XXI -- [April 20, 1903] 

THROUGH MACEDONIA

FOYER OF THE INSURRECTION

AN ARMED MINORITY

Sofia, April 11.

I have said that the Bulgarians, otherwise Bulgar Macedonians as distinguished from the Greek Macedonians, constitute the overwhelming majority of the population in the Northern region, the Switzerland of Macedonia. For that matter they form the majority everywhere, except in the large towns. But just now we are concerned only with the district which is regarded as the "foyer" of the insurrection. Gradevo is one of the thirty-one villages in the Caza (sub-province) of Raslog, of which my last host, Hassan Tahsin Bey, is the Kaimakam (sub-governor). Of these thirty-one villages, only two are Turkish. Twenty-six are all but entirely Bulgarian. The remaining three are partly Bulgarian, partly Turkish. In the Caza of Raslog, as I pointed out in a former letter, the Bulgarians form the majority. Two other Cazas have to be included in the "foyer" of the insurrection. These are Melnik and Petrich, south of the two already named, and away in the mid-valley of the Struma. In Melnik there are fifty villages, thirty-four of which are Bulgarian, eleven partly Bulgarian partly Turkish, three exclusively Turkish, and the rest Pomack and Gipsy. Counting by heads, there are in Melnik about three Bulgarians to each Turk, and as many Greeks as Turks. Of the seventy-three villages in Petrich only ten are distinctively Turkish; eleven contain a mixed population of Bulgarians, Turks, Pomacks and Gipsies; three are inhabited by Pomacks (Moslem descendants of converts from Christianity); the remaining forty-nine are Bulgar. I have not shown that in the "foyer" of the insurrection, the original home of the "Komitadjis," the Turks are, numerically, swamped. But the Turk is armed, which makes all the difference. The Turk's supremacy is conditional upon his grip of the knife.

RELIGION AND POLITICS

Among the buildings scatted over the hill slopes of Gradevo, the Exarchist Church is the most conspicuous. There it stands, white and aloof, without a rival. Once upon a time, twenty years ago, perhaps, or less, it was a Patriarchist Church. To the Western reader this may appear a distinction without a difference. But in the Slavonic world the difference is indeed great; so that not to realise it means an imperfect understanding of the Macedonian question. In the East politics and religion are two phases of one and the same thing. The Greek Orthodox Church was, until the commencement of the movement for the liberation of Bulgaria, the Church of the Bulgarian people. But it was also the symbol of the Greek, otherwise Phanariot, monopoly of educational influence, and intellectual influence, generally, in the unredeemed country. So far, it was antagonistic to the rising spirit of nationalism in Bulgaria. Hence the agitation for the creation of a Bulgarian Exarchate, independent of the Orthodox Patriarch. The Bulgarian Exarch, like the Green Patriarch, resides in Constantinople. The Exarchate is the religious symbol of Bulgarian freedom. And so it was but natural and inevitable that Orthodox Macedonian Bulgarians, when they too began to agitate for liberation, should manifest a disposition to follow the ecclesiastical lead of their friends over the frontier--the only friends they had in the world. Much of the political wrangling in the Balkans, since the incorporation of Eastern Roumelia with the Principality in 1885, has arisen over the successful efforts to procure from the Sultan decrees for the establishment of Exarchist Bishops in Macedonia. In the sour sub-provinces, the "foyer" of the insurrection, which I have just been describing, the transition from Patriarchism to Exarchism is complete. The ritual, the teaching, the formularies of both the Churches are like. The only difference is that Exarchism stands for patriotism. Macedonians of Greek nationality have remained loyal to the Patriarchate, though many in the villages have gone over to the Bulgarian Church.

"WE SHALL CRUSH THEM"

But I must leave Gradevo to the silence and the melancholy of its majestic environment. It is "tranquil" enough, for the present. My cheery friend, the Inspector, however, thinks it is quite possible he may have some lively work to do in the neighbourhood of Gradevo before long. He seems to think that Boris Saraffof and his "Komitadjis" may shortly be chased northwards, and captured--"Inshallah"--before they get into Bulgaria. Boris Saraffof is not easily caught. He ought to know his own business. But I imagine he has begun rather too soon. The villagers of Raslog seemed to me to be of the like impression. It was they who protested--though unavailingly--against General Tzontcheff's premature adventure last autumn. The older, cooler heads in the Macedonian organization have been in favor of as much delay as would convince Europe that the Sultan's reforms (they are his, more than Russia's or Austria's) are a sham. "Then," as some of their best men have said to me, "if we have no other choice left, we shall issue a manifesto in which we shall appeal to the conscience of Europe, ask Europe to judge between us and our oppressors; and the insurrection will follow." "We shall crush them," exclaims the brusque little warrior, meaning the insurgents, just as if he had divined what I am thinking about. "There," says he, "is our main force," pointing in the direction of the town of Djumaia, which is still hidden from us, in the Struma valley, on the other side of the last hill we have to cross. After a day in the saddle the first sight of the minarets and red and white housed of Djumaia was particularly pleasant to behold. About a mile and a half from the town a mounted trooper came cantering up with a message of welcome to me from his Excellency Hussein Ishan Bey, the Governor. Half a mile further on the honorary escort was in waiting. With this right royally flattering reinforcement riding ahead, and the main body (all the way from Serres) in rear, we made a gallant show in the streets of Djumaia and a considerable impression upon the native mind. My friend, the Military Inspector, who is a bit of a dandy, and myself, sat up, so to speak, to the occasion. The dapper little warrior, whose duty it was to ride in advance, straightened his back, hitched in his scabbard, and shook out the folds of his becoming blue cloak. In the streets of Djumaia, with all the town looking on, it would never do to sit one's saddle in the lolloppy style one falls into among the mountains. Round the door of the hotel a great crowd was gathered. It was too late in the day for the first visit to the Kaimakam's. And that being the case, and the hour being too late for the preparation of a decent dinner (though for my part I would have been quite content with a couple of eggs, a biscuit, and half a bottle of red Cressna), what does his Excellency do but send me--and my friend the Military Inspector--some choice Turkish dishes--really Turkish, from his own residence. "You don't do this kind of thing in Europe," the little warrior remarked, somewhat defiantly. I humbly confessed we did not. The Governor's act was of the East, and characteristic of its traditional courtesy.