CHAPTER SIX.
TURK AND BULGARIAN--A WRESTLING MATCH AND A DISPUTE.
River navigation is, to my mind, most captivating; but space forbidsthat I should enlarge on it, and on many other points of interest inthis eventful voyage. I shall therefore pass over the Dardanelles andthe Bosporus, leaving the great and classic Stamboul itself behinduntouched, and transport the reader at once to one of those "touches ofnature" which "make the whole world kin."
It is a little village on the Danube river--the mighty Danube, whichbears the fleets of the world on its ample breast.
We had been a considerable time in the river, for we took things veryleisurely, before reaching the village to which I refer. It was namedYenilik. While I had been rejoicing in the varied scenery--the lagoonsand marshes of the several mouths of the great river, and the bolderprospects of hill and dale higher up--I had not been idling my time ormaking entire holiday of it, for I had devoted myself to the study ofthe Turkish language.
My powers as a linguist may not perhaps be above the average,nevertheless I confess to a considerable facility in the acquisition oflanguages. Russian I already knew very well, having, as beforeintimated, spent a considerable time in St. Petersburg.
Desiring to perfect myself in Turkish, I undertook to teach my manLancey. Not that I had much opinion of his ability--far from it; but Ientertain a strong belief in the Scriptural idea that two are betterthan one. Of course I do not hold that two fools are better than onewise man; but two men of average ability are, in nearly allcircumstances, better than one, especially if one of them is decidedlyand admittedly superior to the other. Lancey's powers were limited, buthis ambition was not so, and I am bound to add that his application wasbeyond all praise. Of course his attainments, like his powers, were notgreat. His chief difficulty lay in his tendency to drop the letter _h_from its rightful position in words, and to insert it, along with _r_and _k_, in wrong places. But my efforts to impress Lancey's mind hadthe satisfactory effect of imbedding minute points of the languagedeeply in my own memory.
The village to which I have referred was in Bulgaria--on the right orsouthern shore of the Danube. It was a pretty spot, and the brightsunny weather lent additional charms to water, rock, and tree, while thetwittering of birds, to say nothing of the laughter and song of men,women, and children working in the fields, or engaged in boisterousplay, added life to it.
Towards the afternoon I landed, and, accompanied by Lancey, went up tothe chief store or shop of the village. It was a primitive store, inwhich the most varied and incongruous articles were associated.
The owner of the shop was engaged in bargaining with, I think, one ofthe finest specimens of manhood I ever saw. His name I accidentallylearned on entering, for the shopman, at that moment, said--
"No, Dobri Petroff, I cannot let you have it for less."
The shopman spoke in the Bulgarian tongue, which, being a kindreddialect of the Russian language, I understood easily.
"Too dear," said Petroff, as he turned over the article, a piece ofcalico, with a good-humoured affectation of contempt.
Dobri Petroff was a young man, apparently not more than twenty-five,tall, broad, deep-chested, small-waisted--a perfect study for an Apollo.Both dress and language betokened him an uneducated man of theBulgarian peasantry, and his colour seemed to indicate something ofgipsy origin; but there was an easy frank deportment about him, and apleasant smile on his masculine countenance, which told of a naturallyfree, if not free-and-easy, spirit. Although born in a land wheretyranny prevailed, where noble spirits were crushed, independencedestroyed, and the people generally debased, there was an occasionalglance in the black eye of Dobri Petroff which told of superiorintelligence, a certain air of natural refinement, and a strong power ofwill.
"No, Dobri, no; not a rouble less," repeated the shopman.
Petroff smiled, and shook back his black curly hair, as a lion might insporting with an obstinate cub.
At that moment a Turk entered. His position in society I could not atthe time guess, but he had the overbearing manner of one who might havebeen raised by favour from a low to a high station. He pushed Petroffrudely out of his way, and claimed the entire attention of the shopman,which was at once and humbly accorded.
A fine expression of fierce contempt flashed across Petroff'scountenance; but to my surprise, he at once drew aside.
When the Turk was served and had gone out, the shopman turned to me.
"After Petroff," I said, bowing towards the man.
The surprise and pleasure of Petroff was evidently great, but he refusedto take advantage of my courtesy, and seemed so overwhelmed with modestconfusion at my persisting that he should be served before me, that heultimately left the shop, much to my regret, without making hispurchase.
To my inquiries, the shopman replied that Dobri was the blacksmith ofthe place, and one of its best and steadiest workmen.
After completing my purchases I left, and strolled through the villagetowards its further extremity.
"The Turks seem to 'ave it all their own way ere, sir," said Lancey, aswe walked along.
"If the treatment we have seen that man receive were the worst of it," Ireplied, "the Bulgarians would not have very much to complain of, thoughinsolence by superiors to inferiors is bad enough. They have, however,more than that to bear, Lancey; the story of Bulgarian wrongs is a longand a very sad one."
As we strolled beyond the village, and were engaged in earnest converseon this subject, we suddenly came on a group of holiday-makers. Anumber of the peasantry were assembled in a field, engaged in dances,games, and athletic sports. We mingled with the crowd and looked on.They were engaged at the time in a wrestling match. Little notice wastaken of our appearing, so intent were they on the proceedings. Twostrong men were engaged in what I may call a tremendous hug. Each wasstripped to the waist. Their muscles stood out like those of Hercules,as they strained and tugged. At last they went down, one beingundermost, with both shoulder-blades touching the ground, and a loudcheer greeted the victor as he stood up.
He was a splendid animal, unquestionably--over six feet, with immensechest and shoulders, and modest withal; but a man of about five feeteight stepped into the ring, and overthrew him with such ease that aburst of laughter mingled with the cheer that followed. The triumph ofthe little man was, however, short-lived, for a Bulgarian giant nextmade his appearance--evidently a stranger to those present--and after aprolonged struggle, laid the little man on his back.
For some time this giant strutted about defiantly, and it appeared as ifhe were to remain the champion, for no one seemed fit or willing to copewith him. At last some gipsy girls who were sitting in front of thering, urged one of their tribe, a tall, strong, young fellow, to enterthe lists against the giant.
The youth consented, and entered the ring; but a quick throw from thegiant sent him sprawling, to the great disappointment of his brunettefriends.
Amongst the girls present, there sat a remarkably pretty young woman,whom the others endeavoured to urge to some course of action, to whichshe at first objected. After a little persuasion, however, she appearedto give in, and, rising, left the circle. Soon after she returned witha magnificent specimen of humanity, whom she pushed into the ring withevident pride.
It was Dobri Petroff. The villagers greeted him by name with a ringingcheer as he advanced.
With a modest laugh he shook his huge antagonist by the hand.
He stripped to the waist, and each man presented a rounded developmentof muscular power, which would have done credit to any of the homericheroes; but there was a look of grand intelligence and refinement inPetroff's countenance, which would probably have enlisted the sympathiesof the villagers even if he had been an utter stranger.
Having shaken hands, the wrestlers began to walk round each other,eagerly looking for a chance to get the "catch." It seemed at first asif neither liked to begin, when, suddenly, the Bulgarian turned sharp onPetroff, and tried a f
avourite throw; but with the lithe easy motion ofa panther, the blacksmith eluded his grasp. The excitement of thespectators became intense, for it now seemed as if the two huge fellowswere well-matched, and that a prolonged struggle was about to takeplace. This, however, was a mistake. The villagers apparently hadunderrated the powers of their own champion, and the gipsy girls lookedanxious, evidently fearing that the hitherto victorious stranger wouldagain triumph.
For some moments the cautious walk-round continued, then there was asudden exclamation of surprise from the crowd, for the blacksmith seizedhis adversary by the waist, and with a quick throw, caused him to turnalmost a somersault in the air, and to come down on his back withstunning violence.
While the heavy fellow lay, as if slightly stunned, on the ground,Petroff stooped, again shook hands with him, and then lifting him highin the air, as though he had been but a boy, set him on his feet, andturned to resume his jacket, amid the enthusiastic cheers of the people.
Petroff's jacket was handed to him by a pretty dark-eyed girl of aboutfive years of age, who bore so strong a resemblance to the young womanwho had brought the blacksmith on the scene, that I at once set themdown as sisters. The child looked up in the champion's face with suchinnocence that he could not resist the temptation to stoop and kiss her.Then, taking the little one's hand, he pushed through the crowd andleft the ring. I observed that the young woman also rose and went withthem.
Feeling interested in these people. Lancey and I followed, and overtookthem before they had quitted the field. I said in Russian:--
"Good-day, Petroff; you overthrew that fellow with greater ease than Ihad expected."
The blacksmith gave me a look of pleased recognition as he returned mysalutation.
"Well, sir," he said, "it was not difficult. The man is strong enough,but does not understand the art well. You are an Englishman, I think."
"I am," said I, somewhat surprised as well by the question as by thesuperior manner and address of the man.
"It was a man from your land," returned Petroff, with a grave earnestlook, "who taught me to wrestle,--a man from Cornwall. He was asailor--a stout fellow, and a good man. His vessel had been anchoredoff our village for some time, so that we saw a good deal of him. Theyhad a passenger on board, who landed and went much about among thepeople. He was a German, and called himself a colporteur. He taughtstrange doctrines, and gave away many Bibles, printed in the Bulgariantongue."
"Ah," said I, "no doubt he was an agent of the British and Foreign BibleSociety."
"Perhaps so," returned Petroff, with a somewhat perplexed look, "but hesaid nothing about that. His chief desire seemed to be to get us tolisten to what he read out of his Bible. And some of us did listen,too. He gave one of the Bibles to my wife here, and she has beenreading it pretty eagerly ever since."
"What! this, then, is your wife?" I exclaimed.
"Yes, Marika is my wife, and Ivanka is my daughter," replied Petroff,with a tender glance at the little girl that trotted by his side.
"Perhaps, Marika, your Cornish friend may have taught you to speakEnglish," said I, in my native tongue, turning to the woman.
Marika shook her pretty head, laughed, and blushed. She seemed tounderstand me, but would not consent to reply in English.
"The colporteur of whom you have spoken," said I, turning to theblacksmith, and again speaking Russian, "did you a great service when hegave your wife the Word of God."
Dobri Petroff assented, but a frown for a minute overspread his face."Yes," he said, "I admit that, but he also taught me to think, and itmight have been better for me--for many of us in this land--if we didnot think; if we could eat and sleep and work like the brutes thatperish."
I feared that I knew too well what the man referred to, and would gladlyhave dropped the subject, but could not do so without appearing rude.
"It is always well to think," said I, "when we think rightly, that is,in accordance with the teachings of the Bible, about which we have justbeen speaking. Marika has read much of it to you, no doubt?"
"She has," said the blacksmith, with a touch of sternness, "and amongother things, she has read to me that `oppression driveth even a wiseman mad.' Am I to understand that as merely stating the fact, orjustifying the madness?"
Without waiting for a reply to the question, he went on, hurriedly--
"You saw that Turk to-day, who pushed me aside as if I had been a dog?That showed you the _spirit_ of the men in power here, but you littleknow their practices--"
"Petroff," said I, interrupting, and looking at the man earnestly,"forgive me if I say that we had better not discuss the subject now. Ihave just arrived in your land, and know little about it yet. When Ihave seen and heard and thought much, I will be better able tounderstand you."
Petroff admitted with ready grace that I was right, and thrusting hisfingers through the wild clustering curls of his black hair, as if tolet the air circle more freely about his head, he turned sharp round,and pointed to a cottage which stood at a short distance from thehigh-road, at the entrance to the village.
"That is our home, sir; we shall feel happy if you will enter it."
I willingly complied, and turned with them into the by-path that led toit.
The cottage was a mere hut, long and low, one end of which constitutedthe forge, the other end, divided into three compartments, being thedwelling-house. Here I found the hand of Marika very evident, in theneatness and cleanliness of everything in and around the place. Theowners were very poor, but there was sufficient for comfort and health.On a shelf in a corner lay the Bible which the family had received fromthe colporteur. It was the only book in the house, and evidently acherished treasure.
In another corner, on a rudely-made but warm couch, lay a treasure of adifferent stamp--a boy, apparently about two years of age. As I lookedat the curly black hair, the well-shaped nose, the firm, rosy lips, andthe broad brow, I turned to Petroff with a smile, and said--
"I need not ask if that boy is yours."
The man did not at once reply, but seized the child, which our entrancehad awakened, and raised it high above his head.
"Do you hear that, little Dob? The gentleman knows who you are by yourmother's eyes."
"Nay," said I, with a laugh, "by its father's nose. But now that youmention the eyes, I do recognise the mother's plainly. How old is he?"
This was the first of a series of questions which opened the hearts ofthese people to me. On the strength of these jet-black eyes and thewell-shaped nose, to say nothing of the colporteur and the Bible, Lanceyand I struck up quite an intimate friendship, insomuch that at parting,little Dob gave me a familiar dab on the face, and Ivanka turned up hersweet little mouth to be kissed--quite readily and of her own accord.There is nothing on earth so captivating as a trustful child. My heartwas knit to little Ivanka on the spot, and it was plain that little Doband Lancey were mutually attracted.
I remained at that village several days longer than I had intended, inorder to cultivate the acquaintance of the blacksmith's family. Duringthat time I saw a good deal of the other villagers, and found thatPetroff was by no means a typical specimen. He was above his compeersin all respects, except in his own opinion; one of Nature's gentlemen,in short, who are to be found, not numerously perhaps, but certainly, inalmost every land, with unusual strength of intellect, and breadth ofthought, and power of frame, and force of will, and nobility ofaspiration. Such men in free countries, become leaders of the good andbrave. In despotic lands they become either the deliverers of theircountry or the pests of society--the terror of rulers, the fomentors ofnational discord. Doubtless, in many cases, where right principles arebrought to bear on them, they learn to submit, and, sometimes, becomemitigators of the evils which they cannot cure.
Most of the other inhabitants of this village, some of whom wereMohammedans, and some Christians of the Greek Church, were sufficientlycommonplace and uninteresting. Many of them appeared to be simply lazyand inert.
Others were kindly enough, but stupid, and some were harsh,coarse, and cruel, very much as we find the peasantry in other parts ofthe world where they are ill-treated or uncared for.
While staying here I had occasion to go on shore one morning, andwitnessed a somewhat remarkable scene in a cafe.
Lancey and I, having made a longer excursion than usual and the daybeing rather hot, resolved to refresh ourselves in a nativecoffee-house. On entering we found it already pretty well filled withBulgarians, of whom a few were Moslems. They were apparently of thepoorer class. Most of them sat on low stools, smoking chibouks--longpipes, with clay heads and amber mouth-pieces--and drinking coffee. TheChristians were all engrossed, at the moment of our arrival, with astranger, who from his appearance and the package of books which layopen at his side, I at once judged to be a colporteur. Dobri Petroff, Iobserved, was near him, and interested so deeply in what was going on,that he did not at first perceive us.
Having selected some New Testaments and Bibles from his pack, thecolporteur handed them round for inspection. These, I found, wereprinted in the modern Bulgarian tongue. The people greatly admired thebinding of the volumes, and began to evince considerable interest inwhat the colporteur said about them. At last he proposed to read, andas no objection was made, he read and commented on several passages.Although a German, he spoke Bulgarian fluently, and ere long had arousedconsiderable interest, for the people had little or no knowledge of theBible; the only one to which they had access being that which lay on thepulpit of the Greek Church of the village, and which, being written inthe ancient Slavic language, was incomprehensible by them.
The priests in the Greek Church there are generally uneducated men, andtheir intoned services and "unknown tongue" do not avail much in the wayof enlightenment. The schoolmasters, I was told by those who had goodopportunity of judging, are much better educated than the priests. Iobserved that one of these, who had on a former visit been pointed outto me by my friend Dobri, sat not far from the colporteur smoking hischibouk with a grave critical expression of countenance.
At last the colporteur turned to the 115th Psalm, and I now began toperceive that the man had a purpose, and was gradually leading thepeople on.
It is well known that the Greek Church, although destitute of images inits religious buildings, accords the same reverence, or homage, topictures which the Romish Church does to the former. At first, as thecolporteur read, the people listened with grave attention; but when hecame to the verses that describe the idols of the heathen as being madeof, "silver and gold, the work of men's hands," with mouths that couldnot speak, and eyes that could not see, and ears that could not hear,several of the more earnest listeners began to frown, and it was evidentthat they regarded the language of the colporteur's book as applicableto their sacred pictures, and resented the implied censure. When hecame to the eighth verse, and read, "They that make them are like untothem, so is every one that trusteth in them," there were indignantmurmurs; for these untutored peasants, whatever their church might teachabout such subtleties as worshipping God _through_ pictures, acceptedthe condemnatory words in simplicity.
"Why are you angry?" asked the colporteur, looking round.
"Because," answered a stern old man who sat, close to me, "your wordscondemn _us_ as well as the heathen. They make out the pictures of oursaints to be idols--images and pictures being one and the same thing."
"But these are not _my_ words," said the colporteur, "they are the wordsof God."
"If these words are true," returned the old man, with increasingsternness, "then _we_ are all wrong; but these words are not true--theyare only the words of _your_ Bible, about which we know nothing."
"My friends," returned the colporteur, holding up the volume from whichhe had been reading, "this is not only my Bible, it is also yours, thesame that is read in your own churches, only rendered into your ownmodern tongue."
At this point Dobri Petroff, who, I observed, had been listening keenlyto what was said, started up with vehemence, and exclaimed--
"If this be true, we can prove it. Our Bible lies in the neighbouringchurch, and here sits our schoolmaster who reads the ancient Slavic likehis mother-tongue. Come, let us clear up the matter at once."
This proposal was heartily agreed to. The Bulgarians in the cafe rose_en masse_, and, headed by the village schoolmaster, went to the church,where they found the Bible that the priests were in the habit ofreading, or rather intoning, and turned up the 115th Psalm. It wasfound to correspond exactly with that of the colporteur!
The result was at first received in dead silence, and with looks ofsurprise by the majority. This was followed by murmuring comments andsome disputes. It was evident that the seeds of an inquiring spirit hadbeen sown that day, which would bear fruit in the future. Thecolporteur, wisely forbearing to press his victory at that time, leftthe truth to simmer. [See note 1.]
I joined him as he went out of the church, and, during a briefconversation, learned from him that an extensive work is being quietlycarried on in Turkey, which, although not attracting much attention, isnevertheless surely undermining the huge edifice of Error by means ofthe lever of Truth.
Among other things, he said that in the year 1876 so many astwenty-eight thousand Bibles, translated into the modern native tongue,had been circulated in the Turkish Empire and in Greece by the Britishand Foreign Bible Society, while the Americans, who are busily engagedin the blessed work in Armenia, had distributed twenty thousand copies.
Leaving the village of Yenilik and my Bulgarian friends with muchregret, I continued the voyage up the Danube, landing here and there fora day or two and revelling in the bright weather, the rich prospects andthe peaceful scenes of industry apparent everywhere, as man and beastrejoiced in the opening year.
Time passed rapidly as well as pleasantly. Sometimes I left the yachtin charge of Mr Whitlaw, and in company with my trusty servanttravelled about the country, conversing with Turks wherever I met them,thus becoming more and more versed in their language, and doing my best,without much success, to improve Lancey in the same.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The facts on which the above is founded were given to theauthor by the Reverend Doctor Thomson, who has resided in Turkey as theagent of the British and Foreign Bible Society for upwards of thirtyyears.
In the Track of the Troops Page 6
