity put
Greece and Serbia on their guard, and, well knowing the direction which
an eventual attack would take, these two countries on June 2, 1913,
signed a military convention and made all the necessary dispositions
for resisting any aggression on Bulgaria’s part. At one o’clock in the
morning of June 30 the Bulgarians, without provocation, without
declaration of war, and without warning, crossed the Bregalnica (a
tributary of the Vardar) and attacked the Serbs. A most violent battle
ensued which lasted for several days; at some points the Bulgarians,
thanks to the suddenness of their offensive, were temporarily
successful, but gradually the Serbs regained the upper hand and by July
1 the Bulgarians were beaten. The losses were very heavy on both sides,
but the final issue was a complete triumph for the Serbian army.
Slivnitsa was avenged by the battle of the Bregalnica, just as Kosovo
was by that of Kumanovo. After a triumphant campaign of one month, in
which the Serbs were joined by the Greeks, Bulgaria had to bow to the
inevitable. The Rumanian army had invaded northern Bulgaria, bent on
maintaining the Balkan equilibrium and on securing compensation for
having observed neutrality during the war of 1912-13, and famine
reigned at Sofia. A conference was arranged at Bucarest, and the treaty
of that name was signed there on August 10, 1913. By the terms of this
treaty Serbia retained the whole of northern and central Macedonia,
including Monastir and Okhrida, and the famous _sandjak_ of Novi-Pazar
was divided between Serbia and Montenegro. Some districts of
east-central Macedonia, which were genuinely Bulgarian, were included
in Serbian territory, as Serbia naturally did not wish, after the
disquieting and costly experience of June and July 1913, to give the
Bulgarians another chance of separating Greek from Serbian territory by
a fresh surprise attack, and the further the Bulgarians could be kept
from the Vardar river and railway the less likelihood there was of
this. The state of feeling in the Germanic capitals and in Budapest
after this ignominious defeat of their protégé Bulgaria and after this
fresh triumph of the despised and hated Serbians can be imagined.
Bitterly disappointed first at seeing the Turks vanquished by the
Balkan League—their greatest admirers could not even claim that the
Turks had had any ‘moral’ victories—their chagrin, when they saw the
Bulgarians trounced by the Serbians, knew no bounds. That the secretly
prepared attack on Serbia by Bulgaria was planned in Vienna and
Budapest there is no doubt. That Bulgaria was justified in feeling
disappointment and resentment at the result of the first Balkan War no
one denies, but the method chosen to redress its wrongs could only have
been suggested by the Germanic school of diplomacy.

In Serbia and Montenegro the result of the two successive Balkan Wars,
though these had exhausted the material resources of the two countries,
was a justifiable return of national self-confidence and rejoicing such
as the people, humiliated and impoverished as it had habitually been by
its internal and external troubles, had not known for very many years.
At last Serbia and Montenegro had joined hands. At last Old Serbia was
restored to the free kingdom. At last Skoplje, the mediaeval capital of
Tsar Stephen Dušan, was again in Serbian territory. At last one of the
most important portions of unredeemed Serbia had been reclaimed.
Amongst the Serbs and Croats of Bosnia, Hercegovina, Dalmatia, Croatia,
Slavonia, and southern Hungary the effect of the Serbian victories was
electrifying. Military prowess had been the one quality with which
they, and indeed everybody else, had refused to credit the Serbians of
the kingdom, and the triumphs of the valiant Serbian peasant soldiers
immediately imparted a heroic glow to the country whose very name, at
any rate in central Europe, had become a byword, and a synonym for
failure; Belgrade became the cynosure and the rallying-centre of the
whole Serbo-Croatian race. But Vienna and Budapest could only lose
courage and presence of mind for the moment, and the undeniable success
of the Serbian arms merely sharpened their appetite for revenge. In
August 1913 Austria-Hungary, as is now known, secretly prepared an
aggression on Serbia, but was restrained, partly by the refusal of
Italy to grant its approval of such action, partly because the
preparations of Germany at that time were not complete. The fortunate
Albanian question provided, for the time being, a more convenient rod
with which to beat Serbia. Some Serbian troops had remained in
possession of certain frontier towns and districts which were included
in the territory of the infant state of Albania pending the final
settlement of the frontiers by a commission. On October 18, 1913,
Austria addressed an ultimatum to Serbia to evacuate these, as its
continued occupation of them caused offence and disquiet to the Dual
Monarchy. Serbia meekly obeyed. Thus passed away the last rumble of the
storms which had filled the years 1912-13 in south-eastern Europe.

The credulous believed that the Treaty of Bucarest had at last brought
peace to that distracted part of the world. Those who knew their
central Europe realized that Berlin had only forced Vienna to acquiesce
in the Treaty of Bucarest because the time had not yet come. But come
what might, Serbia and Montenegro, by having linked up their territory
and by forming a mountain barrier from the Danube to the Adriatic, made
it far more difficult for the invader to push his way through to the
East than it would have been before the battles of Kumanovo and
Bregalnica.



GREECE



1
_From Ancient to Modern Greece_


The name of Greece has two entirely different associations in our
minds. Sometimes it calls up a wonderful literature enshrined in a
‘dead language’, and exquisite works of a vanished art recovered by the
spade; at other times it is connected with the currant-trade returns
quoted on the financial page of our newspapers or with the ‘Balance of
Power’ discussed in their leading articles. Ancient and Modern Greece
both mean much to us, but usually we are content to accept them as
independent phenomena, and we seldom pause to wonder whether there is
any deeper connexion between them than their name. It is the purpose of
these pages to ask and give some answer to this question.

The thought that his own Greece might perish, to be succeeded by
another Greece after the lapse of more than two thousand years, would
have caused an Ancient Greek surprise. In the middle of the fifth
century B.C., Ancient Greek civilization seemed triumphantly vigorous
and secure. A generation before, it had flung back the onset of a
political power which combined all the momentum of all the other
contemporary civilizations in the world; and the victory had proved not
merely the superiority of Greek arms—the Spartan spearman and the
Athenian galley—but the superior vitality of Greek politics—the
self-governing, self-sufficing city-state. In these cities a wonderful
culture had burst into flower—an art expressing itself with equal
mastery in architecture, sculpture, and drama, a science which ranged
from the most practical medicine to the most abstract mathematics, and
a philosophy which blended art, science, and religion into an
ever-developing and ever more harmonious view of the universe. A
civilization so brilliant and so versatile as this seemed to have an
infinite future before it, yet even here death lurked in ambush.

When the cities ranged themselves in rival camps, and squandered their
strength on the struggle for predominance, the historian of the
Peloponnesian war could already picture Athens and Sparta in ruins,[1]
and the catastrophe began to warp the soul of Plato before he had
carried Greek philosophy to its zenith. This internecine strife of free
communities was checked within a century by the imposition of a single
military autocracy over them all, and Alexander the Great crowned his
father Philip’s work by winning new worlds for Hellenism from the
Danube to the Ganges and from the Oxus to the Nile. The city-state and
its culture were to be propagated under his aegis, but this vision
vanished with Alexander’s death, and Macedonian militarism proved a
disappointment. The feuds of these crowned condottieri harassed the
cities more sorely than their own quarrels, and their arms could not
even preserve the Hellenic heritage against external foes. The Oriental
rallied and expelled Hellenism again from the Asiatic hinterland, while
the new cloud of Rome was gathering in the west. In four generations[2]
of the most devastating warfare the world had seen, Rome conquered all
the coasts of the Mediterranean. Greek city and Greek dynast went down
before her, and the political sceptre passed irrevocably from the
Hellenic nation.

[Footnote 1: Thucydides, Book I, chap. 10.]

[Footnote 2: 264-146 B.C.]

Yet this political abdication seemed to open for Hellenic culture a
future more brilliant and assured than ever. Rome could organize as
well as conquer. She accepted the city-state as the municipal unit of
the Roman Empire, thrust back the Oriental behind the Euphrates, and
promoted the Hellenization of all the lands between this river-frontier
and the Balkans with much greater intensity than the Macedonian
imperialists. Her political conquests were still further
counterbalanced by her spiritual surrender, and Hellenism was the soul
of the new Latin culture which Rome created, and which advanced with
Roman government over the vast untutored provinces of the west and
north, bringing them, too, within the orbit of Hellenic civilization.
Under the shadow of the Roman Empire, Plutarch, the mirror of
Hellenism, could dwell in peace in his little city-state of Chaeronea,
and reflect in his writings all the achievements of the Hellenic spirit
as an ensample to an apparently endless posterity.

Yet the days of Hellenic culture were also numbered. Even Plutarch
lived[1] to look down from the rocky citadel of Chaeronea upon Teutonic
raiders wasting the Kephisos vale, and for more than three centuries
successive hordes of Goths searched out and ravaged the furthest
corners of European Greece. Then the current set westward to sweep
away[2] the Roman administration in the Latin provinces, and Hellenism
seemed to have been granted a reprieve. The Greek city-state of
Byzantium on the Black Sea Straits had been transformed into the Roman
administrative centre of Constantinople, and from this capital the
Emperor Justinian in the sixth century A.D. still governed and defended
the whole Greek-speaking world. But this political glamour only threw
the symptoms of inward dissolution into sharper relief. Within the
framework of the Empire the municipal liberty of the city-state had
been stifled and extinguished by the waxing jungle of bureaucracy, and
the spiritual culture which the city-state fostered, and which was more
essential to Hellenism than any political institutions, had been part
ejected, part exploited, and wholly compromised by a new gospel from
the east.

[Footnote 1: About A.D. 100]

[Footnote 2: A.D. 404-476]

While the Oriental had been compelled by Rome to draw his political
frontier at the Euphrates, and had failed so far to cross the
river-line, he had maintained his cultural independence within sight of
the Mediterranean. In the hill country of Judah, overlooking the high
road between Antioch and Alexandria, the two chief foci of Hellenism in
the east which the Macedonians had founded, and which had grown to
maturity under the aegis of Rome, there dwelt a little Semitic
community which had defied all efforts of Greek or Roman to assimilate
it, and had finally given birth to a world religion about the time that
a Roman punitive expedition razed its holy city of Jerusalem to the
ground.[1] Christianity was charged with an incalculable force, which
shot like an electric current from one end of the Roman Empire to the
other. The highly-organized society of its adherents measured its
strength in several sharp conflicts with the Imperial administration,
from which it emerged victorious, and it was proclaimed the official
religious organization of the Empire by the very emperor that founded
Constantinople.[2]

[Footnote 1: A.D. 70.]

[Footnote 2: Constantine the Great recognized Christianity in A.D. 313
and founded Constantinople in A.D. 328.]

The established Christian Church took the best energies of Hellenism
into its service. The Greek intellectuals ceased to become lecturers
and professors, to find a more human and practical career in the
bishop’s office. The Nicene Creed, drafted by an ‘oecumenical’
conference of bishops under the auspices of Constantine himself,[1] was
the last notable formulation of Ancient Greek philosophy. The cathedral
of Aya Sophia, with which Justinian adorned Constantinople, was the
last original creation of Ancient Greek art.[2] The same Justinian
closed the University of Athens, which had educated the world for nine
hundred years and more, since Plato founded his college in the Academy.
Six recalcitrant professors went into exile for their spiritual
freedom, but they found the devout Zoroastrianism of the Persian court
as unsympathetic as the devout Christianity of the Roman. Their
humiliating return and recantation broke the ‘Golden Chain’ of Hellenic
thought for ever.

Hellenism was thus expiring from its own inanition, when the inevitable
avalanche overwhelmed it from without. In the seventh century A.D.
there was another religious eruption in the Semitic world, this time in
the heart of Arabia, where Hellenism had hardly penetrated, and under
the impetus of Islam the Oriental burst his bounds again after a
thousand years. Syria was reft away from the Empire, and Egypt, and
North Africa as far as the Atlantic, and their political severance
meant their cultural loss to Greek civilization. Between the Koran and
Hellenism no fusion was possible. Christianity had taken Hellenism
captive, but Islam gave it no quarter, and the priceless library of
Alexandria is said to have been condemned by the caliph’s order to feed
the furnaces of the public baths.

[Footnote 1: A.D. 325.]

[Footnote 2: Completed A.D. 538.]

While Hellenism was thus cut short in the east, a mortal blow was
struck at its heart from the north. The Teuton had raided and passed
on, but the lands he had depopulated were now invaded by immigrants who
had come to stay. As soon as the last Goth and Lombard had gone west of
the Isonzo, the Slavs poured in from the north-eastern plains of Europe
through the Moravian gap, crossed the Danube somewhere near the site of
Vienna, and drifted down along the eastern face of the Alps upon the
Adriatic littoral. Rebuffed by the sea-board, the Slavonic migration
was next deflected east, and filtered through the Bosnian mountains,
scattering the Latin-speaking provincials before it to left and right,
until it debouched upon the broad basin of the river Morava. In this
concentration-area it gathered momentum during the earlier part of the
seventh century A.D., and then burst out with irresistible force in all
directions, eastward across the Maritsa basin till it reached the Black
Sea, and southward down the Vardar to the shores of the Aegean.

Beneath this Slavonic flood the Greek race in Europe was engulfed. A
few fortified cities held out, Adrianople on the Maritsa continued to
cover Constantinople; Salonika at the mouth of the Vardar survived a
two hundred years siege; while further south Athens, Korinth, and
Patras escaped extinction. But the tide of invasion surged around their
walls. The Slavs mastered all the open country, and, pressing across
the Korinthian Gulf, established themselves in special force throughout
the Peloponnesos. The thoroughness of their penetration is witnessed to
this day by the Slavonic names which still cling to at least a third of
the villages, rivers, and mountains in European Greece, and are found
in the most remote as well as in the most accessible quarters of the
land.[1]

[Footnote 1: For example: Tsimova and Panitsa in the Tainaron peninsula
(Maina); Tsoupana and Khrysapha in Lakonia; Dhimitzana, Karytena, and
Andhritsena in the centre of Peloponnesos, and Vostitsa on its north
coast; Dobrena and Kaprena in Boiotia; Vonitza on the Gulf of Arta;
Kardhitsa in the Thessalian plain.]

With the coming of the Slavs darkness descends like a curtain upon
Greek history. We catch glimpses of Arab hosts ranging across Anatolia
at will and gazing at Slavonic hordes across the narrow Bosphorus. But
always the Imperial fleet patrols the waters between, and always the
triple defences of Constantinople defy the assailant. Then after about
two centuries the floods subside, the gloom disperses, and the Greek
world emerges into view once more. But the spectacle before us is
unfamiliar, and most of the old landmarks have been swept away.

By the middle of the ninth century A.D., the Imperial Government had
reduced the Peloponnesos to order again, and found itself in the
presence of three peoples. The greater part of the land was occupied by
‘Romaioi’—normal, loyal, Christian subjects of the empire—but in the
hilly country between Eurotas, Taygetos, and the sea, two Slavonic
tribes still maintained themselves in defiant savagery and worshipped
their Slavonic gods, while beyond them the peninsula of Tainaron, now
known as Maina, sheltered communities which still clung to the pagan
name of Hellene and knew no other gods but Zeus, Athena, and Apollo.
Hellene and Slav need not concern us. They were a vanishing minority,
and the Imperial Government was more successful in obliterating their
individuality than in making them contribute to its exchequer. The
future lay with the Romaioi.

The speech of these Romaioi was not the speech of Rome. ‘Romaikà,’ as
it is still called popularly in the country-side, is a development of
the ‘koinè’ or ‘current’ dialect of Ancient Greek, in which the
Septuagint and the New Testament are written. The vogue of these books
after the triumph of Christianity and the oncoming of the Dark Age,
when they were the sole intellectual sustenance of the people, gave the
idiom in which they were composed an exclusive prevalence. Except in
Tzakonia—the iron-bound coast between Cape Malea and Nauplia Bay—all
other dialects of Ancient Greek became extinct, and the varieties of
the modern language are all differentiations of the ‘koinè’, along
geographical lines which in no way correspond with those which divided
Doric from Ionian. Yet though Romaic is descended from the ‘koinè’, it
is almost as far removed from it as modern Italian is from the language
of St. Augustine or Cicero. Ancient Greek possessed a pitch-accent
only, which allowed the quantitative values of syllables to be measured
against one another, and even to form the basis of a metrical system.
In Romaic the pitch-accent has transformed itself into a stress-accent
almost as violent as the English, which has destroyed all quantitative
relation between accented and unaccented syllables, often wearing away
the latter altogether at the termination of words, and always
impoverishing their vowel sounds. In the ninth century A.D. this new
enunciation was giving rise to a new poetical technique founded upon
accent and rhyme, which first essayed itself in folk-songs and
ballads,[1] and has since experimented in the same variety of forms as
English poetry.

[Footnote 1: The earliest products of the modern technique were called
‘city’ verses, because they originated in Constantinople, which has
remained ‘the city’ _par excellence_ for the Romaic Greek ever since
the Dark Age made it the asylum of his civilization.]

These humble beginnings of a new literature were supplemented by the
rudiments of a new art. Any visitor at Athens who looks at the three
tiny churches [1] built in this period of first revival, and compares
them with the rare pre-Norman churches of England, will find the same
promise of vitality in the Greek architecture as in his own. The
material—worked blocks of marble pillaged from ancient monuments,
alternating with courses of contemporary brick—produces a completely
new aesthetic effect upon the eye; and the structure—a grouping of
lesser cupolas round a central dome— is the very antithesis of the
‘upright-and-horizontal’ style which confronts him in ruins upon the
Akropolis.

[Footnote 1: The Old Metropolitan, the Kapnikaria, and St. Theodore.]

These first achievements of Romaic architecture speak by implication of
the characteristic difference between the Romaios and the Hellene. The
linguistic and the aesthetic change were as nothing compared to the
change in religion, for while the Hellene had been a pagan, the Romaios
was essentially a member of the Christian Church. Yet this new and
determining characteristic was already fortified by tradition. The
Church triumphant had swiftly perfected its organisation on the model
of the Imperial bureaucracy. Every Romaios owed ecclesiastical
allegiance, through a hierarchy of bishops and metropolitans, to a
supreme patriarch at Constantinople, and in the ninth century this
administrative segregation of the imperial from the west-European
Church had borne its inevitable fruit in a dogmatic divergence, and
ripened into a schism between the Orthodox Christianity of the east on
the one hand and the Catholicism of the Latin world on the other.

The Orthodox Church exercised an important cultural influence over its
Romaic adherents. The official language of its scriptures, creeds, and
ritual had never ceased to be the Ancient Greek ‘koinè’ and by keeping
the Romaios familiar with this otherwise obsolete tongue it kept him in
touch with the unsurpassable literature of his Ancient Greek
predecessors. The vast body of Hellenic literature had perished during
the Dark Age, when all the energies of the race were absorbed by the
momentary struggle for survival; but about a third of the greatest
authors’ greatest works had been preserved, and now that the stress was
relieved, the wreckage of the remainder was sedulously garnered in
anthologies, abridgements, and encyclopaedias. The rising monasteries
offered a safe harbourage both for these compilations and for such
originals as survived unimpaired, and in their libraries they were
henceforth studied, cherished, and above all recopied with more or less
systematic care.

The Orthodox Church was thus a potent link between past and present,
but the most direct link of all was the political survival of the
Empire. Here, too, many landmarks had been swept away. The marvellous
system of Roman Law had proved too subtle and complex for a world in
the throes of dissolution. Within a century of its final codification
by Justinian’s commissioners) it had begun to fall into disuse, and was
now replaced by more summary legislation, which was as deeply imbued
with Mosaic principles as the literary language with the Hebraisms of
the New Testament, and bristled with barbarous applications of the _Lex
Talionis_. The administrative organization instituted by Augustus and
elaborated by Diocletian had likewise disappeared, and the army-corps
districts were the only territorial units that outlasted the Dark Age.
Yet the tradition of order lived on. The army itself preserved Roman
discipline and technique to a remarkable degree, and the military
districts were already becoming the basis for a reconstituted civil
government. The wealth of Latin technicalities incorporated in the
Greek style of ninth-century officialdom witnesses to this continuity
with the past and to the consequent political superiority of the Romaic
Empire over contemporary western Europe.

Within the Imperial frontiers the Romaic race was offered an apparently
secure field for its future development. In the Balkan peninsula the
Slav had been expelled or assimilated to the south of a line stretching
from Avlona to Salonika. East of Salonika the empire still controlled
little more in Europe than the ports of the littoral, and a military
highway linking them with each other and with Constantinople. But
beyond the Bosphorus the frontier included the whole body of Anatolia
as far as Taurus and Euphrates, and here was the centre of gravity both
of the Romaic state and of the Romaic nation.

A new Greek nation had in fact come into being, and it found itself in
touch with new neighbours, whom the Ancient Greek had never known.
Eastward lay the Armenians, reviving, like the Greeks, after the ebb of
the Arab flood, and the Arabs themselves, quiescent within their
natural bounds and transfusing the wisdom of Aristotle and Hippokrates
into their native culture. Both these peoples were sundered from the
Orthodox Greek by religion[1] as well as by language, but a number of
nationalities established on his opposite flank had been evangelized
from Constantinople and followed the Orthodox patriarch in his schism
with Rome. The most important neighbour of the Empire in this quarter
was the Bulgarian kingdom, which covered all the Balkan hinterland from
the Danube and the Black Sea to the barrier-fortresses of Adrianople
and Salonika. It had been founded by a conquering caste of non-Slavonic
nomads from the trans-Danubian steppes, but these were completely
absorbed in the Slavonic population which they had endowed with their
name and had preserved by political consolidation from the fate of
their brethren further south. This Bulgarian state included a large
‘Vlach’ element descended from those Latin-speaking provincials whom
the Slavs had pushed before them in their original migration; while the
main body of the ‘Rumans’, whom the same thrust of invasion had driven
leftwards across the Danube, had established itself in the mountains of
Transylvania, and was just beginning to push down into the Wallachian
and Moldavian plains. Like the Bulgars, this Romance population had
chosen the Orthodox creed, and so had the purely Slavonic Serbs, who
had replaced the Rumans in the basin of the Morava and the Bosnian
hills, as far westward as the Adriatic coast. Beyond, the heathen
Magyars had pressed into the Danubian plains like a wedge, and cut off
the Orthodox world from the Latin-Teutonic Christendom of the west; but
it looked as though the two divisions of Europe were embarked upon the
same course of development. Both were evolving a system of
strongly-knit nationalities, neither wholly interdependent nor wholly
self-sufficient, but linked together in their individual growth by the
ties of common culture and religion. In both the darkness was passing.
The future of civilization seemed once more assured, and in the
Orthodox world the new Greek nation seemed destined to play the leading
part.

[Footnote 1: The Armenians split off from the Catholic Church four
centuries before the schism between the Roman and Orthodox sections of
the latter.]

His cultural and political heritage from his ancient predecessors gave
the Romaic Greek in this period of revival an inestimable advantage
over his cruder neighbours, and his superiority declared itself in an
expansion of the Romaic Empire. In the latter half of the tenth century
A.D. the nest of Arab pirates from Spain, which had established itself
in Krete and terrorized the Aegean, was exterminated by the Emperor
Nikiphóros Phokas, and on the eastern marches Antioch was gathered
within the frontier at the Arabs’ expense, and advanced posts pushed
across Euphrates. In the first half of the eleventh century Basil,
‘Slayer of the Bulgars’, destroyed the Balkan kingdom after a
generation of bitter warfare, and brought the whole interior of the
peninsula under the sway of Constantinople. His successors turned their
attention to the cast again, and attracted one Armenian principality
after another within the Imperial protectorate. Nor was the revival
confined to politics. The conversion of the Russians about A.D. 1000
opened a boundless hinterland to the Orthodox Church, and any one who
glances at a series of Greek ivory carvings or studies Greek history
from the original sources, will here encounter a literary and artistic
renaissance remarkable enough to explain the fascination which the
barbarous Russian and the outlandish Armenian found in Constantinople.
Yet this renaissance had hardly set in before it was paralysed by an
unexpected blow, which arrested the development of Modern Greece for
seven centuries.

Modern, like Ancient, Greece was assailed in her infancy by a conqueror
from the east, and, unlike Ancient Greece, she succumbed. Turkish
nomads from the central Asiatic steppes had been drifting into the
Moslem world as the vigour of the Arabs waned. First they came as
slaves, then as mercenaries, until at last, in the eleventh century,
the clan of Seljuk grasped with a strong hand the political dominion of
Islam. As champions of the caliph the Turkish sultans disputed the
infidels encroachment on the Moslem border. They challenged the Romaic
Empire’s progress in Armenia, and in A.D. 1071—five years after the
Norman founded at Hastings the strong government which has been the
making of England—the Seljuk Turk shattered at the battle of Melasgerd
that heritage of strong government which had promised so much to
Greece.

Melasgerd opened the way to Anatolia. The Arab could make no lodgement
there, but in the central steppe of the temperate plateau the Turk
found a miniature reproduction of his original environment. Tribe after
tribe crossed the Oxus, to make the long pilgrimage to these new
marches which their race had won for Islam on the west, and the
civilization developed in the country by fifteen centuries of intensive
and undisturbed Hellenization was completely blotted out. The cities
wore isolated from one another till their commerce fell into decay. The
elaborately cultivated lands around them were left fallow till they
were good for nothing but the pasturage which was all that the nomad
required. The only monuments of architecture that have survived in
Anatolia above ground are the imposing khans or fortified rest-houses
built by the Seljuk sultans themselves after the consolidation of their
rule, and they are the best witnesses of the vigorous barbarism by
which Romaic culture was effaced. The vitality of the Turk was indeed
unquestionable. He imposed his language and religion upon the native
Anatolian peasantry, as the Greek had imposed his before him, and in
time adopted their sedentary life, though too late to repair the
mischief his own nomadism had wrought. Turk and Anatolian coalesced
into one people; every mountain, river, lake, bridge, and village in
the country took on a Turkish name, and a new nation was established
for ever in the heart of the Romaic world, which nourished itself on
the life-blood of the Empire and was to prove the supreme enemy, of the
race.

This sequel to Melasgerd sealed the Empire’s doom. Robbed of its
Anatolian governing class and its Anatolian territorial army, it ceased
to be self-sufficient, and the defenders it attracted from the west
were at least as destructive as its eastern foes. The brutal régime of
the Turks in the pilgrimage places of Syria had roused a storm of
indignation in Latin Europe, and a cloud gathered in the west once
more. It was heralded by adventurers from Normandy, who had first
served the Romaic Government as mercenaries in southern Italy and then
expelled their employers, about the time of Melasgerd, from their last
foothold in the peninsula. Raids across the straits of Otranto carried
the Normans up to the walls of Salonika, their fleets equipped in
Sicily scoured the Aegean, and, before the eleventh century was out,
they had followed up these reconnoitring expeditions by conducting
Latin Christendom on its first crusade. The crusaders assembled at
Constantinople, and the Imperial Government was relieved when the flood
rolled on and spent itself further east. But one wave was followed by
another, and the Empire itself succumbed to the fourth. In A.D. 1204,
Constantinople was stormed by a Venetian flotilla and the crusading
host it conveyed on board, and more treasures of Ancient Hellenism were
destroyed in the sack of its hitherto inviolate citadel than had ever
perished by the hand of Arab or Slav.

With the fall of the capital the Empire dissolved in chaos, Venice and
Genoa, the Italian trading cities whose fortune had been made by the
crusades, now usurped the naval control of the Mediterranean which the
Empire had exercised since Nikiphóros pacified Krete. They seized all
strategical points of vantage on the Aegean coasts, and founded an
‘extra-territorial’ community at Pera across the Golden Horn, to
monopolize the trade of Constantinople with the Black Sea. The Latins
failed to retain their hold on Constantinople itself, for the puppet
emperors of their own race whom they enthroned there were evicted
within a century by Romaic dynasts, who clung to such fragments of
Anatolia as had escaped the Turk. But the Latin dominion was less
ephemeral in the southernmost Romaic provinces of Europe. The Latins’
castles, more conspicuous than the relics of Hellas, still crown many
high hills in Greece, and their French tongue has added another strain,
to the varied nomenclature of the country.[1] Yet there also
pandemonium prevailed. Burgundian barons, Catalan condottieri, and
Florentine bankers snatched the Duchy of Athens from one another in
bewildering succession, while the French princes of Achaia were at feud
with their kindred vassals in the west of the Peloponnesos whenever
they were not resisting the encroachments of Romaic despots in the
south and east. To complete the anarchy, the non-Romaic peoples in the
interior of the Balkan peninsula had taken the fall of Constantinople
as a signal to throw off the Imperial yoke. In the hinterland of the
capital the Bulgars had reconstituted their kingdom. The
Romance-speaking Vlachs of Pindus moved down into the Thessalian
plains. The aboriginal Albanians, who with their back to the Adriatic
had kept the Slavs at bay, asserted their vitality and sent out
migratory swarms to the south, which entered the service of the warring
princelets and by their prowess won broad lands in every part of
continental Greece, where Albanian place-names are to this day only
less common than Slavonic. South-eastern Europe was again in the throes
of social dissolution, and the convulsions continued till they were
stilled impartially by the numbing hand of their ultimate author the
Turk.

[Footnote 1: e.g. Klemoutsi, Glarentsa (Clarence) and Gastouni—villages
of the currant district in Peloponnesos—and Sant-Omeri, the mountain
that overlooks them.]

The Seljuk sultanate in Anatolia, shaken by the crusades, had gone the
way of all oriental empires to make room for one of its fractions,
which showed a most un-oriental faculty of organic growth. This was the
extreme march on the north-western rim of the Anatolian plateau,
overlooking the Asiatic littoral of the Sea of Marmora. It had been
founded by one of those Turkish chiefs who migrated with their clans
from beyond the Oxus; and it was consolidated by Othman his son, who
extended his kingdom to the cities on the coast and invested his
subjects with his own name. In 1355 the Narrows of Gallipoli passed
into Ottoman hands, and opened a bridge to unexpected conquests in
Europe. Serbia and Bulgaria collapsed at the first attack, and the
hosts which marched to liberate them from Hungary and from France only
ministered to Ottoman prestige by their disastrous discomfiture. Before
the close of the fourteenth century the Ottoman sultan had transferred
his capital to Adrianople, and had become immeasurably the strongest
power in the Balkan peninsula.

After that the end came quickly. At Constantinople the Romaic dynasty
of Palaiologos had upheld a semblance of the Empire for more than a
century after the Latin was expelled. But in 1453 the Imperial city
fell before the assault of Sultan Mohammed; and before his death the
conqueror eliminated all the other Romaic and Latin principalities from
Peloponnesos to Trebizond, which had survived as enclaves to mar the
uniformity of the Ottoman domain. Under his successors the tide of
Ottoman conquest rolled on for half a century more over south-eastern
Europe, till it was stayed on land beneath the ramparts of Vienna,[1]
and culminated on sea, after the systematic reduction of the Venetian
strongholds, in the capture of Rhodes from the Knights of St. John.[2]
The Romaic race, which had been split into so many fragments during the
dissolution of the Empire, was reunited again in the sixteenth century
under the common yoke of the Turk.

[Footnote 1: 1526.]

[Footnote 2: 1522.]

Even in the Dark Age, Greece had hardly been reduced to so desperate a
condition as now. Through the Dark Age the Greek cities had maintained
a continuous life, but Mohammed II depopulated Constantinople to
repeople it with a Turkish majority from Anatolia. Greek commerce would
naturally have benefited by the ejection of the Italians from the
Levant, had not the Ottoman Government given asylum simultaneously to
the Jews expelled from Spain. These Sephardim established themselves at
Constantinople, Salonika, and all the other commercial centres of the
Ottoman dominion, and their superiority in numbers and industry made
them more formidable urban rivals of the Greeks than the Venetians and
Genoese had ever been.

Ousted from the towns, the Greek race depended for its preservation on
the peasantry, yet Greece had never suffered worse rural oppression
than under the Ottoman régime. The sultan’s fiscal demands were the
least part of the burden. The paralysing land-tax, collected in kind by
irresponsible middlemen, was an inheritance from the Romaic Empire, and
though it was now reinforced by the special capitation-tax levied by
the sultan on his Christian subjects, the greater efficiency and
security of his government probably compensated for the additional
charge. The vitality of Greece was chiefly sapped by the ruthless
military organization of the Ottoman state. The bulk of the Ottoman
army was drawn from a feudal cavalry, bound to service, as in the
mediaeval Latin world, in return for fiefs or ‘timaria’ assigned to
them by their sovereign; and many beys and agas have bequeathed their
names in perpetuity to the richest villages on the Messenian and
Thessalian plains, to remind the modern peasant that his Christian
ancestors once tilled the soil as serfs of a Moslem timariot. But the
sultan, unlike his western contemporaries, was not content with
irregular troops, and the serf-communes of Greece had to deliver up a
fifth of their male children every fourth year to be trained at
Constantinople as professional soldiers and fanatical Moslems. This
corps of ‘Janissaries’[1] was founded in the third generation of the
Ottoman dynasty, and was the essential instrument of its military
success. One race has never appropriated and exploited the vitality of
another in so direct or so brutal a fashion, and the institution of
‘tribute-children’, so long as it lasted, effectually prevented any
recovery of the Greek nation from the untimely blows which had stricken
it down.

[Footnote 1: Yeni Asker—New soldiery.]



2
_The Awakening of the Nation_


During the two centuries that followed the Ottoman conquest of
Constantinople, the Greek race was in serious danger of annihilation.
Its life-blood was steadily absorbed into the conquering
community—quite regularly by the compulsory tribute of children and
spasmodically by the voluntary conversion of individual households. The
rich apostasized, because too heavy a material sacrifice was imposed
upon them by loyalty to their national religion; the destitute, because
they could not fail to improve their prospects by adhering to the
privileged faith. Even the surviving organization of the Church had
only been spared by the Ottoman Government in order to facilitate its
own political system—by bringing the peasant, through the hierarchy of
priest, bishop, and patriarch, under the moral control of the new
Moslem master whom the ecclesiastics henceforth served.

The scale on which wholesale apostasy was possible is shown by the case
of Krete, which was conquered by the Turks from Venice just after these
two centuries had closed, and was in fact the last permanent addition
to the Turkish Empire. No urban or feudal settlers of Turkish blood
were imported into the island. To this day the uniform speech of all
Kretans is their native Greek. And yet the progressive conversion of
whole clans and villages had transferred at least 20 per cent. of the
population to the Moslem ranks before the Ottoman connexion was severed
again in 1897.

The survival of the Greek nationality did not depend on any efforts of
the Greeks themselves. They were indeed no longer capable of effort,
but lay passive under the hand of the Turk, like the paralysed quarry
of some beast of prey. Their fate was conditional upon the development
of the Ottoman state, and, as the two centuries drew to a close, that
state entered upon a phase of transformation and of consequent
weakness.

The Ottoman organism has always displayed (and never more conspicuously
than at the present moment) a much greater stability and vitality than
any of its oriental predecessors. There was a vein of genius in its
creators, and its youthful expansion permeated it with so much European
blood that it became partly Europeanized in its inner
tissues—sufficiently to partake, at any rate, in that faculty of
indefinite organic growth which has so far revealed itself in European
life. This acquired force has carried it on since the time when the
impetus of its original institutions became spent—a time when purely
oriental monarchies fall to pieces, and when Turkey herself hesitated
between reconstruction and dissolution. That critical period began for
her with the latter half of the seventeenth century, and incidentally
opened new opportunities of life to her subject Greeks.

Substantial relief from their burdens—the primary though negative
condition of national revival—accrued to the Greek peasantry from the
decay of Ottoman militarism in all its branches. The Turkish feudal
aristocracy, which had replaced the landed nobility of the Romaic
Empire in Anatolia and established itself on the choicest lands in
conquered Europe, was beginning to decline in strength. We have seen
that it failed to implant itself in Krete, and its numbers were already
stationary elsewhere. The Greek peasant slowly began to regain ground
upon his Moslem lord, and he profited further by the degeneration of
the janissary corps at the heart of the empire.

The janissaries had started as a militant, almost monastic body,
condemned to celibacy, and recruited exclusively from the Christian
tribute-children. But in 1566 they extorted the privilege of legal
marriage for themselves, and of admittance into the corps for the sons
of their wedlock. The next century completed their transformation from
a standing army into a hereditary urban militia—an armed and privileged
_bourgeoisie_, rapidly increasing in numbers and correspondingly
jealous of extraneous candidates for the coveted vacancies in their
ranks. They gradually succeeded in abolishing the enrolment of
Christian recruits altogether, and the last regular levy of children
for that purpose was made in 1676. Vested interests at Constantinople
had freed the helpless peasant from the most crushing burden of all.

At the same moment the contemporary tendency in western Europe towards
bureaucratic centralization began to extend itself to the Ottoman
Empire. Its exponents were the brothers Achmet and Mustapha Köprili,
who held the grand-vizierate in succession. They laid the foundations
of a centralized administration, and, since the unadaptable Turk
offered no promising material for their policy, they sought their
instruments in the subject race. The continental Greeks were too
effectively crushed to aspire beyond the preservation of their own
existence; but the islands had been less sorely tried, and Khios, which
had enjoyed over two centuries[1] of prosperity under the rule of a
Genoese chartered company, and exchanged it for Ottoman sovereignty
under peculiarly lenient conditions, could still supply Achmet a
century later with officials of the intelligence and education he
required, Khiots were the first to fill the new offices of ‘Dragoman of
the Porte’ (secretary of state) and ‘Dragoman of the Fleet’ (civil
complement of the Turkish capitan-pasha); and they took care in their
turn to staff the subordinate posts of their administration with a host
of pushing friends and dependants. The Dragoman of the Fleet wielded
the fiscal, and thereby in effect the political, authority over the
Greek islands in the Aegean; but this was not the highest power to
which the new Greek bureaucracy attained. Towards the beginning of the
eighteenth century Moldavia and Wallachia—the two ‘Danubian Provinces’
now united in the kingdom of Rumania—were placed in charge of Greek
officials with the rank of voivode or prince, and with practically
sovereign power within their delegated dominions. A Danubian
principality became the reward of a successful dragoman’s career, and
these high posts were rapidly monopolized by a close ring of official
families, who exercised their immense patronage in favour of their
race, and congregated round the Greek patriarch in the ‘Phanari’,[2]
the Constantinopolitan slum assigned him for his residence by Mohammed
the Conqueror.

[Footnote 1: 1346-1566.]

[Footnote 2: ‘Lighthouse-quarter.’]

The alliance of this parvenu ‘Phanariot’ aristocracy with the
conservative Orthodox Church was not unnatural, for the Church itself
had greatly extended its political power under Ottoman suzerainty. The
Ottoman Government hardly regarded its Christian subjects as integral
members of the state, and was content to leave their civil government
in the hands of their spiritual pastors to an extent the Romaic
emperors would never have tolerated. It allowed the Patriarchate at
Constantinople to become its official intermediary with the Greek race,
and it further extended the Greek patriarch’s authority over the other
conquered populations of Orthodox faith—Bulgars, Rumans, and
Serbs—which had never been incorporated in the ecclesiastical or
political organization of the Romaic Empire, but which learnt under
Ottoman rule to receive their priests and bishops from the Greek
ecclesiastics of the capital, and even to call themselves by the Romaic
name. In 1691 Mustapha Köprili recognized and confirmed the rights of
all Christian subjects of the Sultan by a general organic law.

Mustapha’s ‘New Ordinance’ was dictated by the reverses which
Christians beyond the frontier were inflicting upon the Ottoman arms,
for pressure from without had followed hard upon disintegration within.
Achmet’s pyrrhic triumph over Candia in 1669 was followed in 1683 by
his brother Mustapha’s disastrous discomfiture before the walls of
Vienna, and these two sieges marked the turn of the Ottoman tide. The
ebb was slow, yet the ascendancy henceforth lay with Turkey’s Christian
neighbours, and they began to cut short her frontiers on every side.

The Venetians had never lost hold upon the ‘Ionian’ chain of islands—
Corfù, Cefalonia, Zante, and Cerigo—which flank the western coast of
Greece, and in 1685 they embarked on an offensive on the mainland,
which won them undisputed possession of Peloponnesos for twenty
years.[1] Venice was far nearer than Turkey to her dissolution, and
spent the last spasm of her energy on this ephemeral conquest. Yet she
had maintained the contact of the Greek race with western Europe during
the two centuries of despair, and the interlude of her rule in
Peloponnesos was a fitting culmination to her work; for, brief though
it was, it effectively broke the Ottoman tradition, and left behind it
a system of communal self-government among the Peloponnesian Greeks
which the returning Turk was too feeble to sweep away. The Turks gained
nothing by the rapid downfall of Venice, for Austria as rapidly stepped
into her place, and pressed with fresh vigour the attack from the
north-west. North-eastward, too, a new enemy had arisen in Russia,
which had been reorganized towards the turn of the century by Peter the
Great with a radical energy undreamed of by any Turkish Köprili, and
which found its destiny in opposition to the Ottoman Empire. The new
Orthodox power regarded itself as the heir of the Romaic Empire from
which it had received its first Christianity and culture. It aspired to
repay the Romaic race in adversity by championing it against its Moslem
oppressors, and sought its own reward in a maritime outlet on the Black
Sea. From the beginning of the eighteenth century Russia repeatedly
made war on Turkey, either with or without the co-operation of Austria;
but the decisive bout in the struggle was the war of 1769-74. A Russian
fleet appeared in the Mediterranean, raised an insurrection in
Peloponnesos, and destroyed the Turkish squadron in battle. The Russian
armies were still more successful on the steppes, and the Treaty of
Kutchuk Kainardji not only left the whole north coast of the Black Sea
in Russia’s possession, but contained an international sanction for the
rights of the sultan’s Orthodox subjects. In 1783 a supplementary
commercial treaty extorted for the Ottoman Greeks the right to trade
under the Russian flag. The territorial sovereignty of Turkey in the
Aegean remained intact, but the Russian guarantee gave the Greek race a
more substantial security than the shadowy ordinance of Mustapha
Köprili. The paralysing prestige of the Porte was broken, and Greek
eyes were henceforth turned in hope towards Petersburg.

[Footnote 1: 1699-1718.]

By the end of the eighteenth century the condition of the Greeks had in
fact changed remarkably for the better, and the French and English
travellers who now began to visit the Ottoman Empire brought away the
impression that a critical change in its internal equilibrium was at
hand. The Napoleonic wars had just extinguished the Venetian Republic
and swept the Ionian Islands into the struggle between England and
France for the mastery of the Mediterranean. England had fortified
herself in Cefalonia and Zante, France in Corfù, and interest centred
on the opposite mainland, where Ali Pasha of Yannina maintained a
formidable neutrality towards either power.

The career of Ali marked that phase in the decline of an Oriental
empire when the task of strong government becomes too difficult for the
central authority and is carried on by independent satraps with greater
efficiency in their more limited sphere. Ali governed the Adriatic
hinterland with practically sovereign power, and compelled the sultan
for some years to invest his sons with the pashaliks of Thessaly and
Peloponnesos. The greater part of the Greek race thus came in some
degree under his control, and his policy towards it clearly reflected
the transition from the old to the new. He waged far more effective war
than the distant sultan upon local liberties, and, though the
elimination of the feudal Turkish landowner was pure gain to the
Greeks, they suffered themselves from the loss of traditional
privileges which the original Ottoman conquest had left intact. The
Armatoli, a local Christian militia who kept order in the mountainous
mainland north of Peloponnesos where Turkish feudatories were rare,
were either dispersed by Ali or enrolled in his regular army. And he
was ruthless in the extermination of recalcitrant communities, like
Agrapha on the Aspropotarno, which had never been inscribed on the
taxation-rolls of the Romaic or the Ottoman treasury, or Suli, a robber
clan ensconced in the mountains Immediately west of Ali’s capital. On
the other hand, the administration of these pacified and consolidated
dominions became as essentially Greek in character as the Phanariot
régime beyond the Danube. Ali was a Moslem and an Albanian, but the
Orthodox Greeks were in a majority among his subjects, and he knew how
to take advantage of their abilities. His business was conducted by
Greek secretaries in the Greek tongue, and Yannina, his capital, was a
Greek city. European visitors to Yannina (for every one began the
Levantine tour by paying his respects to Ali) were struck by the
enterprise and intelligence of its citizens. The doctors were
competent, because they had taken their education in Italy or France;
the merchants were prosperous, because they had established members of
their family at Odessa, Trieste, or even Hamburg, as permanent agents
of their firm. A new Greek _bourgeoisie_ had arisen, in close contact
with the professional life of western Europe, and equally responsive to
the new philosophical and political ideas that were being propagated by
the French Revolution.

This intellectual ferment was the most striking change of all. Since
the sack of Constantinople in 1204, Greek culture had retired into the
monasteries—inaccessible fastnesses where the monks lived much the same
life as the clansmen of Suli or Agrapha. Megaspélaion, the great cave
quarried in the wall of a precipitous Peloponnesian ravine; Metéora,
suspended on half a dozen isolated pinnacles of rock in Thessaly, where
the only access was by pulley or rope-ladder; ‘Ayon Oros’, the
confederation of monasteries great and small upon the
mountain-promontory of Athos—these succeeded in preserving a shadow of
the old tradition, at the cost of isolation from all humane influences
that might have kept their spiritual inheritance alive. Their spirit
was mediaeval, ecclesiastical, and as barren as their sheltering rocks;
and the new intellectual disciples of Europe turned to the monasteries
in vain. The biggest ruin on Athos is a boys’ school planned in the
eighteenth century to meet the educational needs of all the Orthodox in
the Ottoman Empire, and wrecked on the reefs of monastic obscurantism.
But its founder, the Corfiot scholar Evyénios Voulgáris, did not
hesitate to break with the past. He put his own educational ideas into
practice at Yannina and Constantinople, and contributed to the great
achievement of his contemporary, the Khiot Adhamandios Koráis, who
settled in Paris and there evolved a literary adaptation of the Romaic
patois to supersede the lifeless travesty of Attic style traditionally
affected by ecclesiastical penmen. But the renaissance was not confined
to Greeks abroad. The school on Athos failed, but others established
themselves before the close of the eighteenth century in the people’s
midst, even in the smaller towns and the remoter villages. The still
flourishing secondary school of Dhimitzána, in the heart of
Peloponnesos, began its existence in this period, and the national
revival found expression in a new name. Its prophets repudiated the
‘Romaic’ name, with its associations of ignorance and oppression, and
taught their pupils to think of themselves as ‘Hellenes’ and to claim
in their own right the intellectual and political liberty of the
Ancient Greeks.

This spiritual ‘Hellenism’, however, was only one manifestation of
returning vitality, and was ultimately due to the concrete economic
development with which it went hand in hand. The Greeks, who had found
culture in western Europe, had come there for trade, and their
commercial no less than their intellectual activity reacted in a
penetrating way upon their countrymen at home. A mountain village like
Ambelakia in Thessaly found a regular market for its dyed goods in
Germany, and the commercial treaty of 1783 between Turkey and Russia
encouraged communities which could make nothing of the land to turn
their attention to the sea. Galaxhidi, a village on the northern shore
of the Korinthian Gulf, whose only asset was its natural harbour, and
Hydhra, Spetza, and Psarà, three barren little islands in the Aegean,
had begun to lay the foundations of a merchant marine, when Napoleon’s
boycott and the British blockade, which left no neutral flag but the
Ottoman in the Mediterranean, presented the Greek shipmen that sailed
under it with an opportunity they exploited to the full. The
whitewashed houses of solid stone, rising tier above tier up the naked
limestone mountainside, still testify to the prosperity which chance
thus suddenly brought to the Hydhriots and their fellow islanders, and
did not withdraw again till it had enabled them to play a decisive part
in their nation’s history.

Their ships were small, but they were home-built, skilfully navigated,
and profitably employed in the carrying trade of the Mediterranean
ports. Their economic life was based on co-operation, for the sailors,
as well as the captain and owner of the ship, who were generally the
same person, took shares in the outlay and profit of each voyage; but
their political organization was oligarchical—an executive council
elected by and from the owners of the shipping. Feud and intrigue were
rife between family and family, class and class, and between the native
community and the resident aliens, without seriously affecting the
vigour and enterprise of the commonwealth as a whole. These seafaring
islands on the eve of the modern Greek Revolution were an exact
reproduction of the Aigina, Korinth, and Athens which repelled the
Persian from Ancient Greece. The germs of a new national life were thus
springing up among the Greeks in every direction— in mercantile
colonies scattered over the world from Odessa to Alexandria and from
Smyrna to Trieste; among Phanariot princes in the Danubian Provinces
and their ecclesiastical colleagues at Constantinople; in the islands
of the Aegean and the Ionian chain, and upon the mountains of Suli and
Agrapha. But the ambitions this national revival aroused were even
greater than the reality itself. The leaders of the movement did not
merely aspire to liberate the Greek nation from the Turkish yoke. They
were conscious of the assimilative power their nationality possessed.
The Suliots, for example, were an immigrant Albanian tribe, who had
learnt to speak Greek from the Greek peasants over whom they
tyrannized. The Hydhriot and Spetziot islanders were Albanians too, who
had even clung to their primitive language during the two generations
since they took up their present abode, but had become none the less
firmly linked to their Greek-speaking neighbours in Peloponnesos by
their common fellowship in the Orthodox Church. The numerous Albanian
colonies settled up and down the Greek continent were at least as Greek
in feeling as they. And why should not the same prove true of the
Bulgarian population, in the Balkans, who had belonged from the
beginning to the Orthodox Church, and had latterly been brought by
improvident Ottoman policy within the Greek patriarch’s fold? Or why
should not the Greek administrators beyond the Danube imbue their Ruman
subjects with a sound Hellenic sentiment? In fact, the prophets of
Hellenism did not so much desire to extricate the Greek nation from the
Ottoman Empire as to make it the ruling element in the empire itself by
ejecting the Moslem Turks from their privileged position and
assimilating all populations of Orthodox faith. These dreams took shape
in the foundation of a secret society—the ‘Philikì Hetairía’ or ‘League
of Friends’—which established itself at Odessa in 1814 with the
connivence of the Russian police, and opened a campaign of propaganda
in anticipation of an opportunity to strike.

The initiative came from the Ottoman Government itself. At the weakest
moment in its history the empire found in Sultan Mahmud a ruler of
peculiar strength, who saw that the only hope of overcoming his dangers
lay in meeting them half-way. The national movement of Hellenism was
gathering momentum in the background, but it was screened by the
personal ambitions of Ali of Yannina, and Mahmud reckoned to forestall
both enemies by quickly striking Ali down.

In the winter of 1819-20 Ali was outlawed, and in the spring the
invasion of his territories began. Both the Moslem combatants enlisted
Christian Armatoli, and all continental Greece was under arms. By the
end of the summer Ali’s outlying strongholds had fallen, his armies
were driven in, and he himself was closely invested in Yannina; but
with autumn a deadlock set in, and the sultan’s reckoning was thrown
out. In November 1820 the veteran soldier Khurshid was appointed to the
pashalik of Peloponnesos to hold the Greeks in check and close accounts
with Ali. In March 1821, after five months spent in organizing his
province, Khurshid felt secure enough to leave it for the Yannina
lines. But he was mistaken; for within a month of his departure
Peloponnesos was ablaze.

The ‘Philikì Hetairía’ had decided to act, and the Peloponnesians
responded enthusiastically to the signal. In the north Germanòs,
metropolitan bishop of Patras, rallied the insurgents at the monastery
of Megaspélaion, and unfurled the monastic altar-cloth as a national
standard. In the south the peninsula of Maina, which had been the
latest refuge of ancient Hellenism, was now the first to welcome the
new, and to throw off the shadowy allegiance it had paid for a thousand
years to Romaic archonts and Ottoman capitan-pashas. Led by Petros
Mavromichalis, the chief of the leading clan, the Mainates issued from
their mountains. This was in April, and by the middle of May all the
open country had been swept clear, and the hosts joined hands before
Tripolitza, which was the seat of Ottoman government at the central
point of the province. The Turkish garrison attacked, but was heavily
defeated at Valtetzi by the tactical skill of Theodore Kolokotrónis the
‘klepht’, who had become experienced in guerrilla warfare through his
alternate professions of brigand and gendarme—a career that had
increased its possibilities as the Ottoman system decayed. After
Kolokotrónis’s victory, the Greeks kept Tripolitza under a close
blockade. Early in October it fell amid frightful scenes of pillage and
massacre, and Ottoman dominion in the Peloponnesos fell with it. On
January 22, 1822, Korinth, the key to the isthmus, passed into the
Greeks’ hands, and only four fortresses—Nauplia, Patras, Koron, and
Modhon—still held out within it against Greek investment. Not a Turk
survived in the Peloponnesos beyond their walls, for the slaughter at
Tripolitza was only the most terrible instance of what happened
wherever a Moslem colony was found. In Peloponnesos, at any rate, the
revolution had been grimly successful.

There had also been successes at sea. The merchant marine of the Greek
islands had suffered grievously from the fall of Napoleon and the
settlement at Vienna, which, by restoring normal conditions of trade,
had destroyed their abnormal monopoly. The revolution offered new
opportunities for profitable venture, and in April 1821 Hydhra, Spetza
and Psarà hastened to send a privateering fleet to sea. As soon as the
fleet crossed the Aegean, Samos rid itself of the Turks. At the
beginning of June the rickety Ottoman squadron issued from the
Dardanelles, but it was chased back by the islanders under the lee of
Mitylini. Memories of Russian naval tactics in 1770 led the Psariots to
experiment in fire-ships, and one of the two Turkish ships of the line
fell a victim to this attack. Within a week of setting sail, the
diminished Turkish squadron was back again in the Dardanelles, and the
islanders were left with the command of the sea.

The general Christian revolution thus seemed fairly launched, and in
the first panic the threatened Moslems began reprisals of an equally
general kind. In the larger Turkish cities there were massacres of
Christian minorities, and the Government lent countenance to them by
murdering its own principal Christian official Gregorios, the Greek
patriarch at Constantinople, on April 22, 1821. But Sultan Mahmud
quickly recovered himself. He saw that his empire could not survive a
racial war, and determined to prevent the present revolt from assuming
such a character. His plan was to localize it by stamping out the more
distant sparks with all his energy, before concentrating his force at
leisure upon the main conflagration.

This policy was justified by the event. On March 6 the ‘Philikì
Hetairia’ at Odessa had opened its own operations in grandiose style by
sending a filibustering expedition across the Russo-Turkish frontier
under command of Prince Alexander Hypsilantis, a Phanariot in the
Russian service. Hypsilantis played for a general revolt of the Ruman
population in the Danubian Principalities and a declaration of war
against Turkey on the part of Russia. But the Rumans had no desire to
assist the Greek bureaucrats who oppressed them, and the Tsar Alexander
had been converted by the experiences of 1812-13 to a pacifistic
respect for the _status quo_. Prince Hypsilantis was driven
ignominiously to internment across the Austrian frontier, little more
than a hundred days after his expedition began; and his fiasco assured
the Ottoman Government of two encouraging facts—that the revolution
would not carry away the whole Orthodox population but would at any
rate confine itself to the Greeks; and that the struggle against it
would be fought out for the present, at least, without foreign
intervention.

In the other direction, however, rebellion was spreading northward from
Peloponnesos to continental Greece. Galaxídhi revolted in April, and
was followed in June by Mesolonghi—a prosperous town of fishermen,
impregnably situated in the midst of the lagoons at the mouth of the
Aspropotamo, beyond the narrows of the Korinthian Gulf. By the end of
the month, north-western Greece was free as far as the outposts of
Khurshid Pasha beyond the Gulf of Arta.

Further eastward, again, in the mountains between the Gulf of Korinth
and the river Elládha (Sperkheiòs), the Armatoli of Ali’s faction had
held their ground, and gladly joined the revolution on the initiative
of their captains Dhiakos and Odhyssèvs. But the movement found its
limits. The Turkish garrison of Athens obstinately held out during the
winter of 1821-2, and the Moslems of Negrepont (Euboía) maintained
their mastery in the island. In Agrapha they likewise held their own,
and, after one severely punished raid, the Agraphiot Armatoli were
induced to re-enter the sultan’s service on liberal terms. The Vlachs
in the gorges of the Aspropotamo were pacified with equal success; and
Dramali, Khurshid’s lieutenant, who guarded the communications between
the army investing Yannina and its base at Constantinople, was easily
able to crush all symptoms of revolt in Thessaly from his head-quarters
at Lárissa. Still further east, the autonomous Greek villages on the
mountainous promontories of Khalkidhiki had revolted in May, in
conjunction with the well-supplied and massively fortified monasteries
of the ‘Ayon Oros’; but the Pasha of Salonika called down the South
Slavonic Moslem landowners from the interior, sacked the villages, and
amnestied the monastic confederation on condition of establishing a
Turkish garrison in their midst and confiscating their arms. The monks’
compliance was assisted by the excommunication under which the new
patriarch at Constantinople had placed all the insurgents by the
sultan’s command.

The movement was thus successfully localised on the European continent,
and further afield it was still more easily cut short. After the
withdrawal of the Turkish squadron, the Greek fleet had to look on at
the systematic destruction of Kydhonies,[1] a flourishing Greek
industrial town on the mainland opposite Mitylini which had been
founded under the sultan’s auspices only forty years before. All that
the islanders could do was to take off the survivors in their boats;
and when they dispersed to their ports in autumn, the Ottoman ships
came out again from the Dardanelles, sailed round Peloponnesos into the
Korinthian Gulf, and destroyed Galaxídhi. A still greater catastrophe
followed the reopening of naval operations next spring. In March 1822
the Samians landed a force on Khios and besieged the Turkish garrison,
which was relieved after three weeks by the arrival of the Ottoman
fleet. A month later the Greek fleet likewise appeared on the scene,
and on June 18 a Psariot captain, Constantine Kanaris, actually
destroyed the Ottoman flag-ship by a daring fire-ship attack. Upon this
the Ottoman fleet fled back as usual to the Dardanelles; yet the only
consequence was the complete devastation, in revenge, of helpless
Khios. The long-shielded prosperity of the island was remorselessly
destroyed, the people were either enslaved or massacred, and the
victorious fleet had to stand by as passively this time as at the
destruction of Kydhonies the season before. In the following summer,
again, the same fate befell Trikéri, a maritime community on the Gulf
of Volo which had gained its freedom when the rest of Thessaly stirred
in vain; and so in 1823 the revolution found itself confined on sea, as
well as on land, to the focus where it had originated in April 1821.

[Footnote 1: Turkish Aivali.]

This isolation was a practical triumph for Sultan Mahmud. The
maintenance of the Ottoman Empire on the basis of Moslem ascendancy was
thereby assured; but it remained to be seen whether the isolated area
could now be restored to the _status quo_ in which the rest of his
dominions had been retained.

During the whole season of 1821 the army of Khurshid had been held
before Yannina. But in February 1822 Yannina fell, Ali was slain, his
treasure seized, and his troops disbanded. The Ottoman forces were
liberated for a counterattack on Peloponnesos. Already in April
Khurshid broke up his camp at Lárissa, and his lieutenant Dramali was
given command of the new expedition towards the south. He crossed the
Sperkheiòs at the beginning of July with an army of twenty thousand
men.[1] Athens had capitulated to Odhyssèvs ten days before; but it had
kept open the road for Dramali, and north-eastern Greece fell without
resistance into his hands. The citadel of Korinth surrendered as tamely
as the open country, and he was master of the isthmus before the end of
the month. Nauplia meanwhile had been treating with its besiegers for
terms, and would have surrendered to the Greeks already if they had not
driven their bargain so hard. Dramali hurried on southward into the
plain to the fortress’s relief, raised the siege, occupied the town of
Argos, and scattered the Greek forces into the hills. But the citadel
of Argos held out against him, and the positions were rapidly reversed.
Under the experienced direction of Kolokotrónis, the Greeks from their
hill-fastnesses ringed round the plain of Argos and scaled up every
issue. Dramali’s supplies ran out. An attempt of his vanguard to break
through again towards the north was bloodily repulsed, and he barely
succeeded two days later in extricating the main body in a demoralized
condition, with the loss of all his baggage-train. The Turkish army
melted away, Dramali was happy to die at Korinth, and Khurshid was
executed by the sultan’s command. The invasion of Peloponnesos had
broken down, and nothing could avert the fall of Nauplia. The Ottoman
fleet hovered for one September week in the offing, but Kanaris’s
fire-ships took another ship of the line in toll at the roadsteads of
Tenedos before it safely regained the Dardanelles. The garrison of
Nauplia capitulated in December, on condition of personal security and
liberty, and the captain of a British frigate, which arrived on the
spot, took measures that the compact should be observed instead of
being broken by the customary massacre. But the strongest fortress in
Peloponnesos was now in Greek hands.

[Footnote 1: Including a strong contingent of Moslem Slavs—Bulgarian
Pomaks from the Aegean hinterland and Serbian Bosniaks from the
Adriatic.]

In the north-west the season had not passed so well. When the Turks
invested Ali in Yannina, they repatriated the Suliot exiles in their
native mountains. But a strong sultan was just as formidable to the
Suliots as a strong pasha, so they swelled their ranks by enfranchising
their peasant-serfs, and made common cause with their old enemy in his
adversity. Now that Ali was destroyed, the Suliots found themselves in
a precarious position, and turned to the Greeks for aid. But on July 16
the Greek advance was checked by a severe defeat at Petta in the plain
of Arta. In September the Suliots evacuated their impregnable
fortresses in return for a subsidy and a safe-conduct, and Omer Vrioni,
the Ottoman commander in the west,[1] was free to advance in turn
towards the south. On November 6 he actually laid siege to Mesolonghi,
but here his experiences were as discomfiting as Dramali’s. He could
not keep open his communications, and after heavy losses retreated
again to Arta in January 1823.

[Footnote 1: He was a renegade officer of Ali’s.]

In 1823 the struggle seemed to be lapsing into stalemate. The liberated
Peloponnesos had failed to propagate the revolution through the
remainder of the Ottoman Empire; the Ottoman Government had equally
failed to reconquer the Peloponnesos by military invasion. This
season’s operations only seemed to emphasize the deadlock. The Ottoman
commander in the west raised an auxiliary force of Moslem and Catholic
clansmen from northern Albania, and attempted to reach Mesolonghi once
more. But he penetrated no further than Anatolikòn—the Mesolonghiots’
outpost village at the head of the lagoons—and the campaign was only
memorable for the heroic death of Marko Botzaris the Suliot in a night
attack upon the Ottoman camp. At sea, the two fleets indulged in
desultory cruises without an encounter, for the Turks were still timid
and incompetent, while the growing insubordination and dissension on
the Greek ships made concerted action there, too, impossible. By the
end of the season it was clear that the struggle could only
definitively be decided by the intervention of a third party on one
side or the other—unless the Greeks brought their own ruin upon
themselves.

This indeed was not unlikely to happen; for the new house of Hellenism
had hardly arisen before it became desperately divided against itself.
The vitality of the national movement resided entirely in the local
communes. It was they that had found the fighting men, kept them armed
and supplied, and by spontaneous co-operation expelled the Turk from
Peloponnesos. But if the co-operation was to be permanent it must have
a central organization, and with the erection of this superstructure
the troubles began. As early as June 1821 a ‘Peloponnesian Senate’ was
constituted and at once monopolized by the ‘Primates’, the propertied
class that had been responsible for the communal taxes under the Romaic
and Ottoman régimes and was allowed to control the communal government
in return. About the same time two Phanariot princes threw in their lot
with the revolution— Alexander Mavrokordatos and Demetrius, the more
estimable brother of the futile Alexander Hypsilantis. Both were
saturated with the most recent European political theory, and they
committed the peasants and seamen of the liberated districts to an
ambitious constitutionalism. In December 1821 a ‘National Assembly’ met
at Epidauros, passed an elaborate organic law, and elected
Mavrokordatos first president of the Hellenic Republic.

The struggle for life and death in 1822 had staved off the internal
crisis, but the Peloponnesian Senate remained obstinately recalcitrant
towards the National Government in defence of its own vested interests;
and the insubordination of the fleet in 1823 was of one piece with the
political faction which broke out as soon as the immediate danger from
without was removed.

Towards the end of 1823 European ‘Philhellenes’ began to arrive in
Greece. In those dark days of reaction that followed Waterloo,
self-liberated Hellas seemed the one bright spot on the continent; but
the idealists who came to offer her their services were confronted with
a sorry spectacle. The people were indifferent to their leaders, and
the leaders at variance among themselves. The gentlemanly Phanariots
had fallen into the background. Mavrokordatos only retained influence
in north-western Greece. In Peloponnesos the Primates were
all-powerful, and Kolokotrónis the klepht was meditating a popular
dictatorship at their expense. In the north-east the adventurer
Odhyssévs had won a virtual dictatorship already, and was suspected of
intrigue with the Turks; and all this factious dissension rankled into
civil war as soon as the contraction of a loan in Great Britain had
invested the political control of the Hellenic Republic with a
prospective value in cash. The first civil war was fought between
Kolokotrónis on the one side and the Primates of Hydhra and
Peloponnesos on the other; but the issue was decided against
Kolokotrónis by the adhesion to the coalition of Kolettis the Vlach,
once physician to Mukhtar Pasha, the son of Ali, and now political
agent for all the northern Armatoli in the national service. The
fighting lasted from November 1823 to June 1824, and was followed by
another outbreak in November of the latter year, when the victors
quarrelled over the spoils, and the Primates were worsted in turn by
the islanders and the Armatoli. The nonentity Kondouriottis of Hydhra
finally emerged as President of Greece, with the sharp-witted Kolettis
as his principal wire-puller, but the disturbances did not cease till
the last instalment of the loan had been received and squandered and
there was no more spoil to fight for.

Meanwhile, Sultan Mahmud had been better employed. Resolved to avert
stalemate by the only possible means, he had applied in the course of
1823 to Mohammed Ali Pasha of Egypt, a more formidable, though more
distant, satrap than Ali of Yannina himself. Mohammed Ali had a
standing army and navy organized on the European model. He had also a
son Ibrahim, who knew how to manoeuvre them, and was ambitious of a
kingdom. Mahmud hired the father’s troops and the son’s generalship for
the re-conquest of Peloponnesos, under engagement to invest Ibrahim
with the pashalik as soon as he should effectively make it his own. By
this stroke of diplomacy a potential rebel was turned into a willing
ally, and the preparations for the Egyptian expedition went forward
busily through the winter of 1823-4.

The plan of campaign was systematically carried out. During the season
of respite the Greek islanders had harried the coasts and commerce of
Anatolia and Syria at will. The first task was to deprive them of their
outposts in the Aegean, and an advanced squadron of the Egyptian fleet
accordingly destroyed the community of Kasos in June 1824, while the
Ottoman squadron sallied out of the Dardanelles a month later and dealt
out equal measure to Psarà. The two main flotillas then effected a
junction off Rhodes; and, though the crippled Greek fleet still
ventured pluckily to confront them, it could not prevent Ibrahim from
casting anchor safely in Soudha Bay and landing his army to winter in
Krete. In February 1825 he transferred these troops with equal impunity
to the fortress of Modhon, which was still held for the sultan by an
Ottoman garrison. The fire-ships of Hydhra came to harry his fleet too
late, and on land the Greek forces were impotent against his trained
soldiers. The Government in vain promoted Kolokotrónis from captivity
to commandership-in-chief. The whole south-western half of Peloponnesos
passed into Ibrahim’s hands, and in June 1825 he even penetrated as far
as the mills of Lerna on the eastern coast, a few miles south of Argos
itself.

At the same time the Ottoman army of the west moved south again under a
new commander, Rashid Pasha of Yannina, and laid final siege on April
27 to Mesolonghi, just a year after Byron had died of fever within its
walls. The Greeks were magnificent in their defence of these frail
mud-bastions, and they more than held their own in the amphibious
warfare of the lagoons. The struggle was chequered by the continual
coming and going of the Greek and Ottoman fleets. They were indeed the
decisive factor; for without the supporting squadron Rashid would have
found himself in the same straits as his predecessors at the approach
of autumn, while the slackness of the islanders in keeping the sea
allowed Mesolonghi to be isolated in January 1826. The rest was
accomplished by the arrival of Ibrahim on the scene. His heavy
batteries opened fire in February; his gunboats secured command of the
lagoons, and forced Anatolikòn to capitulate in March. In April
provisions in Mesolonghi itself gave out, and, scorning surrender, the
garrison—men, women, and children together— made a general sortie on
the night of April 22. Four thousand fell, three thousand were taken,
and two thousand won through. It was a glorious end for Mesolonghi, but
it left the enemy in possession of all north-western Greece.

The situation was going from bad to worse. Ibrahim returned to
Peloponnesos, and steadily pushed forward his front, ravaging as
steadily as he went. Rashid, after pacifying the north-west, moved on
to the north-eastern districts, where the national cause had been
shaken by the final treachery and speedy assassination of Odhyssèvs.
Siege was laid to Athens in June, and the Greek Government enlisted in
vain the military experience of its Philhellenes. Fabvier held the
Akropolis, but Generalissimo Sir Richard Church was heavily defeated in
the spring of 1827 in an attempt to relieve him from the Attic coast;
Grand Admiral Cochrane saw his fleet sail home for want of payment in
advance, when he summoned it for review at Poros; and Karaiskakis, the
Greek captain of Armatoli, was killed in a skirmish during his more
successful efforts to harass Rashid’s communications by land. On June
5, 1827, the Greek garrison of the Akropolis marched out on terms.

It looked as if the Greek effort after independence would be completely
crushed, and as if Sultan Mahmud would succeed in getting his empire
under control. In September 1826 he had rid it at last of the mischief
at its centre by blowing up the janissaries in their barracks at
Constantinople. Turkey seemed almost to have weathered the storm when
she was suddenly overborne by further intervention on the other side.

Tsar Alexander, the vaccillator, died in November 1825, and was
succeeded by his son Nicholas I, as strong a character and as active a
will as Sultan Mahmud himself. Nicholas approached the Greek question
without any disinclination towards a Turkish war; and both Great
Britain and France found an immediate interest in removing a ground of
provocation which might lead to such a rude disturbance of the European
‘Balance of Power’. On July 6, 1827, a month after Athens surrendered,
the three powers concluded a treaty for the pacification of Greece, in
which they bound over both belligerent parties to accept an armistice
under pain of military coercion. An allied squadron appeared off
Navarino Bay to enforce this policy upon the Ottoman and Egyptian fleet
which lay united there, and the intrusion of the allied admirals into
the bay itself precipitated on October 20 a violent naval battle in
which the Moslem flotilla was destroyed. The die was cast; and in April
1828 the Russian and Ottoman Governments drifted into a formal war,
which brought Russian armies across the Danube as far as Adrianople,
and set the Ottoman Empire at bay for the defence of its capital.
Thanks to Mahmud’s reorganization, the empire did not succumb to this
assault; but it had no more strength to spare for the subjugation of
Greece. The Greeks had no longer to reckon with the sultan as a
military factor; and in August 1828 they wore relieved of Ibrahim’s
presence as well, by the disembarkation of 14,000 French troops in
Peloponnesos to superintend the withdrawal of the Egyptian forces. In
March 1829 the three powers delimited the Greek frontier. The line ran
east and west from the Gulf of Volo to the Gulf of Arta, and assigned
to the new state no more and no less territory than the districts that
had effectively asserted their independence against the sultan in 1821.
This settlement was the only one possible under the circumstances; but
it was essentially transitory, for it neglected the natural line of
nationality altogether, and left a numerical majority of the Greek
race, as well as the most important centres of its life, under the old
régime of servitude.

Even the liberated area was not at the end of its troubles. In the
spring of 1827, when they committed themselves into the hands of their
foreign patrons, the Greeks had found a new president for the republic
in John Kapodistrias, an intimate of Alexander the tsar. Kapodistrias
was a Corfiote count, with a Venetian education and a career in the
Russian diplomatic service, and no one could have been more
fantastically unsuitable for the task of reconstructing the country to
which he was called. Kapodistrias’ ideal was the _fin-de-siècle_
‘police-state’; but ‘official circles’ did not exist in Greece, and he
had no acquaintance with the peasants and sailors whom he hoped to
redeem by bureaucracy. He instituted a hierarchically centralized
administration which made the abortive constitution of Mavrokordatos
seem sober by comparison; he trampled on the liberty of the rising
press, which was the most hopeful educational influence in the country;
and he created superfluous ministerial portfolios for his untalented
brothers. In fact he reglamented Greece from his palace at Aigina like
a divinely appointed autocrat, from his arrival in January 1828 till
the summer of 1831, when he provoked the Hydhriots to open rebellion,
and commissioned the Russian squadron in attendance to quell them by a
naval action, with the result that Poros was sacked by the President’s
regular army and the national fleet was completely destroyed. After
that, he attempted to rule as a military dictator, and fell foul of the
Mavromichalis of Maina. The Mainates knew better how to deal with the
‘police-state’ than the Hydhriots; and on October 9, 1831, Kapodistrias
was assassinated in Nauplia, at the church door, by two representatives
of the Mavromichalis clan.

The country lapsed into utter anarchy. Peloponnesians and Armatoli,
Kolokotronists and Kolettists, alternately appointed and deposed
subservient national assemblies and governing commissions by naked
violence, which culminated in a gratuitous and disastrous attack upon
the French troops stationed in Peloponnesos for their common
protection. The three powers realized that it was idle to liberate
Greece from Ottoman government unless they found her another in its
place. They decided on monarchy, and offered the crown, in February
1832, to Prince Otto, a younger son of the King of Bavaria. The
negotiations dragged on many months longer than Greece could afford to
wait. But in July 1832 the sultan recognized the sovereign independence
of the kingdom of Hellas in consideration of a cash indemnity; and in
February 1833, just a year after the first overtures had been made, the
appointed king arrived at Nauplia with a decorative Bavarian staff and
a substantial loan from the allies.



3
_The Consolidation of the State_


Half the story of Greece is told. We have watched the nation awake and
put forth its newly-found strength in a great war of independence, and
we have followed the course of the struggle to its result—the
foundation of the kingdom of Hellas.

It is impossible to close this chapter of Greek history without a sense
of disappointment. The spirit of Greece had travailed, and only a
principality was born, which gathered within its frontiers scarcely
one-third of the race, and turned for its government to a foreign
administration which had no bond of tradition or affinity with the
population it was to rule. And yet something had been achieved. An
oasis had been wrested from the Turkish wilderness, in which Hellenism
could henceforth work out its own salvation untrammelled, and extend
its borders little by little, until it brought within them at last the
whole of its destined heritage. The fleeting glamour of dawn had
passed, but it had brought the steady light of day, in which the work
begun could be carried out soberly and indefatigably to its conclusion.
The new kingdom, in fact, if it fulfilled its mission, might become the
political nucleus and the spiritual ensample of a permanently awakened
nation—an ‘education of Hellas’ such as Pericles hoped to see Athens
become in the greatest days of Ancient Greece.

When, therefore, we turn to the history of the kingdom, our
disappointment is all the more intense, for in the first fifty years of
its existence there is little development to record. In 1882 King
Otto’s principality presented much the same melancholy spectacle as it
did in 1833, when he landed in Nauplia Bay, except that Otto himself
had left the scene. His Bavarian staff belonged to that reactionary
generation that followed the overthrow of Napoleon in Europe, and
attempted, heedless of Kapodistrias’ fiasco, to impose on Greece the
bureaucracy of the _ancien régime_. The Bavarians’ work was entirely
destructive. The local liberties which had grown up under the Ottoman
dominion and been the very life of the national revival, were
effectively repressed. Hydhriot and Spetziot, Suliot and Mainate,
forfeited their characteristic individuality, but none of the benefits
of orderly and uniform government were realized. The canker of
brigandage defied all efforts to root it out, and in spite of the loans
with which the royal government was supplied by the protecting powers,
the public finance was subject to periodical breakdowns. In 1837 King
Otto, now of age, took the government into his own hands, only to have
it taken out of them again by a revolution in 1843. Thereafter he
reigned as a constitutional monarch, but he never reconciled himself to
the position, and in 1862 a second revolution drove him into exile, a
scapegoat for the afflictions of his kingdom. Bavarian then gave place
to Dane, yet the afflictions continued. In 1882 King George had been
nineteen years on the throne[1] without any happier fortune than his
predecessor’s. It is true that the frontiers of the kingdom had been
somewhat extended. Great Britain had presented the new sovereign with
the Ionian Islands as an inaugural gift, and the Berlin Conference had
recently added the province of Thessaly. Yet the major part of the
Greek race still awaited liberation from the Turkish yoke, and regarded
the national kingdom, chronically incapacitated by the twin plagues of
brigandage and bankruptcy, with increasing disillusionment. The kingdom
of Hellas seemed to have failed in its mission altogether.

[Footnote 1: King George, like King Otto, was only seventeen years old
when he received his crown.]

What was the explanation of this failure? It was that the very nature
of the mission paralysed the state from taking the steps essential to
its accomplishment. The phenomenon has been, unhappily, only too
familiar in the Nearer East, and any one who travelled in the Balkans
in 1882, or even so recently as 1912, must at once have become aware of
it.

Until a nation has completely vindicated its right to exist, it is hard
for it to settle down and make its life worth living. We nations of
western Europe (before disaster fell upon us) had learnt to take our
existence for granted, and ‘Politics’ for us had come to mean an
organized effort to improve the internal economy of our community. But
a foreigner who picked up a Greek newspaper would have found in it none
of the matter with which he was familiar in his own, no discussion of
financial policy, economic development, or social reconstruction. The
news-columns would have been monopolized by foreign politics, and in
the cafes he would have heard the latest oscillation in the
international balance of power canvassed with the same intense and
minute interest that Englishmen in a railway-carriage would have been
devoting to Old Age Pensions, National Health Insurance, or Land
Valuation. He would have been amazed by a display of intimate knowledge
such as no British quidnunc could have mustered if he had happened to
stumble across these intricacies of international competition, and the
conversation would always have terminated in the same unanswered but
inconscionable challenge to the future: ‘When will the oppressed
majority of our race escape the Turkish yoke? If the Ottoman dominion
is destroyed, what redistribution of its provinces will follow? Shall
we then achieve our national unity, or will our Balkan neighbours
encroach upon the inheritance which is justly ours?’

This preoccupation with events beyond the frontiers was not caused by
any lack of vital problems within them. The army was the most
conspicuous object of public activity, but it was not an aggressive
speculation, or an investment of national profits deliberately
calculated to bring in one day a larger return. It was a necessity of
life, and its efficiency was barely maintained out of the national
poverty. In fact, it was almost the only public utility with which the
nation could afford to provide itself, and the traveller from Great
Britain would have been amazed again at the miserable state of all
reproductive public works. The railways were few and far between, their
routes roundabout, and their rolling-stock scanty, so that trains were
both rare and slow. Wheel-roads were no commoner a feature in Greece
than railways are here, and such stretches as had been constructed had
often never come into use, because they had just failed to reach their
goal or were still waiting for their bridges, so that they were simply
falling into decay and converting the outlay of capital upon them into
a dead loss. The Peiraeus was the only port in the country where
steamers could come alongside a quay, and discharge their cargoes
directly on shore. Elsewhere, the vessel must anchor many cables’
lengths out, and depend on the slow and expensive services of lighters,
for lack of pier construction and dredging operations. For example,
Kalamata, the economic outlet for the richest part of Peloponnesos, and
the fifth largest port in the kingdom,[1] was and still remains a mere
open roadstead, where all ships that call are kept at a distance by the
silt from a mountain torrent, and so placed in imminent danger of being
driven, by the first storm, upon the rocks of a neighbouring peninsula.

[Footnote 1: The four chief ports being Peiraeus, Patras, Syra, and
Volos.]

These grave shortcomings were doubtless due in part to the geographical
character of the country, though it was clear, from what had actually
been accomplished, that it would have been both possible and profitable
to attempt much more, if the nation’s energy could have been secured
for the work. But it is hard to tinker at details when you are kept in
a perpetual fever by a question of life and death, and the great
preliminary questions of national unity and self-government remained
still unsettled.

Before these supreme problems all other interests paled, for they were
no will-o’-the-wisps of theoretical politics. It needs a long political
education to appreciate abstract ideas, and the Greeks were still in
their political infancy, but the realization of Greater Greece implied
for them the satisfaction of all their concrete needs at once.

So long as the _status quo_ endured, they were isolated from the rest
of Europe by an unbroken band of Turkish territory, stretching from the
Aegean to the Adriatic Sea. What was the use of overcoming great
engineering difficulties to build a line of European gauge from Athens
right up to the northern frontier, if Turkey refused to sanction the
construction of the tiny section that must pass through her territory
between the Greek railhead and the actual terminus of the European
system at Salonika? Or if, even supposing she withdrew her veto, she
would have it in her power to bring pressure on Greece at any moment by
threatening to sever communications along this vital artery? So long as
Turkey was there, Greece was practically an island, and her only
communication with continental Europe lay through her ports. But what
use to improve the ports, when the recovery of Salonika, the fairest
object of the national dreams, would ultimately change the country’s
economic centre of gravity, and make her maritime as well as her
overland commerce flow along quite other channels than the present?

Thus the Greek nation’s present was overshadowed by its future, and its
actions paralysed by its hopes. Perhaps a nation with more power of
application and less of imagination would have schooled itself to the
thought that these sordid, obtrusive details were the key to the
splendours of the future, and would have devoted itself to the
systematic amelioration of the cramped area which it had already
secured for its own. This is what Bulgaria managed to do during her
short but wonderful period of internal growth between the Berlin Treaty
of 1878 and the declaration of war against Turkey in 1912. But
Bulgaria, thanks to her geographical situation, was from the outset
freer from the tentacles of the Turkish octopus than Greece had
contrived to make herself by her fifty years’ start, while her
temperamentally sober ambitions were not inflamed by such past
traditions as Greece had inherited, not altogether to her advantage. Be
that as it may, Greece, whether by fault or misfortune, had failed
during this half-century to apply herself successfully to the cure of
her defects and the exploitation of her assets, though she did not lack
leaders strong-minded enough to summon her to the dull business of the
present. Her history during the succeeding generation was a struggle
between the parties of the Present and the Future, and the unceasing
discomfiture of the former is typified in the tragedy of Trikoupis, the
greatest modern Greek statesman before the advent of Venezelos.

Trikoupis came into power in 1882, just after the acquisition of the
rich agricultural province of Thessaly under the Treaty of Berlin had
given the kingdom a fresh start. There were no such continuous areas of
good arable land within the original frontiers, and such rare patches
as there were had been desolated by those eight years of savage
warfare[1] which had been the price of liberty. The population had been
swept away by wholesale massacres of racial minorities in every
district; the dearth of industrious hands had allowed the torrents to
play havoc with the cultivation-terraces on the mountain slopes; and
the spectre of malaria, always lying in wait for its opportunity, had
claimed the waterlogged plains for its own. During the fifty years of
stagnation little attempt had been made to cope with the evil, until
now it seemed almost past remedy.

[Footnote 1: 1821-28]

If, however, the surface of the land offered little prospect of wealth
for the moment, there were considerable treasures to be found beneath
it. A metalliferous bolt runs down the whole east coast of the Greek
mainland, cropping up again in many of the Aegean islands, and some of
the ores, of which there is a great variety, are rare and valuable. The
lack of transit facilities is partly remedied by the fact that workable
veins often lie near enough to the sea for the produce to be carried
straight from mine to ship, by an endless-chain system of overhead
trolleys; so that, once capital is secured for installing the plant and
opening the mine, profitable operations can be carried on irrespective
of the general economic condition of the country. Trikoupis saw how
much potential wealth was locked up in these mineral seams. The problem
was how to attract the capital necessary to tap it. The nucleus round
which have accumulated those immense masses of mobilised capital that
are the life-blood of modern European industry and commerce, was
originally derived from the surplus profits of agriculture. But a
country that finds itself reduced, like Greece in the nineteenth
century, to a state of agricultural bankruptcy, has obviously failed to
save any surplus in the process, so that it is unable to provide from
its own pocket the minimum outlay it so urgently needs in order to open
for itself some new activity. If it is to obtain a fresh start on other
lines, it must secure the co-operation of the foreign investor, and the
capitalist with a ready market for his money will only put it into
enterprises where he has some guarantee of its safety. There was little
doubt that the minerals of Greece would well repay extraction; the
uncertain element was the Greek nation itself. The burning question of
national unity might break out at any moment into a blaze of war, and,
in the probable case of disaster, involve the whole country and all
interests connected with it in economic as well as political ruin.
Western Europe would not commit itself to Greek mining enterprise,
unless it felt confident that the statesman responsible for the
government of Greece would and could restrain his country from its
instinctive impulse towards political adventure.

The great merit of Trikoupis was that he managed to inspire this
confidence. Greece owes most of the wheelroads, railways, and mines of
which she can now boast to the dozen years of his more or less
consecutive administration. But the roads are unfinished, the
railway-network incomplete, the mines exploited only to a fraction of
their capacity, because the forces against Trikoupis were in the end
too strong for him. It may be that his eye too rigidly followed the
foreign investor’s point of view, and that by adopting a more
conciliatory attitude towards the national ideal, he might have
strengthened his position at home without impairing his reputation
abroad; but his position was really made impossible by a force quite
beyond his control, the irresponsible and often intolerable behaviour
which Turkey, under whatever régime, has always practised towards
foreign powers, and especially towards those Balkan states which have
won their freedom in her despite, while perforce abandoning a large
proportion of their race to the protracted outrage of Turkish
misgovernment.

Several times over the Porte, by wanton insults to Greece, wrecked the
efforts of Trikoupis to establish good relations between the two
governments, and played the game of the chauvinist party led by
Trikoupis’ rival, Deliyannis. Deliyannis’ tenures of office were always
brief, but during them he contrived to undo most of the work
accomplished by Trikoupis in the previous intervals. A particularly
tense ‘incident’ with Turkey put him in power in 1893, with a strong
enough backing from the country to warrant a general mobilization. The
sole result was the ruin of Greek credit. Trikoupis was hastily
recalled to office by the king, but too late. He found himself unable
to retrieve the ruin, and retired altogether from politics in 1895,
dying abroad next year in voluntary exile and enforced disillusionment.

With the removal of Trikoupis from the helm, Greece ran straight upon
the rocks. A disastrous war with Turkey was precipitated in 1897 by
events in Krete. It brought the immediate _débâcle_ of the army and the
reoccupation of Thessaly for a year by Turkish troops, while its final
penalties were the cession of the chief strategical positions along the
northern frontier and the imposition of an international commission of
control over the Greek finances, in view of the complete national
bankruptcy entailed by the war. The fifteen years that followed 1895
were almost the blackest period in modern Greek history; yet the time
was not altogether lost, and such events as the draining of the
Kopais-basin by a British company, and its conversion from a malarious
swamp into a rich agricultural area, marked a perceptible economic
advance.

This comparative stagnation was broken at last by the Young Turk
_pronunciamiento_ at Salonika in 1908, which produced such momentous
repercussions all through the Nearer East. The Young Turks had struck
in order to forestall the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire, but the
opportunity was seized by every restive element within it to extricate
itself, if possible, from the Turkish coils. Now, just as in 1897,
Greece was directly affected by the action of the Greek population in
Krete. As a result of the revolt of 1896-7, Krete had been constituted
an autonomous state subject to Ottoman suzerainty, autonomy and
suzerainty alike being guaranteed by four great powers. Prince George
of Greece, a son of the King of the Hellenes, had been placed at the
head of the autonomous government as high commissioner; but his
autocratic tendency caused great discontent among the free-spirited
Kretans, who had not rid themselves of the Turkish régime in order to
forfeit their independence again in another fashion. Dissension
culminated in 1906, when the leaders of the opposition took to the
mountains, and obtained such support and success in the guerrilla
fighting that followed, that they forced Prince George to tender his
resignation. He was succeeded as high commissioner by Zaimis, another
citizen of the Greek kingdom, who inaugurated a more constitutional
régime, and in 1908 the Kretans believed that the moment for realizing
the national ideal had come. They proclaimed their union with Greece,
and elected deputies to the Parliament at Athens. But the guarantor
powers carried out their obligations by promptly sending a combined
naval expedition, which hauled down the Greek flag at Canea, and
prevented the deputies from embarking for Peiraeus. This apparently
pedantic insistence upon the _status quo_ was extremely exasperating to
Greek nationalism. It produced a ferment in the kingdom, which grew
steadily for nine months, and vented itself in July 1909 in the _coup
d’état_ of the ‘Military League’, a second-hand imitation of the
Turkish ‘Committee of Union and Progress’. The royal family was
cavalierly treated, and constitutional government superseded by a junta
of officers. But at this point the policy of the four powers towards
Krete was justified. Turkey knew well that she had lost Krete in 1897,
but she could still exploit her suzerainty to prevent Greece from
gaining new strength by the annexation of the island. The Young Turks
had seized the reins of government, not to modify the policy of the
Porte, but to intensify its chauvinism, and they accordingly intimated
that they would consider any violation of their suzerain rights over
Krete a _casus belli_ against Greece. Greece, without army or allies,
was obviously not in a position to incur another war, and the ‘Military
League’ thus found that it had reached the end of its tether. There
ensued a deadlock of another eight months, only enlivened by a naval
mutiny, during which the country lay paralysed, with no programme
whatsoever before it.

Then the man demanded by the situation appeared unexpectedly from the
centre of disturbance, Krete. Venezelos started life as a successful
advocate at Canea. He entered Kretan politics in the struggle for
constitutionalism, and distinguished himself in the successful
revolution of 1906, of which he was the soul. Naturally, he became one
of the leading statesmen under Zaimis’ régime, and he further
distinguished himself by resolutely opposing the ‘Unionist’ agitation
as premature, and yet retaining his hold over a people whose paramount
political preoccupation was their national unity. The crisis of 1908-9
brought him into close relations with the government of the Greek
kingdom; and the king, who had gauged his calibre, now took the
patriotic step of calling in the man who had expelled his son from
Krete, to put his own house in order. It speaks much for both men that
they worked together in harmony from the beginning. Upon the royal
invitation Venezelos exchanged Kretan for Greek citizenship, and took
in hand the ‘Military League’. After short negotiations, he persuaded
it to dissolve in favour of a national convention, which was able to
meet in March 1910.

Thus Greece became a constitutional country once more, and Venezelos
the first premier of the new era. During five years of continuous
office he was to prove himself the good genius of his country. When he
resigned his post in April 1915, he left the work of consolidating the
national state on the verge of completion, and it will be his country’s
loss if he is baulked of achievement. Results speak for themselves, and
the remainder of this pamphlet will be little more than a record of his
statesmanship; but before we pass on to review his deeds, we must say a
word about the character to which they are due. In March 1912 the time
came for the first general election since Venezelos had taken office.
Two years’ experience of his administration had already won him such
popularity and prestige, that the old party groups, purely personal
followings infected with all the corruption, jingoism, and insincerity
of the dark fifteen years, leagued themselves in a desperate effort to
cast him out. Corruption on a grand scale was attempted, but Venezelos’
success at the polls was sweeping. The writer happened to be spending
that month in Krete. The Kretans had, of course, elected deputies in
good time to the parliament at Athens, and once more the foreign
warships stopped them in the act of boarding the steamer for Peiraeus,
while Venezelos, who was still responsible for the Greek Government
till the new parliament met, had declared with characteristic frankness
that the attendance of the Kretan deputies could not possibly be
sanctioned, an opening of which his opponents did not fail to take
advantage. Meanwhile, every one in Krete was awaiting news of the
polling in the kingdom. They might have been expected to feel, at any
rate, lukewarmly towards a man who had actually taken office on the
programme of deferring their cherished ‘union’ indefinitely; but, on
the contrary, they greeted his triumph with enormous enthusiasm. Their
feeling was explained by the comment of an innkeeper. ‘Venezelos!’ he
said: ‘Why, he is a man who can say “No”. He won’t stand any nonsense.
If you try to get round him, he’ll put you in irons.’ And clearly he
had hit the mark. Venezelos would in any case have done well, because
he is a clever man with an excellent power of judgement; but acuteness
is a common Greek virtue, and if he has done brilliantly, it is because
he has the added touch of genius required to make the Greek take ‘No’
for an answer, a quality, very rare indeed in the nation, which
explains the dramatic contrast between his success and Trikoupis’
failure. Greece has been fortunate indeed in finding the right man at
the crucial hour.

In the winter of 1911-12 and the succeeding summer, the foreign
traveller met innumerable results of Venezelos’ activity in every part
of the country, and all gave evidence of the same thing: a sane
judgement and its inflexible execution. For instance, a resident in
Greece had needed an escort of soldiers four years before, when he made
an expedition into the wild country north-west of the Gulf of Patras,
on account of the number of criminals ‘wanted’ by the government who
were lurking in that region as outlaws. In August 1912 an inquiry
concerning this danger was met with a smile: ‘Oh, yes, it was so,’ said
the gendarme, ‘but since then Venezelos has come. He amnestied every
one “out” for minor offences, and then caught the “really bad ones”, so
there are no outlaws in Akarnania now.’ And he spoke the truth. You
could wander all about the forests and mountains without molestation.

So far Venezelos had devoted himself to internal reconstruction, after
the precedent of Trikoupis, but he was not the man to desert the
national idea. The army and navy were reorganized by French and British
missions, and when the opportunity appeared, he was ready to take full
advantage of it. In the autumn of 1912, Turkey had been for a year at
war with Italy; her finances had suffered a heavy drain, and the
Italian command of the sea not only locked up her best troops in
Tripoli, but interrupted such important lines of communication between
her Asiatic and European provinces as the direct route by sea from
Smyrna to Salonika, and the devious sea-passage thence round Greece to
Scutari, which was the only alternative for Turkish troops to running
the gauntlet of the Albanian mountaineers. Clearly the Balkan nations
could find no better moment for striking the blow to settle that
implacable ‘preliminary question.’ of national unity which had dogged
them all since their birth. Their only chance of success, however, was
to strike in concert, for Turkey, handicapped though she was, could
still easily outmatch them singly. Unless they could compromise between
their conflicting claims, they would have to let this common
opportunity for making them good slip by altogether.

Of the four states concerned, two, Serbia and Montenegro, were of the
same South-Slavonic nationality, and had been drawn into complete
accord with each other since the formal annexation of Bosnia by
Austria-Hungary in 1908, which struck a hard blow at their common
national idea, while neither of them had any conflicting claims with
Greece, since the Greek and South-Slavonic nationalities are at no
point geographically in contact. With Bulgaria, a nation of Slavonic
speech and culture, though not wholly Slavonic in origin, Serbia had
quarrelled for years over the ultimate destiny of the Üsküb district in
north-western Macedonia, which was still subject to Turkey; but in the
summer of 1912 the two states compromised in a secret treaty upon their
respective territorial ambitions, and agreed to refer the fate of one
debatable strip to the arbitration of Russia, after their already
projected war with Turkey had been carried through. There was a more
formidable conflict of interests between Bulgaria and Greece. These two
nationalities are conterminous over a very wide extent of territory,
stretching from the Black Sea on the east to the inland Lake of Okhrida
on the west, and there is at no point a sharp dividing line between
them. The Greek element tends to predominate towards the coast and the
Bulgar towards the interior, but there are broad zones where Greek and
Bulgar villages are inextricably interspersed, while purely Greek towns
are often isolated in the midst of purely Bulgar rural districts. Even
if the racial areas could be plotted out on a large-scale map, it was
clear that no political frontier could be drawn to follow their
convolutions, and that Greece and Bulgaria could only divide the spoils
by both making up their minds to give and take. The actual lines this
necessary compromise would follow, obviously depended on the degree of
the allies’ success against Turkey in the common war that was yet to be
fought, and Venezelos rose to the occasion. He had the courage to offer
Bulgaria the Greek alliance without stipulating for any definite
minimum share in the common conquests, and the tact to induce her to
accept it on the same terms. Greece and Bulgaria agreed to shelve all
territorial questions till the war had been brought to a successful
close; and with the negotiation of this understanding (another case in
which Venezelos achieved what Trikoupis had attempted only to fail) the
Balkan League was complete.

The events that followed are common knowledge. The Balkan allies opened
the campaign in October, and the Turks collapsed before an impetuous
attack. The Bulgarians crumpled up the Ottoman field armies in Thrace
at the terrific battle of Lule Burgas; the Serbians disposed of the
forces in the Macedonian interior, while the Greeks effected a junction
with the Serbians from the south, and cut their way through to
Salonika. Within two months of the declaration of war, the Turks on
land had been driven out of the open altogether behind the shelter of
the Chataldja and Gallipoli lines, and only three
fortresses—Adrianople, Yannina, and Scutari—held out further to the
west. Their navy, closely blockaded by the Greek fleet within the
Dardanelles, had to look on passively at the successive occupation of
the Aegean Islands by Greek landing-parties. With the winter came
negotiations, during which an armistice reigned at Adrianople and
Scutari, while the Greeks pursued the siege of Yannina and the
Dardanelles blockade. The negotiations proved abortive, and the result
of the renewed hostilities justified the action of the Balkan
plenipotentiaries in breaking them off. By the spring of 1913 the three
fortresses had fallen, and, under the treaty finally signed at London,
Turkey ceded to the Balkan League, as a whole, all her European
territories west of a line drawn from Ainos on the Aegean to Midía on
the Black Sea, including Adrianople and the lower basin of the river
Maritsa.

The time had now come for Greece and Bulgaria to settle their account,
and the unexpected extent of the common gains ought to have facilitated
their division. The territory in question included the whole north
coast of the Aegean and its immediate hinterland, and Venezelos
proposed to consider it in two sections. (1) The eastern section,
conveniently known as Thrace, consisted of the lower basin of the
Maritsa. As far as Adrianople the population was Bulgar, but south of
that city it was succeeded by a Greek element, with a considerable
sprinkling of Turkish settlements, as far as the sea. Geographically,
however, the whole district is intimately connected with Bulgaria, and
the railway that follows the course of the Maritsa down to the port of
Dedeagatch offers a much-needed economic outlet for large regions
already within the Bulgarian frontier. Venezelos, then, was prepared to
resign all Greek claims to the eastern section, in return for a
corresponding concession by Bulgaria in the west. (2) The western
section, consisting of the lower basins of the Vardar and Struma, lay
in the immediate neighbourhood of the former frontier of Greece; but
the Greek population of Salonika,[1] and the coast-districts east of
it, could not be brought within the Greek frontier without including as
well a certain hinterland inhabited mainly by Bulgarians. The cession
of this was the return asked for by Venezelos, and he reduced it to a
minimum by abstaining from pressing the quite well-founded claims of
Greece in the Monastir district, which lay further inland still.

[Footnote 1: The predominant element within the walls of Salonika
itself is neither Greek nor Bulgarian, but consists of about 80,000 of
those Spanish-speaking Jews who settled in Turkey as refugees during
the sixteenth century.]

But Venezelos’ conciliatory proposals met with no response from the
Bulgarian Government, which was in an ‘all or nothing’ mood. It
swallowed Venezelos’ gift of Thrace, and then proceeded to exploit the
Bulgar hinterland of Salonika as a pretext for demanding the latter
city as well. This uncompromising attitude made agreement impossible,
and it was aggravated by the aggressive action of the Bulgarian troops
in the occupied territory, who persistently endeavoured to steal ground
from the Greek forces facing them. In May there was serious fighting to
the east of the Struma, and peace was only restored with difficulty.
Bulgarian relations with Serbia were becoming strained at the same
time, though in this case Bulgaria had more justice on her side. Serbia
maintained that the veto imposed by Austria upon her expansion to the
Adriatic, in coincidence with Bulgaria’s unexpected gains on the
Maritsa to which Serbian arms had contributed, invalidated the secret
treaty of the previous summer, and she announced her intention of
retaining the Monastir district and the line of the Salonika railway as
far as the future frontier of Greece. Bulgaria, on the other hand, shut
her eyes to Serbia’s necessity for an untrammelled economic outlet to
one sea-board or the other, and took her stand on her strictly legal
treaty-rights. However the balance of justice inclined, a lasting
settlement could only have been reached by mutual forbearance and
goodwill; but Bulgaria put herself hopelessly in the wrong towards both
her allies by a treacherous night-attack upon them all along the line,
at the end of June 1913. This disastrous act was the work of a single
political party, which has since been condemned by most sections of
Bulgarian public opinion; but the punishment, if not the responsibility
for the crime, fell upon the whole nation. Greece and Serbia had
already been drawn into an understanding by their common danger. They
now declared war against Bulgaria in concert. The counter-strokes of
their armies met with success, and the intervention of Rumania made
Bulgaria’s discomfiture certain.

The results of the one month’s war were registered in the Treaty of
Bucarest. Many of its provisions were unhappily, though naturally,
inspired by the spirit of revenge; but the Greek premier, at any rate,
showed a statesmanlike self-restraint in the negotiations. Venezelos
advocated the course of taking no more after the war than had been
demanded before it. He desired to leave Bulgaria a broad zone of Aegean
littoral between the Struma and Maritsa rivers, including ports capable
of satisfying Bulgaria’s pressing need for an outlet towards the south.
But, in the exasperated state of public feeling, even Venezelos’
prestige failed to carry through his policy in its full moderation.
King George had just been assassinated in his year of jubilee, in the
streets of the long-desired Salonika; and King Constantine, his son,
flushed by the victory of Kilkish and encouraged by the Machiavellian
diplomacy of his Hohenzollern brother-in-law, insisted on carrying the
new Greek frontier as far east as the river Mesta, and depriving
Bulgaria of Kavala, the natural harbour for the whole Bulgarian
hinterland in the upper basins of the Mesta and Struma.

It is true that Greece did not exact as much as she might have done.
Bulgaria was still allowed to possess herself of a coastal strip east
of the Mesta, containing the tolerable harbours of Porto Lagos and
Dedeagatch, which had been occupied during hostilities by the Greek
fleet, and thus her need for an Aegean outlet was not left unsatisfied
altogether; while Greece on her part was cleverly shielded for the
future from those drawbacks involved in immediate contact with Turkish
territory, which she had so often experienced in the past. It is also
true that the Kavala district is of great economic value in itself—it
produces the better part of the Turkish Régie tobacco crop—and that on
grounds of nationality alone Bulgaria has no claim to this prize, since
the tobacco-growing peasantry is almost exclusively Greek or Turk,
while the Greek element has been extensively reinforced during the last
two years by refugees from Anatolia and Thrace.

Nevertheless, it is already clear that Venezelos’ judgement was the
better. The settlement at the close of the present war may even yet
bring Bulgaria reparation in many quarters. If the Ruman and South
Slavonic populations at present included in the complexus of
Austria-Hungary are freed from their imprisonment and united with the
Serbian and Rumanian national states, Bulgaria may conceivably recover
from the latter those Bulgarian lands which the Treaty of Bucarest made
over to them in central Macedonia and the Dobrudja, while it would be
still more feasible to oust the Turk again from Adrianople, where he
slipped back in the hour of Bulgaria’s prostration and has succeeded in
maintaining himself ever since. Yet no amount of compensation in other
directions and no abstract consideration for the national principle
will induce Bulgaria to renounce her claim on Greek Kavala. Access to
this district is vital to Bulgaria from the geographical point of view,
and she will not be satisfied here with such rights as Serbia enjoys at
Salonika—free use of the port and free traffic along a railway
connecting it with her own hinterland. Her heart is set on complete
territorial ownership, and she will not compose her feud with Greece
until she has had her way.

So long, therefore, as the question of Kavala remains unsettled, Greece
will not be able to put the preliminary problem of ‘national
consolidation’ behind her, and enter upon the long-deferred chapter of
‘internal development’. To accomplish once for all this vital
transition, Venezelos is taking the helm again into his hands, and it
is his evident intention to close the Greek account with Bulgaria just
as Serbia and Rumania hope to close theirs with the same state—by a
bold territorial concession conditional upon adequate territorial
compensation elsewhere.[1]

[Footnote 1: The above paragraph betrays its own date; for, since it
was written, the intervention of Bulgaria on the side of the Central
Powers has deferred indefinitely the hope of a settlement based upon
mutual agreement.]

The possibility of such compensation is offered by certain outstanding
problems directly dependent upon the issue of the European conflict,
and we must glance briefly at these before passing on to consider the
new chapter of internal history that is opening for the Greek nation.

The problems in question are principally concerned with the ownership
of islands.

The integrity of a land-frontier is guaranteed by the whole strength of
the nation included within it, and can only be modified by a struggle
for existence with the neighbor on whom it borders; but islands by
their geographical nature constitute independent political units,
easily detached from or incorporated with larger domains, according to
the momentary fluctuation in the balance of sea-power. Thus it happened
that the arrival of the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ at the Dardanelles in
August 1914 led Turkey to reopen promptly certain questions concerning
the Aegean. The islands in this sea are uniformly Greek in population,
but their respective geographical positions and political fortunes
differentiate them into several groups.

1. The Cyclades in the south-west, half submerged vanguards of mountain
ranges in continental Greece, have formed part of the modern kingdom
from its birth, and their status has never since been called into
question.

2. Krete, the largest of all Greek islands, has been dealt with
already. She enjoyed autonomy under Turkish suzerainty for fifteen
years before the Balkan War, and at its outbreak she once more
proclaimed her union with Greece. This time at last her action was
legalized, when Turkey expressly abandoned her suzerain rights by a
clause in the Treaty of London.

3. During the war itself, the Greek navy occupied a number of islands
which had remained till then under the more direct government of
Turkey, The parties to the Treaty of London agreed to leave their
destiny to the decision of the powers, and the latter assigned them all
to Greece, with the exception of Imbros and Tenedos which command
strategically the mouth of the Dardanelles.

The islands thus secured to Greece fall in turn into several
sub-groups.

Two of these are _(a)_ Thasos, Samothraki, and Lemnos, off the European
coast, and _(b)_ Samos and its satellite Nikarià, immediately off the
west coast of Anatolia; and these five islands seem definitely to have
been given up by Turkey for lost. The European group is well beyond the
range of her present frontiers; while Samos, though it adjoins the
Turkish mainland, does not mask the outlet from any considerable port,
and had moreover for many years possessed the same privileged autonomy
as Krete, so that the Ottoman Government did not acutely feel its final
severance.

_(c)_ A third group consists of Mitylini and Khios,[1] and concerning
this pair Greece and Turkey have so far come to no understanding. The
Turks pointed out that the littoral off which these islands lie
contains not only the most indispensable ports of Anatolia but also the
largest enclaves of Greek population on the Asiatic mainland, and they
declared that the occupation of this group by Greece menaced the
sovereignty of the Porte in its home territory. ‘See’, they said, ‘how
the two islands flank both sides of the sea-passage to Smyrna, the
terminus of all the railways which penetrate the Anatolian interior,
while Mitylini barricades Aivali and Edremid as well. As soon as the
Greek Government has converted the harbours of these islands into naval
bases, Anatolia will be subject to a perpetual Greek blockade, and this
violent intimidation of the Turkish people will be reinforced by an
insidious propaganda among the disloyal Greek elements in our midst.’
Accordingly the Turks refused to recognize the award of the powers, and
demanded the re-establishment of Ottoman sovereignty in Mitylini and
Khios, under guarantee of an autonomy after the precedent of Krete and
Samos.

[Footnote 1: Including its famous satellite Psarà.]

To these arguments and demands the Greeks replied that, next to Krete;
these are the two largest, most wealthy, and most populous Greek
islands in the Aegean; that their inhabitants ardently desire union
with the national kingdom; and that the Greek Government would hesitate
to use them as a basis for economic coercion and nationalistic
propaganda against Turkey, if only because the commerce of western
Anatolia is almost exclusively in the hands of the Greek element on the
Asiatic continent. Greek interests were presumably bound up with the
economic prosperity and political consolidation of Turkey in Asia, and
the Anatolian Greeks would merely have been alienated from their
compatriots by any such impolitic machinations. ‘Greek sovereignty in
Mitylini and Khios’, the Greeks maintained, ‘does not threaten Turkish
sovereignty on the Continent. But the restoration of Turkish suzerainty
over the islands would most seriously endanger the liberty of their
inhabitants; for Turkish promises are notoriously valueless, except
when they are endorsed by the guarantee of some physically stronger
power.’

Negotiations were conducted between Greece and Turkey from these
respective points of view without leading to any result, and the two
standpoints were in fact irreconcilable, since either power required
the other to leave vital national interests at the mercy of an ancient
enemy, without undertaking to make corresponding sacrifices itself. The
problem probably would never have been solved by compromise; but
meanwhile the situation has been entirely transformed by the
participation of Turkey in the European War, and the issue between
Greece and Turkey, like the issue between Greece and Bulgaria, has been
merged in the general problem of the European settlement.

The Balkan War of 1912 doomed the Ottoman power in Europe, but left its
Asiatic future unimpaired. By making war against the Quadruple Entente,
Turkey has staked her existence on both continents, and is threatened
with political extinction if the Central Powers succumb in the
struggle. In this event Greece will no longer have to accommodate her
régime in the liberated islands to the susceptibilities of a Turkey
consolidated on the opposite mainland, but will be able to stretch out
her hand over the Anatolian coast and its hinterland, and compensate
herself richly in this quarter for the territorial sacrifices which may
still be necessary to a lasting understanding with her Bulgarian
neighbour.

The shores that dominate the Dardanelles will naturally remain beyond
her grasp, but she may expect to establish herself on the western
littoral from a point as far north as Mount Ida and the plain of
Edremid. The Greek coast-town of Aivali will be hers, and the still
more important focus of Greek commerce and civilization at Smyrna;
while she will push her dominion along the railways that radiate from
Smyrna towards the interior. South-eastward, Aidin will be hers in the
valley of the Mendere (Maiandros). Due eastward she will re-baptize the
glistening city of Ala Shehr with its ancient name of Philadelphia,
under which it held out heroically for Hellenism many years after Aidin
had become the capital of a Moslem principality and the Turkish
avalanche had rolled past it to the sea. Maybe she will follow the
railway still further inland, and plant her flag on the Black Castle of
Afiun, the natural railway-centre of Anatolia high up on the innermost
plateau. All this and more was once Hellenic ground, and the Turkish
incomer, for all his vitality, has never been able here to obliterate
the older culture or assimilate the earlier population. In this western
region Turkish villages are still interspersed with Greek, and under
the government of compatriots the unconquerable minority would
inevitably reassert itself by the peaceful weapons of its superior
energy and intelligence.

4. If Greece realizes these aspirations through Venezelos’
statesmanship, she will have settled in conjunction her outstanding
accounts with both Bulgaria and Turkey; but a fourth group of islands
still remains for consideration, and these, though formerly the
property of Turkey, are now in the hands of other European powers.

_(a)_ The first of those in question are the Sporades, a chain of
islands off the Anatolian coast which continues the line of Mitylini,
Khios, and Samos towards the south-east, and includes Kos, Patmos,
Astypalià, Karpathos, Kasos, and, above all, Rhodes. The Sporades were
occupied by Italy during her war with Turkey in 1911-12, and she
stipulated in the Peace of Lausanne that she should retain them as a
pledge until the last Ottoman soldier in Tripoli had been withdrawn,
after which she would make them over again to the Porte. The continued
unrest in Tripoli may or may not have been due to Turkish intrigues,
but in any case it deferred the evacuation of the islands by Italy
until the situation was transformed here also by the successive
intervention of both powers in the European War. The consequent lapse
of the Treaty of Lausanne simplifies the status of the Sporades, but it
is doubtful what effect it will have upon their destiny. In language
and political sympathy their inhabitants are as completely Greek as all
the other islanders of the Aegean, and if the Quadruple Entente has
made the principle of nationality its own, Italy is morally bound, now
that the Sporades are at her free disposal, to satisfy their national
aspirations by consenting to their union with the kingdom of Greece. On
the other hand, the prospective dissolution of the Ottoman Empire has
increased Italy’s stake in this quarter. In the event of a partition,
the whole southern littoral of Anatolia will probably fall within the
Italian sphere, which will start from the Gulf of Iskanderun, include
the districts of Adana and Adalia, and march with the new Anatolian
provinces of Greece along the line of the river Mendere. This
continental domain and the adjacent islands are geographically
complementary to one another, and it is possible that Italy may for
strategical reasons insist on retaining the Sporades in perpetuity if
she realizes her ambitions on the continent. This solution would be
less ideal than the other, but Greece would be wise to reconcile
herself to it, as Italy has reconciled herself to the incorporation of
Corsica in France; for by submitting frankly to this detraction from
her national unity she would give her brethren in the Sporades the best
opportunity of developing their national individuality untrammelled
under a friendly Italian suzerainty.

_(b)_ The advance-guard of the Greek race that inhabits the great
island of Cyprus has been subject to British government since 1878,
when the provisional occupation of the island by Great Britain under a
contract similar to that of Lausanne was negotiated in a secret
agreement between Great Britain and Turkey on the eve of the Conference
at Berlin. The condition of evacuation was in this case the withdrawal
of Russia from Kars, and here likewise it never became operative till
it was abrogated by the outbreak of war. Cyprus, like the Sporades, is
now at the disposal of its _de facto_ possessor, and on November 5,
1914, it was annexed to the British Empire. But whatever decision Italy
may take, it is to be hoped that our own government at any rate will
not be influenced exclusively by strategical considerations, but will
proclaim an intention of allowing Cyprus ultimately to realize its
national aspirations by union with Greece.[1]

[Footnote 1: Since the above was written, this intention, under a
certain condition, has definitely been expressed.]

The whole population of the island is Greek in language, while under an
excellent British administration its political consciousness has been
awakened, and has expressed itself in a growing desire for national
unity among the Christian majority. It is true that in Cyprus, as in
Krete, there is a considerable Greek-speaking minority of Moslems[1]
who prefer the _status quo_; but, since the barrier of language is
absent, their antipathy to union may not prove permanent. However
important the retention of Cyprus may be to Great Britain from the
strategical point of view, we shall find that even in the balance of
material interests it is not worth the price of alienating the sympathy
of an awakened and otherwise consolidated nation.

[Footnote 1: In Cyprus about 22 per cent.]

This rather detailed review of problems in the islands and Anatolia
brings out the fact that Greek nationalism is not an artificial
conception of theorists, but a real force which impels the most
scattered and down-trodden populations of Greek speech to travail
unceasingly for political unity within the national state. Yet by far
the most striking example of this attractive power in Hellenism is the
history of it in ‘Epirus’.[1]

[Footnote 1: The name coined to include the districts of Himarra,
Argyrokastro, and Koritsà.]

The Epirots are a population of Albanian race, and they still speak an
Albanian dialect in their homes; while the women and children, at any
rate, often know no other language. But somewhat over a century ago the
political organism created by the remarkable personality of Ali Pasha
in the hinterland of the Adriatic coast, and the relations of Great
Britain and France with this new principality in the course of their
struggle for the Mediterranean, began to awaken in the Epirots a desire
for civilization. Their Albanian origin opened to them no prospects,
for the race had neither a literature nor a common historical
tradition; and they accordingly turned to the Greeks, with whom they
were linked in religion by membership of the Orthodox Church, and in
politics by subjection to Ali’s Government at Yannina, which had
adopted Greek as its official language.

They had appealed to the right quarter; for we have seen how Greek
culture accumulated a store of latent energy under the Turkish yoke,
and was expending it at this very period in a vigorous national
revival. The partially successful War of Liberation in the ‘twenties of
the nineteenth century was only the political manifestation of the new
life. It has expressed itself more typically in a steady and universal
enthusiasm for education, which throughout the subsequent generations
of political stagnation has always opened to individual Greeks
commercial and professional careers of the greatest brilliance, and
often led them to spend the fortunes so acquired in endowing the nation
with further educational opportunities. Public spirit is a Greek
virtue. There are few villages which do not possess monuments of their
successful sons, and a school is an even commoner gift than a church;
while the State has supplemented the individual benefactor to an extent
remarkable where public resources are so slender. The school-house, in
fact, is generally the most prominent and substantial building in a
Greek village, and the advantage offered to the Epirots by a
_rapprochement_ with the Greeks is concretely symbolized by the Greek
schools established to-day in generous numbers throughout their
country.

For the Epirot boy the school is the door to the future. The language
he learns there makes him the member of a nation, and opens to him a
world wide enough to employ all the talent and energy he may possess,
if he seeks his fortune at Patras or Peiraeus, or in the great Greek
commercial communities of Alexandria and Constantinople; while, if he
stays at home, it still affords him a link with the life of civilized
Europe through the medium of the ubiquitous Greek newspaper.[1] The
Epirot has thus become Greek in soul, for he has reached the conception
of a national life more liberal than the isolated existence of his
native village through the avenue of Greek culture. ‘Hellenism’ and
nationality have become for him identical ideas; and when at last the
hour of deliverance struck, he welcomed the Greek armies that marched
into his country from the south and the east, after the fall of Yannina
in the spring of 1913, with the same enthusiasm with which all the
enslaved populations of native Greek dialect greeted the consummation
of a century’s hopes.

[Footnote 1: There is still practically no literature printed in the
Albanian language.]

The Greek troops arrived only just in time, for the ‘Hellenism’ of the
Epirots had been terribly proved by murderous attacks from their Moslem
neighbours on the north. The latter speak a variety of the same
Albanian tongue, but were differentiated by a creed which assimilated
them to the ruling race. They had been superior to their Christian
kinsmen by the weight of numbers and the possession of arms, which
under the Ottoman régime were the monopoly of the Moslem. At last,
however, the yoke of oppression was broken and the Greek occupation
seemed a harbinger of security for the future. Unluckily, however,
Epirus was of interest to others besides its own inhabitants. It
occupies an important geographical position facing the extreme heel of
Italy, just below the narrowest point in the neck of the Adriatic, and
the Italian Government insisted that the country should be included in
the newly erected principality of Albania, which the powers had
reserved the right to delimit in concert by a provision in the Treaty
of London.

Italy gave two reasons for her demand. First, she declared it
incompatible with her own vital interests that both shores of the
strait between Corfù and the mainland should pass into the hands of the
same power, because the combination of both coasts and the channel
between them offered a site for a naval base that might dominate the
mouth of the Adriatic. Secondly, she maintained that the native
Albanian speech of the Epirots proved their Albanian nationality, and
that it was unjust to the new Albanian state to exclude from it the
most prosperous and civilized branch of the Albanian nation. Neither
argument is cogent.

The first argument could easily be met by the neutralization of the
Corfù straits,[1] and it is also considerably weakened by the fact that
the position which really commands the mouth of the Adriatic from the
eastern side is not the Corfù channel beyond it but the magnificent bay
of Avlona just within its narrowest section, and this is a Moslem
district to which the Epirots have never laid claim, and which would
therefore in any case fall within the Albanian frontier. The second
argument is almost ludicrous. The destiny of Epirus is not primarily
the concern of the other Albanians, of for that matter of the Greeks,
but of the Epirots themselves, and it is hard to see how their
nationality can be defined except in terms of their own conscious and
expressed desire; for a nation is simply a group of men inspired by a
common will to co-operate for certain purposes, and cannot be brought
into existence by the external manipulation of any specific objective
factors, but solely by the inward subjective impulse of its
constituents. It was a travesty of justice to put the Orthodox Epirots
at the mercy of a Moslem majority (which had been massacring them the
year before) on the ground that they happened to speak the same
language. The hardship was aggravated by the fact that all the routes
connecting Epirus with the outer world run through Yannina and
Salonika, from which the new frontier sundered her; while great natural
barriers separate her from Avlona and Durazzo, with which the same
frontier so ironically signalled her union.

[Footnote 1: Corfù itself is neutralized already by the agreement under
which Great Britain transferred the Ionian Islands to Greece in 1863.]

The award of the powers roused great indignation in Greece, but
Venezelos was strong enough to secure that it should scrupulously be
respected; and the ‘correct attitude’ which he inflexibly maintained
has finally won its reward. As soon as the decision of the powers was
announced, the Epirots determined to help themselves. They raised a
militia, and asserted their independence so successfully, that they
compelled the Prince of Wied, the first (and perhaps the last) ruler of
the new ‘Albania’, to give them home rule in matters of police and
education, and to recognise Greek as the official language for their
local administration. They ensured observance of this compact by the
maintenance of their troops under arms. So matters continued, until a
rebellion among his Moslem subjects and the outbreak of the European
War in the summer of 1914 obliged the prince to depart, leaving Albania
to its natural state of anarchy. The anarchy might have restored every
canton and village to the old state of contented isolation, had it not
been for the religious hatred between the Moslems and the Epirots,
which, with the removal of all external control, began to vent itself
in an aggressive assault of the former upon the latter, and entailed
much needless misery in the autumn months.

The reoccupation of Epirus by Greek troops had now become a matter of
life and death to its inhabitants, and in October 1914 Venezelos took
the inevitable step, after serving due notice upon all the signatories
to the Treaty of London. Thanks in part to the absorption of the powers
in more momentous business, but perhaps even in a greater degree to the
confidence which the Greek premier had justly won by his previous
handling of the question, this action was accomplished without protest
or opposition. Since then Epirus has remained sheltered from the
vicissitudes of civil war within and punitive expeditions from without,
to which the unhappy remnant of Albania has been incessantly exposed;
and we may prophesy that the Epiroi, unlike their repudiated brethren
of Moslem or Catholic faith, have really seen the last of their
troubles. Even Italy, from whom they had most to fear, has obtained
such a satisfactory material guarantee by the occupation on her own
part of Avlona, that she is as unlikely to demand the evacuation of
Epirus by Greece as she is to withdraw her own force from her long
coveted strategical base on the eastern shore of the Adriatic. In
Avlona and Epirus the former rivals are settling down to a neighbourly
contact, and there is no reason to doubt that the _de facto_ line of
demarcation between them will develop into a permanent and officially
recognized frontier. The problem of Epirus, though not, unfortunately,
that of Albania, may be regarded as definitely closed.

The reclamation of Epirus is perhaps the most honourable achievement of
the Greek national revival, but it is by no means an isolated
phenomenon. Western Europe is apt to depreciate modern ‘Hellenism’,
chiefly because its ambitious denomination rather ludicrously
challenges comparison with a vanished glory, while any one who has
studied its rise must perceive that it has little more claim than
western Europe itself to be the peculiar heir of ancient Greek culture.
And yet this Hellenism of recent growth has a genuine vitality of its
own. It displays a remarkable power of assimilating alien elements and
inspiring them to an active pursuit of its ideals, and its allegiance
supplants all others in the hearts of those exposed to its charm. The
Epirots are not the only Albanians who have been Hellenized. In the
heart of central Greece and Peloponnesus, on the plain of Argos, and in
the suburbs of Athens, there are still Albanian enclaves, derived from
those successive migrations between the fourteenth and the eighteenth
centuries; but they have so entirely forgotten their origin that the
villagers, when questioned, can only repeat: ‘We can’t say why we
happen to speak “Arvanitikà”, but we are Greeks like everybody else.’
The Vlachs again, a Romance-speaking tribe of nomadic shepherds who
have wandered as far south as Akarnania and the shores of the
Korinthian Gulf, are settling down there to the agricultural life of
the Greek village, so that Hellenism stands to them for the transition
to a higher social phase. Their still migratory brethren in the
northern ranges of Pindus are already ‘Hellenes’ in political
sympathy,[1] and are moving under Greek influence towards the same
social evolution. In distant Cappadocia, at the root of the Anatolian
peninsula, the Orthodox Greek population, submerged beneath the Turkish
flood more than eight centuries ago, has retained little individuality
except in its religion, and nothing of its native speech but a garbled
vocabulary embedded in a Turkified syntax. Yet even this dwindling
rear-guard has been overtaken just in time by the returning current of
national life, bringing with it the Greek school, and with the school a
community of outlook with Hellenism the world over. Whatever the fate
of eastern Anatolia may be, the Greek element is now assured a
prominent part in its future.

[Footnote 1: Greece owed her naval supremacy in 1912-13 to the new
cruiser _Georgios Averof_, named after a Vlach millionaire who made his
fortune in the Greek colony at Alexandria and left a legacy for the
ship’s construction at his death.]

These, moreover, are the peripheries of the Greek world; and at its
centre the impulse towards union in the national state readies a
passionate intensity. ‘Aren’t you better off as you are?’ travellers
used to ask in Krete during the era of autonomy. ‘If you get your
“Union”, you will have to do two years’ military service instead of one
year’s training in the militia, and will be taxed up to half as much
again.’ ‘We have thought of that,’ the Kretans would reply, ‘but what
does it matter, if we are united with Greece?’

On this unity modern Hellenism has concentrated its efforts, and after
nearly a century of ineffective endeavour it has been brought by the
statesmanship of Venezelos within sight of its goal. Our review of
outstanding problems reveals indeed the inconclusiveness of the
settlement imposed at Bucarest; but this only witnesses to the wisdom
of the Greek nation in reaffirming its confidence in Venezelos at the
present juncture, and recalling him to power to crown the work which he
has so brilliantly carried through. Under Venezelos’ guidance we cannot
doubt that the heart’s desire of Hellenism will be accomplished at the
impending European settlement by the final consolidation of the
Hellenic national state.[1]

[Footnote 1: This paragraph, again, has been superseded by the dramatic
turn of events; but the writer has left it unaltered, for the end is
not yet.]

Yet however attractive the sincerity of such nationalism may be,
political unity is only a negative achievement. The history of a nation
must be judged rather by the positive content of its ideals and the
positive results which it attains, and herein the Hellenic revival
displays certain grave shortcomings. The internal paralysis of social
and economic life has already been noted and ascribed to the urgency of
the ‘preliminary question’; but we must now add to this the growing
embitterment which has poisoned the relations of Greece with her Balkan
neighbours during the crises through which the ‘preliminary question’
has been worked out to its solution. Now that this solution is at hand,
will Hellenism prove capable of casting out these two evils, and adapt
itself with strength renewed to the new phase of development that lies
before it?

The northern territories acquired in 1913 will give a much greater
impetus to economic progress than Thessaly gave a generation ago; for
the Macedonian littoral west as well as east of the Struma produces a
considerable proportion of the Turkish Régie tobacco, while the
pine-forests of Pindus, if judiciously exploited, will go far to remedy
the present deficiency of home-grown timber, even if they do not
provide quantities sufficient for export abroad. If we take into
account the currant-crop of the Peloponnesian plain-lands which already
almost monopolizes the world-market, the rare ores of the south-eastern
mountains and the Archipelago, and the vintages which scientific
treatment might bring into competition with the wines of the Peninsula
and France, we can see that Greece has many sources of material
prosperity within her reach, if only she applies her liberated energy
to their development. Yet these are all of them specialized products,
and Greece will never export any staple commodity to rival the grain
which Rumania sends in such quantities to central Europe already, and
which Bulgaria will begin to send within a few years’ time. Even the
consolidated Greek kingdom will be too small in area and too little
compact in geographical outline to constitute an independent economic
unit, and the ultimate economic interests of the country demand
co-operation in some organization more comprehensive than the political
molecule of the national state.

Such an association should embrace the Balkans in their widest extent—
from the Black Sea to the Adriatic and from the Carpathians to the
Aegean; for, in sharp contrast to the inextricable chaos of its
linguistic and ecclesiastical divisions, the region constitutes
economically a homogeneous and indivisible whole, in which none of the
parts can divest themselves of their mutual interdependence. Greece,
for example, has secured at last her direct link with the railway
system of the European continent, but for free transit beyond her own
frontier she still depends on Serbia’s good-will, just, as Serbia
depends on hers for an outlet to the Aegean at Salonika. The two states
have provided for their respective interests by a joint proprietorship
of the section of railway between Salonika and Belgrade; and similar
railway problems will doubtless bring Rumania to terms with Serbia for
access to the Adriatic, and both with Bulgaria for rights of way to
Constantinople and the Anatolian hinterland beyond. These common
commercial arteries of the Balkans take no account of racial or
political frontiers, but link the region as a whole with other regions
in a common economic relation.

South-eastern and central Europe are complementary economic areas in a
special degree. The industries of central Europe will draw upon the raw
products of the south-east to an increasing extent, and the south-east
will absorb in turn increasing quantities of manufactured plant from
central Europe for the development of its own natural resources. The
two areas will become parties in a vast economic nexus, and, as in all
business transactions, each will try to get the best of the continually
intensified bargaining. This is why co-operation is so essential to the
future well-being of the Balkan States. Isolated individually and
mutually competitive as they are at present, they must succumb to the
economic ascendancy of Vienna and Berlin as inevitably as unorganized,
unskilled labourers fall under the thraldom of a well-equipped
capitalist. Central Europe will have in any event an enormous initial
superiority over the Balkans in wealth, population, and business
experience; and the Balkan peoples can only hope to hold their own in
this perilous but essential intercourse with a stronger neighbour, if
they take more active and deliberate steps towards co-operation among
themselves, and find in railway conventions the basis for a Balkan
zollverein. A zollverein should be the first goal of Balkan
statesmanship in the new phase of history that is opening for Europe;
but economic relations on this scale involve the political factor, and
the Balkans will not be able to deal with their great neighbours on
equal terms till the zollverein has ripened into a federation. The
alternative is subjection, both political and economic; and neither the
exhaustion of the Central Powers in the present struggle nor the
individual consolidation of the Balkan States in the subsequent
settlement will suffice by themselves to avert it in the end.

The awakening of the nation and the consolidation of the state, which
we have traced in these pages, must accordingly lead on to the
confederation of the Balkans, if all that has been so painfully won is
not to perish again without result; and we are confronted with the
question: Will Balkan nationalism rise to the occasion and transcend
itself?

Many spectators of recent history will dismiss the suggestion as
Utopian. ‘Nationality’, they will say, ‘revealed itself first as a
constructive force, and Europe staked its future upon it; but now that
we are committed to it, it has developed a sinister destructiveness
which we cannot remedy. Nationality brought the Balkan States into
being and led them to final victory over the Turk in 1912, only to set
them tearing one another to pieces again in 1913. In the present
catastrophe the curse of the Balkans has descended upon the whole of
Europe, and laid bare unsuspected depths of chaotic hatred; yet Balkan
antagonisms still remain more ineradicable than ours. The cure for
nationality is forgetfulness, but Balkan nationalism is rooted
altogether in the past. The Balkan peoples have suffered one shattering
experience in common—the Turk, and the waters of Ottoman oppression
that have gone over their souls have not been waters of Lethe. They
have endured long centuries of spiritual exile by the passionate
remembrance of their Sion, and when they have vindicated their heritage
at last, and returned to build up the walls of their city and the
temple of their national god, they have resented each other’s
neighbourhood as the repatriated Jew resented the Samaritan. The Greek
dreams with sullen intensity of a golden age before the Bulgar was
found in the land, and the challenge implied in the revival of the
Hellenic name, so far from being a superficial vanity, is the dominant
characteristic of the nationalism which has adopted it for its title.
Modern Hellenism breathes the inconscionable spirit of the _émigré_.’

This is only too true. The faith that has carried them to national
unity will suffice neither the Greeks nor any other Balkan people for
the new era that has dawned upon them, and the future would look dark
indeed, but for a strange and incalculable leaven, which is already
potently at work in the land.

Since the opening of the present century, the chaotic, unneighbourly
races of south-eastern Europe, whom nothing had united before but the
common impress of the Turk, have begun to share another experience in
common— America. From the Slovak villages in the Carpathians to the
Greek villages in the Laconian hills they have been crossing the
Atlantic in their thousands, to become dockers and navvies, boot-blacks
and waiters, confectioners and barbers in Chicago, St. Louis, Omaha,
and all the other cities that have sprung up like magic to welcome the
immigrant to the hospitable plains of the Middle West. The intoxication
of his new environment stimulates all the latent industry and vitality
of the Balkan peasant, and he abandons himself whole-heartedly to
American life; yet he does not relinquish the national tradition in
which he grew up. In America work brings wealth, and the Greek or
Slovak soon worships his God in a finer church and reads his language
in a better-printed newspaper than he ever enjoyed in his native
village. The surplus flows home in remittances of such abundance that
they are steadily raising the cost of living in the Balkans themselves,
or, in other words, the standard of material civilization; and sooner
or later the immigrant goes the way of his money orders, for
home-sickness, if not a mobilization order, exerts its compulsion
before half a dozen years are out.

It is a strange experience to spend a night in some remote
mountain-village of Greece, and see Americanism and Hellenism face to
face. Hellenism is represented by the village schoolmaster. He wears a
black coat, talks a little French, and can probably read Homer; but his
longest journey has been to the normal school at Athens, and it has not
altered his belief that the ikon in the neighbouring monastery was made
by St. Luke and the Bulgar beyond the mountains by the Devil. On the
other side of you sits the returned emigrant, chattering irrepressibly
in his queer version of the ‘American language’, and showing you the
newspapers which are mailed to him every fortnight from the States. His
clean linen collar and his well-made American boots are conspicuous
upon him, and he will deprecate on your behalf and his own the
discomfort and squalor of his native surroundings. His home-coming has
been a disillusionment, but it is a creative phenomenon; and if any one
can set Greece upon a new path it is he. He is transforming her
material life by his American savings, for they are accumulating into a
capital widely distributed in native hands, which will dispense the
nation from pawning its richest mines and vineyards to the European
exploiter, and enable it to carry on their development on its own
account at this critical juncture when European sources of capital are
cut off for an indefinite period by the disaster of the European War.
The emigrant will give Greece all Trikoupis dreamed of, but his
greatest gift to his country will be his American point of view. In the
West he has learnt that men of every language and religion can live in
the same city and work at the same shops and sheds and mills and
switch-yards without desecrating each other’s churches or even
suppressing each other’s newspapers, not to speak of cutting each
other’s throats; and when next he meets Albanian or Bulgar on Balkan
ground, he may remember that he has once dwelt with him in fraternity
at Omaha or St. Louis or Chicago. This is the gospel of Americanism,
and unlike Hellenism, which spread downwards from the patriarch’s
residence and the merchant’s counting-house, it is being preached in
all the villages of the land by the least prejudiced and most
enterprising of their sons (for it is these who answer America’s call);
and spreading upward from the peasant towards the professor in the
university and the politician in parliament.

Will this new leaven conquer, and cast out the stale leaven of
Hellenism before it sours the loaf? Common sense is mighty, but whether
it shall prevail in Greece and the Balkans and Europe lies on the knees
of the gods.



RUMANIA: HER HISTORY AND POLITICS



1
_Introduction_


The problem of the origin and formation of the Rumanian nation has
always provided matter for keen disputation among historians, and the
theories which have been advanced are widely divergent. Some of these
discussions have been undertaken solely for political reasons, and in
such cases existing data prove conveniently adaptable. This elastic
treatment of the historical data is facilitated by the fact that a long
and important period affecting the formation and the development of the
Rumanian nation (270-1220) has bequeathed practically no contemporary
evidence. By linking up, however, what is known antecedent to that
period with the precise data available regarding the following it, and
by checking the inferred results with what little evidence exists
respecting the obscure epoch of Rumanian history, it has been possible
to reconstruct, almost to a certainty, the evolution of the Rumanians
during the Middle Ages.

A discussion of the varying theories would be out of proportion, and
out of place, in this essay. Nor is it possible to give to any extent a
detailed description of the epic struggle which the Rumanians carried
on for centuries against the Turks. I shall have to deal, therefore, on
broad lines, with the historical facts—laying greater stress only upon
the three fundamental epochs of Rumanian history: the formation of the
Rumanian nation; its initial casting into a national polity (foundation
of the Rumanian principalities); and its final evolution into the
actual unitary State; and shall then pass on to consider the more
recent internal and external development of Rumania, and her present
attitude.



2
_Formation of the Rumanian Nation_


About the fifth century B.C., when the population of the
Balkan-Carpathian region consisted of various tribes belonging to the
Indo-European family, the northern portion of the Balkan peninsula was
conquered by the Thracians and the Illyrians. The Thracians spread
north and south, and a branch of their race, the Dacians, crossed the
Danube. The latter established themselves on both sides of the
Carpathian ranges, in the region which now comprises the provinces of
Oltenia (Rumania), and Banat and Transylvania (Hungary). The Dacian
Empire expanded till its boundaries touched upon those of the Roman
Empire. The Roman province of Moesia (between the Danube and the
Balkans) fell before its armies, and the campaign that ensued was so
successful that the Dacians were able to compel Rome to an alliance.

Two expeditions undertaken against Dacia by the Emperor Trajan (98-117)
released Rome from these ignominious obligations, and brought Dacia
under Roman rule (A.D. 106). Before his second expedition Trajan
erected a stone bridge over the Danube, the remains of which can still
be seen at Turnu-Severin, a short distance below the point where the
Danube enters Rumanian territory. Trajan celebrated his victory by
erecting at Adam Klissi (in the province of Dobrogea) the recently
discovered _Tropaeum Traiani_, and in Rome the celebrated ‘Trajan’s
Column’, depicting in marble reliefs various episodes of the Dacian
wars.

The new Roman province was limited to the regions originally inhabited
by the Dacians, and a strong garrison, estimated by historians at
25,000 men, was left to guard it. Numerous colonists from all parts of
the Roman Empire were brought here as settlers, and what remained of
the Dacian population completely amalgamated with them. The new
province quickly developed under the impulse of Roman civilization, of
which numerous inscriptions and other archaeological remains are
evidence. It became one of the most flourishing dependencies of the
Roman Empire, and was spoken of as _Dacia Felix_.

About a century and a half later hordes of barbarian invaders, coming
from the north and east, swept over the country. Under the strain of
those incursions the Roman legions withdrew by degrees into Moesia, and
in A.D. 271 Dacia was finally evacuated. But the colonists remained,
retiring into the Carpathians, where they lived forgotten of history.

The most powerful of these invaders were the Goths (271-375), who,
coming from the shores of the Baltic, had shortly before settled north
of the Black Sea. Unaccustomed to mountain life, they did not penetrate
beyond the plains between the Carpathians and the Dnjester. They had
consequently but little intercourse with the Daco-Roman population, and
the total absence in the Rumanian language and in Rumanian place-names
of words of Gothic origin indicates that their stay had no influence
upon country or population. Material evidence of their occupation is
afforded, however, by a number of articles made of gold found in 1837
at Petroasa (Moldavia), and now in the National Museum at Bucarest.

After the Goths came the Huns (375-453), under Attila, the Avars
(566-799), both of Mongolian race, and the Gepidae (453-566), of Gothic
race—all savage, bloodthirsty raiders, passing and repassing over the
Rumanian regions, pillaging and burning everywhere. To avoid
destruction the Daco-Roman population withdrew more and more into the
inaccessible wooded regions of the mountains, and as a result were in
no wise influenced by contact with the invaders.

But with the coming of the Slavs, who settled in the Balkan peninsula
about the beginning of the seventh century, certain fundamental changes
took place in the ethnical conditions prevailing on the Danube. The
Rumanians were separated from the Romans, following the occupation by
the Slavs of the Roman provinces between the Adriatic and the Black
Sea. Such part of the population as was not annihilated during the
raids of the Avars was taken into captivity, or compelled to retire
southwards towards modern Macedonia and northwards towards the Dacian
regions.

Parts of the Rumanian country became dependent upon the new state
founded between the Balkans and the Danube in 679 by the Bulgarians, a
people of Turanian origin, who formerly inhabited the regions north of
the Black Sea between the Volga and the mouth of the Danube.

After the conversion of the Bulgarians to Christianity (864) the
Slovenian language was introduced into their Church, and afterwards
also into the Church of the already politically dependent Rumanian
provinces.[1] This finally severed the Daco-Rumanians from the Latin
world. The former remained for a long time under Slav influence, the
extent of which is shown by the large number of words of Slav origin
contained in the Rumanian language, especially in geographical and
agricultural terminology.

[Footnote 1: The Rumanians north and south of the Danube embraced the
Christian faith after its introduction into the Roman Empire by
Constantine the Great (325), with Latin as religious language and their
church organization under the rule of Rome. A Christian basilica,
dating from that period, has been discovered by the Rumanian;
archaeologist, Tocilescu, at Adam Klissi (Dobrogea).]

The coming of the Hungarians (a people of Mongolian race) about the end
of the ninth century put an end to the Bulgarian domination in Dacia.
While a few of the existing Rumanian duchies were subdued by Stephen
the Saint, the first King of Hungary (995-1038), the ‘land of the
Vlakhs’ (_Terra Blacorum_), in the south-eastern part of Transylvania,
enjoyed under the Hungarian kings a certain degree of national
autonomy. The Hungarian chronicles speak of the Vlakhs as ‘former
colonists of the Romans’. The ethnological influence of the Hungarians
upon the Rumanian population has been practically nil. They found the
Rumanian nation firmly established, race and language, and the latter
remained pure of Magyarisms, even in Transylvania. Indeed, it is easy
to prove—and it is only what might be expected, seeing that the
Rumanians had attained a higher state of civilization than the
Hungarian invaders—that the Hungarians were largely influenced by the
Daco-Romans. They adopted Latin as their official language, they copied
many of the institutions and customs of the Rumanians, and recruited a
large number of their nobles from among the Rumanian nobility, which
was already established on a feudal basis when the Hungarians arrived.

A great number of the Rumanian nobles and freemen were, however,
inimical to the new masters, and migrated to the regions across the
mountains. This the Hungarians used as a pretext for bringing parts of
Rumania under their domination, and they were only prevented from
further extending it by the coming of the Tartars (1241), the last
people of Mongolian origin to harry these regions. The Hungarians
maintained themselves, however, in the parts which they had already
occupied, until the latter were united into the principality of the
‘Rumanian land’.

To sum up: ‘The Rumanians are living to-day where fifteen centuries ago
their ancestors were living. The possession of the regions on the Lower
Danube passed from one nation to another, but none endangered the
Rumanian nation as a national entity. “The water passes, the stones
remain”; the hordes of the migration period, detached from their native
soil, disappeared as mist before the sun. But the Roman element bent
their heads while the storm passed over them, clinging to the old
places until the advent of happier days, when they were able to stand
up and stretch their limbs.’[1]

[Footnote 1: Traugott Tamm, _Über den Ursprung der Rumänen,_, Bonn,
1891.]



3
_The Foundation and Development of the Rumanian Principalities_


The first attempt to organize itself into a political entity was made
by the Rumanian nation in the thirteenth century, when, under the
impulse of the disaffected nobles coming from Hungary, the two
principalities of ‘Muntenia’ (Mountain Land), commonly known as
Wallachia and ‘Moldavia’, came into being. The existence of Rumanians
on both sides of the Carpathians long before Wallachia was founded is
corroborated by contemporary chroniclers. We find evidence of it in as
distant a source as the _History of the Mongols,_ of the Persian
chronicler, Rashid Al-Din, who, describing the invasion of the Tartars,
says: ‘In the middle of spring (1240) the princes (Mongols or Tartars)
crossed the mountains in order to enter the country of the Bulares
(Bulgarians) and of the Bashguirds (Hungarians). Orda, who was marching
to the right, passed through the country of the Haute (Olt), where
Bazarambam met him with an army, but was beaten. Boudgek crossed the
mountains to enter the Kara-Ulak, and defeated the Ulak (Vlakh)
people.’[1] Kara-Ulak means Black Wallachia; Bazarambam is certainly
the corrupted name of the Ban Bassarab, who ruled as vassal of Hungary
over the province of Oltenia, and whose dynasty founded the
principality of Muntenia. The early history of this principality was
marked by efforts to free it from Hungarian domination, a natural
development of the desire for emancipation which impelled the Rumanians
to migrate from the subdued provinces in Hungary.

[Footnote 1: Xenopol, _Histoire des Roumains,_ Paris, 1896, i, 168.]

The foundation of Moldavia dates from after the retreat of the Tartars,
who had occupied the country for a century (1241-1345). They were
driven out by an expedition under Hungarian leadership, with the aid of
Rumanians from the province of Maramuresh. It was the latter who then
founded the principality of Moldavia under the suzerainty of Hungary,
the chroniclers mentioning as its first ruler the Voivod Dragosh.[1]

[Footnote 1: The legend as to the foundation of Moldavia tells us that
Dragosh, when hunting one day in the mountains, was pursuing a bison
through the dense forest. Towards sunset, just when a successful shot
from his bow had struck and killed the animal, he emerged at a point
from which the whole panorama of Moldavia was unfolded before his
astonished eyes. Deeply moved by the beauty of this fair country, he
resolved to found a state there. It is in commemoration of this event
that Moldavia bears the head of a wild bison on her banner.]

The rudimentary political formations which already existed before the
foundation of the principalities were swept away by the invasion of the
Tartars, who destroyed all trace of constituted authority in the plains
below the Carpathians. In consequence the immigrants from Transylvania
did not encounter any resistance, and were even able to impose
obedience upon the native population, though coming rather as refugees
than as conquerors. These new-comers were mostly nobles (boyards).
Their emigration deprived the masses of the Rumanian population of
Transylvania of all moral and political support—especially as a part of
the nobility had already been won over by their Hungarian masters—and
with time the masses fell into servitude. On the other hand the
immigrating nobles strengthened and secured the predominance of their
class in the states which were to be founded. In both cases the
situation of the peasantry became worse, and we have, curiously enough,
the same social fact brought about by apparently contrary causes.

Though the Rumanians seem to have contributed but little, up to the
nineteenth century, to the advance of civilization, their part in
European history is nevertheless a glorious one, and if less apparent,
perhaps of more fundamental importance. By shedding their blood in the
struggle against the Ottoman invasion, they, together with the other
peoples of Oriental Europe, procured that security which alone made
possible the development of western civilization. Their merit, like
that of all with whom they fought, ‘is not to have vanquished time and
again the followers of Mohammed, who always ended by gaining the upper
hand, but rather to have resisted with unparalleled energy,
perseverance, and bravery the terrible Ottoman invaders, making them
pay for each step advanced such a heavy price, that their resources
were drained, they were unable to carry on the fight, and thus their
power came to an end’.[1]

[Footnote 1: Xenopol, op. cit., i. 266.]

From the phalanx of Christian warriors stand out the names of a few who
were the bravest of a time when bravery was common; but while it is at
least due that more tribute than a mere mention of their names should
be paid to the patriot princes who fought in life-long conflict against
Turkish domination, space does not permit me to give more than the
briefest summary of the wars which for centuries troubled the country.

It was in 1389, when Mircea the Old was Prince of Wallachia, that the
united Balkan nations attempted for the first time to check Ottoman
invasion. The battle of Kosovo, however, was lost, and Mircea had to
consent to pay tribute to the Turks. For a short space after the battle
of Rovine (1398), where Mircea defeated an invading Turkish army, the
country had peace, until Turkish victories under the Sultan Mohammed
resulted, in 1411, in further submissions to tribute.

It is worthy of mention that it was on the basis of tribute that the
relations between Turkey and Rumania rested until 1877, the Rumanian
provinces becoming at no time what Hungary was for a century and a
half, namely, a Turkish province.

In a battle arising following his frustration—by means not unconnected
with his name—of a Turkish plot against his person, Vlad the Impaler
(1458-62) completely defeated the Turks under Mohammed II; but an
unfortunate feud against Stephen the Great, Prince of Moldavia, put an
end to the reign of Vlad—a fierce but just prince.

A period of the most lamentable decadence followed, during which
Turkish domination prevailed more and more in the country. During an
interval of twenty-five years (1521-46) no less than eleven princes
succeeded one another on the throne of Muntenia, whilst of the nineteen
princes who ruled during the last three-quarters of the sixteenth
century, only two died a natural death while still reigning.

In Moldavia also internal struggles were weakening the country. Not
powerful enough to do away with one another, the various aspirants to
the throne contented themselves with occupying and ruling over parts of
the province. Between 1443-7 there were no less than three princes
reigning simultaneously, whilst one of them, Peter III, lost and
regained the throne three times.

For forty-seven years (1457-1504) Stephen the Great fought for the
independence of Moldavia. At Racova, in 1475, he annihilated an Ottoman
army in a victory considered the greatest ever secured by the Cross
against Islam. The Shah of Persia, Uzun Hasan, who was also fighting
the Turks, offered him an alliance, urging him at the same time to
induce all the Christian princes to unite with the Persians against the
common foe. These princes, as well as Pope Sixtus IV, gave him great
praise; but when Stephen asked from them assistance in men and money,
not only did he receive none, but Vladislav, King of Hungary, conspired
with his brother Albert, King of Poland, to conquer and divide Moldavia
between them. A Polish army entered the country, but was utterly
destroyed by Stephen in the forest of Kosmin.

Having had the opportunity of judging at its right value the friendship
of the Christian princes, on his death-bed Stephen advised his son
Bogdan to make voluntary submission to the Turks. Thus Moldavia, like
Wallachia, came under Turkish suzerainty.

For many years after Stephen’s death the Turks exploited the Rumanian
countries shamelessly, the very candidates for the throne having to pay
great sums for Turkish support. The country groaned under the resultant
taxation and the promiscuousness of the tribute exacted till, in 1572,
John the Terrible ascended the Moldavian throne. This prince refused to
pay tribute, and repeatedly defeated the Turks. An army of 100,000 men
advanced against John; but his cavalry, composed of nobles not
over-loyal to a prince having the peasant cause so much at heart,
deserted to the enemy, with the result that, after a gallant and
prolonged resistance, he suffered defeat.

Michael the Brave, Prince of Muntenia (1593-1601), was the last of the
Vlakhs to stand up against Turkish aggression. This prince not only
succeeded in crushing a Turkish army sent against him, but he invaded
Transylvania, whose prince had leanings towards Turkey, pushed further
into Moldavia, and succeeded in bringing the three Rumanian countries
under his rule. Michael is described in the documents of the time as
‘Prince of the whole land of Hungro-Wallachia, of Transylvania, and of
Moldavia’. He ruled for eight years. ‘It was not the Turkish sword
which put an end to the exploits of Michael the Brave. The Magyars of
Transylvania betrayed him; the German emperor condemned him; and a
Greek in Austria’s service, General Basta, had him sabred: as though it
were fated that all the enemies of the Rumanian race, the Magyar, the
German, and the Greek, should unite to dip their hands in the blood of
the Latin hero.’[1] The union of the Rumanian lands which he realized
did not last long; but it gave form and substance to the idea which was
from that day onward to be the ideal of the Rumanian nation.

[Footnote 1: Alfred Rumbaud, Introduction to Xenopol, op, cit., i.
xix.]

The fundamental cause of all the sufferings of the Rumanian
principalities was the hybrid ‘hereditary-elective’ system of
succession to the throne, which prevailed also in most of the
neighbouring countries. All members of the princely family were
eligible for the succession; but the right of selecting among them lay
with an assembly composed of the higher nobility and clergy. All was
well if a prince left only one successor. But if there were several,
even if illegitimate children, claiming the right to rule, then each
endeavoured to gain over the nobility with promises, sometimes,
moreover, seeking the support of neighbouring countries. This system
rendered easier and hastened the establishment of Turkish domination;
and corruption and intrigues, in which the Sultan’s harem had a share,
became capital factors in the choice and election of the ruler.

Economically and intellectually all this was disastrous. The Rumanians
were an agricultural people. The numerous class of small freeholders
(moshneni and razeshi), not being able to pay the exorbitant taxes,
often had their lands confiscated by the princes. Often, too, not being
able to support themselves, they sold their property and their very
selves to the big landowners. Nor did the nobles fare better. Formerly
free, quasi-feudal warriors, seeking fortune in reward for services
rendered to their prince, they were often subjected to coercive
treatment on his part now that the throne depended upon the goodwill of
influential personages at Constantinople. Various civil offices were
created at court, either necessitated by the extension of the relations
of the country or intended to satisfy some favourite of the prince.
Sources of social position and great material benefit, these offices
were coveted greedily by the boyards, and those who obtained none could
only hope to cheat fortune by doing their best to undermine the
position of the prince.



4
_The Phanariote Rule_


These offices very presently fell to the lot of the Phanariotes (Greek
merchants and bankers inhabiting the quarter of Phanar), who had in
some way or another assisted the princes to their thrones, these being
now practically put up to auction in Constantinople. As a natural
consequence of such a state of affairs the thoughts of the Rumanian
princes turned to Russia as a possible supporter against Ottoman
oppression. A formal alliance was entered into in 1711 with Tsar Peter
the Great, but a joint military action against the Turks failed, the
Tsar returned to Russia, and the Porte threatened to transform
Moldavia, in order to secure her against incipient Russian influence,
into a Turkish province with a pasha as administrator. The nobles were
preparing to leave the country, and the people to retire into the
mountains, as their ancestors had done in times of danger. It is not to
be wondered at that, under the menace of losing their autonomy, the
Rumanians ‘welcomed the nomination of the dragoman of the Porte,
Nicholas Mavrocordato, though he was a Greek. The people greeted with
joy the accession of the first Phanariote to the throne of the
principality of Moldavia’[1] (1711).

[Footnote 1: Xenopol, op. cit., ii. 138]

Knowledge of foreign languages had enabled the Phanariotes to obtain
important diplomatic positions at Constantinople, and they ended by
acquiring the thrones of the Rumanian principalities as a recompense
for their services. But they had to pay for it, and to make matters
more profitable the Turks devised the ingenious method of transferring
the princes from one province to another, each transference being
considered as a new nomination. From 1730 to 1741 the two reigning
princes interchanged thrones in this way three times. They acquired the
throne by gold, and they could only keep it by gold. All depended upon
how much they wore able to squeeze out of the country. The princes soon
became past masters in the art of spoliation. They put taxes upon
chimneys, and the starving peasants pulled their cottages down and went
to live in mountain caves; they taxed the animals, and the peasants
preferred to kill the few beasts they possessed. But this often proved
no remedy, for we are told that the Prince Constantin Mavrocordato,
having prescribed a tax on domestic animals at a time when an epidemic
had broken out amongst them, ordered the tax to be levied on the
carcasses. ‘The Administrative régime during the Phanariote period was,
in general, little else than organized brigandage,’ says Xenopol[1]. In
fact the Phanariote rule was instinct with corruption, luxury, and
intrigue. Though individually some of them may not deserve blame, yet
considering what the Phanariotes took out of the country, what they
introduced into it, and to what extent they prevented its development,
their era was the most calamitous in Rumanian history.

[Footnote 1: Ibid, op. cit., ii. 308]

The war of 1768 between Russia and Turkey gave the former power a vague
protectorate over the Rumanian provinces (Treaty of Kutchuk Kainardji).
In 1774 Austria acquired from the Turks, by false promises, the
northern part of Moldavia, the pleasant land of Bucovina. During the
new conflict between Turkey and Russia, the Russian armies occupied and
battened upon the Rumanian provinces for six years. Though they had
again to abandon their intention of making the Danube the southern
boundary of their empire—to which Napoleon had agreed by the secret
treaty with Tsar Alexander (Erfurt, September 27, 1808)—they obtained
from Turkey the cession of Bessarabia (Treaty of Bucarest, May 28,
1812), together with that part of Moldavia lying between the Dnjester
and the Pruth, the Russians afterwards giving to the whole region the
name of Bessarabia.



5
_Modern Period to 1866_


In 1821 the Greek revolution, striving to create an independent Greece,
broke out on Rumanian ground, supported by the princes of Moldavia and
Muntenia. Of this support the Rumanians strongly disapproved, for, if
successful, the movement would have strengthened the obnoxious Greek
domination; If unsuccessful, the Turks were sure to take a terrible
revenge for the assistance given by the Rumanian countries. The
movement, which was started about the same time by the ennobled
peasant, Tudor Vladimirescu, for the emancipation of the lower classes,
soon acquired, therefore, an anti-Greek tendency. Vladimirescu was
assassinated at the instigation of the Greeks; the latter were
completely checked by the Turks, who, grown suspicious after the Greek
rising and confronted with the energetic attitude of the Rumanian
nobility, consented in 1822 to the nomination of two native boyards,
Jonitza Sturdza and Gregory Ghica, recommended by their countrymen, as
princes of Moldavia and Wallachia. The iniquitous system of ‘the throne
to the highest bidder’ had come to an end.

The period which marks the decline of Greek influence in the Rumanian
principalities also marks the growth of Russian influence; the first
meant economic exploitation, the second was a serious menace to the
very existence of the Rumanian nation. But if Russia seemed a possible
future danger, Turkey with its Phanariote following was a certain and
immediate menace. When, therefore, at the outbreak of the conflict with
Turkey in 1828 the Russians once more passed the Pruth, the country
welcomed them. Indeed, the Rumanian boyards, who after the rising of
1821 and the Turkish occupation had taken refuge in Transylvania, had
even more than once invited Russian intervention.[1] Hopes and fears
alike were realized. By the Treaty of Adrianople (1829) the rights of
Turkey as suzerain were limited to the exaction of a monetary tribute
and the right of investiture of the princes, one important innovation
being that these last were to be elected by national assemblies for
life. But, on the other hand, a Russian protectorate was established,
and the provinces remained in Russian military occupation up to 1834,
pending the payment of the war indemnity by Turkey. The ultimate aim of
Russia may be open to discussion. Her immediate aim was to make Russian
influence paramount in the principalities; this being the only possible
explanation of the anomalous fact that, pending the payment of the war
indemnity, Russia herself was occupying the provinces whose autonomy
she had but now forcibly retrieved from Turkey. The _Règlement
Organique_, the new constitutional law given to the principalities by
their Russian governor, Count Kisseleff, truly reflected the tendency.
From the administrative point of view it was meant to make for
progress; from the political point of view it was meant to bind the two
principalities to the will of the Tsar. The personal charm of Count
Kisseleff seemed to have established as it were an unbreakable link
between Russians and Rumanians. But when he left the country in 1834
‘the liking for Russia passed away to be replaced finally by the two
sentiments which always most swayed the Rumanian heart: love for their
country, and affection towards France’.

[Footnote 1: Sec P. Eliade, _Histoire de l’Esprit Public en Roumanie_,
i, p. 167 et seq.]

French culture had been introduced into the principalities by the
Phanariote princes who, as dragomans of the Porte, had to know the
language, and usually employed French secretaries for themselves and
French tutors for their children. With the Russian occupation a fresh
impetus was given to French culture, which was pre-eminent in Russia at
the time; and the Russian officials, not speaking the language of the
country, generally employed French in their relations with the Rumanian
authorities, French being already widely spoken in Rumania. The contact
with French civilization, at an epoch when the Rumanians were striving
to free themselves from Turkish, Greek, and Russian political
influence, roused in them the sleeping Latin spirit, and the younger
generation, in constantly increasing numbers, flocked to Paris in
search of new forms of civilization and political life. At this
turning-point in their history the Rumanians felt themselves drawn
towards France, no less by racial affinity than by the liberal ideas to
which that country had so passionately given herself during several
decades.

By the Treaty of Adrianople the Black Sea was opened to the commercial
vessels of all nations. This made for the rapid economic development of
the principalities by providing an outlet for their agricultural
produce, the chief source of their wealth. It also brought them nearer
to western Europe, which began to be interested in a nation whose
spirit centuries of sufferings had failed to break. Political,
literary, and economic events thus prepared the ground for the Rumanian
Renascence, and when in 1848 the great revolution broke out, it spread
at once over the Rumanian countries, where the dawn of freedom had been
struggling to break since 1821. The Rumanians of Transylvania rose
against the tyranny of the Magyars; those of Moldavia and Muntenia
against the oppressive influence of Russia. The movement under the
gallant, but inexperienced, leadership of a few patriots, who,
significantly enough, had almost all been educated in France, was,
however, soon checked in the principalities by the joint action of
Russian and Turkish forces which remained in occupation of the country.
Many privileges were lost (Convention of Balta Liman, May 1, 1849); but
the revolution had quickened the national sentiment of the younger
generation in all classes of society, and the expatriated leaders,
dispersed throughout the great capitals of Europe, strenuously set to
work to publish abroad the righteous cause of their country. In this
they received the enthusiastic and invaluable assistance of Edgar
Quinet, Michelet, Saint-Marc Girardin, and others.

This propaganda had the fortune to be contemporaneous and in agreement
with the political events leading to the Crimean War, which was entered
upon to check the designs of Russia. A logical consequence was the
idea, raised at the Paris Congress of 1856, of the union of the
Rumanian principalities as a barrier to Russian expansion. This idea
found a powerful supporter in Napoleon III, ever a staunch upholder of
the principle of nationality. But at the Congress the unexpected
happened. Russia favoured the idea of union, ‘to swallow the two
principalities at a gulp,’ as a contemporary diplomatist maliciously
suggested; while Austria opposed it strongly. So, inconceivably enough,
did Turkey, whose attitude, as the French ambassador at Constantinople,
Thouvenel, put it, ‘was less influenced by the opposition of Austria
than by the approval of Russia’.[1] Great Britain also threw in her
weight with the powers which opposed the idea of union, following her
traditional policy of preserving the European equilibrium. The treaty
of March 30, 1856, re-incorporated with Moldavia the southern part of
Bessarabia, including the delta of the Danube, abolished the Russian
protectorate, but confirmed the suzerainty of Turkey—not unnaturally,
since the integrity of the Ottoman Empire had been the prime motive of
the war. By prohibiting Turkey, however, from entering Rumanian
territory, save with the consent of the great powers, it was recognized
indirectly that the suzerainty was merely a nominal one. Article 23 of
the treaty, by providing that the administration of the principalities
was to be on a national basis, implicitly pointed to the idea of union,
as the organization of one principality independently of the other
would not have been national. But as the main argument of Turkey and
Austria was that the Rumanians themselves did not desire the union, it
was decided to convene in both principalities special assemblies
(divans _ad hoc_) representing all classes of the population, whose
wishes were to be embodied, by a European commission, in a report for
consideration by the Congress.

[Footnote 1: A. Xenopol, _Unionistii si Separatistii_ (Paper read
before the Rumanian Academy), 1909.]

To understand the argument of the two powers concerned and the decision
to which it led, it must be borne in mind that the principalities were
in the occupation of an Austrian army, which had replaced the Russian
armies withdrawn in 1854, and that the elections for the assemblies
were to be presided over by Turkish commissaries. Indeed, the latter,
in collaboration with the Austrian consuls, so successfully doctored
the election lists,[1] that the idea of union might once more have
fallen through, had it not been for the invaluable assistance which
Napoleon III gave the Rumanian countries. As Turkish policy was relying
mainly on England’s support, Napoleon brought about a personal meeting
with Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, at Osborne (August 1857), the
result of which was a compromise: Napoleon agreed to defer for the time
being the idea of an effective union of the two principalities, England
undertaking, on the other hand, to make the Porte cancel the previous
elections, and proceed to new ones after revision of the electoral
lists. The corrupt Austrian and Turkish influence on the old elections
was best demonstrated by the fact that only three of the total of
eighty-four old members succeeded in securing re-election. The
assemblies met and proclaimed as imperatively necessary to the future
welfare of the provinces, their union, ‘for no frontier divides us, and
everything tends to bring us closer, and nothing to separate us, save
the ill-will of those who desire to see us disunited and weak’;
further, a foreign hereditary dynasty, because ‘the accession to the
throne of princes chosen from amongst us has been a constant pretext
for foreign interference, and the throne has been the cause of unending
feud among the great families of this country’. Moreover, if the union
of the two principalities was to be accomplished under a native prince,
it is obvious that the competition would have become doubly keen; not
to speak of the jealousies likely to be arousal between Moldavians and
Muntenians.

[Footnote 1: The edifying correspondence between the Porte and its
commissary Vorgoridès regarding the arrangements for the Rumanian
elections fell into the hands of Rumanian politicians, and caused a
great sensation when it appeared in _L’Etoile du Danube_, published in
Brussels by Rumanian _émigrés_.]

Such were the indisputable wishes of the Rumanians, based on knowledge
of men and facts, and arising out of the desire to see their country
well started on the high road of progress. But Europe had called for
the expression of these wishes only to get the question shelved for the
moment, as in 1856 everybody was anxious for a peace which should at
all costs be speedy. Consequently, when a second Congress met in Paris,
in May 1858, three months of discussion and the sincere efforts of
France only resulted in a hybrid structure entitled the ‘United
Principalities’. These were to have a common legislation, a common
army, and a central committee composed of representatives of both
assemblies for the discussion of common affairs; but were to continue
to form two separate states, with independent legislative and executive
institutions, each having to elect a prince of Rumanian descent for
life.

Disappointed in their hopes and reasonable expectations, the Rumanians
adopted the principle of ‘help yourself and God will help you’, and
proceeded to the election of their rulers. Several candidates competed
in Moldavia. To avoid a split vote the name of an outsider was put
forward the day before the election, and on January 17, 1859, Colonel
Alexander Ioan Cuza was unanimously elected. In Wallachia the outlook
was very uncertain when the assembly met, amid great popular
excitement, on February 5. The few patriots who had realized that the
powers, seeking only their own interests, were consciously and of set
purpose hampering the emancipation of a long-suffering nation, put
forth and urged the election of Cuza, and the assembly unanimously
adopted this spirited suggestion. By this master-stroke the Rumanians
had quietly accomplished the reform which was an indispensable
condition towards assuring a better future. The political moment was
propitious. Italy’s military preparation prevented Austria from
intervening, and, as usual when confronted with an accomplished fact,
the great powers and Turkey finished by officially recognizing the
action of the principalities in December 1861. The central commission
was at once abolished, the two assemblies and cabinets merged into one,
and Bucarest became the capital of the new state ‘Rumania’.

If the unsympathetic attitude of the powers had any good result, it was
to bring home for the moment to the Rumanians the necessity for
national unity. When the danger passed, however, the wisdom which it
had evoked followed suit. Cuza cherished the hope of realizing various
ideal reforms. Confronted with strong opposition, he did not hesitate
to override the constitution by dissolving the National Assembly (May
2, 1864) and arrogating to himself the right, till the formation of a
new Chamber, to issue decrees which had all the force of law. He thus
gave a dangerous example to the budding constitutional polity;
political passions were let loose, and a plot organized by the
Opposition led to the forced abdication of Cuza on February 23, 1866.
The prince left the country for ever a few days later. No disturbance
whatever took place, not one drop of blood was shed.

A series of laws, mostly adapted from French models, was introduced by
Cuza. Under the Education Act of 1864 all degrees of education were
free, and elementary education compulsory. A large number of special
and technical schools were founded, as well as two universities, one at
Jassy (1860) and one at Bucarest (1864). After the _coup d’état_ of
1864 universal suffrage was introduced, largely as an attempt to
‘swamp’ the fractious political parties with the peasant vote; while at
the same time a ‘senate’ was created as a ‘moderating assembly’ which,
composed as it was of members by right and members nominated by the
prince, by its very nature increased the influence of the crown. The
chief reforms concerned the rural question. Firstly, Cuza and his
minister, Cogalniceanu, secularized and converted to the state the
domains of the monasteries, which during the long period of Greek
influence had acquired one-fifth of the total area of the land, and
were completely in the hands of the Greek clergy (Law of December 13,
1863). More important still, as affecting fundamentally the social
structure of the country, was the Rural Law (promulgated on August 26,
1864), which had been the cause of the conflict between Cuza and the
various political factions, the Liberals clamouring for more thorough
reforms, the Conservatives denouncing Cuza’s project as revolutionary.
As the peasant question is the most important problem left for Rumania
to solve, and as I believe that, in a broad sense, it has a
considerable bearing upon the present political situation in that
country, it may not be out of place here to devote a little space to
its consideration.

Originally the peasant lived in the village community as a free
land-owner. He paid a certain due (one-tenth of his produce and three
days’ labour yearly) to his leader (_cneaz_) as recompense for his
leadership in peace and war. The latter, moreover, solely enjoyed the
privilege of carrying on the occupations of miller and innkeeper, and
the peasant was compelled to mill with him. When after the foundation
of the principalities the upper class was established on a feudal
basis, the peasantry were subjected to constantly increasing burdens.
Impoverished and having in many cases lost their land, the peasants
were also deprived at the end of the sixteenth century of their freedom
of movement. By that time the cneaz, from being the leader of the
community, had become the actual lord of the village, and his wealth
was estimated by the number of villages he possessed. The peasant
owners paid their dues to him in labour and in kind. Those peasants who
owned no land were his serfs, passing with the land from master to
master.

Under the Turkish domination the Rumanian provinces became the granary
of the Ottoman Empire. The value of land rose quickly, as did also the
taxes. To meet these taxes—from the payment of which the boyards (the
descendants of the cneazi) were exempt—the peasant owners had
frequently to sacrifice their lands; while, greedy after the increased
benefits, the boyards used all possible means to acquire more land for
themselves. With the increase of their lands they needed more labour,
and they obtained permission from the ruler not only to exact increased
labour dues from the peasantry, but also to determine the amount of
work that should be done in a day. This was effected in such a way that
the peasants had, in fact, to serve three and four times the number of
days due.

The power to acquire more land from the freeholders, and to increase
the amount of labour due by the peasants, was characteristic of the
legislation of the eighteenth century. By a decree of Prince Moruzi, in
1805, the lords were for the first time empowered to reserve to their
own use part of the estate, namely, one-fourth of the meadow land, and
this privilege was extended in 1828 to the use of one-third of the
arable land. The remaining two-thirds were reserved for the peasants,
every young married couple being entitled to a certain amount of land,
in proportion to the number of traction animals they owned. When the
Treaty of Adrianople of 1829 opened the western markets to Rumanian
corn, in which markets far higher prices were obtainable than from the
Turks, Rumanian agriculture received an extraordinary impetus.
Henceforth the efforts of the boyards were directed towards lessening
the amount of land to which the peasants were entitled. By the
_Règlement Organique_ they succeeded in reducing such land to half its
previous area, at the same time maintaining and exacting from the
peasant his dues in full. It is in the same Act that there appears for
the first time the fraudulent title ‘lords of the land’, though the
boyards had no exclusive right of property; they had the use of
one-third of the estate, and a right to a due in labour and in kind
from the peasant holders, present or prospective, of the other
two-thirds.

With a view to ensuring, on the one hand, greater economic freedom to
the land-owners, and, on the other, security for the peasants from the
enslaving domination of the upper class, the rural law of 1864
proclaimed the peasant-tenants full proprietors of their holdings, and
the land-owners full proprietors of the remainder of the estate. The
original intention of creating common land was not carried out in the
Bill. The peasant’s holding in arable land being small, he not
infrequently ploughed his pasture, and, as a consequence, had either to
give up keeping beasts, or pay a high price to the land-owners for
pasturage. Dues in labour and in kind were abolished, the land-owners
receiving an indemnity which was to be refunded to the state by the
peasants in instalments within a period of fifteen years. This reform
is characteristic of much of the legislation of Cuza: despotically
pursuing the realization of some ideal reform, without adequate study
of and adaptation to social circumstances, his laws provided no
practical solution of the problem with which they dealt. In this case,
for example, the reform benefited the upper class solely, although
generally considered a boon to the peasantry. Of ancient right
two-thirds of the estate were reserved for the peasants; but the new
law gave them possession of no more than the strip they were holding,
which barely sufficed to provide them with the mere necessaries of
life. The remainder up to two-thirds of the estate went as a gift, with
full proprietorship; to the boyard. For the exemption of their dues in
kind and in labour, the peasants had to pay an indemnity, whereas the
right of their sons to receive at their marriage a piece of land in
proportion to the number of traction animals they possessed was lost
without compensation. Consequently, the younger peasants had to sell
their labour, contracting for periods of a year and upwards, and became
a much easier prey to the spoliation of the upper class than when they
had at least a strip of land on which to build a hut, and from which to
procure their daily bread; the more so as the country had no industry
which could compete with agriculture in the labour market. An
investigation undertaken by the Home Office showed that out of 1,265
labour contracts for 1906, chosen at random, only 39.7 per cent, were
concluded at customary wages; the others were lower in varying degrees,
13.2 per cent. of the cases showing wages upwards of 75 per cent. below
the usual rates.

Under these conditions of poverty and economic serfdom the peasantry
was not able to participate in the enormous development of Rumanian
agriculture, which had resulted from increased political security and
the establishment of an extensive network of railways. While the
boyards found an increasing attraction in politics, a new class of
middlemen came into existence, renting the land from the boyards for
periods varying generally from three to five years. Owing to the
resultant competition, rents increased considerably, while conservative
methods of cultivation kept production stationary. Whereas the big
cultivator obtained higher prices to balance the increased cost of
production, the peasant, who produced for his own consumption, could
only face such increase by a corresponding decrease in the amount of
food consumed. To show how much alive the rural question is, it is
enough to state that peasant risings occurred in 1888, 1889, 1894,
1900, and 1907; that new distributions of land took place in 1881 and
1889; that land was promised to the peasants as well at the time of the
campaign of 1877 as at that of 1913; and that more or less happily
conceived measures concerning rural questions have been passed in
almost every parliamentary session. The general tendency of such
legislation partook of the ‘free contract’ nature, though owing to the
social condition of the peasantry the acts in question had to embody
protective measures providing for a maximum rent for arable and pasture
land, and a minimum wage for the peasant labourer.

Solutions have been suggested in profusion. That a solution is possible
no one can doubt. One writer, basing his arguments on official
statistics which show that the days of employment in 1905 averaged only
ninety-one for each peasant, claims that only the introduction of
circulating capital and the creation of new branches of activity can
bring about a change. The suggested remedy may be open to discussion;
but our author is undoubtedly right when, asking himself why this
solution has not yet been attempted, he says: ‘Our country is governed
at present by an agrarian class…. Her whole power rests in her
ownership of the land, our only wealth. The introduction of circulating
capital would result in the disintegration of that wealth, in the loss
of its unique quality, and, as a consequence, in the social decline of
its possessors.’[1] This is the fundamental evil which prevents any
solution of the rural question. A small class of politicians, with the
complicity of a large army of covetous and unscrupulous officials, live
in oriental indolence out of the sufferings of four-fifths of the
Rumanian nation. Though elementary education is compulsory, more than
60 per cent. of the population are still illiterate, mainly on account
of the inadequacy of the educational budget. Justice is a myth for the
peasant. Of political rights he is, in fact, absolutely deprived. The
large majority, and by far the sanest part of the Rumanian nation, are
thus fraudulently kept outside the political and social life of the
country. It is not surmising too much, therefore, to say that the
opportunity of emancipating the Transylvanians would not have been
wilfully neglected, had that part of the Rumanian nation in which the
old spirit still survives had any choice in the determination of their
own fate.

[Footnote 1: St. Antim, _Cbestiunea Socială în România,_ 1908, p. 214.]



6
_Contemporary Period: Internal Development_


In order to obviate internal disturbances or external interference, the
leaders of the movement which had dethroned Prince Cuza caused
parliament to proclaim, on the day of Cuza’s abdication, Count Philip
of Flanders— the father of King Albert of Belgium—Prince of Rumania.
The offer was, however, not accepted, as neither France nor Russia
favoured the proposal. Meanwhile a conference had met again in Paris at
the instance of Turkey and vetoed the election of a foreign prince. But
events of deeper importance were ripening in Europe, and the Rumanian
politicians rightly surmised that the powers would not enforce their
protests if a candidate were found who was likely to secure the support
of Napoleon III, then ‘schoolmaster’ of European diplomacy. This
candidate was found in the person of Prince Carol of
Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, second son of the head of the elder branch of
the Hohenzollerns (Catholic and non-reigning). Prince Carol was cousin
to the King of Prussia, and related through his grandmother to the
Bonaparte family. He could consequently count upon the support of
France and Prussia, while the political situation fortunately secured
him from the opposition of Russia, whose relations with Prussia were at
the time friendly, and also from that of Austria, whom Bismarck
proposed to ‘keep busy for some time to come’. The latter must have
viewed with no little satisfaction the prospect of a Hohenzollern
occupying the throne of Rumania at this juncture; and Prince Carol,
allowing himself to be influenced by the Iron Chancellor’s advice,
answered the call of the Rumanian nation, which had proclaimed him as
‘Carol I, Hereditary Prince of Rumania’. Travelling secretly with a
small retinue, the prince second class, his suite first, Prince Carol
descended the Danube on an Austrian steamer, and landed on May 8 at
Turnu-Severin, the very place where, nearly eighteen centuries before,
the Emperor Trajan had alighted and founded the Rumanian nation.

By independent and energetic action, by a conscious neglect of the will
of the powers, which only a young constitutional polity would have
dared, by an active and unselfish patriotism, Rumania had at last
chosen and secured as her ruler the foreign prince who alone had a
chance of putting a stop to intrigues from within and from without. And
the Rumanians had been extremely fortunate in their hasty and not quite
independent choice. A prince of Latin origin would probably have been
more warmly welcomed to the hearts of the Rumanian people; but after so
many years of political disorder, corrupt administration, and arbitrary
rule, a prince possessed of the German spirit of discipline and order
was best fitted to command respect and impose obedience and sobriety of
principle upon the Rumanian politicians.

Prince Carol’s task was no easy one. The journal compiled by the
provisional government, which held the reins for the period elapsing
between the abdication of Cuza and the accession of Prince Carol,
depicts in the darkest colours the economic situation to which the
faults, the waste, the negligence, and short-sightedness of the
previous régime had reduced the country, ‘the government being in the
humiliating position of having brought disastrous and intolerable
hardship alike upon its creditors, its servants, its pensioners, and
its soldiers’.[1] Reforms were badly needed, and the treasury had
nothing in hand but debts. To increase the income of the state was
difficult, for the country was poor and not economically independent.
Under the Paris Convention of 1858, Rumania remained bound, to her
detriment, by the commercial treaties of her suzerain, Turkey, the
powers not being willing to lose the privileges they enjoyed under the
Turkish capitulations. Moreover, she was specially excluded from the
arrangement of 1860, which allowed Turkey to increase her import taxes.
The inheritance of ultra-liberal measures from the previous regime made
it difficult to cope with the unruly spirit of the nation. Any attempt
at change in this direction would have savoured of despotism to the
people, who, having at last won the right to speak aloud, believed that
to clamour against anything that meant ‘rule’ was the only real and
full assertion of liberty. And the dissatisfied were always certain of
finding a sympathetic ear and an open purse in the Chancellories of
Vienna and St. Petersburg.

[Footnote 1: D.A. Sturdza, _Treizeci de ani de Domnie ai Regelui
Carol,_ 1900, i.82.]

Prince Carol, not being sufficiently well acquainted with the
conditions of the country nor possessing as yet much influence with the
governing class, had not been in a position to influence at their
inception the provisions of the extremely liberal constitution passed
only a few weeks after his accession to the throne. The new
constitution, which resembled that of Belgium more nearly than any
other, was framed by a constituent assembly elected on universal
suffrage, and, except for slight modifications introduced in 1879 and
1884, is in vigour to-day. It entrusts the executive to the king and
his ministers, the latter alone being responsible for the acts of the
government.[1] The legislative power is vested in the king and two
assemblies—a senate and a chamber—the initiative resting with any one
of the three.[2] The budget and the yearly bills fixing the strength of
the army, however, must first be passed by the Chamber. The agreement
of the two Chambers and the sanction of the king are necessary before
any bill becomes law. The king convenes, adjourns, and dissolves
parliament. He promulgates the laws and is invested with the right of
absolute veto. The constitution proclaims the inviolability of
domicile, the liberty of the press and of assembly, and absolute
liberty of creed and religion, in so far as its forms of celebration do
not come into conflict with public order and decency. It recognizes no
distinction of class and privilege; all the citizens share equally
rights and duties within the law. Education is free in the state
schools, and elementary education compulsory wherever state schools
exist. Individual liberty and property are guaranteed; but only
Rumanian citizens can acquire rural property. Military service is
compulsory, entailing two years in the infantry, three years in the
cavalry and artillery, one year in all arms for those having completed
their studies as far as the university stage. Capital punishment does
not exist, except for military offences in time of war.

[Footnote 1: There are at present nine departments: Interior, Foreign
Affairs, Finance, War, Education and Religion, Domains and Agriculture,
Public Works, Justice, and Industry and Commerce. The President of the
Cabinet is Prime Minister, with or without portfolio.]

[Footnote 2: All citizens of full age paying taxes, with various
exemptions, are electors, voting according to districts and census. In
the case of the illiterate country inhabitants, with an income from
land of less than £12 a year, fifty of them choose one delegate having
one vote in the parliamentary election. The professorial council of the
two universities of Jassy and Bucarest send one member each to the
Senate, the heir to the throne and the eight bishops being members by
right.]

The state religion is Greek Orthodox. Up to 1864 the Rumanian Church
was subordinate to the Patriarchate of Constantinople. In that year it
was proclaimed independent, national, and autocephalous, though this
change was not recognized by the Patriarchate till 1885, while the
secularization of the property of the monasteries put an end _de facto_
to the influence of the Greek clergy. Religious questions of a dogmatic
nature are settled by the Holy Synod of Bucarest, composed of the two
metropolitans of Bucarest and Jassy and the eight bishops; the Minister
for Education, with whom the administrative part of the Church rests,
having only a deliberative vote. The maintenance of the Church and of
the clergy is included in the general budget of the country, the
ministers being state officials (Law of 1893).

Religion has never played an important part in Rumanian national life,
and was generally limited to merely external practices. This may be
attributed largely to the fact that as the Slavonic language had been
used in the Church since the ninth century and then was superseded by
Greek up to the nineteenth century, the clergy was foreign, and was
neither in a position nor did it endeavour to acquire a spiritual
influence over the Rumanian peasant. There is no record whatever in
Rumanian history of any religious feuds or dissensions. The religious
passivity remained unstirred even during the domination of the Turks,
who contented themselves with treating the unbelievers with contempt,
and squeezing as much money as possible out of them. Cuza having made
no provision for the clergy when he converted the wealth of the
monasteries to the state, they were left for thirty years in complete
destitution, and remained as a consequence outside the general
intellectual development of the country. Though the situation has much
improved since the Law of 1893, which incorporated the priests with the
other officials of the Government, the clergy, recruited largely from
among the rural population, are still greatly inferior to the Rumanian
priests of Bucovina and Transylvania. Most of them take up Holy orders
as a profession: ‘I have known several country parsons who were
thorough atheists.’[1]

[Footnote 1: R. Rosetti, _Pentru ce s-au răsculat țăranii_, 1907, p.
600]

However difficult his task, Prince Carol never deviated from the
strictly constitutional path: his opponents were free to condemn the
prince’s opinions; he never gave them the chance of questioning his
integrity.

Prince Carol relied upon the position in which his origin and family
alliances placed him in his relations with foreign rulers to secure him
the respect of his new subjects. Such considerations impressed the
Rumanians. Nor could they fail to be aware of ‘the differences between
the previously elected princes and the present dynasty, and the
improved position which the country owed to the latter’.[1]

[Footnote 1: Augenzeuge, _Aus dem Leben König Karls von Rumănien,
1894-1900,_ iii. 177.]

To inculcate the Rumanians with the spirit of discipline the prince
took in hand with energy and pursued untiringly, in spite of all
obstacles, the organization of the army. A reliable and well-organized
armed force was the best security against internal trouble-mongers, and
the best argument in international relations, as subsequent events
amply proved.

The Rumanian political parties were at the outset personal parties,
supporting one or other of the candidates to the throne. When Greek
influence, emanating from Constantinople, began to make itself felt, in
the seventeenth century, a national party arose for the purpose of
opposing it. This party counted upon the support of one of the
neighbouring powers, and its various groups were known accordingly as
the Austrian, the Russian, &c., parties. With the election of Cuza the
external danger diminished, and the politicians divided upon principles
of internal reform. Cuza not being in agreement with either party, they
united to depose him, keeping truce during the period preceding the
accession of Prince Carol, when grave external dangers wore
threatening, and presiding in a coalition ministry at the introduction
of the new constitution of 1866. But this done, the truce was broken.
Political strife again awoke with all the more vigour for having been
temporarily suppressed.

The reforms which it became needful to introduce gave opportunity for
the development of strong divergence of views between the political
parties. The Liberals—the Red Party, as they were called at the
time—(led by C.A. Rosetti and Ioan Bratianu, both strong Mazzinists,
both having taken an important part in the revolutionary movements of
1848 and in that which led to the deposition of Cuza) were advocating
reforms hardly practicable even in an established democracy; the
Conservatives (led by Lascar Catargiu) were striving to stem the flood
of ideal liberal measures on which all sense of reality was being
carried away.[1] In little more than a year there were four different
Cabinets, not to mention numerous changes in individual ministers.
‘Between the two extreme tendencies Prince Carol had to strive
constantly to preserve unity of direction, he himself being the only
stable element in that ever unstable country.’ It was not without many
untoward incidents that he succeeded. His person was the subject of
more than one unscrupulous attack by politicians in opposition, who did
not hesitate to exploit the German origin and the German sympathies of
the prince in order to inflame the masses. These internal conflicts
entered upon an acute phase at the time of the Franco-German conflict
of 1870. Whilst, to satisfy public opinion, the Foreign Secretary of
the time, M.P.P. Carp, had to declare in parliament, that ‘wherever the
colours of France are waving, there are our interests and sympathies’,
the prince wrote to the King of Prussia assuring him that ‘his
sympathies will always be where the black and white banner is waving’.
In these so strained circumstances a section of the population of
Bucarest allowed itself to be drawn into anti-German street riots.
Disheartened and despairing of ever being able to do anything for that
‘beautiful country’, whose people ‘neither know how to govern
themselves nor will allow themselves to be governed’, the prince
decided to abdicate.

[Footnote 1: A few years ago a group of politicians, mainly of the old
Conservative party, detached themselves and became the
Conservative-Democratic party under the leadership of M. Take Ionescu.]

So strong was the feeling in parliament roused by the prince’s decision
that one of his most inveterate opponents now declared that it would be
an act of high treason for the prince to desert the country at such a
crisis. We have an inkling of what might have resulted in the letter
written by the Emperor of Austria to Prince Carol at the time, assuring
him that ‘my Government will eagerly seize any opportunity which
presents itself to prove by deeds the interest it takes in a country
connected by so many bonds to my empire’. Nothing but the efforts of
Lascar Catargiu and the sound patriotism of a few statesmen saved the
country from what would have been a real misfortune. The people were
well aware of this, and cheers lasting several minutes greeted that
portion of the message from the throne which conveyed to the new
parliament the decision of the prince to continue reigning.

The situation was considerably strengthened during a period of five
years’ Conservative rule. Prince Carol’s high principles and the
dignified example of his private life secured for him the increasing
respect of politicians of all colours; while his statesmanlike
qualities, his patience and perseverance, soon procured him an
unlimited influence in the affairs of the state. This was made the more
possible from the fact that, on account of the political ignorance of
the masses, and of the varied influence exercised on the electorate by
the highly centralized administration, no Rumanian Government ever
fails to obtain a majority at an election. Any statesman can undertake
to form a Cabinet if the king assents to a dissolution of parliament.
Between the German system, where the emperor chooses the ministers
independently of parliament, and the English system, where the members
of the executive are indicated by the electorate through the medium of
parliament, independently of the Crown, the Rumanian system takes a
middle path. Neither the crown, nor the electorate, nor parliament
possesses exclusive power in this direction. The Government is not,
generally speaking, defeated either by the electorate or by parliament.
It is the Crown which has the final decision in the changes of régime,
and upon the king falls the delicate task of interpreting the
significance of political or popular movements. The system—which comes
nearest to that of Spain—undoubtedly has its advantages in a young and
turbulent polity, by enabling its most stable element, the king, to
ensure a continuous and harmonious policy. But it also makes the
results dangerously dependent on the quality of that same element.
Under the leadership of King Carol it was an undoubted success; the
progress made by the country from an economic, financial, and military
point of view during the last half-century is really enormous. Its
position was furthermore strengthened by the proclamation of its
independence, by the final settlement of the dynastic question,[1] and
by its elevation on May 10, 1881, to the rank of kingdom, when upon the
head of the first King of Rumania was placed a crown of steel made from
one of the guns captured before Plevna from an enemy centuries old.

[Footnote 1: In the absence of direct descendants and according to the
constitution, Prince Ferdinand (born 1865), second son of King Carol’s
elder brother, was named Heir Apparent to the Rumanian throne. He
married in 1892 Princess Marie of Coburg, and following the death of
King Carol in 1914, he acceded to the throne as Ferdinand I.]

From the point of view of internal politics progress has been less
satisfactory. The various reforms once achieved, the differences of
principle between the political parties degenerated into mere
opportunism, the Opposition opposing, the Government disposing. The
parties, and especially the various groups within the parties, are
generally known by the names of their leaders, these denominations not
implying any definite political principle or Government programme. It
is, moreover, far from edifying that the personal element should so
frequently distort political discussion. ‘The introduction of modern
forms of state organization has not been followed by the
democratization of all social institutions…. The masses of the people
have remained all but completely outside political life. Not only are
we yet far from government of the people by the people, but our
liberties, though deeply graven on the facade of our constitution, have
not permeated everyday life nor even stirred in the consciousness of
the people.’[1]

[Footnote 1: C. Stere, _Social-democratizm sau Poporanizm_, Jassy.]

It is strange that King Carol, who had the welfare of the people
sincerely at heart, should not have used his influence to bring about a
solution of the rural question; but this may perhaps be explained by
the fact that, from Cuza’s experience, he anticipated opposition from
all political factions. It would almost seem as if, by a tacit
understanding, and anxious to establish Rumania’s international
position, King Carol gave his ministers a free hand in the rural
question, reserving for himself an equally free hand in foreign
affairs. This seems borne out by the fact that, in the four volumes in
which an ‘eyewitness’, making use of the king’s private correspondence
and personal notes, has minutely described the first fifteen years of
the reign, the peasant question is entirely ignored.[1]

[Footnote 1: The ‘eyewitness’ was Dr. Schaeffer, formerly tutor to
Prince Carol.]

Addressing himself, in 1871, to the Rumanian representative at the
Porte, the Austrian ambassador, von Prokesch-Osten, remarked: ‘If
Prince Carol manages to pull through without outside help, and make
Rumania governable, it will be the greatest _tour de force_ I have ever
witnessed in my diplomatic career of more than half a century. It will
be nothing less than a conjuring trick.’ King Carol succeeded; and only
those acquainted with Rumanian affairs can appreciate the truth of the
ambassador’s words.



7
_Contemporary Period: Foreign Affairs_


Up to 1866 Rumanian foreign politics may be said to have been
non-existent. The offensive or defensive alliances against the Turks
concluded by the Rumanian rulers with neighbouring princes during the
Middle Ages were not made in pursuance of any definite policy, but
merely to meet the moment’s need. With the establishment of Turkish
suzerainty Rumania became a pawn in the foreign politics of the
neighbouring empires, and we find her repeatedly included in their
projects of acquisition, partition, or compensation (as, for instance,
when she was put forward as eventual compensation to Poland for the
territories lost by that country in the first partition).[1] Rumania
may be considered fortunate in not having lost more than Bucovina to
Austria (1775), Bessarabia to Russia (1812), and, temporarily, to
Austria the region between the Danube and the Aluta, called Oltenia
(lost by the Treaty of Passarowitz, 1718; recovered by the Treaty of
Belgrade, 1739).

[Footnote 1: See Albert Sorel, _The Eastern Question in the Eighteenth
Century_ (Engl. ed.), 1898, pp. 141, 147 &c.]

While her geographical position made of Rumania the cynosure of many
covetous eyes, it at the same time saved her from individual attack by
exciting countervailing jealousies. Moreover, the powers came at last
to consider her a necessary rampart to the Ottoman Empire, whose
dissolution all desired but none dared attempt. Austria and Russia,
looking to the future, were continually competing for paramount
influence in Rumania, though it is not possible to determine where
their policy of acquisition ended and that of influence began.

The position of the principalities became more secure after the Paris
Congress of 1858, which placed them under the collective guarantee of
the great powers; but this fact, and the maintenance of Turkish
suzerainty, coupled with their own weakness, debarred them from any
independence in their foreign relations.

A sudden change took place with the accession of Prince Carol; a
Hohenzollern prince related to the King of Prussia and to Napoleon III
could not be treated like one of the native boyards. The situation
called for the more delicacy of treatment by the powers in view of the
possibility of his being able to better those internal conditions which
made Rumania ‘uninteresting’ as a factor in international politics. In
fact, the prince’s personality assured for Rumania a status which she
could otherwise have attained only with time, by a political, economic,
and military consolidation of her home affairs; and the prince does not
fail to remark in his notes that the attentions lavished upon him by
other sovereigns were meant rather for the Hohenzollern prince than for
the Prince of Rumania. Many years later even, after the war of 1878,
while the Russians were still south of the Danube with their lines of
communication running through Rumania, Bratianu begged of the prince to
give up a projected journey on account of the difficulties which might
at any moment arise, and said: ‘Only the presence of your Royal
Highness keeps them [the Russians] at a respectful distance.’ It was
but natural under these circumstances that the conduct of foreign
affairs should have devolved almost exclusively on the prince. The
ascendancy which his high personal character, his political and
diplomatic skill, his military capacity procured for him over the
Rumanian statesmen made this situation a lasting one; indeed it became
almost a tradition. Rumania’s foreign policy since 1866 may be said,
therefore, to have been King Carol’s policy. Whether one agrees with it
or not, no one can deny with any sincerity that it was inspired by the
interests of the country, as the monarch saw them. Rebuking Bismarck’s
unfair attitude towards Rumania in a question concerning German
investors, Prince Carol writes to his father in 1875: ‘I have to put
Rumania’s interests above those of Germany. My path is plainly mapped
out, and I must follow It unflinchingly, whatever the weather.’

Prince Carol was a thorough German, and as such naturally favoured the
expansion of German influence among his new subjects. But if he desired
Rumania to follow in the wake of German foreign policy, it was because
of his unshaken faith in the future of his native country, because he
considered that Rumania had nothing to fear from Germany, whilst it was
all in the interest of that country to see Rumania strong and firmly
established. At the same time, acting on the advice of Bismarck, he did
not fail to work toward a better understanding with Russia, ‘who might
become as well a reliable friend as a dangerous enemy to the Rumanian
state’. The sympathy shown him by Napoleon III was not always shared by
the French statesmen,[1] and the unfriendly attitude of the French
ambassador in Constantinople caused Prince Carol to remark that ‘M. de
Moustier is considered a better Turk than the Grand Turk himself’.
Under the circumstances a possible alliance between France and Russia,
giving the latter a free hand in the Near East, would have proved a
grave danger to Rumania; ‘it was, consequently, a skilful, if imperious
act, to enter voluntarily, and without detriment to the existing
friendly relations with France, within the Russian sphere of influence,
and not to wait till compelled to do so.’

[Footnote 1: See _Revue des Deux Mondes_, June 15, 1866, article by
Eugène Forcade.]

The campaigns of 1866 and 1870 having finally established Prussia’s
supremacy in the German world, Bismarck modified his attitude towards
Austria. In an interview with the Austrian Foreign Secretary, Count
Beust (Gastein, October 1871), he broached for the first time the
question of an alliance and, touching upon the eventual dissolution of
the Ottoman Empire, ‘obligingly remarked that one could not conceive of
a great power not making of its faculty for expansion a vital
question’.[2] Quite in keeping with that change were the counsels
henceforth tendered to Prince Carol. Early that year Bismarck wrote of
his sorrow at having been forced to the conclusion that Rumania had
nothing to expect from Russia, while Prince Anthony, Prince Carol’s
father and faithful adviser, wrote soon after the above interview
(November 1871), that ‘under certain circumstances it would seem a
sound policy for Rumania to rely upon the support of Austria’.
Persevering in this crescendo of suggestion, Austria’s new foreign
secretary, Count Andrassy, drifted at length to the point by plainly
declaring not long afterwards that ‘Rumania is not so unimportant that
one should deprecate an alliance with her’.

[Footnote 2: Gabriel Hanotaux, _La Guerre des Balkans et l’Europe_
(Beust, Mémoires), Paris, 1914, p. 297.]

Prince Carol had accepted the throne with the firm intention of shaking
off the Turkish suzerainty at the first opportunity, and not
unnaturally he counted upon Germany’s support to that end. He and his
country were bitterly disappointed, therefore, when Bismarck appealed
directly to the Porte for the settlement of a difference between the
Rumanian Government and a German company entrusted with the
construction of the Rumanian railways; the more so as the Paris
Convention had expressly forbidden any Turkish interference in
Rumania’s internal affairs. It thus became increasingly evident that
Rumania could not break away from Russia, the coming power in the East.
The eyes of Russia were steadfastly fixed on Constantinople: by joining
her, Rumania had the best chance of gaining her independence; by not
doing so, she ran the risk of being trodden upon by Russia on her way
to Byzantium. But though resolved to co-operate with Russia in any
eventual action in the Balkans, Prince Carol skilfully avoided
delivering himself blindfold into her hands by deliberately cutting
himself away from the other guaranteeing powers. To the conference
which met in Constantinople at the end of 1876 to settle Balkan affairs
he addressed the demand that ‘should war break out between one of the
guaranteeing powers and Turkey, Rumania’s line of conduct should be
dictated, and her neutrality and rights guaranteed, by the other
powers’. This _démarche_ failed. The powers had accepted the invitation
to the conference as one accepts an invitation to visit a dying man.
Nobody had any illusions on the possibility of averting war, least of
all the two powers principally interested. In November 1876 Ali Bey and
M. de Nelidov arrived simultaneously and secretly in Bucarest to sound
Rumania as to an arrangement with their respective countries, Turkey
and Russia. In opposition to his father and Count Andrassy, who
counselled neutrality and the withdrawal of the Rumanian army into the
mountains, and in sympathy with Bismarck’s advice, Prince Carol
concluded a Convention with Russia on April 16, 1877. Rumania promised
to the Russian army ‘free passage through Rumanian territory and the
treatment due to a friendly army’; whilst Russia undertook to respect
Rumania’s political rights, as well as ‘to maintain and defend her
actual integrity’. ‘It is pretty certain’, wrote Prince Carol to his
father, ‘that this will not be to the liking of most of the great
powers; but as they neither can nor will offer us anything, we cannot
do otherwise than pass them by. A successful Russian campaign will free
us from the nominal dependency upon Turkey, and Europe will never allow
Russia to take her place.’

On April 23 the Russian armies passed the Pruth. An offer of active
participation by the Rumanian forces in the forthcoming campaign was
rejected by the Tsar, who haughtily declared that ‘Russia had no need
for the cooperation of the Rumanian army’, and that ‘it was only under
the auspices of the Russian forces that the foundation of Rumania’s
future destinies could be laid’. Rumania was to keep quiet and accept
in the end what Russia would deign to give her, or, to be more correct,
take from her. After a few successful encounters, however, the Tsar’s
soldiers met with serious defeats before Plevna, and persistent appeals
were now urged for the participation of the Rumanian army in the
military operations. The moment had come for Rumania to bargain for her
interests. But Prince Carol refused to make capital out of the serious
position of the Russians; he led his army across the Danube and, at the
express desire of the Tsar, took over the supreme command of the united
forces before Plevna. After a glorious but terrible struggle Plevna,
followed at short intervals by other strongholds, fell, the peace
preliminaries were signed, and Prince Carol returned to Bucarest at the
head of his victorious army.

Notwithstanding the flattering words in which the Tsar spoke of the
Rumanian share in the success of the campaign, Russia did not admit
Rumania to the Peace Conference. By the Treaty of San Stefano (March
3,1878) Rumania’s independence was recognized; Russia obtained from
Turkey the Dobrudja and the delta of the Danube, reserving for herself
the right to exchange these territories against the three southern
districts of Bessarabia, restored to Rumania by the Treaty of Paris,
1856. This stipulation was by no means a surprise to Rumania, Russia’s
intention to recover Bessarabia was well known to the Government, who
hoped, however, that the demand would not be pressed after the
effective assistance rendered by the Rumanian army. ‘If this be not a
ground for the extension of our territory, it is surely none for its
diminution,’ remarked Cogalniceanu at the Berlin Congress. Moreover,
besides the promises of the Tsar, there was the Convention of the
previous year, which, in exchange for nothing more than free passage
for the Russian armies, guaranteed Rumania’s integrity. But upon this
stipulation Gorchakov put the jesuitical construction that, the
Convention being concluded in view of a war to be waged against Turkey,
it was only against Turkey that Russia undertook to guarantee Rumania’s
integrity; as to herself, she was not in the least bound by that
arrangement. And should Rumania dare to protest against, or oppose the
action of the Russian Government, ‘the Tsar will order that Rumania be
occupied and the Rumanian army disarmed’. ‘The army which fought at
Plevna’, replied Prince Carol through his minister, ‘may well be
destroyed, but never disarmed.’

There was one last hope left to Rumania: that the Congress which met in
Berlin in June 1878 for the purpose of revising the Treaty of San
Stefano, would prevent such an injustice. But Bismarck was anxious that
no ‘sentiment de dignité blessée’ should rankle in Russia’s future
policy; the French representative, Waddington, was ‘above all a
practical man’; Corti, the Italian delegate, was ‘nearly rude’ to the
Rumanian delegates; while Lord Beaconsfield, England’s envoy, receiving
the Rumanian delegates privately, had nothing to say but that ‘in
politics the best services are often rewarded with ingratitude’. Russia
strongly opposed even the idea that the Rumanian delegates should be
allowed to put their case before the Congress, and consent was obtained
only with difficulty after Lord Salisbury had ironically remarked that
‘having heard the representatives of Greece, which was claiming foreign
provinces, it would be but fair to listen also to the representatives
of a country which was only seeking to retain what was its own’.
Shortly before, Lord Salisbury, speaking in London to the Rumanian
special envoy, Callimaki Catargiu, had assured him of England’s
sympathy and of her effective assistance in case either of war or of a
Congress. ‘But to be quite candid he must add that there are questions
of more concern to England, and should she be able to come to an
understanding with Russia with regard to them, she would not wage war
for the sake of Rumania.’ Indeed, an understanding came about, and an
indiscretion enabled the _Globe_ to make its tenor public early in June
1878. ‘The Government of her Britannic Majesty’, it said, ‘considers
that it will feel itself bound to express its deep regret should Russia
persist in demanding the retrocession of Bessarabia…. England’s
interest in this question is not such, however, as to justify her
taking upon herself alone the responsibility of opposing the intended
exchange.’ So Bessarabia was lost, Rumania receiving instead Dobrudja
with the delta of the Danube. But as the newly created state of
Bulgaria was at the time little else than a detached Russian province,
Russia, alone amongst the powers, opposed and succeeded in preventing
the demarcation to the new Rumanian province of a strategically sound
frontier. Finally, to the exasperation of the Rumanians, the Congress
made the recognition of Rumania’s independence contingent upon the
abolition of Article 7 of the Constitution—which denied to
non-Christians the right of becoming Rumanian citizens—and the
emancipation of the Rumanian Jews.[1]

[Footnote 1: Rumania only partially gave way to this intrusion of the
powers into her internal affairs. The prohibition was abolished; but
only individual naturalization was made possible, and that by special
Act of Parliament. Only a very small proportion of the Jewish
population has since been naturalized. The Jewish question in Rumania
is undoubtedly a very serious one; but the matter is too controversial
to be dealt with in a few lines without risking misrepresentation or
doing an injustice to one or other of the parties. For which reason it
has not been included in this essay.]

It was only after innumerable difficulties and hardships that, at the
beginning of 1880, Rumania secured recognition of an independence which
she owed to nobody but herself. Whilst Russia was opposing Rumania at
every opportunity in the European conferences and commissions, she was
at pains to show herself more amenable in _tête-à-tête_, and approached
Rumania with favourable proposals. ‘Rather Russia as foe than
guardian,’ wrote Prince Carol to his father; and these words indicate
an important turning-point in Rumania’s foreign policy.

In wresting Bessarabia from Rumania merely as a sop to her own pride,
and to make an end of all that was enacted by the Treaty of Paris,
1856, Russia made a serious political blunder. By insisting that
Austria should share in the partition of Poland, Frederick the Great
had skilfully prevented her from remaining the one country towards
which the Poles would naturally have turned for deliverance. Such an
opportunity was lost by Russia through her short-sighted policy in
Bessarabia—that of remaining the natural ally of Rumania against
Rumania’s natural foe, Austria-Hungary.

Rumania had neither historical, geographical, nor any important
ethnographical points of contact with the region south of the Danube;
the aims of a future policy could only have embraced neighbouring
tracts of foreign territory inhabited by Rumanians. Whereas up to the
date of the Berlin Congress such tracts were confined to
Austria-Hungary, by that Congress a similar sphere of attraction for
Rumanian aspirations was created in Russia.[1] The interests of a
peaceful development demanded that Rumania should maintain friendly
relations with both the powers striving for domination in the Near
East; it was a vital necessity for her, however, to be able to rely
upon the effective support of at least one of them in a case of
emergency. Russia’s conduct had aroused a deep feeling of bitterness
and mistrust in Rumania, and every lessening of her influence was a
step in Austria’s favour. Secondary considerations tended to intensify
this: on the one hand lay the fact that through Russia’s interposition
Rumania had no defendable frontier against Bulgaria; on the other hand
was the greatly strengthened position created for Austria by her
alliance with Germany, in whose future Prince Carol had the utmost
confidence.

[Footnote 1: It is probable that this confederation had much to do with
the readiness with which Bismarck supported the demands of his good
friend, Gorchakov.]

Germany’s attitude towards Rumania had been curiously hostile during
these events; but when Prince Carol’s father spoke of this to the
German Emperor, the latter showed genuine astonishment: Bismarck had
obviously not taken the emperor completely into his confidence. When, a
few days later, Sturdza had an interview with Bismarck at the latter’s
invitation, the German Chancellor discovered once more that Rumania had
nothing to expect from Russia. Indeed, Rumania’s position between
Russia and the new Slav state south of the Danube might prove
dangerous, were she not to seek protection and assistance from her two
‘natural friends’, France and Germany. And, with his usual liberality
when baiting his policy with false hopes, Bismarck went on to say that
‘Turkey is falling to pieces; nobody can resuscitate her; Rumania has
an important role to fulfil, but for this she must be wise, cautious,
and strong’. This new attitude was the natural counterpart of the
change which was at that time making itself felt in Russo-German
relations. While a Franco-Russian alliance was propounded by Gorchakov
in an interview with a French journalist, Bismarck and Andrassy signed
in Gastein the treaty which allied Austria to Germany (September 1879).
As Rumania’s interests were identical with those of Austria—wrote Count
Andrassy privately to Prince Carol a few months later—namely, to
prevent the fusion of the northern and the southern Slavs, she had only
to express her willingness to become at a given moment the third party
in the compact. In 1883 King Carol accepted a secret treaty of
defensive alliance from Austria. In return for promises relating to
future political partitions in the Balkans, the monarch pledged himself
to oppose all developments likely to speed the democratic evolution, of
Rumania. Though the treaty was never submitted to parliament for
ratification, and notwithstanding a tariff war and a serious difference
with Austria on the question of control of the Danube navigation,
Rumania was, till the Balkan wars, a faithful ‘sleeping partner’ of the
Triple Alliance.

All through that externally quiet period a marked discrepancy existed
and developed between that line of policy and the trend of public
opinion. The interest of the Rumanians within the kingdom centred
increasingly on their brethren in Transylvania, the solution of whose
hard case inspired most of the popular national movements. Not on
account of the political despotism of the Magyars, for that of the
Russians was in no way behind it. But whilst the Rumanians of
Bessarabia were, with few exceptions, illiterate peasants, in
Transylvania there was a solidly established and spirited middle class,
whose protests kept pace with the oppressive measures. Many of them—and
of necessity the more turbulent—migrated to Rumania, and there kept
alive the ‘Transylvanian Question’. That the country’s foreign policy
has nevertheless constantly supported the Central Powers is due, to
some extent, to the fact that the generation most deeply impressed by
the events of 1878 came gradually to the leadership of the country; to
a greater extent to the increasing influence of German education,[1]
and the economic and financial supremacy which the benevolent passivity
of England and France enabled Germany to acquire; but above all to the
personal influence of King Carol. Germany, he considered, was at the
beginning of her development and needed, above all, peace; as Rumania
was in the same position the wisest policy was to follow Germany,
neglecting impracticable national ideals. King Carol outlined his views
clearly in an interview which he had in Vienna with the Emperor Franz
Joseph in 1883: ‘No nation consents to be bereaved of its political
aspirations, and those of the Rumanians are constantly kept at fever
heat by Magyar oppression. But this was no real obstacle to a friendly
understanding between the two neighbouring states.’

[Footnote 1: Many prominent statesmen like Sturdza, Maiorescu, Carp,
&c. were educated in Germany, whereas the school established by the
German community (_Evangelische Knaben und Realschule_), and which it
under the direct control of the German Ministry of Education, is
attended by more pupils than any other school in Bucarest.]

Such was the position when the Balkan peoples rose in 1912 to sever the
last ties which bound them to the decadent Turkish Empire. King Carol,
who had, sword in hand, won the independence of his country, could have
no objection to such a desire for emancipation. Nor to the Balkan
League itself, unfortunately so ephemeral; for by the first year of his
reign he had already approached the Greek Government with proposals
toward such a league, and toward freeing the Balkans from the
undesirable interference of the powers.[1] It is true that Rumania,
like all the other states, had not foreseen the radical changes which
were to take place, and which considerably affected her position in the
Near East. But she was safe as long as the situation was one of stable
equilibrium and the league remained in existence. ‘Rumania will only be
menaced by a real danger when a Great Bulgaria comes into existence,’
remarked Prince Carol to Bismarck in 1880, and Bulgaria had done
nothing since to allay Rumanian suspicions. On the contrary, the
proviso of the Berlin Convention that all fortifications along the
Rumania frontier should be razed to the ground had not been carried out
by the Bulgarian Government. Bulgarian official publications regarded
the Dobrudja as a ‘Bulgaria Irredenta’, and at the outset of the first
Balkan war a certain section of the Bulgarian press speculated upon the
Bulgarian character of the Dobrudja.

[Footnote 1: See Augenzeuge, op. cit., i. 178]

The Balkan League having proclaimed, however, that their action did not
involve any territorial changes, and the maintenance of the _status
quo_ having been insisted upon by the European Concert, Rumania
declared that she would remain neutral. All this jugglery of mutual
assurances broke down with the unexpected rout of the Turks; the
formula ‘the Balkans to the Balkan peoples’ made its appearance, upon
which Bulgaria was at once notified that Rumania would insist upon the
question of the Dobrudja frontier being included in any fundamental
alteration of the Berlin Convention. The Bulgarian Premier, M. Danev,
concurred in this point of view, but his conduct of the subsequent
London negotiations was so ‘diplomatic’ that their only result was to
strain the patience of the Rumanian Government and public opinion to
breaking point. Nevertheless, the Rumanian Government agreed that the
point in dispute should be submitted to a conference of the
representatives of the great powers in St. Petersburg, and later
accepted the decision of that conference, though the country considered
it highly unsatisfactory.

The formation of the Balkan League, and especially the collapse of
Turkey, had meant a serious blow to the Central Powers’ policy of
peaceful penetration. Moreover, ‘for a century men have been labouring
to solve the Eastern. Question. On the day when it shall be considered
solved, Europe will inevitably witness the propounding of the Austrian
Question.’[1] To prevent this and to keep open a route to the East
Austro-German diplomacy set to work, and having engineered the creation
of Albania succeeded in barring Serbia’s way to the Adriatic; Serbia
was thus forced to seek an outlet in the south, where her interests
were doomed to clash with Bulgarian aspirations. The atmosphere grew
threatening. In anticipation of a conflict with Bulgaria, Greece and
Serbia sought an alliance with Rumania. The offer was declined; but, in
accordance with the policy which Bucarest had already made quite clear
to Sofia, the Rumanian army was ordered to enter Bulgaria immediately
that country attacked her former allies. The Rumanians advanced
unopposed to within a few miles of Sofia, and in order to save the
capital Bulgaria declared her willingness to comply with their claims.
Rumania having refused, however, to conclude a separate peace, Bulgaria
had to give way, and the Balkan premiers met in conference at Bucarest
to discuss terms. The circumstances were not auspicious. The way in
which Bulgaria had conducted previous negotiations, and especially the
attack upon her former allies, had exasperated the Rumanians and the
Balkan peoples, and the pressure of public opinion hindered from the
outset a fair consideration of the Bulgarian point of view. Moreover,
cholera was making great ravages in the ranks of the various armies,
and, what threatened to be even more destructive, several great powers
were looking for a crack in the door to put their tails through, as the
Rumanian saying runs. So anxious were the Balkan statesmen to avoid any
such interference that they agreed between themselves to a short time
limit: on a certain day, and by a certain hour, peace was to be
concluded, or hostilities were to start afresh. The treaty was signed
on August 10, 1913, Rumania obtaining the line
Turtukai-Dobrich-Balchik, this being the line already demanded by her
at the time of the London negotiations. The demand was put forth
originally as a security against the avowed ambitions of Bulgaria; it
was a strategical necessity, but at the same time a political mistake
from the point of view of future relations. The Treaty of Bucarest,
imperfect arrangement as it was, had nevertheless a great historical
significance. ‘Without complicating the discussion of our interests,
which we are best in a position to understand, by the consideration of
other foreign, interests,’ remarked the President of the Conference,
‘we shall have established for the first time by ourselves peace and
harmony amongst our peoples.’ Dynastic interests and impatient
ambitions, however, completely subverted this momentous step towards a
satisfactory solution of the Eastern Question.

[Footnote 1: Albert Sorel, op, cit., p. 266.]

The natural counter-effect of the diplomatic activity of the Central
Powers was a change in Rumanian policy. Rumania considered the
maintenance of the Balkan equilibrium a vital question, and as she had
entered upon a closer union with Germany against a Bulgaria subjected
to Russian influence, so she now turned to Russia as a guard against a
Bulgaria under German influence. This breaking away from the
‘traditional’ policy of adjutancy-in-waiting to the Central Powers was
indicated by the visit of Prince Ferdinand—now King of Rumania—to St.
Petersburg, and the even more significant visit which Tsar Nicholas
afterwards paid to the late King Carol at Constanza. Time has been too
short, however, for those new relations so to shape themselves as to
exercise a notable influence upon Rumania’s present attitude.



8
_Rumania and the Present War_


_(a) The Rumanians outside the Kingdom_

The axis on which Rumanian foreign policy ought naturally to revolve is
the circumstance that almost half the Rumanian nation lives outside
Rumanian territory. As the available official statistics generally show
political bias it is not possible to give precise figures; but roughly
speaking there are about one million Rumanians in Bessarabia, a quarter
of a million in Bucovina, three and a half millions in Hungary, while
something above half a million form scattered colonies in Bulgaria,
Serbia, and Macedonia. All these live in more or less close proximity
to the Rumanian frontiers.

That these Rumanian elements have maintained their nationality is due
to purely intrinsic causes. We have seen that the independence of
Rumania in her foreign relations had only recently been established,
since when the king, the factor most influential in foreign politics,
had discouraged nationalist tendencies, lest the country’s internal
development might be compromised by friction with neighbouring states.
The Government exerted its influence against any active expression of
the national feeling, and the few ‘nationalists’ and the ‘League for
the cultural unity of all Rumanians’ had been, as a consequence, driven
to seek a justification for their existence in antisemitic agitation.

The above circumstances had little influence upon the situation in
Bucovina. This province forms an integral part of the Habsburg
monarchy, with which it was incorporated as early as 1775. The
political situation of the Rumanian principalities at the time, and the
absence of a national cultural movement, left the detached population
exposed to Germanization, and later to the Slav influence of the
rapidly expanding Ruthene element. That language and national
characteristics have, nevertheless, not been lost is due to the fact
that the Rumanian population of Bucovina is peasant almost to a man—a
class little amenable to changes of civilization.

This also applies largely to Bessarabia, which, first lost in 1812, was
incorporated with Rumania in 1856, and finally detached in 1878. The
few Rumanians belonging to the landed class were won over by the new
masters. But while the Rumanian population was denied any cultural and
literary activities of its own, the reactionary attitude of the Russian
Government towards education has enabled the Rumanian peasants to
preserve their customs and their language. At the same time their
resultant ignorance has kept them outside the sphere of intellectual
influence of the mother country.

The Rumanians who live in scattered colonies south of the Danube are
the descendants of those who took refuge in these regions during the
ninth and tenth centuries from the invasions of the Huns. Generally
known as Kutzo-Vlakhs, or, among themselves, as Aromuni, they are—as
even Weigand, who undoubtedly has Bulgarophil leanings, recognizes—the
most intelligent and best educated of the inhabitants of Macedonia. In
1905 the Rumanian Government secured from the Porte official
recognition of their separate cultural and religious organizations on a
national basis. Exposed as they are to Greek influence, it will be
difficult to prevent their final assimilation with that people. The
interest taken in them of late by the Rumanian Government arose out of
the necessity to secure them against pan-Hellenic propaganda, and to
preserve one of the factors entitling Rumania to participate in the
settlement of Balkan affairs.

I have sketched elsewhere the early history of the Rumanians of
Transylvania, the cradle of the Rumanian nation. As already mentioned,
part of the Rumanian nobility of Hungary went over to the Magyars, the
remainder migrating over the mountains. Debarred from the support of
the noble class, the Rumanian peasantry lost its state of autonomy,
which changed into one of serfdom to the soil upon which they toiled.
Desperate risings in 1324, 1437, 1514, 1600, and 1784 tended to case
the Hungarian oppression, which up to the nineteenth century strove
primarily after a political and religious hegemony. But the Magyars
having failed in 1848 in their attempt to free themselves from Austrian
domination (defeated with the assistance of a Russian army at Villagos,
1849), mainly on account of the fidelity of the other nationalities to
the Austrian Crown, they henceforth directed their efforts towards
strengthening their own position by forcible assimilation of those
nationalities. This they were able to do, however, only after
Königgrätz, when a weakened Austria had to give way to Hungarian
demands. In 1867 the Dual Monarchy was established, and Transylvania,
which up to then formed a separate duchy enjoying full political
rights, was incorporated with the new Hungarian kingdom. The Magyars
were handicapped in their imperialist ambitions by their numerical
inferiority. As the next best means to their end, therefore, they
resorted to political and national oppression, class despotism, and a
complete disregard of the principles of liberty and humanity.[1]
Hungarian was made compulsory in the administration, even in districts
where the bulk of the population did not understand that language. In
villages completely inhabited by Rumanians so-called ‘State’ schools
were founded, in which only Hungarian was to be spoken, and all
children upwards of three years of age had to attend them. The
electoral regulations were drawn up in such a manner that the Rumanians
of Transylvania, though ten times more numerous than the Magyars, sent
a far smaller number than do the latter to the National Assembly. To
quash all protest a special press law was introduced for Transylvania.
But the Rumanian journalists being usually acquitted by the juries a
new regulation prescribed that press offences should be tried only at
Kluj (Klausenburg)—the sole Transylvanian town with a predominating
Hungarian population—a measure which was in fundamental contradiction
to the principles of justice.[2] In 1892 the Rumanian grievances were
embodied in a memorandum which was to have been presented to the
emperor by a deputation. An audience was, however, refused, and at the
instance of the Hungarian Government the members of the deputation were
sentenced to long terms of imprisonment for having plotted against the
unity of the Magyar state.

[Footnote 1: The Rumanians inhabit mainly the province of Transylvania,
Banat, Crishiana, and Maramuresh. They represent 46.2 per cent. of the
total population of these provinces, the Magyars 32.5 per cent., the
Germans 11.5 per cent., and the Serbs 4.5 per cent. These figured are
taken from official Hungarian statistics, and it may therefore be
assumed that the Rumanian percentage represents a minimum.]

[Footnote 2: Over a period of 22 years (1886-1908) 850 journalists were
charged, 367 of whom were Rumanians; the sentences totalling 216 years
of imprisonment, the fines amounting to Fcs. 138,000.]

Notwithstanding these disabilities the Rumanians of Transylvania
enjoyed a long period of comparative social and economic liberty at a
time when Turkish and Phanariote domination was hampering all progress
in Rumania. Office under the Government growing increasingly difficult
to obtain, the Rumanians in Transylvania turned largely to commercial
and the open professions, and, as a result, a powerful middle class now
exists. In their clergy, both of the Orthodox and the Uniate
Church—which last, while conducting its ritual in the vernacular,
recognizes papal supremacy— the Rumanians have always found strong
moral support, while the national struggle tends to unite the various
classes. The Rumanians of Hungary form by far the sanest element in the
Rumanian nation. From the Rumanians within the kingdom they have
received little beside sympathy. The important part played by the
country at the Peace of Bucarest, and her detachment from
Austria-Hungary, must necessarily have stimulated the national
consciousness of the Transylvanians; while at the same time all hope
for betterment from within must have ceased at the death of Archduke
Francis Ferdinand, an avowed friend of the long-suffering
nationalities. It is, therefore, no mere matter of conjecture that the
passive attitude of the Rumanian Government at the beginning of the
present conflict must have been a bitter disappointment to them.

_(b) Rumania’s Attitude_

The tragic development of the crisis in the summer of 1914 threw
Rumania into a vortex of unexpected hopes and fears. Aspirations till
then considered little else than Utopian became tangible possibilities,
while, as suddenly, dangers deemed far off loomed large and near. Not
only was such a situation quite unforeseen, nor had any plan of action
been preconceived to meet it, but it was in Rumania’s case a situation
unique from the number of conflicting considerations and influences at
work within it. Still under the waning influence of the thirty years
quasi-alliance with Austria, Rumania was not yet acclimatized to her
new relations with Russia. Notwithstanding the inborn sympathy with and
admiration for France, the Rumanians could not be blind to Germany’s
military power. The enthusiasm that would have sided with France for
France’s sake was faced by the influence of German finance. Sympathy
with Serbia existed side by side with suspicion of Bulgaria. Popular
sentiment clashed with the views of the king; and the bright vision of
the ‘principle of nationality’ was darkened by the shadow of Russia as
despot of the Near East.

One fact in the situation stood out from the rest, namely, the
unexpected opportunity of redeeming that half of the Rumanian nation
which was still under foreign rule; the more so as one of the parties
in the conflict had given the ‘principle of nationality’ a prominent
place in its programme. But the fact that both Austria-Hungary and
Russia had a large Rumanian population among their subjects rendered a
purely national policy impossible, and Rumania could do nothing but
weigh which issue offered her the greater advantage.

Three ways lay open: complete neutrality, active participation on the
side of the Central Powers, or common cause with the Triple Entente.
Complete neutrality was advocated by a few who had the country’s
material security most at heart, and also, as a _pis aller_, by those
who realized that their opinion that Rumania should make common cause
with the Central Powers had no prospect of being acted upon.

That King Carol favoured the idea of a joint action with Germany is
likely enough, for such a policy was in keeping with his faith in the
power of the German Empire. Moreover, he undoubtedly viewed with
satisfaction the possibility of regaining Bessarabia, the loss of which
must have been bitterly felt by the victor of Plevna. Such a policy
would have met with the approval of many Rumanian statesmen, notably of
M. Sturdza, sometime leader of the Liberal party and Prime Minister; of
M. Carp, sometime leader of the Conservative party and Prime Minister;
of M. Maiorescu, ex-Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary, who presided
at the Bucarest Conference of 1913; of M. Marghiloman, till recently
leader of the Conservative party, to name only the more important. M.
Sturdza, the old statesman who had been one of King Carol’s chief
coadjutors in the making of modern Rumania, and who had severed for
many years his connexion with active politics, again took up his pen to
raise a word of warning. M. Carp, the political aristocrat who had
retired from public life a few years previously, and had professed a
lifelong contempt for the ‘Press and all its works’, himself started a
daily paper (_Moldova_) which, he intended should expound his views.
Well-known writers like M. Radu Rosetti wrote[1] espousing the cause
favoured by the king, though not for the king’s reasons: Carol had
faith in Germany, the Rumanians mistrusted Russia. They saw no
advantage in the dismemberment of Austria, the most powerful check to
Russia’s plans in the Near East. They dreaded the idea of seeing Russia
on the Bosphorus, as rendering illusory Rumania’s splendid position at
the mouth of the Danube. For not only is a cheap waterway absolutely
necessary for the bulky products forming the chief exports of Rumania;
but these very products, corn, petroleum, and timber, also form the
chief exports of Russia, who, by a stroke of the pen, may rule Rumania
out of competition, should she fail to appreciate the political
leadership of Petrograd. Paris and Rome were, no doubt, beloved
sisters; but Sofia, Moscow, and Budapest were next-door neighbours to
be reckoned with.

[Footnote 1: See R. Rosetti, _Russian Politics at Work in the Rumanian
Countries_, facts compiled from French official documents, Bucarest,
1914.]

Those who held views opposed to those, confident in the righteousness
of the Allies’ cause and in their final victory, advocated immediate
intervention, and to that end made the most of the two sentiments which
animated public opinion: interest in the fate of the Transylvanians,
and sympathy with France. They contended that though a purely national
policy was not possible, the difference between Transylvania and
Bessarabia in area and in number and quality of the population was such
that no hesitation was admissible. The possession of Transylvania was
assured if the Allies were successful; whereas Russia would soon
recover if defeated, and would regain Bessarabia by force of arms, or
have it once more presented to her by a Congress anxious to soothe her
‘sentiment de dignité blessée’. A Rumania enlarged in size and
population had a better chance of successfully withstanding any
eventual pressure from the north, and it was clear that any attempt
against her independence would be bound to develop into a European
question. Rumania could not forget what she owed to France; and if
circumstances had made the Transylvanian question one ‘à laquelle on
pense toujours et dont on ne parle jamais’, the greater was the duty,
now that a favourable opportunity had arisen, to help the brethren
across the mountains. It was also a duty to fight for right and
civilization, proclaimed M. Take Ionescu, the exponent of progressive
ideas in Rumanian politics; and he, together with the prominent
Conservative statesman, M. Filipescu, who loathes the idea of the
Rumanians being dominated by the inferior Magyars, are the leaders of
the interventionist movement. It was due to M. Filipescu’s activity,
especially, that M. Marghiloman was forced by his own party to resign
his position as leader on account of his Austrophil sentiments—an event
unparalleled in Rumanian politics.

These were the two main currents of opinion which met in conflict at
the Crown Council—a committee _ad hoc_ consisting of the Cabinet and
the leaders of the Opposition—summoned by the king early in August
1914, when Rumania’s neutrality was decided upon. The great influence
which the Crown can always wield under the Rumanian political system
was rendered the more potent in the present case by the fact that the
Premier, M. Bratianu, is above all a practical man, and the Liberal
Cabinet over which he presides one of the most colourless the country
ever had: a Cabinet weak to the point of being incapable of realizing
its own weakness and the imperative necessity at this fateful moment of
placing the helm in the hands of a national ministry. M. Bratianu
considered that Rumania was too exposed, and had suffered too much in
the past for the sake of other countries, to enter now upon such an
adventure without ample guarantees. There would always be time for her
to come in. This policy of opportunism he was able to justify by
powerful argument. The supply of war material for the Rumanian army had
been completely in the hands of German and Austrian arsenals, and
especially in those of Krupp. For obvious reasons Rumania could no
longer rely upon that source; indeed, Germany was actually detaining
contracts for war and sanitary material placed with her before the
outbreak of the war. There was the further consideration that, owing to
the nature of Rumania’s foreign policy in the past, no due attention
had been given to the defence of the Carpathians, nor to those branches
of the service dealing with mountain warfare. On the other hand, a
continuous line of fortifications running from Galatz to Focshani
formed, together with the lower reaches of the Danube, a strong barrier
against attack from the north. Rumania’s geographical position is such
that a successful offensive from Hungary could soon penetrate to the
capital, and by cutting the country in two could completely paralyse
its organization. Such arguments acquired a magnified importance in the
light of the failure of the negotiations with Bulgaria, and found many
a willing ear in a country governed by a heavily involved landed class,
and depending almost exclusively in its banking organization upon
German and Austrian capital.

From the point of view of practical politics only the issue of the
conflict will determine the wisdom or otherwise of Rumania’s attitude.
But, though it is perhaps out of place to enlarge upon it here, it is
impossible not to speak of the moral aspect of the course adopted. By
giving heed to the unspoken appeal from Transylvania the Rumanian
national spirit would have been quickened, and the people braced to a
wholesome sacrifice. Many were the wistful glances cast towards the
Carpathians by the subject Rumanians, as they were being led away to
fight for their oppressors; but, wilfully unmindful, the leaders of the
Rumanian state buried their noses in their ledgers, oblivious of the
fact that in these times of internationalism a will in common, with
aspirations in common, is the very life-blood of nationality. That
sentiment ought not to enter into politics is an argument untenable in
a country which has yet to see its national aspirations fulfilled, and
which makes of these aspirations definite claims. No Rumanian statesman
can contend that possession of Transylvania is necessary to the
existence of the Rumanian state. What they can maintain is that
deliverance from Magyar oppression is vital to the existence of the
Transylvanians. The right to advance such a claim grows out of their
very duty of watching over the safety of the subject Rumanians. ‘When
there are squabbles in the household of my brother-in-law,’ said the
late Ioan Bratianu when speaking on the Transylvanian question, ‘it is
no affair of mine; but when he raises a knife against his wife, it is
not merely my right to intervene, it is my duty.’ It is difficult to
account for the obliquity of vision shown by so many Rumanian
politicians. ‘The whole policy of such a state [having a large
compatriot population living in close proximity under foreign
domination] must be primarily influenced by anxiety as to the fate of
their brothers, and by the duty of emancipating them,’ affirms one of
the most ardent of Rumanian nationalist orators; and he goes on to
assure us that ‘if Rumania waits, it is not from hesitation as to her
duty, but simply in order that she may discharge it more
completely’.[1] Meantime, while Rumania waits, regiments composed
almost completely of Transylvanians have been repeatedly and of set
purpose placed in the forefront of the battle, and as often
annihilated. Such could never be the simple-hearted Rumanian peasant’s
conception of his duty, and here, as in so many other cases in the
present conflict, the nation at large must not be judged by the policy
of the few who hold the reins.

[Footnote 1: _Quarterly Review_, London, April, 1915, pp. 449-50.]

Rumania’s claims to Transylvania are not of an historical nature. They
are founded upon the numerical superiority of the subject Rumanians in
Transylvania, that is upon the ‘principle of nationality’, and are
morally strengthened by the treatment the Transylvanians suffer at the
hands of the Magyars. By its passivity, however, the Rumanian
Government has sacrificed the prime factor of the ‘principle of
nationality’ to the attainment of an object in itself subordinate to
that factor; that is, it has sacrificed the ‘people’ in order to make
more sure of the ‘land’. In this way the Rumanian Government has
entered upon a policy of acquisition; a policy which Rumania is too
weak to pursue save under the patronage of one or a group of great
powers; a policy unfortunate inasmuch as it will deprive her of freedom
of action in her external politics. Her policy will, in its
consequences, certainly react to the detriment of the position acquired
by the country two years ago, when independent action made her arbiter
not only among the smaller Balkan States, but also among those and her
late suzerain, Turkey.

Such, indeed, must inevitably be the fate of Balkan politics in
general. Passing from Turkish domination to nominal Turkish suzerainty,
and thence to independence within the sphere of influence of a power or
group of powers, this gradual emancipation of the states of
south-eastern Europe found its highest expression in the Balkan League.
The war against Turkey was in effect a rebellion against the political
tutelage of the powers. But this emancipation was short-lived. By their
greed the Balkan States again opened up a way to the intrusion of
foreign diplomacy, and even, as we now see, of foreign troops. The
first Balkan war marked the zenith of Balkan political emancipation;
the second Balkan war was the first act in the tragic _débâcle_ out of
which the present situation developed. The interval between August 1913
(Peace of Bucarest) and August 1914 was merely an armistice during
which Bulgaria and Turkey recovered their breath, and German and
Austrian diplomacy had time to find a pretext for war on its own
account.

‘Exhausted but not vanquished we have had to furl our glorious
standards in order to await better days,’ said Ferdinand of Bulgaria to
his soldiers after the conclusion of the Peace of Bucarest; and
Budapest, Vienna, and Berlin have no doubt done their best to keep this
spirit of revenge alive and to prevent a renascence of the Balkan
Alliance. They have succeeded. They have done more: they have succeeded
in causing the ‘principle of nationality’—that idea which involves the
disruption of Austria—to be stifled by the very people whom it was
meant to save. For whilst the German peoples are united in this
conflict, the majority of the southern Slavs, in fighting the German
battles, are fighting to perpetuate the political servitude of the
subject races of Austria-Hungary.

However suspicious Rumania may be of Russia, however bitter the
quarrels between Bulgars, Greeks, and Serbs, it is not, nor can it ever
be natural, that peoples who have groaned under Turkish despotism for
centuries should, after only one year of complete liberation, join
hands with an old and dreaded enemy not only against their fellow
sufferers, but even against those who came ‘to die that they may live’.
These are the Dead Sea fruits of dynastic policy. Called to the thrones
of the small states of the Near East for the purpose of creating order
and peace, the German dynasties have overstepped their function and
abused the power entrusted to them. As long as, in normal times,
political activities were confined to the diplomatic arena there was no
peril of rousing the masses out of their ignorant indolence; but, when
times are abnormal, it is a different and a dangerous thing to march
these peoples against their most intimate feelings. When, as the
outcome of the present false situation, sooner or later the dynastic
power breaks, it will then be for the powers who are now fighting for
better principles not to impose their own views upon the peoples, or to
place their own princes upon the vacant thrones. Rather must they see
that the small nations of the Near East are given a chance to develop
in peace and according to their proper ideals; that they be not again
subjected to the disintegrating influence of European diplomacy; and
that, above all, to the nations in common, irrespective of their
present attitude, there should be a just application of the ‘principle
of nationality’.



TURKEY


Turkey is no better name for the Osmanli dominion or any part of it
than Normandy would be for Great Britain. It is a mediaeval error of
nomenclature sanctioned by long usage in foreign mouths, but without
any equivalent in the vernacular of the Osmanlis themselves. The real
‘Turkey’ is Turkestan, and the real Turks are the Turcomans. The
Osmanlis are the least typical Turks surviving. Only a very small
proportion of them have any strain of Turkish blood, and this is
diluted till it is rarely perceptible in their physiognomy: and if
environment rather than blood is to be held responsible for racial
features, it can only be said that the territory occupied by the
Osmanlis is as unlike the homeland of the true Turks as it can well be,
and is quite unsuited to typically Turkish life and manners.

While of course it would be absurd to propose at this time of day any
change in the terms by which the civilized world unanimously designates
the Osmanlis and their dominion, it is well to insist on their
incorrectness, because, like most erroneous names, they have bred
erroneous beliefs. Thanks in the main to them, the Ottoman power is
supposed to have originated in an overwhelming invasion of Asia Minor
by immense numbers of Central Asiatic migrants, who, intent, like the
early Arab armies, on offering to Asia first and Europe second the
choice of apostasy or death, absorbed or annihilated almost all the
previous populations, and swept forward into the Balkans as
single-minded apostles of Islam. If the composition and the aims of the
Osmanlis had been these, it would pass all understanding how they
contrived, within a century of their appearance on the western scene,
to establish in North-west Asia and South-east Europe the most
civilized and best-ordered state of their time. Who, then, are the
Osmanlis in reality? What have they to do with true Turks? and in
virtue of what innate qualities did they found and consolidate their
power?



1
_Origin of the Osmanlis_


We hear of Turks first from Chinese sources. They were then the
inhabitants, strong and predatory, of the Altai plains and valleys: but
later on, about the sixth century A.D., they are found firmly
established in what is still called Turkestan, and pushing westwards
towards the Caspian Sea. Somewhat more than another century passes,
and, reached by a missionary faith of West Asia, they come out of the
Far Eastern darkness into a dim light of western history. One Boja,
lord of Kashgar and Khan of what the Chinese knew as the people of
Thu-Kiu—probably the same name as ‘Turk’—embraced Islam and forced it
on his Mazdeist subjects; but other Turkish tribes, notably the
powerful Uighurs, remained intolerant of the new dispensation, and
expelled the Thu-Kiu _en masse_ from their holding in Turkestan into
Persia. Here they distributed themselves in detached hordes over the
north and centre. At this day, in some parts of Persia, e.g.
Azerbaijan, Turks make the bulk of the population besides supplying the
reigning dynasty of the whole kingdom. For the Shahs of the Kajar house
are not Iranian, but purely Turkish.

This, it should be observed, was the western limit of Turkish expansion
in the mass. Azerbaijan is the nearest region to us in which Turki
blood predominates, and the westernmost province of the true Turk
homeland. All Turks who have passed thence into Hither Asia have come
in comparatively small detachments, as minorities to alien majorities.
They have invaded as groups of nomads seeking vacant pasturage, or as
bands of military adventurers who, first offering their swords to
princes of the elder peoples, have subsequently, on several occasions
and in several localities, imposed themselves on their former masters.
To the first category belong all those Turcoman, Avshar, Yuruk, and
other Turki tribes, which filtered over the Euphrates into unoccupied
or sparsely inhabited parts of Syria and Asia Minor from the seventh
century onwards, and survive to this day in isolated patches,
distinguished from the mass of the local populations, partly by an
ineradicable instinct for nomadic life, partly by retention of the
pre-Islamic beliefs and practices of the first immigrants. In the
second category—military adventurers—fall, for example, the Turkish
praetorians who made and unmade not less than four caliphs at Bagdad in
the ninth century, and that bold _condottiere_, Ahmed ibn Tulun, who
captured a throne at Cairo. Even Christian emperors availed themselves
of these stout fighters. Theophilus of Constantinople anticipated the
Ottoman invasion of Europe by some five hundred years when he
established Vardariote Turks in Macedonia.

The most important members of the second category, however, were the
Seljuks. Like the earlier Thu-Kiu, they were pushed out of Turkestan
late in the tenth century to found a power in Persia. Here, in
Khorasan, the mass of the horde settled and remained: and it was only a
comparatively small section which went on westward as military
adventurers to fall upon Bagdad, Syria, Egypt, and Asia Minor. This
first conquest was little better than a raid, so brief was the
resultant tenure; but a century later two dispossessed nephews of Melek
Shah of Persia set out on a military adventure which had more lasting
consequences. Penetrating with, a small following into Asia Minor, they
seized Konia, and instituted there a kingdom nominally feudatory to the
Grand Seljuk of Persia, but in reality independent and destined to last
about two centuries. Though numerically weak, their forces, recruited
from the professional soldier class which had bolstered up the Abbasid
Empire and formed the Seljukian kingdoms of Persia and Syria, were
superior to any Byzantine troops that could be arrayed in southern or
central Asia Minor. They constituted indeed the only compact body of
fighting men seen in these regions for some generations. It found
reinforcement from the scattered Turki groups introduced already, as we
have seen, into the country; and even from native Christians, who,
descended from the Iconoclasts of two centuries before, found the rule
of Moslem image-haters more congenial, as it was certainly more
effective, than that of Byzantine emperors. The creed of the Seljuks
was Islam of an Iranian type. Of Incarnationist colour, it repudiated
the dour illiberal spirit of the early Arabian apostles which
latter-day Sunnite orthodoxy has revived. Accordingly its professors,
backed by an effective force and offering security and privilege,
quickly won over the aborigines—Lycaonians, Phrygians, Cappadocians,
and Cilicians—and welded them into a nation, leaving only a few
detached communities here and there to cherish allegiance to Byzantine
Christianity. In the event, the population of quite two-thirds of the
Anatolian peninsula had already identified itself with a ruling Turki
caste before, early in the thirteenth century, fresh Turks appeared on
the scene—those Turks who were to found the Ottoman Empire.

They entered Asia Minor much as the earlier Turcomans had entered it—a
small body of nomadic adventurers, thrown off by the larger body of
Turks settled in Persia to seek new pastures west of the Euphrates.
There are divers legends about the first appearance and establishment
of these particular Turks: but all agree that they were of
inconsiderable number— not above four hundred families at most.
Drifting in by way of Armenia, they pressed gradually westward from
Erzerum in hope of finding some unoccupied country which would prove
both element and fertile. Byzantine influence was then at a very low
ebb. With Constantinople itself in Latin hands, the Greek writ ran only
along the north Anatolian coast, ruled from two separate centres, Isnik
(Nicaea) and Trebizond: and the Seljuk kingdom was run in reality much
more vigorous. Though apparently without a rival, it was subsisting by
consent, on the prestige of its past, rather than on actual power. The
moment of its dissolution was approaching, and the Anatolian peninsula,
two-thirds Islamized, but ill-organised and very loosely knit, was
becoming once more a fair field for any adventurer able to command a
small compact force.

The newly come Turks were invited finally to settle on the extreme
north-western fringe of the Seljuk territory—in a region so near Nicaea
that their sword would be a better title to it than any which the
feudal authority of Konia could confer. In fact it was a debatable
land, an angle pushed up between the lake plain of Nicaea on the one
hand and the plain of Brusa on the other, and divided from each by not
lofty heights, Yenishehr, its chief town, which became the Osmanli
chief Ertogrul’s residence, lies, as the crow flies, a good deal less
than fifty miles from the Sea of Marmora, and not a hundred miles from
Constantinople itself. Here Ertogrul was to be a Warden of the Marches,
to hold his territory for the Seljuk and extend it for himself at the
expense of Nicaea if he could. If he won through, so much the better
for Sultan Alaeddin; if he failed, _vile damnum!_

Hardly were his tribesmen settled, however, among the Bithynians and
Greeks of Yenishehr, before the Seljuk collapse became a fact. The
Tartar storm, ridden by Jenghis Khan, which had overwhelmed Central
Asia, spent its last force on the kingdom of Konia, and, withdrawing,
left the Seljuks bankrupt of force and prestige and Anatolia without an
overlord. The feudatories were free everywhere to make or mar
themselves, and they spent the last half of the thirteenth century in
fighting for whatever might be saved from the Seljuk wreck before it
foundered for ever about 1300 A.D. In the south, the centre, and the
east of the peninsula, where Islam had long rooted itself as the
popular social system, various Turki emirates established themselves on
a purely Moslem basis—certain of these, like the Danishmand emirate of
Cappadocia, being restorations of tribal jurisdictions which had
existed before the imposition of Seljuk overlordship.

In the extreme north-west, however, where the mass of society was still
Christian and held itself Greek, no Turkish, potentate could either
revive a pre-Seljukian status or simply carry on a Seljukian system in
miniature. If he was to preserve independence at all, he must rely on a
society which was not yet Moslem and form a coalition with the
‘Greeks’, into whom the recent recovery of Constantinople from the
Latins had put fresh heart. Osman, who had succeeded Ertogrul in 1288,
recognized where his only possible chance of continued dominion and
future aggrandizement lay. He turned to the Greeks, as an element of
vitality and numerical strength to be absorbed into his nascent state,
and applied himself unremittingly to winning over and identifying with
himself the Greek feudal seigneurs in his territory or about its
frontiers. Some of these, like Michael, lord of Harmankaya, readily
enough stood in with the vigorous Turk and became Moslems. Others, as
the new state gained momentum, found themselves obliged to accept it or
be crushed. There are to this day Greek communities in the Brusa
district jealously guarding privileges which date from compacts made
with their seigneurs by Osman and his son Orkhan.

It was not till the Seljuk kingdom was finally extinguished, in or
about 1300 A.D. that Osman assumed at Yenishehr the style and title of
a sultan. Acknowledged from Afium Kara Hissar, in northern Phrygia, to
the Bithynian coast of the Marmora, beside whose waters his standards
had already been displayed, he lived on to see Brusa fall to his son
Orkhan, in 1326, and become the new capital. Though Nicaea still held
out, Osman died virtual lord of the Asiatic Greeks; and marrying his
son to a Christian girl, the famous Nilufer, after whom the river of
Brusa is still named, he laid on Christian foundations the strength of
his dynasty and his state. The first regiment of professional Ottoman
soldiery was recruited by him and embodied later by Orkhan, his son,
from Greek and other Christian-born youths, who, forced to apostatize,
were educated as Imperial slaves in imitation of the Mamelukes,
constituted more than a century earlier in Egypt, and now masters where
they had been bondmen. It is not indeed for nothing that Osman’s latest
successor, and all who hold by him, distinguish themselves from other
peoples by his name. They are Osmanlis (or by a European use of the
more correct form Othman, ‘Ottomans’), because they derived their being
as a nation and derive their national strength, not so much from
central Asia as from the blend of Turk and Greek which Osman promoted
among his people. This Greek strain has often been reinforced since his
day and mingled with other Caucasian strains.

It was left to Orkhan to round off this Turco-Grecian realm in
Byzantine Asia by the capture first of Ismid (Nicomedia) and then of
Isnik (Nicaea); and with this last acquisition the nucleus of a
self-sufficient sovereign state was complete. After the peaceful
absorption of the emirate of Karasi, which added west central Asia
Minor almost as far south as the Hermus, the Osmanli ruled in 1338 a
dominion of greater area than that of the Greek emperor, whose capital
and coasts now looked across to Ottoman shores all the way from the
Bosphorus to the Hellespont.



2
_Expansion of the Osmanli Kingdom_


If the new state was to expand by conquest, its line of advance was
already foreshadowed. For the present, it could hardly break back into
Asia Minor, occupied as this was by Moslem principalities sanctioned by
the same tradition as itself, namely, the prestige of the Seljuks. To
attack these would be to sin against Islam. But in front lay a rich but
weak Christian state, the centre of the civilization to which the
popular element in the Osmanli society belonged. As inevitably as the
state of Nicaea had desired, won, and transferred itself to,
Constantinople, so did the Osmanli state of Brusa yearn towards the
same goal; and it needed no invitation from a Greek to dispose an
Ottoman sultan to push over to the European shore.

Such an invitation, however, did in fact precede the first Osmanli
crossing in force. In 1345 John Cantacuzene solicited help of Orkhan
against the menace of Dushan, the Serb. Twelve years later came a
second invitation. Orkhan’s son, Suleiman, this time ferried a large
army over the Hellespont, and, by taking and holding Gallipoli and
Rodosto, secured a passage from continent to continent, which the
Ottomans would never again let go.

Such invitations, though they neither prompted the extension of the
Osmanli realm into Europe nor sensibly precipitated it, did
nevertheless divert the course of the Ottoman arms and reprieve the
Greek empire till Timur and his Tartars could come on the scene and,
all unconsciously, secure it a further respite. But for these
diversions there is little doubt Constantinople would have passed into
Ottoman hands nearly a century earlier than the historic date of its
fall. The Osmanli armies, thus led aside to make the Serbs and not the
Greeks of Europe their first objective, became involved at once in a
tangle of Balkan affairs from which they only extricated themselves
after forty years of incessant fighting in almost every part of the
peninsula except the domain of the Greek emperor. This warfare, which
in no way advanced the proper aims of the lords of Brusa and Nicaea,
not only profited the Greek emperor by relieving him of concern about
his land frontier but also used up strength which might have made head
against the Tartars. Constantinople then, as now, was detached from the
Balkans. The Osmanlis, had they possessed themselves of it, might well
have let the latter be for a long time to come. Instead, they had to
battle, with the help now of one section of the Balkan peoples, now of
another, till forced to make an end of all their feuds and treacheries
by annexations after the victories of Kosovo in 1389 and Nikopolis in
1396.

Nor was this all. They became involved also with certain peoples of the
main continent of Europe, whose interests or sympathies had been
affected by those long and sanguinary Balkan wars. There was already
bad blood and to spare between the Osmanlis on the one hand, and
Hungarians, Poles, and Italian Venetians on the other, long before any
second opportunity to attack Constantinople occurred: and the Osmanlis
were in for that age-long struggle to secure a ‘scientific frontier’
beyond the Danube, whence the Adriatic on the one flank and the Euxine
on the other could be commanded, which was to make Ottoman history down
to the eighteenth century and spell ruin in the end.

It is a vulgar error to suppose that the Osmanlis set out for Europe,
in the spirit of Arab apostles, to force their creed and dominion on
all the world. Both in Asia and Europe, from first to last, their
expeditions and conquests have been inspired palpably by motives
similar to those active among the Christian powers, namely, desire for
political security and the command of commercial areas. Such wars as
the Ottoman sultans, once they were established at Constantinople, did
wage again and again with knightly orders or with Italian republics
would have been undertaken, and fought with the same persistence, by
any Greek emperor who felt himself strong enough. Even the Asiatic
campaigns, which Selim I and some of his successors, down to the end of
the seventeenth century, would undertake, were planned and carried out
from similar motives. Their object was to secure the eastern basin of
the Mediterranean by the establishment of some strong frontier against
Iran, out of which had come more than once forces threatening the
destruction of Ottoman power. It does not, of course, in any respect
disprove their purpose that, in the event, this object was never
attained, and that an unsatisfactory Turco-Persian border still
illustrates at this day the failures of Selim I and Mohammed IV.

By the opening of the fifteenth century, when, all unlooked for, a most
terrible Tartar storm was about to break upon western Asia, the Osmanli
realm had grown considerably, not only in Europe by conquest, but also
in Asia by the peaceful effect of marriages and heritages. Indeed it
now comprised scarcely less of the Anatolian peninsula than the last
Seljuks had held, that is to say, the whole of the north as far as the
Halys river beyond Angora, the central plateau to beyond Konia, and all
the western coast-lands. The only emirs not tributary were those of
Karamania, Cappadocia, and Pontus, that is of the southern and eastern
fringes; and one detached fragment of Greek power survived in the
last-named country, the kingdom of Trebizond. As for Europe, it had
become the main scene of Osmanli operations, and now contained the
administrative capital, Adrianople, though Brusu kept a sentimental
primacy. Sultan Murad, who some years after his succession in 1359 had
definitely transferred the centre of political gravity to Thrace, was
nevertheless carried to the Bithynian capital for burial, Bulgaria,
Serbia, and districts of both Bosnia and Macedonia were now integral
parts of an empire which had come to number at least as many Christian
as Moslem subjects, and to depend as much on the first as on the last.
Not only had the professional Osmanli soldiery, the Janissaries,
continued to be recruited from the children of native Christian races,
but contingents of adult native warriors, who still professed
Christianity, had been invited or had offered themselves to fight
Osmanli battles—even those waged against men of the True Faith in Asia.
A considerable body of Christian Serbs had stood up in Murad’s line at
the battle of Konia in 1381, before the treachery of another body of
the same race gave him the victory eight years later at Kosovo. So
little did the Osmanli state model itself on the earlier caliphial
empires and so naturally did it lean towards the Roman or Byzantine
imperial type.

And just because it had come to be in Europe and of Europe, it was able
to survive the terrible disaster of Angora in 1402. Though the Osmanli
army was annihilated by Timur, and an Osmanli sultan, for the first and
last time in history, remained in the hands of the foe, the
administrative machinery of the Osmanli state was not paralysed. A new
ruler was proclaimed at Adrianople, and the European part of the realm
held firm. The moment that the Tartars began to give ground, the
Osmanlis began to recover it. In less than twenty years they stood
again in Asia as they were before Timur’s attack, and secure for the
time on the east, could return to restore their prestige in the west,
where the Tartar victory had bred unrest and brought both the
Hungarians and the Venetians on the Balkan scene. Their success was
once more rapid and astonishing: Salonika passed once and for all into
Ottoman hands: the Frank seigneurs and the despots of Greece were alike
humbled; and although Murad II failed to crush the Albanian,
Skanderbey, he worsted his most dangerous foe, John Hunyadi, with the
help of Wallach treachery at the second battle of Kosovo. At his death,
three years later, he left the Balkans quiet and the field clear for
his successor to proceed with the long deferred but inevitable
enterprise of attacking all that was left of Greek empire, the district
and city of Constantinople.

The doom of New Rome was fulfilled within two years. In the end it
passed easily enough into the hands of those who already had been in
possession of its proper empire for a century or more. Historians have
made more of this fall of Constantinople in 1453 than contemporary
opinion seems to have made of it. No prince in Europe was moved to any
action by its peril, except, very half-heartedly, the Doge. Venice
could not feel quite indifferent to the prospect of the main part of
that empire, which, while in Greek hands, had been her most serious
commercial competitor, passing into the stronger hands of the Osmanlis.
Once in Constantinople, the latter, long a land power only, would be
bound to concern themselves with the sea also. The Venetians made no
effort worthy of their apprehensions, though these were indeed
exceedingly well founded; for, as all the world knows, to the sea the
Osmanlis did at once betake themselves. In less than thirty years they
were ranging all the eastern Mediterranean and laying siege to Rhodes,
the stronghold of one of their most dangerous competitors, the Knights
Hospitallers.

In this consequence consists the chief historic importance of the
Osmanli capture of Constantinople. For no other reason can it he called
an epoch-marking event. If it guaranteed the Empire of the East against
passing into any western hands, for example, those of Venice or Genoa,
it did not affect the balance of power between Christendom and Islam;
for the strength of the former had long ceased to reside at all in
Constantinople. The last Greek emperor died a martyr, but not a
champion.



3
_Heritage and Expansion of Byzantine Empire_


On the morrow of his victory, Mohammed the Conqueror took pains to make
it clear that his introduction of a new heaven did not entail a new
earth. As little as might be would be changed. He had displaced a
Palaeologus by an Osmanli only in order that an empire long in fact
Osmanli should henceforth be so also _de jure_. Therefore he confirmed
the pre-existing Oecumenical patriarch in his functions and the
Byzantine Greeks in their privileges, renewed the rights secured to
Christian foreigners by the Greek emperors, and proclaimed that, for
his accession to the throne, there should not be made a Moslem the more
or a Christian the less. Moreover, during the thirty years left to him
of life, Mohammed devoted himself to precisely those tasks which would
have fallen to a Greek emperor desirous of restoring Byzantine power.
He thrust back Latins wherever they were encroaching on the Greek
sphere, as were the Venetians of the Morea, the Hospitallers of Rhodes,
and the Genoese of the Crimea: and he rounded off the proper Byzantine
holding by annexing, in Europe, all the Balkan peninsula except the
impracticable Black Mountain, the Albanian highlands, and the Hungarian
fortress of Belgrade; and, in Asia, what had remained independent in
the Anatolian peninsula, the emirates of Karamania and Cappadocia.

Before Mohammed died in 1481 the Osmanli Turco-Grecian nation may be
said to have come into its own. It was lord _de facto et de jure belli_
of the eastern or Greek Empire, that is of all territories and seas
grouped geographically round Constantinople as a centre, with only a
few exceptions unredeemed, of which the most notable were the islands
of Cyprus, Rhodes, and Krete, still in Latin hands. Needless to say,
the Osmanlis themselves differed greatly from their imperial
predecessors. Their official speech, their official creed, their family
system were all foreign to Europe, and many of their ideas of
government had been learned in the past from Persia and China, or were
derived from the original tribal organization of the true Turks. But if
they were neither more nor less Asiatics than the contemporary
Russians, they were quite as much Europeans as many of the Greek
emperors had been—those of the Isaurian dynasty, for instance. They had
given no evidence as yet of a fanatical Moslem spirit—this was to be
bred in them by subsequent experiences—and their official creed had
governed their policy hardly more than does ours in India or Egypt.
Mohammed the Conqueror had not only shown marked favour to Christians,
whether his _rayas_ or not, but encouraged letters and the arts in a
very un-Arabian spirit. Did he not have himself portrayed by Gentile
Bellini? The higher offices of state, both civil and military, were
confided (and would continue so to be for a century to come) almost
exclusively to men of Christian origin. Commerce was encouraged, and
western traders recognized that their facilities were greater now than
they had been under Greek rule. The Venetians, for example, enjoyed in
perfect liberty a virtual monopoly of the Aegean and Euxine trade. The
social condition of the peasantry seems to have been better than it had
been under Greek seigneurs, whether in Europe or in Asia, and better
than it was at the moment in feudal Christendom. The Osmanli military
organization was reputed the best in the world, and its fame attracted
adventurous spirits from all over Europe to learn war in the first
school of the age. Ottoman armies, it is worth while to remember, were
the only ones then attended by efficient medical and commissariat
services, and may be said to have introduced to Europe these
alleviations of the horrors of war.

Had the immediate successors of Mohammed been content—or, rather, had
they been able—to remain within his boundaries, they would have robbed
Ottoman history of one century of sinister brilliance, but might have
postponed for many centuries the subsequent sordid decay; for the seeds
of this were undoubtedly sown by the three great sultans who followed
the taker of Constantinople. Their ambitions or their necessities led
to a great increase of the professional army which would entail many
evils in time to come. Among these were praetorianism in the capital
and the great provincial towns; subjection of land and peasantry to
military seigneurs, who gradually detached themselves from the central
control; wars undertaken abroad for no better reason than the
employment of soldiery feared at home; consequent expansion of the
territorial empire beyond the administrative capacity of the central
government; development of the ‘tribute-children’ system of recruiting
into a scourge of the _rayas_ and a continual offence to neighbouring
states, and the supplementing of that system by acceptance of any and
every alien outlaw who might offer himself for service: lastly, revival
of the dormant crusading spirit of Europe, which reacted on the
Osmanlis, begetting in them an Arabian fanaticism and disposing them to
revert to the obscurantist spirit of the earliest Moslems. To sum the
matter up in other words: the omnipotence and indiscipline of the
Janissaries; the contumacy of ‘Dere Beys’ (‘Lords of the Valleys,’ who
maintained a feudal independence) and of provincial governors; the
concentration of the official mind on things military and religious, to
the exclusion of other interests; the degradation and embitterment of
the Christian elements in the empire; the perpetual financial
embarrassment of the government with its inevitable consequence of
oppression and neglect of the governed; and the constant provocation in
Christendom of a hostility which was always latent and recurrently
active— all these evils, which combined to push the empire nearer and
nearer to ruin from the seventeenth century onwards, can be traced to
the brilliant epoch of Osmanli history associated with the names of
Bayezid II, Selim I, and Suleiman the Magnificent.

At the same time Fate, rather than any sultan, must be blamed. It was
impossible to forgo some further extension of the empire, and very
difficult to arrest extension at any satisfactory static point. For one
thing, as has been pointed out already, there were important
territories in the proper Byzantine sphere still unredeemed at the
death of Mohammed. Rhodes, Krete, and Cyprus, whose possession carried
with it something like superior control of the Levantine trade, were in
Latin hands. Austrian as well as Venetian occupation of the best
harbours was virtually closing the Adriatic to the masters of the
Balkans. Nor could the inner lands of the Peninsula be quite securely
held while the great fortress of Belgrade, with the passage of the
Danube, remained in Hungarian keeping, Furthermore, the Black Sea,
which all masters of the Bosphorus have desired to make a Byzantine
lake, was in dispute with the Wallachs and the Poles; and, in the reign
of Mohammed’s successor, a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand came up
above its northern horizon—the harbinger of the Muscovite.

As for the Asiatic part of the Byzantine sphere, there was only one
little corner in the south-east to be rounded off to bring all the
Anatolian peninsula under the Osmanli. But that corner, the Cilician
plain, promised trouble, since it was held by another Islamic power,
that of the Egyptian Mamelukes, which, claiming to be at least equal to
the Osmanli, possessed vitality much below its pretensions. The
temptation to poach on it was strong, and any lord of Constantinople
who once gave way to this, would find himself led on to assume control
of all coasts of the easternmost Levant, and then to push into inland
Asia in quest of a scientific frontier at their back—perilous and
costly enterprise which Rome had essayed again and again and had to
renounce in the end. Bayezid II took the first step by summoning the
Mameluke to evacuate certain forts near Tarsus, and expelling his
garrisons _vi et armis_. Cilicia passed to the Osmanli; but for the
moment he pushed no farther. Bayezid, who was under the obligation
always to lead his army in person, could make but one campaign at a
time; and a need in Europe was the more pressing. In quitting Cilicia,
however, he left open a new question in Ottoman politics—the Asiatic
continental question—and indicated to his successor a line of least
resistance on which to advance. Nor would this be his only dangerous
legacy. The prolonged and repeated raids into Adriatic lands, as far
north as Carniola and Carinthia, with which the rest of Bayezid’s reign
was occupied, brought Ottoman militarism at last to a point, whose
eventual attainment might have been foreseen any time in the past
century— the point at which, strong in the possession of a new arm,
artillery, it would assume control of the state.

Bayezid’s seed was harvested by Selim. First in a long series of
praetorian creatures which would end only with the destroyer of the
praetorians themselves three centuries later, he owed his elevation to
a Janissary revolt, and all the eight bloody years of his reign were to
be punctuated by Janissary tumults. To keep his creators in any sort of
order and contentment he had no choice but to make war from his first
year to his last. When he died, in 1520, the Ottoman Empire had been
swelled to almost as wide limits in Asia and Africa as it has ever
attained since his day. Syria, Armenia, great part of Kurdistan,
northern Mesopotamia, part of Arabia, and last, but not least, Egypt,
were forced to acknowledge Osmanli suzerainty, and for the first time
an Osmanli sultan had proclaimed himself caliph. True that neither by
his birth nor by the manner of his appointment did Selim satisfy the
orthodox caliphial tradition; but, besides his acquisition of certain
venerated relics of the Prophet, such as the _Sanjak i-sherif_ or holy
standard, and besides a yet more important acquisition—the control of
the holy cities of the faith— he could base a claim on the unquestioned
fact that the office was vacant, and the equally certain fact that he
was the most powerful Moslem prince in the world. Purists might deny
him if they dared: the vulgar Sunni mind was impressed and disposed to
accept. The main importance, however, of Selim’s assumption of the
caliphate was that it consecrated Osmanli militarism to a religious
end—to the original programme of Islam. This was a new thing, fraught
with dire possibilities from that day forward. It marked the
supersession of the Byzantine or European ideal by the Asiatic in
Osmanli policy, and introduced a phase of Ottoman history which has
endured to our own time.

The inevitable process was continued in the next reign. Almost all the
military glories of Suleiman—known to contemporary Europe as ‘the
Magnificent’ and often held by historians the greatest of Osmanli
sultans— made for weakening, not strengthening, the empire. His
earliest operations indeed, the captures of Rhodes from the Knights and
of Belgrade and Šabac from the Hungarians, expressed a legitimate
Byzantine policy; and the siege of Malta, one of his latest ventures,
might also be defended as a measure taken in the true interests of
Byzantine commerce. But the most brilliant and momentous of his
achievements bred evils for which military prestige and the material
profits to be gained from the oppression of an irreconcilable
population were inadequate compensation. This was the conquest of
Hungary. It would result in Buda and its kingdom remaining Ottoman
territory for a century and a half, and in the principalities of
Wallachia and Moldavia abiding under the Ottoman shadow even longer,
and passing for all time out of the central European into the Balkan
sphere; but also it would result in the Osmanli power finding itself on
a weak frontier face to face at last with a really strong Christian
race, the Germanic, before which, since it could not advance, it would
have ultimately to withdraw; and in the rousing of Europe to a sense of
its common danger from Moslem activity. Suleiman’s failure to take
Vienna more than made good the panic which had followed on his victory
at Mohacs. It was felt that the Moslem, now that he had failed against
the bulwark of central Europe, was to go no farther, and that the hour
of revenge was near.

[Illustration: The Ottoman Empire (Except the Arabian and African
provinces)]

It was nearer than perhaps was expected. Ottoman capacity to administer
the overgrown empire in Europe and Asia was strained already almost to
breaking-point, and it was in recognition of this fact that Suleiman
made the great effort to reorganize his imperial system, which has
earned him his honourable title of _El Kanun_, the Regulator. But if he
could reset and cleanse the wheels of the administrative machine, he
could not increase its capacity. New blood was beginning to fail for
the governing class just as the demands on it became greater. No longer
could it be manned exclusively from the Christian born. Two centuries
of recruiting in the Balkans and West Asia had sapped their resources.
Even the Janissaries were not now all ‘tribute-children’. Their own
sons, free men Moslem born, began to be admitted to the ranks. This
change was a vital infringement of the old principle of Osmanli rule,
that all the higher administrative and military functions should be
vested in slaves of the imperial household, directly dependent on the
sultan himself; and once breached, this principle could not but give
way more and more. The descendants of imperial slaves, free-born
Moslems, but barred from the glory and profits of their fathers’
function, had gradually become a very numerous class of country
gentlemen distributed over all parts of the empire, and a very
malcontent one. Though it was still subservient, its dissatisfaction at
exclusion from the central administration was soon to show itself
partly in assaults on the time-honoured system, partly in assumption of
local jurisdiction, which would develop into provincial independence.

The overgrowth of his empire further compelled Suleiman to divide the
standing army, in order that more than one imperial force might take
the field at a time. Unable to lead all his armies in person, he
elected, in the latter part of his reign, to lead none, and for the
first time left the Janissaries to march without a sultan to war.
Remaining himself at the centre, he initiated a fashion which would
encourage Osmanli sultans to lapse into half-hidden beings, whom their
subjects would gradually invest with religious character. Under these
conditions the ruler, the governing class (its power grew with this
devolution), the dominant population of the state, and the state itself
all grew more fanatically Moslem.

In the early years of the seventeenth century, Ahmed I being on the
throne, the Ottoman Empire embraced the widest territorial area which
it was ever to cover at any one moment. In what may be called the
proper Byzantine field, Cyprus had been recovered and Krete alone stood
out. Outside that field, Hungary on the north and Yemen (since Selim’s
conquest in 1516) on the south were the frontier provinces, and the
Ottoman flag had been carried not only to the Persian Gulf but also far
upon the Iranian plateau, in the long wars of Murad III, which
culminated in 1588 with the occupation of Tabriz and half Azerbaijan.



4
_Shrinkage and Retreat_


The fringes of this vast empire, however, none too surely held, were
already involving it in insoluble difficulties and imminent dangers. On
the one hand, in Asia, it had been found impossible to establish
military fiefs in Arabia, Kurdistan, or anywhere east of it, on the
system which had secured the Osmanli tenure elsewhere. On the other
hand, in Europe, as we have seen, the empire had a very unsatisfactory
frontier, beyond which a strong people not only set limits to further
progress but was prepared to dispute the ground already gained. In a
treaty signed at Sitvatorok, in 1606, the Osmanli sultan was forced to
acknowledge definitely the absolute and equal sovereignty of his
northern neighbour, Austria; and although, less than a century later,
Vienna would be attacked once more, there was never again to be serious
prospect of an extension of the empire in the direction of central
Europe.

Moreover, however appearances might be maintained on the frontiers, the
heart of the empire had begun patently to fail. The history of the next
two centuries, the seventeenth and eighteenth, is one long record of
praetorian tumults at home; and ever more rarely will these be
compensated by military successes abroad. The first of these centuries
had not half elapsed ere the Janissaries had taken the lives of two
sultans, and brought the Grand Vizierate to such a perilous pass that
no ordinary holder of it, unless backed by some very powerful Albanian
or other tribal influence, could hope to save his credit or even his
life. During this period indeed no Osmanli of the older stocks ever
exercised real control of affairs. It was only among the more recently
assimilated elements, such as the Albanian, the Slavonic, or the Greek,
that men of the requisite character and vigour could be found. The
rally which marked the latter half of the seventeenth century was
entirely the work of Albanians or of other generals and admirals, none
of whom had had a Moslem grandfather. Marked by the last Osmanli
conquest made at the expense of Europe—that of Krete; by the definite
subjugation of Wallachia; by the second siege of Vienna; by the
recovery of the Morea from Venice; and finally by an honourable
arrangement with Austria about the Danube frontier—it is all to be
credited to the Kuprili ‘dynasty’ of Albanian viziers, which
conspicuously outshone the contemporary sovereigns of the dynasty of
Osman, the best of them, Mohammed IV, not excepted. It was, however, no
more than a rally; for greater danger already threatened from another
quarter. Agreement had not been reached with Austria at Carlowitz, in
1699, before a new and baleful planet swam into the Osmanli sky.

It was, this time, no central European power, to which, at the worst,
all that lay north of the proper Byzantine sphere might be abandoned;
but a claimant for part of that sphere itself, perhaps even for the
very heart of it. Russia, seeking an economic outlet, had sapped her
way south to the Euxine shore, and was on the point of challenging the
Osmanli right to that sea. The contest would involve a vital issue; and
if the Porte did not yet grasp this fact, others had grasped it. The
famous ‘Testament of Peter the Great’ may or may not be a genuine
document; but, in either case, it proves that certain views about the
necessary policy of Russia in the Byzantine area, which became
commonplaces of western political thinkers as the eighteenth century
advanced, were already familiar to east European minds in the earlier
part of that century.

Battle was not long in being joined. In the event, it would cost Russia
about sixty years of strenuous effort to reduce the Byzantine power of
the Osmanlis to a condition little better than that in which Osman had
found the Byzantine power of the Greeks four centuries before. During
the first two-thirds of this period the contest was waged not
unequally. By the Treaty of Belgrade, in 1739, Sultan Mahmud I appeared
for a moment even to have gained the whole issue, Russia agreeing to
her own exclusion from the Black Sea, and from interference in the
Danubian principalities. But the success could not be sustained.
Repeated effort was rapidly exhausting Osmanli strength, sapped as it
was by increasing internal disease: and when a crisis arrived with the
accession of the Empress Catherine, it proved too weak to meet it.
During the ten years following 1764 Osmanli hold on the Black Sea was
lost irretrievably. After the destruction of the fleet at Chesme the
Crimea became untenable and was abandoned to the brief mercies of
Russia: and with a veiled Russian protectorate established in the
Danubian principalities, and an open Russian occupation in Morean
ports, Constantinople had lost once more her own seas. When Selim III
was set on a tottering throne, in 1787, the wheel of Byzantine destiny
seemed to have come again almost full circle: and the world was
expecting a Muscovite succession to that empire which had acknowledged
already the Roman, the Greek, and the Osmanli.

Certainly history looked like repeating itself. As in the fourteenth
century, so in the eighteenth, the imperial provinces, having shaken
off almost all control of the capital, were administering themselves,
and happier for doing so. Mesopotamia, Syria, Egypt, and Trebizond
acknowledged adventurers as virtually independent lords. Asia Minor, in
general, was being controlled, in like disregard of imperial majesty,
by a group of ‘Dere Beys’, descended, in different districts, from
tribal chieftains or privileged tax-farmers, or, often, from both. The
latter part of the eighteenth century was the heyday of the Anatolian
feudal families—of such as the Chapanoghlus of Yuzgad, whose sway
stretched from Pontus to Cilicia, right across the base of the
peninsula, or the Karamanoghlus of Magnesia, Bergama, and Aidin, who
ruled as much territory as the former emirs of Karasi and Sarukhan, and
were recognized by the representatives of the great trading companies
as wielding the only effective authority in Smyrna. The wide and rich
regions controlled by such families usually contributed neither an
_asper_ to the sultan’s treasury nor a man to the imperial armies.

On no mountain of either Europe or Asia—and mountains formed a large
part of the Ottoman empire in both—did the imperial writ run. Macedonia
and Albania were obedient only to their local beys, and so far had gone
the devolution of Serbia and Bosnia to Janissary aghas, feudal beys,
and the Beylerbey of Rumili, that these provinces hardly concerned
themselves more with the capital. The late sultan, Mustapha III, had
lost almost the last remnant of his subjects’ respect, not so much by
the ill success of his mutinous armies as by his depreciation of the
imperial coinage. He had died bankrupt of prestige, leaving no visible
assets to his successor. What might become of the latter no one in the
empire appeared to care. As in 1453, it waited other lords.



5
_Revival_


It has been waiting, nevertheless, ever since—waiting for much more
than a century; and perhaps the end is not even yet. Why, then, have
expectations not only within but without the empire been so greatly at
fault? How came Montesquieu, Burke, and other confident prophets since
their time to be so signally mistaken? There were several co-operating
causes, but one paramount. Constantinople was no longer, as in 1453, a
matter of concern only to itself, its immediate neighbours, and certain
trading republics of Italy. It had become involved with the commercial
interests of a far wider circle, in particular of the great trading
peoples of western Europe, the British, the French, and the Dutch, and
with the political interests of the Germanic and Russian nations. None
of these could be indifferent to a revolution in its fortunes, and
least of all to its passing, not to a power out of Asia, but to a rival
power among themselves. Europe was already in labour with the doctrine
of the Balance of Power. The bantling would not be born at Vienna till
early in the century to come: but even before the end of the eighteenth
century it could be foreseen that its life would be bound up with the
maintenance of Constantinople in independence of any one of the parent
powers—that is, with the prolongation of the Osmanli phase of its
imperial fortunes. This doctrine, consistently acted upon by Europe,
has been the sheet anchor of the Ottoman empire for a century. Even to
this day its Moslem dynasty has never been without one powerful
Christian champion or another.

There were, however, some thirty years still to elapse after Selim’s
accession before that doctrine was fully born: and had her hands been
free, Russia might well have been in secure possession of the Byzantine
throne long before 1815. For, internally, the Osmanli state went from
bad to worse. The tumultuous insubordination of the Janissaries became
an ever greater scandal. Never in all the long history of their riots
was their record for the years 1807-9 equalled or even approached.
Never before, also, had the provinces been so utterly out of hand. This
was the era of Jezzar the Butcher at Acre, of the rise of Mehemet Ali
in Egypt, of Ali Pasha in Epirus, and of Pasvanoghlu at Vidin. When
Mahmud II was thrust on to the throne in 1809, he certainly began his
reign with no more personal authority and no more imperial prestige or
jurisdiction than the last Greek emperor had enjoyed on his accession
in 1448.

The great European war, however, which had been raging intermittently
for nearly twenty years, had saved Mahmud an empire to which he could
succeed in name and try to give substance. Whatever the Osmanlis
suffered during that war, it undoubtedly kept them in Constantinople.
Temporary loss of Egypt and the small damage done by the British attack
on Constantinople in 1807 were a small price to pay for the diversion
of Russia’s main energies to other than Byzantine fields, and for the
assurance, made doubly sure when the great enemy did again attack, that
she would not be allowed to settle the account alone. Whatever Napoleon
may have planned and signed at Tilsit, the aegis of France was
consistently opposed to the enemies of the Osmanlis down to the close
of the Napoleonic age.

Thus it came about that those thirty perilous years passed without the
expected catastrophe. There was still a successor of Osman reigning in
Constantinople when the great Christian powers, met in conclave at
Vienna, half unconsciously guaranteed the continued existence of the
Osmanli Empire simply by leaving it out of account in striking a
Balance of Power in Europe. Its European territory, with the capital
within it, was of quite enough importance to disturb seriously the nice
adjustment agreed at Vienna; and, therefore, while any one’s henceforth
to take or leave, it would become always some one’s to guard. A few
years had yet to pass before the phrase, the Maintenance of the
Integrity of the Ottoman Empire, would be a watchword of European
diplomacy: but, whether formulated thus or not, that principle became a
sure rock of defence for the Osmanli Empire on the birthday of the
doctrine of the Balance of Power.

Secure from destruction by any foes but those of his own household, as
none knew better than he, the reigning Osmanli was scheming to regain
the independence and dignity of his forefathers. Himself a creature of
the Janissaries, Mahmud had plotted the abolition of his creators from
the first year of his reign, but making a too precipitate effort after
the conclusion of peace with Russia, had ignominiously failed and
fallen into worse bondage than ever. Now, better assured of his
imperial position and supported by leading men of all classes among his
subjects, he returned not only to his original enterprise but to
schemes for removing other checks on the power of the sovereign which
had come into being in the last two centuries—notably the feudal
independence of the Dere Beys, and the irresponsibility of provincial
governors.

Probably Mahmud II—if he is to be credited with personal initiation of
the reforms always associated with his name—was not conscious of any
purpose more revolutionary than that of becoming master in his own
house, as his ancestors had been. What he ultimately accomplished,
however, was something of much greater and more lasting moment to the
Osmanli state. It was nothing less than the elimination of the most
Byzantine features in its constitution and government. The substitution
of national forces for mercenary praetorians: the substitution of
direct imperial government of the provinces for devolution to
seigneurs, tribal chiefs, and irresponsible officers: the substitution
of direct collection for tax-farming: and the substitution of
administration by bureaucrats for administration by household
officers—these, the chief reforms carried through under Mahmud, were
all anti-Byzantine. They did not cause the Osmanli state to be born
anew, but, at least, they went far to purge it of original sin.

That Mahmud and his advisers could carry through such reforms at all in
so old a body politic is remarkable: that they carried them through
amid the events of his reign is almost miraculous. One affront after
another was put on the Sultan, one blow after another was struck at his
empire. Inspired by echoes of the French Revolution and by Napoleon’s
recognition of the rights of nationalities, first the Serbs and then
the Greeks seized moments of Ottoman disorder to rise in revolt against
their local lords. The first, who had risen under Selim III, achieved,
under Mahmud, autonomy, but not independence, nothing remaining to the
sultan as before except the fortress of Belgrade with five other
strongholds. The second, who began with no higher hopes than the Serbs,
were encouraged, by the better acquaintance and keener sympathy of
Europe, to fight their way out to complete freedom. The Morea and
central Greece passed out of the empire, the first provinces so to pass
since the Osmanli loss of Hungary. Yet it was in the middle of that
fatal struggle that Mahmud settled for ever with the Janissaries, and
during all its course he was settling one after another with the Dere
Beys!

When he had thus sacrificed the flower of his professional troops and
had hardly had time to replace the local governments of the provinces
by anything much better than general anarchy, he found himself faced by
a Russian assault. His raw levies fought as no other raw levies than
the Turkish can, and, helped by manifestations of jealousy by the other
powers, staved off the capture of Constantinople, which, at one moment,
seemed about to take place at last. But he had to accept humiliating
terms, amounting virtually, to a cession of the Black Sea. Mahmud
recognized that such a price he must pay for crossing the broad stream
between Byzantinism and Nationalism, and kept on his way.

Finally came a blow at the hands of one of his own household and creed.
Mehemet Ali of Egypt, who had faithfully fought his sovereign’s battles
in Arabia and the Morea, held his services ill requited and his claim
to be increased beyond other pashas ignored, and proceeded to take what
had not been granted. He went farther than he had intended—more than
half-way across Asia Minor—after the imperial armies had suffered three
signal defeats, before he extorted what he had desired at first: and in
the end, after very brief enjoyment, he had to resign all again to the
mandate, not of his sovereign, but of certain European powers who
commanded his seas. Mahmud, however, who lived neither to see himself
saved by the _giaur_ fleets, nor even to hear of his latest defeat, had
gone forward with the reorganization of the central and provincial
administration, undismayed by Mehemet Ali’s contumacy or the insistence
of Russia at the gate of the Bosphorus.

As news arrived from time to time in the west of Mahmud’s disasters, it
was customary to prophesy the imminent dissolution of his empire. We,
however, looking backward now, can see that by its losses the Osmanli
state in reality grew stronger. Each of its humiliations pledged some
power or group of powers more deeply to support it: and before Mahmud
died, he had reason to believe that, so long as the European Concert
should ensue the Balance of Power, his dynasty would not be expelled
from Constantinople. His belief has been justified. At every fresh
crisis of Ottoman fortunes, and especially after every fresh Russian
attack, foreign protection has unfailingly been extended to his
successors.

It was not, however, only in virtue of the increasing solicitude of the
powers on its behalf that during the nineteenth century the empire was
growing and would grow stronger, but also in virtue of certain assets
within itself. First among these ranked the resources of its Asiatic
territories, which, as the European lands diminished, became more and
more nearly identified with the empire. When, having got rid of the old
army, Mahmud imposed service on all his Moslem subjects, in theory, but
in effect only on the Osmanlis (not the Arabs, Kurds, or other half
assimilated nomads and hillmen), it meant more than a similar measure
would have meant in a Christian empire. For, the life of Islam being
war, military service binds Moslems together and to their chiefs as it
binds men under no other dispensation; therefore Mahmud, so far as he
was able to enforce his decree, created not merely a national army but
a nation. His success was most immediate and complete in Anatolia, the
homeland of the Osmanlis. There, however, it was attained only by the
previous reduction of those feudal families which, for many
generations, had arrogated to themselves the levying and control of
local forces. Hence, as in Constantinople with the Janissaries, so in
the provinces with the Dere Beys, destruction of a drastic order had to
precede construction, and more of Mahmud’s reign had to be devoted to
the former than remained for the latter.

He did, however, live to see not only the germ of a nation emerge from
chaos, but also the framework of an organization for governing it well
or ill. The centralized bureaucracy which he succeeded in initiating
was, of course, wretchedly imperfect both in constitution and
equipment. But it promised to promote the end he had in view and no
other, inasmuch as, being the only existent machine of government, it
derived any effective power it had from himself alone. Dependent on
Stambul, it served to turn thither the eyes and prayers of the
provincials. The naturally submissive and peaceful population of Asia
Minor quickly accustomed itself to look beyond the dismantled
strongholds of its fallen beys. As for the rest— contumacious and
bellicose beys and sheikhs of Kurdish hills and Syrian steppes—their
hour of surrender was yet to come.

The eventual product of Mahmud’s persistency was the ‘Turkey’ we have
seen in our own time—that Turkey irretrievably Asiatic in spirit under
a semi-European system of administration, which has governed
despotically in the interests of one creed and one class, with
slipshod, makeshift methods, but has always governed, and little by
little has extended its range. Knowing its imperfections and its
weakness, we have watched with amazement its hand feeling forward none
the less towards one remote frontier district after another, painfully
but surely getting its grip, and at last closing on Turcoman chiefs and
Kurdish beys, first in the Anatolian and Cilician hills, then in the
mountains of Armenia, finally in the wildest Alps of the Persian
borderland. We have marked its stealthy movement into the steppes and
deserts of Syria, Mesopotamia, and Arabia— now drawn back, now pushed
farther till it has reached and held regions over which Mahmud could
claim nothing but a suzerainty in name. To judge how far the shrinkage
of the Osmanli European empire has been compensated by expansion of its
Asiatic, one has only to compare the political state of Kurdistan, as
it was at the end of the eighteenth century, and as it has been in our
own time.

It is impossible to believe that the Greek Empire, however buttressed
and protected by foreign powers, could ever have reconstituted itself
after falling so low as it fell in the fourteenth century and as the
Osmanli Empire fell in the eighteenth; and it is clear that the latter
must still have possessed latent springs of vitality, deficient in the
former. What can these have been? It is worth while to try to answer
this question at the present juncture, since those springs, if they
existed a hundred years ago, can hardly now be dry.

In the first place it had its predominant creed. This had acted as
Islam acts everywhere, as a very strong social bond, uniting the vast
majority of subjects in all districts except certain parts of the
European empire, in instinctive loyalty to the person of the padishah,
whatever might be felt about his government. Thus had it acted with
special efficacy in Asia Minor, whose inhabitants the Osmanli emperors,
unlike the Greek, had always been at some pains to attach to
themselves. The sultan, therefore, could still count on general support
from the population of his empire’s heart, and had at his disposal the
resources of a country which no administration, however improvident or
malign, has ever been able to exhaust.

In the second place the Osmanli ‘Turks’, however fallen away from the
virtues of their ancestors, had not lost either ‘the will to power’ or
their capacity for governing under military law. If they had never
succeeded in learning to rule as civilians they had not forgotten how
to rule as soldiers.

In the third place the sultanate of Stambul had retained a vague but
valuable prestige, based partly on past history, partly on its
pretension to religious influence throughout a much larger area than
its proper dominions; and the conservative population of the latter was
in great measure very imperfectly informed of its sovereign’s actual
position.

In the fourth and last place, among the populations on whose loyalty
the Osmanli sultan could make good his claim, were several strong
unexhausted elements, especially in Anatolia. There are few more
vigorous and enduring peoples than the peasants of the central plateau
of Asia Minor, north, east, and south. With this rock of defence to
stand upon, the sultan could draw also on the strength of other more
distant races, less firmly attached to himself, but not less vigorous,
such, for example, as the Albanians of his European mountains and the
Kurds of his Asiatic. However decadent might be the Turco-Grecian
Osmanli (he, unfortunately, had the lion’s share of office), those
other elements had suffered no decline in physical or mental
development. Indeed, one cannot be among them now without feeling that
their day is not only not gone, but is still, for the most part, yet to
be.

Such were latent assets of the Osmanli Empire, appreciated imperfectly
by the prophets of its dissolution. Thanks to them, that empire
continued not only to hold together throughout the nineteenth century
but, in some measure, to consolidate itself. Even when the protective
fence, set up by European powers about it, was violated, as by Russia
several times—in 1829, in 1854, and in 1877—the nation, which Mahmud
had made, always proved capable of stout enough resistance to delay the
enemy till European diplomacy, however slow of movement, could come to
its aid, and ultimately to dispose the victor to accept terms
consistent with its continued existence. It was an existence, of
course, of sufferance, but one which grew better assured the longer it
lasted. By an irony of the Osmanli position, the worse the empire was
administered, the stronger became its international guarantee. No
better example can be cited than the effect of its financial follies.
When national bankruptcy, long contemplated by its Government,
supervened at last, the sultan had nothing more to fear from Europe. He
became, _ipso facto_, the cherished protégé of every power whose
nationals had lent his country money.

Considering the magnitude of the change which Mahmud instituted, the
stage at which he left it, and the character of the society in which it
had to be carried out, it was unfortunate that he should have been
followed on the throne by two well-meaning weaklings, of whom the first
was a voluptuary, the second a fantastic spendthrift of doubtful
sanity. Mahmud, as has been said, being occupied for the greater part
of his reign in destroying the old order, had been able to reconstruct
little more than a framework. His operations had been almost entirely
forcible—of a kind understood by and congenial to the Osmanli
character—and partly by circumstances but more by his natural
sympathies, he had been identified from first to last with military
enterprises. Though he was known to contemplate the eventual supremacy
of civil law, and the equality of all sorts and conditions of his
subjects before it, he did nothing to open this vista to public view.
Consequently he encountered little or no factious opposition. Very few
held briefs for either the Janissaries or the Dere Beys; and fewer
regretted them when they were gone. Osmanli society identified itself
with the new army and accepted the consequent reform of the central or
provincial administration. Nothing in these changes seemed to affect
Islam or the privileged position of Moslems in the empire.

It was quite another matter when Abdul Mejid, in the beginning of his
reign, promulgated an imperial decree—the famous Tanzimat or Hatti
Sherif of Gulkhaneh—which, amid many excellent and popular provisions
for the continued reform of the administration, proclaimed the equality
of Christian and Moslem subjects in service, in reward, and before the
law. The new sultan, essentially a civilian and a man of easy-going
temperament, had been induced to believe that the end of an evolution,
which had only just begun, could be anticipated _per saltum_, and that
he and all his subjects would live happily together ever after. His
counsellors had been partly politicians, who for various reasons, good
and bad, wished to gain West European sympathy for their country,
involved in potential bondage to Russia since the Treaty of Unkiar
Skelessi (1833), and recently afflicted by Ibrahim Pasha’s victory at
Nizib; and they looked to Great Britain to get them out of the Syrian
mess. Partly also Abdul Mejid had been influenced by enthusiasts, who
set more store by ideas or the phrases in which they were expressed,
than by the evidence of facts. There were then, as since, ‘young men in
a hurry’ among the more Europeanized Osmanlis. The net result of the
sultan’s precipitancy was to set against himself and his policy all who
wished that such it consummation of the reform process might never come
and all who knew it would never come, if snatched at thus—that is, both
the ‘Old Turks’ and the moderate Liberals; and, further, to change for
the worse the spirit in which the new machine of government was being
worked and in which fresh developments of it would be accepted.

To his credit, however, Abdul Mejid went on with administrative reform.
The organization of the army into corps—the foundation of the existing
system—and the imposition of five years’ service on all subjects of the
empire (in theory which an Albanian rising caused to be imperfectly
realized in fact), belong to the early part of his reign; as do also,
on the civil side, the institution of responsible councils of state and
formation of ministries, and much provision for secondary education. To
his latest years is to be credited the codification of the civil law.
He had the advantage of some dozen initial years of comparative
security from external foes, after the Syrian question had been settled
in his favour by Great Britain and her allied powers at the cheap price
of a guarantee of hereditary succession to the house of Mehemet Ali.
Thanks to the same support, war with Persia was avoided and war with
Russia postponed.

But the provinces, even if quiet (which some of them, e.g. the Lebanon
in the early ‘forties’, were not), proved far from content. If the form
of Osmanli government had changed greatly, its spirit had changed
little, and defective communications militated against the
responsibility of officials to the centre. Money was scarce, and the
paper currency—an ill-omened device of Mahmud’s—was depreciated,
distrusted, and regarded as an imperial betrayal of confidence.
Finally, the hostility of Russia, notoriously unabated, and the
encouragement of aspiring _rayas_ credited to her and other foreign
powers made bad blood between creeds and encouraged opposition to the
execution of the pro-Christian Tanzimat. When Christian turbulence at
last brought on, in 1854, the Russian attack which developed into the
Crimean War, and Christian allies, though they frustrated that attack,
made a peace by which the Osmanlis gained nothing, the latter were in
no mood to welcome the repetition of the Tanzimat, which Abdul Mejid
consented to embody in the Treaty of Paris. The reign closed amid
turbulence and humiliations—massacre and bombardment at Jidda, massacre
and Franco-British coercion in Syria—from all of which the sultan took
refuge with women and wine, to meet in 1861 a drunkard’s end.

His successor, Abdul Aziz, had much the same intentions, the same
civilian sympathies, the same policy of Europeanization, and a
different, but more fatal, weakness of character. He was, perhaps,
never wholly sane; but his aberration, at first attested only by an
exalted conviction of his divine character and inability to do wrong,
excited little attention until it began to issue in fantastic
expenditure. By an irony of history, he is the one Osmanli sultan upon
the roll of our Order of the Garter, the right to place a banner in St,
George’s Chapel having been offered to this Allah-possessed caliph on
the occasion of his visit to the West in 1867.

Despite the good intentions of Abdul Aziz himself—as sincere as can be
credited to a disordered brain—-and despite more than one minister of
outstanding ability, reform and almost everything else in the empire
went to the bad in this unhappy reign. The administration settled down
to lifeless routine and lapsed into corruption: the national army was
starved: the depreciation of the currency grew worse as the revenue
declined and the sultan’s household and personal extravagance
increased. Encouraged by the inertia of the imperial Government, the
Christians of the European provinces waxed bold. Though Montenegro was
severely handled for contumacy, the Serbs were able to cover their
penultimate stage towards freedom by forcing in 1867 the withdrawal of
the last Ottoman garrisons from their fortresses. Krete stood at bay
for three years and all but won her liberty. Bosnia rose in arms, but
divided against herself. Pregnant with graver trouble than these,
Bulgaria showed signs of waking from long sleep. In 1870 she obtained
recognition as a nationality in the Ottoman Empire, her Church being
detached from the control of the Oecumenical Patriarch of the Greeks
and placed under an Exarch. Presently, her peasantry growing ever more
restive, passed from protest to revolt against the Circassian
refugee-colonists with whom the Porte was flooding the land. The
sultan, in an evil hour, for lack of trained troops, let loose
irregulars on the villages, and the Bulgarian atrocities, which they
committed in 1875, sowed a fatal harvest for his successor to reap. His
own time was almost fulfilled. The following spring a dozen high
officials, with the assent of the Sheikh-ul-Islam and the active
dissent of no one, took Abdul Aziz from his throne to a prison, wherein
two days later he perished, probably by his own hand. A puppet reigned
three months as Murad V, and then, at the bidding of the same
king-makers whom his uncle had obeyed, left the throne free for his
brother Abdul Hamid, a man of affairs and ability, who was to be the
most conspicuous, or rather, the most notorious Osmanli sultan since
Suleiman.



6
_Relapse_


The new sultan, who had not expected his throne, found his realm in
perilous case. Nominally sovereign and a member of the Concert of
Europe, he was in reality a semi-neutralized dependant, existing, as an
undischarged bankrupt, on sufferance of the powers. Should the Concert
be dissolved, or even divided, and any one of its members be left free
to foreclose its Ottoman mortgages, the empire would be at an end.
Internally it was in many parts in open revolt, in all the rest
stagnant and slowly rotting. The thrice-foiled claimant to its
succession, who six years before had denounced the Black Sea clause of
the Treaty of Paris and so freed its hands for offence, was manifestly
preparing a fresh assault. Something drastic must be done; but what?

This danger of the empire’s international situation, and also the
disgrace of it, had been evident for some time past to those who had
any just appreciation of affairs; and in the educated class, at any
rate, something like a public opinion, very apprehensive and very much
ashamed, had struggled into being. The discovery of a leader in Midhat
Pasha, former governor-general of Bagdad, and a king-maker of recent
notoriety, induced the party of this opinion to take precipitate
action. Murad had been deposed in August. Before the year was out
Midhat presented himself before Abdul Hamid with a formal demand for
the promulgation of a Constitution, proposing not only to put into
execution the pious hopes of the two Hatti Sherifs of Abdul Mejid but
also to limit the sovereign and govern the empire by representative
institutions. The new sultan, hardly settled on his uneasy throne,
could not deny those who had deposed his two predecessors, and,
shrewdly aware that ripe facts would not be long in getting the better
of immature ideas, accepted. A parliament was summoned; an electorate,
with only the haziest notions of what it was about, went through the
form of sending representatives to Constantinople; and the sittings
were inaugurated by a speech from the throne, framed on the most
approved Britannic model, the deputies, it is said, jostling and
crowding the while to sit, as many as possible, on the right, which
they understood was always the side of powers that be.

It is true this extemporized chamber never had a chance. The Russians
crossed the Pruth before it had done much more than verify its powers,
and the thoughts and energies of the Osmanlis were soon occupied with
the most severe and disastrous struggle in which the empire had ever
engaged. But it is equally certain that it could not have turned to
account any chance it might have had. Once more the ‘young men in a
hurry’ had snatched at the end of an evolution hardly begun, without
taking into account the immaturity of Osmanli society in political
education and political capacity. After suspension during the war, the
parliament was dissolved unregretted, and its creator was tried for his
life, and banished. In failing, however, Midhat left bad to become so
much worse that the next reformers would inevitably have a more
convinced public opinion behind them, and he had virtually destroyed
the power of Mahmud’s bureaucracy. If the only immediate effect was the
substitution of an unlimited autocracy, the Osmanli peoples would be
able thenceforward to ascribe their misfortunes to a single person,
meditate attack, on a single position, and dream of realizing some day
an ideal which had been definitely formulated.

The Russian onslaught, which began in both Europe and Asia in the
spring of 1877, had been brought on, after a fashion become customary,
by movements in the Slavonic provinces of the Ottoman Empire and in
Rumania; and the latter province, now independent in all but name and,
in defiance of Ottoman protests, disposing of a regular army, joined
the invader. In campaigns lasting a little less than a year, the
Osmanli Empire was brought nearer to passing than ever before, and it
was in a suburb of Constantinople itself that the final armistice was
arranged. But action by rival powers, both before the peace and in the
revision of it at Berlin, gave fresh assurance that the end would not
be suffered to come yet; and, moreover, through the long series of
disasters, much latent strength of the empire and its peoples had been
revealed.

When that empire had emerged, shorn of several provinces—in Europe, of
Rumania, Serbia, and northern Greece, with Bulgaria also well on the
road they had travelled to emancipation, and in Asia, of a broad slice
of Caucasia—Abdul Hamid cut his losses, and, under the new guarantee of
the Berlin Treaty, took heart to try his hand at reviving Osmanli
power. He and his advisers had their idea, the contrary of the idea of
Midhat and all the sultans since Mahmud. The empire must be made, not
more European, but more Asiatic. In the development of Islamic spirit
to pan-Islamic unity it would find new strength; and towards this end
in the early eighties, while he was yet comparatively young, with
intelligence unclouded and courage sufficient, Abdul Hamid patiently
set himself. In Asia, naturally sympathetic to autocracy, and the home
of the faith of his fathers, he set on foot a pan-Islamic propaganda.
He exalted his caliphate; he wooed the Arabs, and he plotted with
extraneous Moslems against whatever foreign government they might have
to endure.

It cannot be denied that this idea was based on the logic of facts,
and, if it could be realized, promised better than Midhat’s for escape
from shameful dependence. Indeed, Abdul Hamid, an autocrat bent on
remaining one, could hardly have acted upon any other. By far the
greater part of the territorial empire remaining to him lay in Asia.
The little left in Europe would obviously soon be reduced to less. The
Balkan lands were waking, or already awake, to a sense of separate
nationality, and what chance did the Osmanli element, less progressive
than any, stand in them? The acceptance of the Ottoman power into the
Concert of Europe, though formally notified to Abdul Mejid, had proved
an empty thing. In that galley there was no place for a sultan except
as a dependent or a slave. As an Asiatic power, however, exerting
temporal sway over some eighteen million bodies and religious influence
over many times more souls, the Osmanli caliph might command a place in
the sun.

The result belied these hopes. Abdul Hamid’s failure was owed in the
main to facts independent of his personality or statecraft. The
expansion of Islam over an immense geographical area and among peoples
living in incompatible stages of sophistication, under most diverse
political and social conditions, has probably made any universal
caliphial authority for ever impossible. The original idea of the
caliphate, like that of the _jehad_ or holy war of the faithful,
presupposed that all Moslems were under governments of their own creed,
and, perhaps, under one government. Moreover, if such a caliph were
ever to be again, an Osmanli sultan would not be a strong candidate.
Apart from the disqualification of his blood, he being not of the
Prophet’s tribe nor even an Arab, he is lord of a state irretrievably
compromised in purist eyes (as Wahabis and Senussis have testified once
and again) by its Byzantine heritage of necessary relations with
infidels. Abdul Hamid’s predecessors for two centuries or more had been
at no pains to infuse reality into their nominal leadership of the
faithful. To call a real caliphate out of so long abeyance could hardly
have been effected even by a bold soldier, who appealed to the general
imagination of Moslems; and certainly was beyond the power of a timid
civilian.

When Abdul Hamid had played this card and failed, he had no other; and
his natural pusillanimity and shiftiness induced him to withdraw ever
more into the depths of his palace, and there use his intelligence in
exploiting this shameful dependence of his country on foreign powers.
Unable or unwilling to encourage national resistance, he consoled
himself, as a weak malcontent will, by setting one power against
another, pin-pricking the stronger and blustering to the weaker. The
history of his reign is a long record of protests and surrenders to the
great in big matters, as to Great Britain in the matter of Egypt in
1881, to Russia in that of Eastern Rumelia in 1885, to France on the
question of the Constantinople quays and other claims, and to all the
powers in 1881 in the matter of the financial control. Between times he
put in such pin-pricks as he could, removing his neighbours’ landmarks
in the Aden _hinterland_ or the Sinaitic peninsula. He succeeded,
however, in keeping his empire out of a foreign war with any power for
about thirty years, with the single exception of a brief conflict with
Greece in 1897. While in the first half of his reign he was at pains to
make no European friend, in the latter he fell more and more under the
influence of Germany, which, almost from the accession of Kaiser
Wilhelm II, began to prepare a southward way for future use, and alone
of the powers, never browbeat the sultan.

Internally, the empire passed more and more under the government of the
imperial household. Defeated by the sheer geographical difficulty of
controlling directly an area so vast and inadequately equipped with
means of communication, Abdul Hamid soon relaxed the spasmodic efforts
of his early years to better the condition of his subjects; and,
uncontrolled and demoralized by the national disgrace, the
administration went from bad to much worse. Ministers irresponsible;
officials without sense of public obligation; venality in all ranks;
universal suspicion and delation; violent remedies, such as the
Armenian massacres of 1894, for diseases due to neglect; the peasantry,
whether Moslem or Christian, but especially Christian, forced
ultimately to liquidate all accounts; impoverishment of the whole
empire by the improvidence and oppression of the central power— such
phrasing of the conventional results of ‘Palace’ government expresses
inadequately the fruits of Yildiz under Abdul Hamid II.

_Pari passu_ with this disorder of central and provincial
administration increased the foreign encroachments on the empire. The
nation saw not only rapid multiplication of concessions and
hypothecations to aliens, and of alien persons themselves installed in
its midst under extra-territorial immunity from its laws, secured by
the capitulations, but also whole provinces sequestered, administered
independently of the sultan’s government, and prepared for eventual
alienation. Egypt, Tunisia, Eastern Rumelia, Krete—these had all been
withdrawn from Ottoman control since the Berlin settlement, and now
Macedonia seemed to be going the same way. Bitter to swallow as the
other losses had been—pills thinly sugared with a guarantee of
suzerainty—the loss of Macedonia would be more bitter still; for, if it
were withdrawn from Ottoman use and profit, Albania would follow and so
would the command of the north Aegean and the Adriatic shores; while an
ancient Moslem population would remain at Christian mercy.

It was partly Ottoman fault, partly the fault of circumstances beyond
Ottoman control, that this district had become a scandal and a
reproach. In the days of Osmanli greatness Macedonia had been neglected
in favour of provinces to the north, which were richer and more nearly
related to the ways into central Europe. When more attention began to
be paid to it by the Government, it had already become a cockpit for
the new-born Christian nationalities, which had been developed on the
north, east, and south. These were using every weapon, material and
spiritual, to secure preponderance in its society, and had created
chronic disorder which the Ottoman administration now weakly encouraged
to save itself trouble, now violently dragooned. Already the powers had
not only proposed autonomy for it, but begun to control its police and
its finance. This was the last straw. The public opinion which had
slowly been forming for thirty years gained the army, and Midhat’s seed
came to fruit.

By an irony of fate Macedonia not only supplied the spectacle which
exasperated the army to revolt, but by its very disorder made the
preparation of that revolt possible; for it was due to local
limitations of Ottoman sovereignty that the chief promoters of
revolution were able to conspire in safety. By another irony, two of
the few progressive measures ever encouraged by Abdul Hamid contributed
to his undoing. If he had not sent young officers to be trained abroad,
the army, the one Ottoman institution never allowed wholly to decay,
would have remained outside the conspiracy. If he had never promoted
the construction of railways, as he began to do after 1897, the
Salonika army could have had no such influence on affairs in
Constantinople as it exerted in 1908 and again in 1909. As it was, the
sultan, at a mandate from Resna in Macedonia, re-enacted Midhat’s
Constitution, and, a year later, saw an army from Salonika arrive to
uphold that Constitution against the reaction he had fostered, and to
send him, dethroned and captive, to the place whence itself had come.



7
_Revolution_


Looking back on this revolution across seven years of its consequences,
we see plainly enough that it was inspired far less by desire for
humane progress than by shame of Osmanli military decline. The
‘Liberty, Equality, Fraternity’ programme which its authors put forward
(a civilian minority among them, sincerely enough), Europe accepted,
and the populace of the empire acted upon for a moment, did not express
the motive of the movement or eventually guide its course. The essence
of that movement was militant nationalism. The empire was to be
regenerated, not by humanizing it but by Ottomanizing it. The Osmanli,
the man of the sword, was the type to which all others, who wished to
be of the nation, were to conform. Such as did not so wish must be
eliminated by the rest.

The revolutionary Committee in Salonika, called ‘of Union and
Progress’, held up its cards at first, but by 1910 events had forced
its hand on the table. The definite annexation of Bosnia and
Hercegovina by Austria-Hungary in 1908, and the declaration of
independence and assumption of the title Tsar by the ruler of Bulgaria,
since they were the price to be paid by the revolutionaries for a
success largely made in Germany, were opposed officially only _pro
forma_; but when uninformed opinion in the empire was exasperated
thereby against Christendom, the Committee, to appease reactionaries,
had to give premature proof of pan-Osmanli and pro-Moslem intentions by
taking drastic action against _rayas_. The Greeks of the empire, never
without suspicions, had failed to testify the same enthusiasm for
Ottoman fraternity which others, e.g. the Armenians, had shown; now
they resumed their separatist attitude, and made it clear that they
still aspired, not to Ottoman, but to Hellenic nationality. Nor were
even the Moslems of the empire unanimous for fraternity among
themselves. The Arab-speaking societies complained of
under-representation in the councils and offices of the state, and made
no secret of their intention not to be assimilated by the Turk-speaking
Osmanlis. To all suggestions, however, of local home-rule and
conciliation of particularist societies in the empire, the Committee
was deaf. Without union, it believed in no progress, and by union it
understood the assimilation of all societies in the empire to the
Osmanli.

Logic was on the side of the Committee in its choice of both end and
means. In pan-Ottomanism, if it could be effected, lay certainly the
single chance of restoring Osmanli independence and power to anything
like the position they had once held. In rule by a militarist oligarchy
for some generations to come, lay the one hope of realizing the
pan-Ottoman idea and educating the resultant nation to self-government.
That end, however, it was impossible to realize under the circumstances
in which past history had involved the Ottoman Empire. There was too
much bad blood between different elements of its society which Osmanli
rulers had been labouring for centuries rather to keep apart than to
unite; and certain important elements, both Moslem and Christian, had
already developed too mature ideas of separate nationality. With all
its defects, however, the new order did undoubtedly rest on a wider
basis than the old, and its organization was better conceived and
executed. It retained some of the sympathy of Europe which its
beginnings had excited, and the western powers, regarding its
representative institutions as earnests of good government, however ill
they might work at the first, were disposed to give it every chance.

Unfortunately the Young Turks were in a hurry to bring on their
millennium, and careless of certain neighbouring powers, not formidable
individually but to be reckoned with if united, to whom the prospect of
regenerated Osmanlis assimilating their nationals could not be welcome.
Had the Young Turks been content to put their policy of Ottomanization
in the background for awhile, had they made no more than a show of
accepting local distinctions of creed and politics, keeping in the
meantime a tight rein on the Old Turks, they might long have avoided
the union of those neighbours, and been in a better position to resist,
should that union eventually be arrayed against themselves.

But a considerable and energetic element among them belonged to the
nervous Levantine type of Osmanli, which is as little minded to
compromise as any Old Turk, though from a different motive. It elected
to deal drastically and at once with Macedonia, the peculiar object not
only of European solicitude but also of the interest of Bulgaria,
Serbia, and Greece. If ever a province required delicate handling it
was this. It did not get it. The interested neighbours, each beset by
fugitives of its oppressed nationals, protested only to be ignored or
browbeaten. They drew towards one another; old feuds and jealousies
were put on one side; and at last, in the summer of 1912, a Holy League
of Balkan States, inspired by Venezelos, the new Kretan Prime Minister
of Greece, and by Ferdinand of Bulgaria, was formed with a view to
common action against the oppressor of Greek, Serbian, and Bulgarian
nationals in Macedonia. Montenegro, always spoiling for a fight, was
deputed to fire the train, and at the approach of autumn the first
Balkan war blazed up.



8
_Balkan War_


The course of the struggle is described elsewhere in this volume. Its
event illustrates the danger of an alliance succeeding beyond the
expectations in which it was formed. The constituent powers had looked
for a stiff struggle with the Ottoman armies, but for final success
sufficient to enable them, at the best, to divide Macedonia among
themselves, at the worst, to secure its autonomy under international
guarantee. Neither they nor any one else expected such an Ottoman
collapse as was in store. Their moment of attack was better chosen than
they knew. The Osmanli War Office was caught fairly in the middle of
the stream. Fighting during the revolution, subsequently against
Albanians and other recalcitrant provincials, and latterly against the
Italians, who had snatched at Tripoli the year before, had reduced the
_Nizam_, the first line of troops, far below strength. The _Redif_, the
second line, had received hardly more training, thanks to the
disorganization of Abdul Hamid’s last years and of the first years of
the new order, than the _Mustafuz_, the third and last line. Armament,
auxiliary services, and the like had been disorganized preparatory to a
scheme for thorough reorganization, which had been carried, as yet, but
a very little way. A foreign (German) element, introduced into the
command, had had time to impair the old spirit of Ottoman soldiers, but
not to create a new one. The armies sent against the Bulgarians in
Thrace were so many mobs of various arms; those which met the Serbs, a
little better; those which opposed the Greeks, a little worse.

It followed that the Bulgarians, who had proposed to do no more in
Thrace than block Adrianople and immobilize the Constantinople forces,
were carried by their own momentum right down to Chataldja, and there
and at Adrianople had to prosecute siege operations when they ought to
have been marching to Kavala and Salonika. The Serbs, after hard
fighting, broke through not only into Macedonia but into Albania, and
reached the Adriatic, but warned off this by the powers, consoled
themselves with the occupation of much more Macedonian territory than
the concerted plans of the allies had foreseen. The Greeks, instead of
hard contests for the Haliacmon Valley and Epirus—their proper
Irredenta—pushed such weak forces before them that they got through to
Salonika just in time to forestall a Bulgarian column. Ottoman collapse
was complete everywhere, except on the Chataldja front. It remained to
divide the spoil. Serbia might not have Adriatic Albania, and therefore
wanted as much Macedonia as she had actually overrun. Greece wanted the
rest of Macedonia and had virtually got it. Remained Bulgaria who, with
more of Thrace than she wanted, found herself almost entirely crowded
out of Macedonia, the common objective of all.

Faced with division _ex post facto_, the allies found their _a priori_
agreement would not resolve the situation. Bulgaria, the predominant
partner and the most aggrieved, would neither recognize the others’
rights of possession nor honestly submit her claims to the only
possible arbiter, the Tsar of Russia. Finding herself one against two,
she tried a _coup de main_ on both fronts, failed, and brought on a
second Balkan war, in which a new determining factor, Rumania,
intervened at a critical moment to decide the issue against her. The
Ottoman armies recovered nearly all they had lost in eastern and
central Thrace, including Adrianople, almost without firing a shot, and
were not ill pleased to be quit of a desperate situation at the price
of Macedonia, Albania, and western Thrace.

Defeated and impoverished, the Ottoman power came out of the war
clinging to a mere remnant of its European empire—one single mutilated
province which did not pay its way. With the lost territories had gone
about one-eighth of the whole population and one-tenth of the total
imperial revenue. But when these heavy losses had been cut, there was
nothing more of a serious nature to put to debit, but a little even to
credit. Ottoman prestige had suffered but slightly in the eyes of the
people. The obstinate and successful defence of the Chataldja lines and
the subsequent recovery of eastern Thrace with Adrianople, the first
European seat of the Osmanlis, had almost effaced the sense of Osmanli
disgrace, and stood to the general credit of the Committee and the
individual credit of its military leader, Enver Bey. The loss of some
thousands of soldiers and much material was compensated by an
invaluable lesson in the faultiness of the military system, and
especially the _Redif_ organization. The way was now clearer than
before for re-making the army on the best European model, the German.
The campaign had not been long, nor, as wars go, costly to wage. In the
peace Turkey gained a new lease of life from the powers, and,
profligate that she was, the promise of more millions of foreign money.

Over and above all this an advantage, which she rated above
international guarantees, was secured to her—the prospective support of
the strongest military power in Europe. The success of Serbia so
menaced Germano-Austrian plans for the penetration of the Balkans, that
the Central Powers were bound to woo Turkey even more lavishly than
before, and to seek alliance where they had been content with
influence. In a strong Turkey resided all their hope of saving from the
Slavs the way to the Mediterranean. They had kept this policy in view
for more than twenty years, and in a hundred ways, by introduction of
Germans into the military organization, promotion of German financial
enterprise, pushing of German commerce, pressure on behalf of German
concessions which would entail provincial influence (for example, the
construction of a transcontinental railway in Asia), those powers had
been manifesting their interest in Turkey with ever-increasing
solicitude. Now they must attach her to themselves with hoops of steel
and, with her help, as soon as might be, try to recast the Balkan
situation.

The experience of the recent war and the prospect in the future made
continuance and accentuation of military government in the Ottoman
Empire inevitable. The Committee, which had made its way back to power
by violent methods, now suppressed its own Constitution almost as
completely as Abdul Hamid had suppressed Midhat’s parliament.
Re-organization of the military personnel, accumulation of war
material, strengthening of defences, provision of arsenals, dockyards,
and ships, together with devices for obtaining money to pay for all
these things, make Ottoman history for the years 1912-14. The bond with
Germany was drawn lighter. More German instructors were invited, more
German engineers commissioned, more munitions of war paid for in French
gold. By 1914 it had become so evident that the Osmanlis must array
themselves with Austro-Germany in any European war, that one wonders
why a moment’s credit was ever given to their protestations of
neutrality when that war came at last in August 1914. Turkey then
needed other three months to complete her first line of defences and
mobilize. These were allowed to her, and in the late autumn she entered
the field against Great Britain, France, and Russia, armed with German
guns, led by German officers, and fed with German gold.



9
_The Future_


Turkey’s situation, therefore, in general terms has become this. With
the dissolution of the Concert of Europe the Ottoman Empire has lost
what had been for a century its chief security for continued existence.
Its fate now depends on that of two European powers which are at war
with the rest of the former Concert. Among the last named are Turkey’s
two principal creditors, holding together about seventy-five per cent.
of her public debt. In the event of the defeat of her friends, these
creditors will be free to foreclose, the debtor being certainly in no
position to meet her obligations. Allied with Christian powers, the
Osmanli caliph has proved no more able than his predecessors to unite
Islam in his defence; but, for what his title is worth, Mohammed V is
still caliph, no rival claim having been put forward. The loyalty of
the empire remains where it was, pending victory or defeat, the
provinces being slow to realize, and still slower to resent, the
disastrous economic state to which the war is reducing them.

The present struggle may leave the Osmanli Empire in one of three
situations: (1) member of a victorious alliance, reinforced, enlarged,
and lightened of financial burdens, as the wages of its sin; (2) member
of a defeated alliance, bound to pay the price of blood in loss of
territory, or independence, or even existence; (3) party to a
compromise under which its territorial empire might conceivably remain
Ottoman, but under even stricter European tutelage than of old.

The first alternative it would be idle to discuss, for the result of
conditions so novel are impossible to foresee. Nor, indeed, when
immediate events are so doubtful an at the present moment, is it
profitable to attempt to forecast the ultimate result of any of the
alternatives. Should, however, either the second or the third become
fact, certain general truths about the Osmanlis will govern the
consequences; and these must be borne in mind by any in whose hands the
disposal of the empire may lie.

The influence of the Osmanlis in their empire to-day resides in three
things: first, in their possession of Constantinople; second, in the
sultan’s caliphate and his guardianship of the holy cities of Islam;
third, in certain qualities of Osmanli character, notably ‘will to
power’ and courage in the field.

What Constantinople means for the Osmanlis is implied in that name
_Roum_ by which the western dominions of the Turks have been known ever
since the Seljuks won Asia Minor. Apart from the prestige of their own
early conquests, the Osmanlis inherited, and in a measure retain in the
Near East, the traditional prestige of the greatest empire which ever
held it. They stand not only for their own past but also for whatever
still lives of the prestige of Rome. Theirs is still the repute of the
imperial people _par excellence_, chosen and called to rule.

That this repute should continue, after the sweeping victories of
Semites and subsequent centuries of Ottoman retreat before other heirs
of Rome, is a paradox to be explained only by the fact that a large
part of the population of the Near East remains at this day in about
the same stage of civilization and knowledge as in the time of, say,
Heraclius. The Osmanlis, be it remembered, were and are foreigners in a
great part of their Asiatic empire equally with the Greeks of Byzantium
or the Romans of Italy; and their establishment in Constantinople
nearly five centuries ago did not mean to the indigenous peoples of the
Near East what it meant to Europe—a victory of the East over the
West—so much as a continuation of immemorial ‘Roman’ dominion still
exercised from the same imperial centre. Since Rome first spread its
shadow over the Near East, many men of many races, whose variety was
imperfectly realised, if realised at all, by the peasants of Asia
Minor, Syria, Mesopotamia, and Egypt, have ruled in its name; the
Osmanlis, whose governmental system was in part the Byzantine, made but
one more change which meant the same old thing. The peasants know, of
course, about those Semitic victories; but they know also that if the
Semite has had his day of triumph and imposed, as was right and proper,
his God and his Prophet on Roum—even on all mankind as many believed,
and some may be found in remoter regions who still believe—he has
returned to his own place south of Taurus; and still Roum is Roum,
natural indefeasible Lord of the World.

Such a belief is dying now, of course; but it dies slowly and hard. It
still constitutes a real asset of the Osmanlis, and will not cease to
have value until they lose Constantinople. On the possession of the old
imperial city it depends for whatever vitality it has. You may
demonstrate, as you will, and as many publicists have done since the
Balkan War and before, what and how great economic, political, and
social advantages would accrue to the Osmanlis, if they could bring
themselves to transfer their capital to Asia. Here they would be rid of
Rumelia, which costs, and will always cost them, more than it yields.
Here they could concentrate Moslems where their co-religionists are
already the great majority, and so have done with the everlasting
friction and weakness entailed in jurisdiction over preponderant
Christian elements. Here they might throw off the remnants of their
Byzantinism as a garment and, no longer forced to face two ways, live
and govern with single minds as the Asiatics they are.

Vain illusion, as Osmanli imperialists know! It is their empire that
would fall away as a garment so soon as the Near East realized that
they no longer ruled in the Imperial City. Enver Pasha and the
Committee were amply justified in straining the resources of the
Ottoman Empire to cracking-point, not merely to retain Constantinople
but also to recover Adrianople and a territory in Europe large enough
to bulk as Roum. Nothing that happened in that war made so greatly for
the continuation of the old order in Asiatic Turkey as the reoccupation
of Adrianople. The one occasion on which Europeans in Syria had reason
to expect a general explosion was when premature rumours of the entry
of the Bulgarian army into Stambul gained currency for a few hours.
That explosion, had the news proved true or not been contradicted in
time, would have been a panic-stricken, ungovernable impulse of
anarchy—of men conscious that an old world had passed away and ignorant
what conceivable new world could come to be.

But the perilous moment passed, to be succeeded by general diffusion of
a belief that the inevitable catastrophe was only postponed. In the
breathing-time allowed, Arabs, Kurds, and Armenians discussed and
planned together revolt from the moribund Osmanli, and, separately, the
mutual massacre and plundering of one another. Arab national
organizations and nationalist journals sprang to life at Beirut and
elsewhere. The revival of Arab empire was talked of, and names of
possible capitals and kings were bandied about. One Arab province, the
Hasa, actually broke away. Then men began to say that the Bulgarians
would not advance beyond Chataldja: the Balkan States were at war among
themselves: finally, Adrianople had been re-occupied. And all was as in
the beginning. Budding life withered in the Arab movement, and the Near
East settled down once more in the persistent shadow of Roum.

Such is the first element in Osmanli prestige, doomed to disappear the
moment that the Ottoman state relinquishes Europe. Meanwhile there it
is for what it is worth; and it is actually worth a tradition of
submission, natural and honourable, to a race of superior destiny,
which is instinctive in some millions of savage simple hearts.


What of the second element? The religious prestige of the Ottoman power
as the repository of caliphial authority and trustee for Islam in the
Holy Land of Arabia, is an asset almost impossible to estimate. Would a
death struggle of the Osmanlis in Europe rouse the Sunni world? Would
the Moslems of India, Afghanistan, Turkestan, China, and Malaya take up
arms for the Ottoman sultan as caliph? Nothing but the event will prove
that they would. Jehad, or Holy War, is an obsolescent weapon difficult
and dangerous for Young Turks to wield: difficult because their own
Islamic sincerity is suspect and they are taking the field now as
clients of _giaur_ peoples; dangerous because the Ottoman nation itself
includes numerous Christian elements, indispensable to its economy.

Undoubtedly, however, the Ottoman sultanate can count on its religious
prestige appealing widely, overriding counteracting sentiments, and, if
it rouses to action, rousing the most dangerous temper of all. It is
futile to ignore the caliph because he is not of the Koreish, and owes
his dignity to a sixteenth-century transfer. These facts are either
unknown or not borne in mind by half the Sunnites on whom he might
call, and weigh far less with the other half than his hereditary
dominion over the Holy Cities, sanctioned by the prescription of nearly
four centuries.

One thing can be foretold with certainty. The religious prestige of an
Ottoman sultan, who had definitely lost control of the Holy Places,
would cease as quickly and utterly as the secular prestige of one who
had evacuated Constantinople: and since the loss of the latter would
probably precipitate an Arab revolt, and cut off the Hejaz, the
religious element in Ottoman prestige may be said to depend on
Constantinople as much as the secular. All the more reason why the
Committee of Union and Progress should not have accepted that
well-meant advice of European publicists! A successful revolt of the
Arab-speaking provinces would indeed sound the death-knell of the
Ottoman Empire. No other event would be so immediately and surely
catastrophic.


The third element in Osmanli prestige, inherent qualities of the
Osmanli ‘Turk’ himself, will be admitted by every one who knows him and
his history. To say that he has the ‘will to power’ is not, however, to
say that he has an aptitude for government. He wishes to govern others;
his will to do so imposes itself on peoples who have not the same will;
they give way to him and he governs them indifferently, though often
better than they can govern themselves. For example, bad as, according
to our standards, Turkish government is, native Arab government, when
not in tutelage to Europeans, has generally proved itself worse, when
tried in the Ottoman area in modern times. Where it is of a purely
Bedawi barbaric type, as in the emirates of central Arabia, it does
well enough; but if the population be contaminated ever so little with
non-Arab elements, practices, or ideas, Arab administration seems
incapable of producing effective government. It has had chances in the
Holy Cities at intervals, and for longer periods in the Yemen. But a
European, long resident in the latter country, who has groaned under
Turkish administration, where it has always been most oppressive, bore
witness that the rule of the native Imam only served to replace
oppressive government by oppressive anarchy.

As for the Osmanli’s courage as a fighting man, that has often been
exemplified, and never better than in the Gallipoli peninsula. It is
admitted. The European and Anatolian Osmanlis yield little one to the
other in this virtue; but the palm, if awarded at all, must be given to
the levies from northern and central Asia Minor.


If Constantinople should be lost, the Arab-speaking parts of the empire
would in all likelihood break away, carrying the Holy Cities with them.
When the constant risk of this consummation, with the cataclysmic
nature of its consequences is considered, one marvels why the
Committee, which has shown no mean understanding of some conditions
essential to Osmanli empire, should have done so little hitherto to
conciliate Arab susceptibilities. Neither in the constitution of the
parliament nor in the higher commands of the army have the
Arab-speaking peoples been given anything like their fair share; and
loudly and insistently have they protested. Perhaps the Committee,
whose leading members are of a markedly Europeanized type, understands
Asia less well than Europe. Certainly its programme of Ottomanization,
elaborated by military ex-attachés, by Jew bankers and officials from
Salonika, and by doctors, lawyers, and other _intellectuels_ fresh from
Paris, was conceived on lines which offered the pure Asiatic very
little scope. The free and equal Osmanlis were all to take their cue
from men of the Byzantine sort which the European provinces, and
especially the city of Constantinople, breed. After the revolution,
nothing in Turkey struck one so much as the apparition on the top of
things everywhere of a type of Osmanli who has the characteristic
qualities of the Levantine Greek. Young officers, controlling their
elders, only needed a change of uniform to pass in an Athenian crowd.
Spare and dapper officials, presiding in seats of authority over Kurds
and Arabs, reminded one of Greek journalists. Osmanli journalists
themselves treated one to rhodomontades punctuated with restless
gesticulation, which revived memories of Athenian cafés in war-time. It
was the Byzantine triumphing over the Asiatic; and the most Asiatic
elements in the empire were the least likely to meet with the
appreciation or sympathy of the Byzantines.

Are the Arab-speaking peoples, therefore, likely to revolt, or be
successful in splitting the Ottoman Empire, if they do? The present
writer would like to say, in parenthesis, that, in his opinion, this
consummation of the empire is not devoutly to be wished. The
substitution of Arab administration for Osmanli would necessarily
entail European tutelage of the parts of the Arab-speaking area in
which powers, like ourselves, have vital interests—Syria, for example,
southern Mesopotamia, and, probably, Hejaz. The last named, in
particular, would involve us in so ticklish and thankless a task, that
one can only be thankful for the Turkish caretaker there to-day, and
loth to see him dismissed.

An Arab revolt, however, might break out whether the Triple Entente
desired its success or not. What chance of success would it have? The
peoples of the Arab part of the Ottoman Empire are a congeries of
differing races, creeds, sects, and social systems, with no common bond
except language. The physical character of their land compels a good
third of them to be nomadic, predatory barbarians, feared by the other
two-thirds. The settled folk are divided into Moslem and Christian (not
to mention a large Jewish element), the cleavage being more abrupt than
in western Turkey and the tradition and actual spirit of mutual enmity
more separative. Further, each of those main creed-divisions is
subdivided. Even Islam in this region includes a number of incompatible
sects, such as the Ansariye, the Metawali, and the Druses in the Syrian
mountains, Shiite Arabs on the Gulf coast and the Persian border, with
pagan Kurds and Yezidis in the latter region and north Mesopotamia. As
for the Christians, their divisions are notorious, most of these being
subdivided again into two or more hostile communions apiece. It is
almost impossible to imagine the inhabitants of Syria concerting a
common plan or taking common action. The only elements among them which
have shown any political sense or capacity for political organization
are Christian. The Maronites of the Lebanon are most conspicuous among
these; but neither their numbers nor their traditional relations with
their neighbours qualify them to form the nucleus of a free united
Syria. The ‘Arab Movement’ up to the present has consisted in little
more than talk and journalese. It has not developed any considerable
organization to meet that stable efficient organization which the
Committee of Union and Progress has directed throughout the Ottoman
dominions.

As for the rest of the empire, Asia Minor will stand by the Osmanli
cause, even if Europe and Constantinople, and even if the Holy Places
and all the Arab-speaking provinces be lost. Its allegiance does not
depend on either the tradition of Roum or the caliphate, but on
essential unity with the Osmanli nation. Asia Minor is the nation.
There, prepared equally by Byzantine domination and by Seljukian
influence, the great mass of the people long ago identified itself
insensibly and completely with the tradition and hope of the Osmanlis.
The subsequent occupation of the Byzantine capital by the heirs of the
Byzantine system, and their still later assumption of caliphial
responsibility, were not needed to cement the union. Even a military
occupation by Russia or by another strong power would not detach
Anatolia from the Osmanli unity; for a thing cannot be detached from
itself. But, of course, that occupation might after long years cause
the unity itself to cease to be.

Such an occupation, however, would probably not be seriously resisted
or subsequently rebelled against by the Moslem majority in Asia Minor,
supposing Osmanli armaments to have been crushed. The Anatolian
population is a sober, labouring peasantry, essentially agricultural
and wedded to the soil. The levies for Yemen and Europe, which have
gone far to deplete and exhaust it of recent years, were composed of
men who fought to order and without imagination, steadily and
faithfully, as their fathers had fought. They have no lust for war, no
Arabian tradition of fighting for its own sake, and little, if any,
fanaticism. Attempts to inspire Anatolian troops with religious rage in
the Balkan War were failures. They were asked to fight in too modern a
way under too many Teutonic officers. The result illustrated a prophecy
ascribed to Ghasri Mukhtar Pasha. When German instructors were first
introduced into Turkey, he foretold that they would be the end of the
Ottoman army. No, these Anatolians desire nothing better than to follow
their plough-oxen, and live their common village life, under any master
who will let them be.

Elements of the Christian minority, however, Armenian and Greek, would
give trouble with their developed ideas of nationality and
irrepressible tendency to ‘Europize’. They would present, indeed,
problems of which at present one cannot foresee the solution. It seems
inevitable that an autonomous Armenia, like an autonomous Poland, must
be constituted ere long; but where? There is no geographical unit of
the Ottoman area in which Armenians are the majority. If they cluster
more thickly in the vilayets of Angora, Sivas, Erzerum, Kharput, and
Van, i.e. in easternmost Asia Minor, than elsewhere, and form a village
people of the soil, they are consistently a minority in any large
administrative district. Numerous, too, in the trans-Tauric vilayets of
Adana and Aleppo, the seat of their most recent independence, they are
townsmen in the main, and not an essential element of the agricultural
population. Even if a considerable proportion of the Armenians, now
dispersed through towns of western Asia Minor and in Constantinople,
could be induced to concentrate in a reconstituted Armenia (which is
doubtful, seeing how addicted they are to general commerce and what may
be called parasitic life), they could not fill out both the Greater and
the Lesser Armenias of history, in sufficient strength to overbear the
Osmanli and Kurdish elements. The widest area which might he
constituted an autonomous Armenia with good prospect of
self-sufficiency would be the present Russian province, where the
head-quarters of the national religion lie, with the addition of the
provinces of Erzerum, Van, and Kharput.

But, if Russia had brought herself to make a self-denying ordinance,
she would have to police her new Armenia very strongly for some years;
for an acute Kurdish problem would confront it, and no concentration of
nationals could be looked for from the Armenia Irredenta of Diarbekr,
Urfa, Aleppo, Aintab, Marash, Adana, Kaisariyeh, Sivas, Angora, and
Trebizond (not to mention farther and more foreign towns), until public
security was assured in what for generations has been a cockpit. The
Kurd is, of course, an Indo-European as much as the Armenian, and
rarely a true Moslem; but it would be a very long time indeed before
these facts reconciled him to the domination of the race which he has
plundered for three centuries. Most of the Osmanlis of eastern Asia
Minor are descendants of converted Armenians; but their assimilation
would be slow and doubtful. Islam, more rapidly and completely than any
other creed, extinguishes racial sympathies and groups its adherents
anew.

The Anatolian Greeks are less numerous but not less difficult to
provide for. The scattered groups of them on the plateau—in Cappadocia,
Pontus, the Konia district—and on the eastward coast-lands would offer
no serious difficulty to a lord of the interior. But those in the
western river-basins from Isbarta to the Marmora, and those on the
western and north-western littorals, are of a more advanced and
cohesive political character, imbued with nationalism, intimate with
their independent nationals, and actively interested in Hellenic
national politics. What happens at Athens has long concerned them more
than what happens at Constantinople; and with Greece occupying the
islands in the daily view of many of them, they are coming to regard
themselves more and more every day as citizens of Graecia Irredenta.
What is to be done with these? What, in particular, with Smyrna, the
second city of the Ottoman Empire and the first of ‘Magna Graecia’? Its
three and a half hundred thousand souls include the largest Greek urban
population resident in any one city. Shall it be united to Greece?
Greece herself might well hesitate. It would prove a very irksome
possession, involving her in all sorts of continental difficulties and
risks. There is no good frontier inland for such an _enclave_. It could
hardly be held without the rest of westernmost Asia, from Caria to the
Dardanelles, and in this region the great majority of the population is
Moslem of old stocks, devotedly attached both to their faith and to the
Osmanli tradition.

The present writer, however, is not among the prophets. He has but
tried to set forth what may delay and what may precipitate the collapse
of an empire, whose doom has been long foreseen, often planned,
invariably postponed; and, further, to indicate some difficulties
which, being bound to confront heirs of the Osmanlis, will be better
met the better they are understood before the final agony—If this is,
indeed, to be!



INDEX


Abbasid Empire,
Abdul Aziz, Sultan,
Abdul Hamid, Sultan,
Abdul Mejid, Sultan,
Achaia,
Achmet III: _see_ Ahmed III.
Adalia,
Adana,
Aden,
Adhamandios Koráis,
Adrianople,
  captured by the Turks (1361),
  captured by Serbians and Bulgarians (1913),
  first European seat of the Osmanlis,
  foundation of,
  Peace and Treaty of (1829),
  restored to Turkey (1913),
  Russians before (1878),
  siege of (1912-13),
Adriatic, the,
Aegean, the,
  islands of,
  trade of,
Aehrenthal, Baron and Count,
Afium Kara Hissar,
Agram (Zagreb), capital of Croatia,
Agram high treason trial, the,
Agrapha, clansmen of,
Ahiolu (Anchialo),
Ahmed I, Sultan,
Ahmed III, Sultan,
Ahmed ibn Tulun,
Aidin,
Aintab,
Aigina,
Ainos, _See also_ Enos.
Aivali, _See also_ Kydhonies.
Akarnania,
Akerman, Convention of (1826),
Alaeddin, Sultan,
Ala Shehr (Philadelphia),
Albania,
  and the Macedonian question,
  conquest of, by the Turks,
  during the Slav immigration,
  in classical times,
  made independent,
  revolts against Young Turks,
  under the Turks,
Albanian language, the,
Albanians, the,
  migrations of,
Aleppo,
Alexander the Great,
Alexander I, King of Serbia (1889-1903),
Alexander I, Emperor of Russia,
Alexander II, Emperor of Russia,
Alexander III, Emperor of Russia,
Alexander, Crown Prince of Serbia,
Alexander of Battenberg, Prince of Bulgaria (1879-85),
Alexander Karagjorgjević, Prince of Serbia (1843-58),
Alexandria,
Alexis Comnenus, the Emperor,
Ali Pasha,
Ambelakia,
America, effect of emigration from south-eastern Europe to,
Anatolia, the Turks and,
  character of the population,
  feudal families,
Anatolikón,
  captured by the Turks (1825),
Andrassy, Count,
Angora,
  battle of (1402),
Arabia, Turkish prestige in,
  and the Turks,
  movement of, in the direction of revolt,
Arabs and Anatolia,
  and Bulgars,
  and Islam,
Arcadiopolis: _see_ Lule-Burgas.
Argos,
Arian controversy, the,
Armatoli, or Christian militia,
Armenians, the,
  character of the,
  massacres of (1894),
Arnauts: _see_ Albanians.
Arta, Gulf of,
  plain of,
Asen dynasty, the,
Asia Minor, Turks in,
Asparukh (Bulgar prince),
Aspropotamo, the,
Astypalià,
Athens,
  Duchy of,
  University of,
  siege of (1821-2),
  (1827),
Athos, Mount,
Attila,
Austerlitz, battle of (1805),
Austria-Hungary and the Adriatic,
  and the Macedonian question,
  and Serbia, relations between,
  and the Serbs,
  and the Treaty of Berlin,
  and Turkey, relations between,
    wars between,
  annexation of Bosnia and Hercegovina by,
  occupation of Bosnia and Hercegovina by,
  relations with the Balkan League,
  relations with Rumania,
  Ruman and South Slavonic populations in,
Austrian politics in Rumania,
Austrians and Serbs, relations between,
  and Turks,
Avars, the: their invasion of the Balkan peninsula with the Slavs,
  their war with the Bulgars,
Avlona,
  bay of,
Avshar tribe,
‘Ayon Oros’,
Azerbaijan,

Bačka,
Bagdad,
‘Balance of Power’, the,
Balkan League, the,
  formation of the,
  dissolution of the,
Balkan peninsula, the, annexation of, by Mohammed II,
  control of,
  economic unity of,
  German policy in,
  nationalism in,
  Slav inhabitants of,
  Turkish power in,
  under Roman rule,
Balkan States, relations between the,
  zollverein,
Balkan war, the first (1912-13),
  the second (June 1913),
Banat, the,
Baranya,
Basil I, the Emperor,
Basil II, the Emperor,
  ‘Slayer of the Bulgars’,
Bassarab, dynasty of,
Bayezid I, Sultan,
Bayezid II, Sultan,
Beaconsfield, Earl of,
Beirut,
Belgrade,
  capital of Serbia,
  captured by the Serbs (1807),
  captured by the Turks (1521),
   (1813),
  its Celtic name,
  Treaty of (1739),
Belisarius,
Berchtold, Count,
Bergama,
Berlin,
  Congress of (1878),
  Treaty of (1878),
Bessarabia, Bulgars in, 25,
  lost(1812),
  regained (1856),
  lost again (1878),
  importance with regard to present situation,
Bieberstein, Duron Marschall von,
Bismarck,
Bitolj: _see_ Monastir.
Black Castle of Afiun,
Black Sea,
  Russian exclusion from,
Bogomil heresy, the,
Boja, lord of Kashgar,
Boris, Bulgar prince (852-88),
Boris, Crown Prince of Bulgaria,
Bosnia, annexation of,
  independence of, and conquest of, by the Turks,
  in relation to the other Serb territories,
  its Slavonic population,
  relations of, with Hungary,
  revolts in, against Turkey,
  under Austro-Hungarian rule,
  under Turkish rule,
Bosphorus, the,
Botzaris, Marko,
Branković, George,
Branković, Vuk,
Bratianu, Ioan (father),
  (son),
Bregalnica, battle of the (1913),
Brusa,
Bucarest, Committee of,
  Peace Conference (1913),
  Treaty of (1812),
    (1913),
Bucovina, acquisition by Austria,
  Rumanians in,
Buda,
Budapest, in relation to the Serbo-Croats,
Budua,
Bulgaria, declaration of independence by, and assumption of title Tsar
by its ruler,
  conflicting interests with Greece,
  early wars between, and the Greeks,
  geographical position of,
  growth of,
  intervention on the side of the Central Powers in the European War,
  its division into eastern and western,
    extent of western,
  in the two Balkan wars (1912-13),
  its early relations with Rome,
  its relations with Russia,
  obtains recognition as a nationality in the Ottoman Empire,
  of Slav speech and culture,
  place of, in the Balkan peninsula,
  Turkish atrocities in,
Bulgaria and Rumania,
Bulgaria and Serbia, contrasted,
  the agreement between,
  wars between (1885, 1913),
Bulgaria and Turkey, relations between,
Bulgarian bishoprics in Macedonia,
  Church, early vicissitudes of the,
    claims and propaganda in Macedonia,
  Exarchist Church, the,
  literature,
  monarchy, origins of the,
Bulgarians, general distribution of,
  their attitude to the Slavs and the Germans,
Bulgarians and Serbians, contrast between,
Bulgars, the, their origin,
  their advance westwards and then southwards into the Balkan
  peninsula,
  their absorption by the Slavs,
  north of the Danube,
  adherents of the Orthodox Church,
Burke, Edmund,
Byron, Lord,
Byzantine Christianity,
  commerce,
  diplomacy, its attitude towards the Slav and other invaders,
  Empire,
    heritage and expansion of, by the Turks,
Byzantium, ascendancy of, over Bulgaria,
  decline of,
  Greek colony of,
  Roman administrative centre,

Cairo,
Caliphate, the,
Campo Formio, Treaty of (1797),
Candia, siege of,
Canea,
Cantucuzene, John,
Cape Malea,
Cappadocia,
Caria,
Carinthia,
Carlowitz, Treaty of (1699),
Carniola,
Carol, Prince of Rumania,
    his accession,
    joins Russia against Turkey,
    intention to abdicate,
    proclaimed king,
  King,
    and the Balkans,
    personal points,
Carp, P.P.,
Carpathian mountains, the,
Catargiu, Lascar,
Catherine, Empress,
Cattaro, Bocche di,
Caucasia,
Cefalonia,
Celts, the, in the Balkan peninsula,
Cerigo,
Cetina river (Dalmatia),
Cetinje,
Chaeronea,
Charlemagne, crushes the Avars,
Charles VI, Emperor of Austria,
Charles, Prince and King of Rumania: _see_ Carol.
Časlav, revolts against Bulgars,
Chataldja, lines of,
Chesme, destruction of Turkish fleet in,
Chios: _see_ Khios.
Christianity,
  in the Balkan peninsula in classical times,
  introduced into Bulgaria,
  introduced amongst the Serbs,
Christians, their treatment by the Turks,
Church, division of the, affects the Serbs and Croats,
Church, Generalissimo Sir Richard,
Churches, rivalry of the eastern and western,
Cilicia,
Claudius, the Emperor,
Coalition, Serbo-Croat or Croato-Serb, the,
Cochrane, Grand Admiral,
Cogalniceanu, M.,
Comnenus: _see_ Alexis _and_ Manuel.
Concert of Europe,
Constantine the Great,
Constantine, King of Greece,
Constantine, ruler of Bulgaria,
Constantinople,
  and the Serbian Church,
  ascendancy of, over Bulgaria,
  cathedral of Aya Sophia,
  commercial interests of,
  decline of,
  defences of,
  ecclesiastical influence of,
  fall of (1204),
    (1453),
  its position at the beginning of the barbarian invasions,
  made an imperial city,
  Patriarchate at,
  ‘Phanari’, the,
  spiritual rivalry of, with Rome,
Constitution, Rumanian,
Corfù,
Corinth: _see_ Korinth.
Crete: _see_ Krete.
Crimea, abandoned to Russia,
Crimean War, the,
Croatia,
  absorbed by Hungary,
  position of, in relation to the Serb territories,
Croato-Serb unity, movement in favour of,
Croats, Crotians,
  general distribution of,
  their origin,
Croats and Serbs, difference between,
Crusaders, the, in the Balkan peninsula,
Crusades; the first; the fourth,
Cuza, Prince of Rumania,
Cyclades, the,
Cyprus,
  in Latin hands,
  in Ottoman hands,
  under the British,
Cyrenaica,
Cyril, St.,
Cyrillic alphabet, the,

Dacia,
  subjection to, and abandonment by, the Romans,
Dacians,
  settlement in Carpathian regions,
  wars with Rome,
Dalmatia,
  acquired by Austria-Hungary,
  and Venice,
  in classical times,
  in relation to other Serb territories,
  its Slavonic population,
  relations of, with Hungary,
Daniel, Prince-Bishop of Montenegro,
Danilo, Prince of Montenegro,
Danube, the,
  as frontier of Roman Empire,
Danube _(continued)_:
  Bulgars cross the,
  Slavs cross the,
Danubian principalities, Russian protectorate in,
Dardanelles, the,
Decius, the Emperor,
Dedeagach,
Deliyannis,
Demotika,
Dhimitzána,
Diocletian, the Emperor, his redistribution of the imperial provinces,
Dnieper, the,
Dniester, the,
Dobrudja,
  acquisition by Rumania,
  Bulgarian aspirations in regard to,
Draga, Queen-Consort of Serbia,
Dramali,
Drave, the,
Drina, the,
Dubrovnik: _see_ Ragusa.
Dulcigno (Ulcinj),
Durazzo,
Durostorum: _see_ Silistria.
Dushan: _see_ Stephen Dušan.

Eastern Church, the,
Eastern Slavs; _see_ Russians.
Edremid,
Egypt,
Egyptian expedition (1823-4),
Enos-Midia line, the,
Enver Bey,
Epirus,
  power of Hellenism in,
Ertogrul, Osmanli chief,
Erzerum,
Eugen, Prince, of Savoy,
Euphrates, the,
Euxine trade,
Evyénios Voulgáris,
Exarchist Church, the,

Fabvier,
Ferdinand, Prince and King of Bulgaria (1886-),
  his relations with foreign powers,
Ferdinand, King of Rumania,
Filipescu, Nicholas,
Fiume (Rjeka),
France,
  and the Macedonian question,
  and the struggle for Greek independence,
  and the struggle for the Mediterranean,
  and the Turks,
  relations with Rumania,
French, the,
  in the Balkan peninsula,
  in Dalmatia,
  in Morocco,
  influence in Rumania,
French Revolution
  and the rights of nationalities,
Friedjung, Dr., and the accusation against Serbia,

Galaxidhi,
Galicia,
Gallipoli,
Genoese,
George, Crown Prince of Serbia,
George,
  King of Greece,
  assassination of,
George, Prince of Greece,
German diplomacy at Constantinople,
  influence in the Near East,
  influence in Rumania,
  influence in Turkey,
German Empire, restlessness of,
German hierarchy, early struggles of, against Slavonic liturgy,
Germanic peoples, southward movement of,
Germanòs, metropolitan bishop of Patrae,
Germany and the Turkish frontier,
  efforts to reach the Adriatic,
  its expansion eastward,
  and the Macedonian question,
  and Russia, relations between,
  and the Treaty of Berlin,
  relations with Rumania,
  revolutions promoted by,
Gjorgjević, Dr. V.,
Golden Horn,
Goluchowski, Count,
Gorazd,
Gorchakov, Prince,
Goths, invasion of the,
Great Britain and the Balkan States, relations between,
  and Egypt,
  and Rumania,
  and Syria,
  and the Ionian Islands,
  and the Macedonian question,
  and the struggle for Greek independence,
  and the struggle for the Mediterranean,
  and the Treaty of Berlin,
  loan to Greece,
  occupation of Cyprus,
Greece, anarchy in,
  ancient,
  and Macedonia,
  and Russia,
  and Serbia,
  and the adjacent islands,
  and the Christian religion,
  and the first Balkan war,
  and the Ionian Islands,
  and the Orthodox Church,
  and the Slav migration,
  brigandage in,
  conflict of interests with Bulgaria,
  conquest of, by the Turks,
  delimitation of the frontier (1829),
  dispute with Italy as to possession of Epirus,
  effect of the French Revolution on,
  invasion of, by Goths,
  land-tax,
  loans to,
  local liberties,
  ‘Military League’ of 1909,
  minerals of,
  monarchy established, and its results,
  ‘National Assembly’,
  oppressive relations with Turkey, and efforts for liberation,
  revolutions in 1843 and 1862.
  territorial contact with Turkey.
  ‘tribute-children’ for Turkish army from.
  war with Turkey (1828); (1897); (1912).
Greek agriculture.
  anti-Greek movement in Rumania.
  army.
  art and architecture.
  ascendancy in Bulgaria.
  _bourgeoisie_.
  claims and propaganda in Macedonia.
  coalition with the Seljuks.
  commerce and economic progress.
  dialects of Ancient Greece.
  education.
  influence in the Balkan peninsula.
  influence in Bulgaria.
  influence in Rumania.
  language in Rumanian Church.
  literature.
  monastic culture.
  nationalism.
  national religion.
  navy.
  officials tinder the Turks.
  Patriarch.
  public finance.
  public spirit.
  public works.
  railways.
  renaissance.
  shipping.
  unity.
Greek Empire, decline of.
Greek hierarchy, in Bulgaria, the.
Greeks, Anatolian.
  Byzantine.
  general distribution of.
  Ottoman.
  their attitude with regard to the barbarian invasions.
Gregorios, Greek Patriarch at Constantinople.
Gulkhaneh.

Hadrian, the Emperor.
Haliacmon Valley.
Halys river.
Hasa.
Hatti Sherif.
Hejaz.
Hellenic culture and civilization.
Hellenic Republic.
Hellespont, the.
Hercegovina.
  annexation of, by Austria-Hungary.
  its Slavonic population.
  origin and independence of, and conquest of, by the Turks.
  revolts in, against Turkey.
  under Austro-Hungarian rule.
  under Turkish rule.
Hilmi Pasha.
Hungarians.
  and the Turks.
  invade the Balkan peninsula.
Hungary,
  and the Balkan peninsula,
  and the Serbo-Croats,
  and the Serbs,
  and Turkey, wars between,
  conquest of, by Suleiman I,
  growth of,
  loss of, by the Turks,
  Slavs in,
Huns, arrival of the, in Europe,
  their origin,
  settled in Hungary,
Hunyadi, John,
Hydhra and the Hydhriots,
Hypsilantis, Prince Alexander,
  Prince Demetrius,

Ibar, the,
Ibrahim Pasha,
Ida, Mount,
Ignatiyev, Count,
Illyria, Celtic invasion of,
  prefecture of,
  Roman conquest of,
Illyrians, the,
Imbros,
Ionescu, Take,
Ionian islands,
  presented to Greece by Great Britain,
Ipek: _see_ Peć
Iran,
Iskanderoun, Gulf of,
Italian influence in the Balkan peninsula,
  trading cities,
Italy, and the Macedonian question,
  and the possession of Epirus,
  diocese of,
  prefecture of,
  war with Turkey (1911-12),
Ivan III, Tsar of Russia,
Ivan IV, Tsar of Russia,

Jehad, or Holy War,
Jenghis Khan,
Jerusalem,
Jews, at Constantinople,
  in Rumania,
  in Turkey,
Jezzar the Butcher,
Jidda,
John Alexander, ruler of Bulgaria,
John Asen I, Bulgar Tsar (1186-96),
John Asen II, Bulgar Tsar (1218-41),
John Tzimisces, the Emperor,
John the Terrible, Prince of Moldavia,
Joseph II, Emperor of Austria,
Judah,
Jugo-Slav(ia),
Justin I, the Emperor,
Justinian I, the Emperor,

Kaisariyeh,
Kalamata,
Kaloian, Bulgar Tsar (1196-1207),
Kama, Bulgars on the,
Kanaris, Constantine,
Kapodistrias, John,
Kara-George (Petrović),
Karagjorgjević (sc. family of Kara-George) dynasty, the,
Karaiskakis,
Karamania,
Karasi,
Karlovci (Carlowitz, Karlowitz),
Karpathos,
Kasos;
  destruction of (1824),
Kavala,
Kazan,
Khalkidhiki,
Kharput,
  siege of (1822),
Khorasan,
Khurshid Pasha,
Kiev,
Kilkish, Greek victory at,
Kirk-Kilissé, battle of,
Kisseleff, Count,
Kladovo,
Knights Hospitallers of St. John,
Kochana,
Kolettis,
Kolokotrónis, Theodore,
Kondouriottis,
Konia,
  battle of,
Kopais basin, draining of,
Korinth,
  surrender of (1822),
Korinthian Gulf,
Kos,
Kosovo, vilayet of,
Kosovo Polje, battle of,
Kraljević, Marko: _see_ Marko K.
Krete,
  conquest of, by Turks,
  intervention of the powers and constituted an autonomous state,
  speech of,
Krum (Bulgar prince),
Kruševac,
Kubrat (Bulgar prince),
Kumanovo, battle of (1912),
Kumans, the Tartar,
Kurdistan,
Kurds, the,
Kutchuk Kainardji, Treaty of,
Kydhonies, destruction of,

Laibach (Ljubljana),
Lansdowne, Marquess of,
Lárissa,
Latin Empire at Constantinople, the,
  influence in the Balkan peninsula,
Lausanne, Treaty of (1912),
Lazar (Serbian Prince),
‘League of Friends’,
Leipsic, battle of (1813),
Lemnos,
Leo, the Emperor,
Leopold II, Emperor of Austria,
Lepanto, battle of (1571),
Lerna,
Leskovac,
Levant, the,
  commerce of,
Libyan war (1911-12),
Lombards, the,
London, Conference of (1912-13),
  Treaty of (1913),
Louis, conquers the Serbs,
Lule-Burgas,
  battle of (1912),

Macedonia,
  anarchy in,
  defeat of the Turks by the Serbians in,
  establishment of Turks in,
  general characteristics of, in classical times,
  inhabitants of,
  revolt in,
  place-names in,
Macedonian question, the,
  Slavs, the,
Magnesia,
Magyars, the,
  their irruption into Europe,
  growing power and ambitions of the,
  influence upon the Rumanians,
Mahmud I, Sultan,
Mahmud II, Sultan,
Maina,
Maiorescu, Titu
Malasgerd, battle of,
Malta, siege of,
Mamelukes, Egyptian,
Manichaean heresy, the,
Manuel Comnenus, the Emperor,
Marash,
Marcus Aurelius, the Emperor,
Marghiloman, Alexander,
Maria Theresa, Empress of Austria,
Maritsa, the,
  battle of,
Marko Kraljević,
Marmora, Sea of,
Mavrokordatos, Alexander,
Mavromichalis clan,
Mavromichalis, Petros,
Mediterranean, the,
Megaspélaion,
Mehemet Ali: _see_ Mohammed Ali.
Melek Shah, of Persia,
Mendere (Maiandros),
Mesolonghi,
Mesopotamia,
Messenia,
Mesta,
Metéora,
Methodius, St.,
Michael Obrenović III, Prince of Serbia (1840-2, 1860-8),
Michael III, the Emperor,
Michael the Brave, Prince of Wallachia,
Midhat Pasha and representative institutions in Turkey,
Media,
Milan Obrenović II, Prince of Serbia (1839),
Milan Obrenović IV, Prince and King of Serbia (1868-89),
Mileševo, monastery of,
Milica, Princess,
Military colonies, Austro-Hungarian, of Serbs against Turkey,
Miloš Obrenović I, Prince of Serbia (1817-39, 1858-60),
Milovanović, Dr.,
Mircea the Old, Prince of Wallachia,
Misivria (Mesembria),
Mitylini,
Modhon,
Mohacs, battle of,
Mohammed II, Sultan,
Mohammed IV, Sultan,
Mohammed V, Sultan,
Mohammed Ali Pasha, of Egypt,
Mohammedan influence in the Balkan peninsula,
Mohammedan Serbs, of Bosnia and Hercegovina, the,
Moldavia,
  foundation of,
Monastir (Bitolj, in Serbian),
  battle of (1912),
Montenegro,
  achieves its independence,
  and the Balkan League,
  autonomous,
  becomes a kingdom,
  conquered by the Turks,
  during the Napoleonic wars,
  in the Balkan war (1912-13),
  position of, amongst the other Serb territories,
  relations with Russia,
  revolt in,
  under Turkish rule,
  war with Turkey,
Montesquieu,
Morava, the,
Moravia, its conversion to Christianity,
Morea: _see_ Peloponnesos.
Morocco crisis, the,
Moslems,
Mukhtar Pasha,
Muntenia (Wallachia), foundation of,
Murad I, Sultan, murder of,
Murad II, Sultan,
Murad III, Sultan,
Murad V, Sultan,
Murzsteg programme of reforms, the,
Mustapha II, Sultan,
Mustapha III, Sultan,

Naissus: _see_ Nish.
Napoleon I,
Napoleon III, and Rumania,
Natalie, Queen-Consort of Serbia,
Nationalism,
Nauplia,
  fall of (1822),
Nauplia Bay,
Navarino, battle of (1827),
Negrepont,
Nemanja dynasty, the,
Nicaea,
Nicholas I, Prince and King of Montenegro (1860-),
Nicholas I, Emperor of Russia,
Nicholas II, Emperor of Russia,
Nicomedia,
Nikarià, 230.
Nikiphóros Phokas, the Emperor,
Nikopolis,
  battle of,
Nikšić,
Nilufer,
Nish (Naissus, Niš),
  Celtic origin,
  Goths defeated at,
  Bulgarians march on,
  geographical position of,
Nish-Salonika railway,
Nizib,
Normans, the,
Novae: _see_ Svishtov.
Novi Pazar, Sandjak of,
  occupied by Austria-Hungary,
  evacuated by Austria-Hungary,
  occupied by Serbia and Montenegro,

Obilić, Miloš,
Obrenović dynasty, the,
Odessa,
  Committee of,
Odhyssèus,
Oecumenical Patriarch, the,
Okhrida,
  Archbishopric and Patriarchate of,
  Lake of,
Old Serbia (northern Macedonia),
Orient, prefecture of the,
Orkhan,
Orthodox Church: _see_ Eastern Church.
Osman (Othman), Sultan,
Osmanli: _see_ Turkey _and_ Turks.
Ostrogoths, the,
Otranto, straits of,
Otto, Prince, of Bavaria, King of Greece,
  driven into exile,
Ottoman Empire: _see_ Turkey.
Ouchy, Treaty of: _see_ Lausanne, Treaty of.
Oxus,

Palaiologos, Romaic dynasty of,
Pannonia,
  Bulgars in,
Pan-Serb movement, the
Pan-Slavism,
Paris, Congress of (1856),
  Convention (1858),
  Treaty of (1856),
Paša, M,
Passarowitz, Treaty of,
Pasvanoghlu,
Patmos,
Patras,
  Gulf of,
Paul, Emperor of Russia,
Paulicians, the,
Peć (Ipek, in Turkish), patriarchate of,
Pechenegs, the Tartar,
Petraeus,
‘Peloponnesian Senate’,
Peloponnesos (Morea),
Pera,
Persia and the Turks,
  at war with Constantinople,
  Grand Seljuk of,
Persian Gulf,
Peter the Great,
  ‘Testament’ of,
Peter, Bulgar Tsar (927-69)
Peter I, King of Serbia (1903),
Peter I, Prince-Bishop of Montenegro,
Petrović-Njegoš, dynasty of,
Petta, battle of,
Phanariote Greeks, the, _See_ Greek officials under the
                 Turks, _and_ Turkey, Phanariot régime.
‘Philhellenes’,
‘Philikì Hetairia’,
Philip, Count of Flanders,
Philip of Macedonia,
Philippopolis, Bogomil centre,
  foundation of,
  revolts against Turks,
Pindus,
Pirot,
Place-names, the distribution of classical, indigenous, and
                         Slavonic, in the Balkan peninsula,
Plevna, siege of,
Podgorica,
Poland,
Pontus,
Popes, attitude of the, towards the Slavonic liturgy,
Poros,
Porto Lagos,
Požarevac,
Preslav, Bulgarian capital,
Prespa,
Pressburg, Treaty of (1805),
Prilep, battle of (1912),
‘Primates’, the,
Prizren,
Prussia and Austria, war between (1866),
Psarà,

Radowitz, Baron von,
Ragusa (Dubrovnik, in Serbian), its relations with the Serbian
state,
  prosperity of, under Turkish rule,
  decline of,
Railways in the Balkan peninsula,
Rashid Pasha,
Raška, centre of Serb state,
Règlement Organique,
Religious divisions in the Balkan peninsula,
Resna, in Macedonia,
Rhodes,
  siege of,
Ristić, M.,
Rodosto,
Romaic architecture,
  government,
  language,
‘Romaioi’,
Roman Catholicism in the Balkan peninsula,
Roman Empire,
Roman law,
Rome, its conquest of the Balkan peninsula,
  relations of, with Bulgaria,
  relations of, with Serbia,
  spiritual rivalry of, with Constantinople,
Rosetti, C.A.,
Rovine, battle of,
Rumania and the Balkan peninsula,
  and the second Balkan war(1913),
  and Bulgaria,
  and the Russo-Turkish war (1877),
  anti-Greek movement in,
  anti-Russian revolution in,
  commerce of,
  convention with Russia (1877),
  dynastic question in,
  education in,
  influences at work in,
  military situation,
  nationalist activity in,
  neutrality of,
  origins of,
  Patriarch’s authority in,
  peasantry of,
  Phanariotes in,
  political parties in,
  politics of, internal,
  relations with Russia,
  religion and Church in,
  Roman civilization, influence in,
  rural question in,
  Russian influence in; politics in,
  struggle for independence,
  territorial gains,
  territorial losses,
  Turkish rule in,
  Upper class in (cneazi, boyards),
    origins of,
    social evolution of,
    economic and political supremacy,
Rumanian army,
  claims in Macedonia,
  principalities, foundation of,
    union of,
    revolt (1822),
Rumanians, early evidences of,
  in Bessarabia,
  in Bucovina,
  in Hungary,
  in Macedonia,
Rumelia, Eastern,
Russia and Bulgaria,
  and Greece,
  and Montenegro,
  and Rumania,
  and Serbia,
  and Turkey,
  and the Macedonian question,
  and the struggle for Greek independence,
  Bulgars in,
  commercial treaty with Turkey (1783),
  convention with Rumania (1877),
  conversion to Christianity,
  occupation of Kars,
  re-organization under Peter the Great,
  wars with Turkey (1769-84),
    (1787),
    (1807),
    (1828),
    (1877-8),
    (1914-15),
Russian diplomacy at Constantinople,
  influence in Bulgaria,
  invasion of Balkan peninsula,
  relations with the Balkan Christians,
  relations with the Balkan League,
Russians, the, comparison of,
  with the Southern Slavs,
  _see_ Slavs, the Eastern,

Šabac (Shabatz),
Salisbury, Lord,
Salonika,
Salonika-Nish railway, the,
Samos,
Samothraki,
Samuel, Tsar of western Bulgaria (977-1014),
San Stefano, Treaty of (1878),
Saracens, the,
Sarajevo, capital of Bosnia,
Sava, St.,
Save, the,
Scutari (di Albania), Skodra,
Selim I, Sultan,
Selim III, Sultan,
Seljuks, the,
Semendria: _see_ Smederevo.
Semites, the,
Serb migrations,
  national life, centres of,
  political centres,
  race, home of the,
  territories, divisions of the,
Serbia and Austria-Hungary, relations between,
  and Bulgaria, contrasted,
  the agreement between,
  and Macedonia,
  and Russia, relations between,
  and the annexation of Bosnia and Hercegovina,
  and the Balkan League,
  and Turkey,
  dissensions in,
  geography of,
  Patriarch’s authority in,
  the barrier to German expansion eastwards,
  Turkish conquest of,
  wars with Turkey (1875-7),
Serbian Church, the,
  claims and propaganda in Macedonia,
  Empire, its extent under Stephen Dušan,
  literature,
  nation, centre of gravity of,
  principality, its extent in 1830,
Serbo-Bulgarian war (1885),
  (1913),
Serbo-Croat nationality, formation of the,
Serbo-Croat unity, movement in favour of,
Serbo-Croats, general distribution of,
Serbs, defeat Bulgars and Greeks,
  distribution of the, in the Balkan peninsula,
  general distribution of the,
  north of the Danube,
  outside the boundaries of the Serb state,
  religious persecution of,
  revolt against Bulgaria,
  revolt against the Magyars,
  revolts against Turkey,
  their attitude towards the Germans,
Serbs and Croats, difference between,
Shabatz: _see_ Šabac.
Shipka Pass,
Shishman, revolts against Bulgaria,
Sicily,
Silistria,
Simeon the Great, Bulgar Tsar (893-927),
Singidunum: _see_ Belgrade.
Sitvatorok, Treaty of,
Sivas,
Skanderbey,
Skodra: _see_ Scutari.
Skoplje (Üsküb, in Turkish),
Slav influence in Rumania,
Slavonia,
  absorbed by Hungary,
Slavonic immigration, the streams of, in the Balkan peninsula,
  languages, the, use of, in Rumanian Church,
  liturgy, the, southern, nationalities,
Slavs, maritime,
  method of their migration southwards into the Balkan peninsula
  migration, in the seventh century,
  their lack of cohesion,
  their attacks on Salonika and Constantinople with the Avars,
  their original home,
  their settlement south of the Danube,
  the Balkan, their attitude towards the Church, under Turkish rule,
  the Eastern (Russians),
  the Southern, general distribution of,
  the Western,
Slivnitsa, battle of (1885),
Slovenes, the,
Smederevo (Semendria),
Smyrna,
Sofia, captured by the Bulgars from the Greeks, captured by the Turks,
Soudha Bay,
Southern Slav nationalities, the,
Spain, Jews expelled from,
Spalajković, Dr.,
Spetza,
Sporades, the,
Srem: _see_ Syrmia.
Stambul,
Sultanate of,
Stambulov,
Stephen Dragutin,
Stephen Dušan, King of Serbia(1331-45), Tsar of Serbs, Bulgars, and
Greeks (1345-55),
Stephen (Lazarević), Serbian Prince,
Stephen Nemanja, _veliki župan_,
Stephen Nemanjić, King of Serbia (1196-1223), the First-Crowned,
Stephen Radoslav, King of Serbia (1223-33),
Stephen Uroš I, King of Serbia (1242-76),
Stephen Uroš II (Milutin), King of Serbia (1282-1321),
Stephen Uroš III (Dećanski), King of Serbia (1321-31),
Stephen Vladislav, King of Serbia (1233-42),
Stephen the Great, Prince of Moldavia,
Struma, the,
Suleiman I, Sultan (the Magnificent),
Suli, clansmen of,
Šumadija,
Svetoslav, ruler of Bulgaria,
Svishtov,
Svyatoslav, Prince of Kiev,
Syria,
Syrian question, the,
Syrmia,

Tabriz,
Tanzimat, the,
Taraboš, Mount,
Tarsus,
Tartar invasion, the,
Tartars of the Golden Horde,
Tenedos,
Teutons, the,
Thasos,
Theodore Lascaris, the Emperor,
Theodoric,
Theodosius, the Emperor,
Theophilus of Constantinople,
Thessaly,
Thrace,
Thu-Kiu, people of,
Tilsit, peace of (1807),
Timok, the,
Timur,
Tirnovo, centre and capital of second Bulgarian empire,
Trajan, the Emperor, in the Balkan peninsula,
  his conquest of Dacia,
Transylvania,
Trebizond,
Trieste,
Trikéri, destruction of,
Trikoupis, Greek statesman,
Tripoli,
Tripolitza,
Tunisia,
Turcomans, the,
Turkestan,
Turkey: administrative systems,
  and the Armenian massacres (1894),
  and the Balkans,
  and Bulgaria,
  and the Bulgarian atrocities,
  and Greece,
  and the islands of southeastern Europe,
  and Rumania,
  and Russia,
  and Serbia,
  and the struggle for Greek independence,
  and the suzerainty of Krete,
  Christians in, position of,
  codification of the civil law,
  commercial treaties,
  Committee of Union and Progress,
  conquests in Europe,
    in Asia,
    of the Balkan peninsula,
  decline and losses of territory in Europe and Asia,
  ‘Dere Beys’,
  Dragoman, office of, 184, 185,
  expansion: of the Osmanli kingdom,
    of the Byzantine Empire,
    extent of the empire in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,
    territorial expansion in Asia,
  feudal aristocracy of,
  financial embarrassments and public debt,
  frontier beyond the Danube,
  German influence in,
  Grand Vizierate,
  military organization,
    soldiery recruited from Christian races,
    ‘tribute-children’ system of recruiting,
  name of,
  pan-Islamic propaganda under Abdul Hamul,
  pan-Ottomanism,
  Phanariot régime,
  praetorians,
  railway construction, effect of,
  reforms in,
  representative institutions inaugurated,
  revival and relapse in the nineteenth century,
  revolution of 1910,
  war in the Balkans (1912),
  war with Great Britain, France, and Russia (1914-15),
  wars with Greece (1821),
    (1897),
    (1912),
  war with Italy (1911-12),
  wars with Russia (1769-74),
    (1787),
    (1807),
    (1828),
    (1877-8),
    (1914-15),
  wars with Serbia (1875-7),
  Young Turks, the,
Turkish conquests in Europe,
  fleet,
  janissaries,
Turks (Osmanlis), entry into Europe,
  general distribution of,
  nomadic tribes of,
  origin of,
  vitality and inherent qualities of the,
Tzakonia,

Uighurs, Turkish tribe,
Unkiar Skelessi, Treaty of (1833),
Uroš, King of Serbia: _see_ Stephen Uroš.
Uroš, Serbian Tsar (1355-71),
Üskub: _see_ Skoplje,

Valens, the Emperor,
Valtetzi, battle of,
Van,
Vardar, the,
Varna,
  battle of (1444),
  captured by the Bulgars,
Venezelos, E., Kretan and Greek statesman,
  his part in the Kretan revolution,
  becomes premier of Greece,
  work as a constructive statesman,
  the formation of the Balkan League,
  his proposals to Bulgaria for settlement of claims,
  his handling of the problem of Epirus,
  results of his statesmanship,
Venice and the Venetian Republic,
Victoria, Queen of England,
Vienna,
  besieged by the Turks (1526),
    (1683),
  Congress of (1814),
  in relation to the Serbo-Croats: _see_ Budapest.
Visigoths, the,
Vlad the Impaler, Prince of Wallachia,
Vlakhs, the,
Volga, Bulgars of the,
Volo, Gulf of,
Vranja,
Vrioni, Omer,

Wallachia,
  advent of the Turks in,
  subjugation of, by the Turks,
Wied, Prince of,
William II, German Emperor,

Yannina,
Yantra, the,
Yemen,
Yenishehr,
Yuruk tribe,
Yuzgad,

Zabergan,
Zaimis, high commissioner of Krete,
Zante,
Zeta, the, river and district,





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Balkans: A History of Bulgaria—Serbia—Greece—Rumania—Turkey" ***

Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.