Leading the Blind

CHAPTER TWELVE THE ROAD TO THE EAST

Until Thomas Cook’s first organized parties set out for Egypt in 1869 it was not easy to go much beyond the beaten tracks of Western Europe. An independent tour for yourself and family, or for yourself alone, to less civilized or wilder places, demanded a great deal of money, as well as enterprise and energy. In the early part of the century, such a journey resembled an expedition, as related by Alexander Kinglake in his Eōthen, a popular book on eastern travel.

Murray’s handbooks for the East began to appear in the late 1840s, providing help and instruction to those gentleman-scholars and others who, having seen Rome, wanted to visit the classical sites of Greece, the holy places of Palestine, or the Egyptian wonders in the Valley of the Nile.

To reach such countries by steamship from England, via the Mediterranean, soon became comparatively easy, but those who decided to go overland found many difficulties in their path, though Murray (and gradually improving maps) helped them to find their way. Even so, when Harry de Windt wrote Through Savage Europe sometime before the Great War, and was asked: ‘Why “savage” Europe?’ he replied, ‘Because the term accurately describes the wild and lawless countries between the Adriatic and Black Seas.’ He might well have said the same of the area today.

The traveller setting out overland some sixty years before de Windt, and hoping to get to Constantinople relatively unscathed, would need Murray’s Southern Germany and Austria of 1858, as well as Greece and Turkey, both of 1854. From these three volumes he would derive much practical information, as well as an adequate amount of interesting matter to read, leading him to agree with Thackeray as he jogged along that: ‘Much delight and instruction have I had in the course of the journey from my guide, philosopher, and friend, the author of “Murray’s Hand-book”’.

Even as early in his journey as southern Germany, our traveller ‘must by no means expect to meet with splendid hotels. Except in the chief towns, the inns are generally built on low vaults; the entrance serves for man and beast; and an oppressive odour of the stable often pervades them. The extreme disregard to cleanliness and sweetness, which is most annoying and disgusting to Englishmen, merits the utmost reprobation. The Germans themselves do not seem to be aware of it: let it be hoped that their increased intercourse with the English will introduce a taste for cleanliness, and a greater appreciation of it. In the bed-rooms, the small provision made for washing, usually confined to a small shallow pie-dish, a caraffe or tumbler of water, and a handkerchief for a towel, proclaim the nature of German habits in this respect, and shows how easily the desire for ablution is satisfied.’

By now one could pass fairly quickly through the country by train. ‘The middle and wealthy classes travel almost exclusively in the second class, of which fact the traveller may easily satisfy himself by observing the very small number of first-class places in each train, and that even these are usually unoccupied, unless the conductor happens to have filled them with his friends.’

It was more than likely that the traveller’s route lay through Bavaria, in which case he would have been interested in the following observations on beer, which the Bavarian is said to like inordinately, and to which ‘he seems even more addicted than the natives of other parts of Germany … The conversation of the people constantly runs upon the amount and the quality of the annual brewing; it is a subject of as important discussion as the vintage or harvest in other countries … A genuine beer-drinker will contrive to swallow 10 to 12 measures, each holding much more than a quart English. Notwithstanding this attachment to beer, it may be said that drunkenness is not prevalent — at least it is not offensively visible — the principal reason being that it is not easy even for a Bavarian to swallow sufficient to produce intoxication.’

Should the traveller stop off for a few days at Nuremberg, he may take a ride on the first railway completed for locomotives in Germany, to the nearby town of Fürth, where about a quarter of the population of 15,000 are Jews, who ‘being interdicted by an illiberal law from settling, or even sleeping, in Nuremberg, have made the fortune of Fürth by their industry and perseverance. They possess a college of their own here, a separate court of justice, 2 Hebrew printing establishments, and several schools and synagogues, and enjoy privileges denied them in other parts of the Continent. The town may be considered a German Birmingham …”

On coming to Austrian territory the traveller is treated with great civility, and ‘asked for his passport, and requested to declare if he had any contraband articles. Those expressly forbidden, and not admitted even on payment of duty, are playing-cards, almanacs, tobacco, snuff, cigars, and sealed letters. All books interdicted by the censor are at once confiscated; those about which a doubt exists are retained to be examined by the censor … As a general rule, it is worth the traveller’s while, on entering a new territory, to give the douaniers a couple of francs, by which he will obtain civility and despatch.’

The traveller is reminded: ‘The same offences that would subject him to police interference in his own country would of course be attended with similar consequences in Austria; and if he were to get up in a coffee-room in Vienna and abuse the Austrian government, there is no doubt that he would find a gentleman from the police waiting at his own door in readiness to conduct him to the frontier. But to a mere traveller the police regulations are not more oppressive than in most other continental countries, and the officers by whom they are administered are usually distinguished for the civility and politeness with which they treat strangers, especially Englishmen, provided they themselves are treated as gentlemen.’

Apart from the usual scenery and art treasures to be seen in Austria, a visit to one of the many salt-mines is highly recommended. In the works where the commodity is processed: ‘The increase of temperature causes the thin iron pan to heave and twist, and … Sometimes a hole is burned in the bottom, or a crack is produced; and as it is not possible to put out the fire merely on account of it, a man is sent into the pan to seek out the leak. This is a hazardous enterprise, as he runs the risk of being nearly stifled by the vapour, and of being boiled alive if he lose his footing. For this purpose he is shod with a pair of high pattens, not unlike two stools, upon which he wades through the boiling brine.’

Austrian inns are said to be rather better than those in Germany, as are the restaurants. On arriving at one in some remote area in the mountains, ‘the new comer must not expect to be ushered in by a trim waiter with napkin tucked under his arm. He will most probably have to find his own way, under a low archway, by a passage which, though boarded, serves for the ingress and egress of horses and carriages, to the public room, which he will perhaps have to share with the people of the village; unless, as sometimes happens, there is an inner or better apartment for guests of distinction. It is generally a low apartment, with vaulted roof, supported on massive buttresses; at the door he will find a little cup for holy water; not far off hangs a crucifix, sometimes with a figure as large as life, and the walls are ornamented with stags’ horns, or a chamois head, probably trophies of the rifle of mine host.’

The scene thus set is not unlike that of the opening of a 1930s horror movie, for after describing the furniture the writer goes on: ‘Several sleepy-looking peasants will usually be seen seated on benches around the tables of unpainted wood, half enveloped in the smoke of their pipes, nodding over several huge beer-glasses with pewter lids. In the corner stands an unwieldy stove, the general point of attraction in cold weather. If the stranger, in search of some member of the establishment, extend his researches, he may perhaps find his way into the kitchen, in the centre of which, below a gaping chimney, is a raised platform paved with stones all scorched and black. Upon this culinary altar a wood fire is blazing, over it hangs a caldron, while around it, 2 or 3 busy females will be assembled, each tending some department of cookery, and too busy to notice the stranger.’

Perhaps our traveller is induced to tap his stick on the wall, for eventually the waitress makes her appearance, and very pleased he must have been to see her: ‘She is a bustling, active damsel (often the landlord’s daughter), with ruddy cheeks, and a good-humoured smile for everybody, very trimly dressed, and bearing about her the symbols of her office, a bunch of keys on one side, and a large leathern purse on the other. Through her active mediation the traveller’s wants (provided they are not extravagant) are soon attended to, and in half an hour the trout and chamois are smoking on the board, and, with the never-failing friendly salutation of “I wish you a good appetite,” he is invited to commence his repast. Sometimes mine host himself appears and seats himself by the stranger’s side, as it would be considered rude to leave him alone during dinner in this country — a piece of old-fashioned politeness which an Englishman, if not prepared for it, might call impertinence. As he rises from the table, the guest is probably wished a “good digestion”; and for the douceur of a 5-Kreutzer piece when settling his bill, the waitress will smother his hand with kisses — for here the expression “I kiss your hand,” in return for a favour, is not confined to the word, but is followed by the act; and as he leaves the house a hearty greeting of “glückliche Reise!” from the whole household, will follow his departing steps, provided he has conducted himself properly.’

Murray lavishes praise on the welcome which travellers receive in out-of-the-way inns of Austria and the Tirol, which he likens more to the reception of a friend than of a passing guest: ‘… there seems an anxious and disinterested study on the part of the inmates to make the stranger comfortable, and not to contrive how to get the most out of him, as in Switzerland.’ He emphasizes that there is no cringing or obsequiousness, ‘and the traveller must not return the attempts made to please him with complaints or dissatisfaction, else there is a chance of his being left supperless’.

The bedroom, however, is not as good as Murray would have wished, for it is often ‘destined for 10 or 15 tenants at one time, and the beds not always provided with clean sheets, unless a little coaxing be employed to put the Kellnerinn into good humour, and thus obtain the concession of this point. As a general rule, however, the cleanliness of the inns of Tyrol, Austria, and parts of Styria, is most praiseworthy, as will forcibly occur to the mind of the traveller as soon as he crosses the frontier of Italy, and sighs with regret for the clean sheets which he has left behind.’

In Vienna the hotel charges were stated to be higher than in most other German capitals. Those of the first class were: ‘Hotel Munsch, very good and comfortable, but charges high and portions small; Kaiserin Elizabeth, kept by a most obliging and attentive host; well conducted and moderate for Vienna; Erzherzog Karl, a fashionable hotel, much frequented by the English, and dear, but excellent cuisine, and in a central situation, near the theatres; Stadt London, good, clean, civil people, fair cuisine, “Times” taken.’

After some molly-coddling in the capital our traveller will pursue his leisurely way along the great mountain range towards the Balkans, no doubt agreeing with Murray that: ‘The strong religious feeling of the people is very remarkable; but who can live among the high Alps and not be impressed more than elsewhere with the dependence of man upon the Ruler of the elements? The pine riven by the lightning, the cottage burned by it, the winter’s avalanche remaining through the summer unmelted in the depths of the valley, the line of desolation it has caused in its course, marked by the prostrate forest with the stumps only standing like straw in a stubble-field, the hamlet buried by the landslip or swept away by the mountain torrent, are subjects of every-day occurrence.’

Perhaps the favourite pastime of rifle-shooting started the occasional avalanche, for such a sport is found ‘nowhere to the same extent as in Tyrol, whose inhabitants may be called the Kentuckians of Europe. Bred to the use of the weapon from their boyhood, and priding themselves above measure in the skilful exercise of it, and in accuracy of aim, they furnished an admirable corps of sharpshooters.’

In the 1890 edition of the handbook Murray has some amendments to the above: ‘Up to the last few years the Tyrolese were supposed to be amongst the best shots in the world, but the English marksman has now completely eclipsed him in both precision and distance’, a competition, I suppose, only finally decided between the trenches of the Great War.

The Tirolese were also said to take delight in gymnastic exercises, for a Sunday afternoon or a fête day ‘usually terminates in a wrestling match, which, in some parts of the country, is coupled with a species of pugilistic encounter not unlike an American gouging-match. Almost every Tyrolese peasant wears a very thick ring of silver or iron on the little finger of the right hand, and a fist so armed inflicts cruel wounds. Such savage combats not unfrequently terminate in the loss of an eye, ear, or nose, such acts of violence not being considered unfair or contrary to the laws of the sport. The old men are umpires, and take a pleasure in stimulating the combatants.’

The greatest passion of the Austrian mountaineers is music and the dance. ‘They appear born with a taste for music: a violin or a guitar is a part of the furniture of every cottage, and not unfrequently a piano. The enthusiasm, almost approaching to frenzy, with which the dance is kept up, in spite of the heat and crowd, from noon till night, is truly surprising. The partners often seize each other by the shoulders, in an attitude not unlike hugging.’

Further east the Styrian inns are ‘generally comfortless, the people disobliging; and one feature, which strikes the traveller more than any other, and is, as far as I know, unexampled in Europe, is the extraordinary precautions taken against house-breaking, by the invariable use of strong iron stanchions in the smallest windows of the most trifling cottages, whilst iron shutters and bars are common, even in small villages. Highway robbery, though less frequent than formerly, is by no means unknown, and military posts are established for the protection of travellers on the great road from Laibach to Trieste. The use of ardent spirits (Slivovitz) is fearfully universal.’

The Bohemian inns, except in Prague, the large towns and the spas, are ‘dirty, and very inferior to those in Austria Proper. In part of Moravia and Galicia they are filthy hovels, perfectly wretched …’

Baedeker tells us that in Prague there are ten synagogues, the one in the Altneuschule being ‘a strange-looking, gloomy pile of the 12th century, the oldest synagogue in Prague, having been founded, according to tradition, by the first fugitives from Jerusalem after its destruction. The large flag suspended from the vaulting, and extending across the whole synagogue, was presented by Ferdinand III, in recognition of the bravery of the Jews during the siege of Prague by the Swedes in 1648.’

Murray says that the Jews of Prague were settled in the locality before the destruction of Jerusalem, making it the oldest Hebrew settlement in Europe. ‘In 1290 the Jews were almost exterminated by the fanaticism of the ignorant populace, stirred up by rumours of their having insulted the Host — a prevalent accusation — which caused an almost universal massacre of them throughout Germany. Indeed the history of the Jews in Prague is a dark chapter of that of Christianity. It is one uninterrupted narrative of tyranny, extortion, and blood on the one side, and of long-suffering on the other. Till the end of the last century, Charles IV, Rudolf II, and Joseph II appear the only rulers who held out any protection to this devoted race.’

For part of his journey to the east the traveller may have referred to Captain Spencer’s Turkey, Russia, the Black Sea, and Circassia, 1854. In this he would have learned that before the 1848 Revolution against the Austrian tyranny, the cities of Hungary ‘could boast of palaces and public buildings, which would be admired for the beauty of their architecture even in the meridian of London and Paris; stagnant moats, which shed around their pestilential exhalations, were filled up and converted into public promenades; a magnificent suspension bridge, thrown across the Danube, connected Pest and Buda; while hospitals and benevolent institutions, richly endowed, had been established to relieve the wants of the poorer part of the population. If we penetrated into the rural districts, they also exhibited all the indications of prosperity — comfortable farm-houses, villages, and roadside inns, everywhere met the view, together with an improved system of agriculture.’

A few pages later Spencer described the country on a visit in 1850, after the uprising had, with Russia’s help, been ruthlessly put down. ‘The scene of ruin and desolation which everywhere met our view was perfectly appalling … we beheld traces of the barbarian hordes of half wild Croats, Wallachs, and Serbs, and we may add Austrians and Russians, who had so lately rode roughshod over the entire land, and by imperial authority massacred every human being of Magyar origin who fell into their hands; and even at this time, when it might be supposed that the worst passions of man’s nature would have been satiated by indulgence, there was scarcely any abatement in the cruelties exercised by the government towards this unfortunate people. The brutality of the soldiers was unrestrained, the vexatious insolence of the police unendurable — the sufferings of the unhappy prisoners who filled the dungeons of the fortresses and all the strong places were such as revengeful tyranny alone delights to inflict.’

Murray, in his guide of a few years later, tells us: ‘Police regulations are, in respect of passports, at least as stringent as in any other part of the Austrian dominions.’ He goes on to say: ‘The greater part of English travellers in Hungary are contented with a visit to Pest, which is most easily effected by descending the Danube from Vienna by steamer in 10 to 12 hours.’

Should you disregard this advice and go out of the main cities, Murray has other observations to pass on to you: ‘The Hungarian inns are on the whole the worst I have found in Europe. They are generally of one storey, planted in the midst of a court-yard ankle-deep in mud, with an arcade running round them; broken steps and uneven pavement lead up to them. Landlord and waiter are seldom at hand to receive a traveller when he presents himself; the attendance is slow and bad: but these are trifles. I am not over nice, but I must confess the public dining-room, with its tobacco fumes, dogs, the practice of spitting to excess, and not unfrequently the horrid smell of garlic, and, what is worse, the total absence of all attempt to purify the apartment, filled me with disgust. But you are no better off in the bed-rooms: they are equally bespitten, and as seldom cleaned. The spider nestles for ever in the corners, and his tapestry is the only drapery which adorns the bare walls. As for the beds, I shudder to think of them. With all the discomforts of those of Germany they have this in addition, that they are usually filthy. The sheets are sewn on to the coverlid, and how often they serve it is impossible to say. You must especially order clean sheets, and your desire will then be complied with. A bell is almost unknown, even in the chief towns. If you want anything, you must open your window or door and call out to the waiter. You need not expect an answer; but go down stairs, and you will find him in the passage curling his moustachios.’

A stout travelling carriage is absolutely necessary for getting around: ‘Except on one or two roads, Hungary affords nothing but common carts. Leather sheets are desirable, and sleeping in a carriage is often preferable to a bed. No Hungarian gentleman thinks of travelling without his sheets, pillow, pillow-case, and leather sheets. Mattresses are required by those about to penetrate from Hungary into the far east. Mosquito-curtains will be found of the greatest service to those who descend the Danube, and who value skin, sleep, or comfort, since myriads of those venomous insects are engendered on the marshy shores of the river.’

As for food, a chicken may be put on the traveller’s table within half an hour of arrival, ‘but in other respects the larders of the country inns are very badly provided; therefore let the traveller furnish a basket with cold meat, etc., and take several bottles of good wine from whatever starting point he may set out from.’

One of the main highways into the Balkans was the Danube, on which river steam navigation had been started by two English shipbuilders in 1828. Even so, they had ‘commenced the undertaking unaided by others, and, sharing the usual discouragements which attend strangers in a foreign land, they would have been compelled to abandon their plan, had it not received the encouragement of two enlightened noblemen’. The earliest boats were ‘vessels of a peculiar construction, used for the conveyance of pigs from Serbia to Vienna. Many of the engines are by well-known British engine-makers.’

To get downriver from Vienna to the Black Sea took five days on the faster steamers, which were ‘built after the American fashion, with a spacious deck saloon, and sleeping cabins behind. Provisions are not included in the fare, but there is a very tolerable restaurant on board, and the dinner-hour is 12 o’clock. The sleeping accommodation is not good, fleas are very numerous; there is a small ladies’ cabin, generally very crowded; and round the gentlemen’s cabin is a sofa or divan, serving instead of beds; but in summertime it often happens that there is not room for half the passengers, and the remainder must therefore sleep on the floor or on deck. The decks of the steamers are often crowded with merchandise, and the convenience of passengers is sacrificed to the accommodation of goods, inasmuch as they have barely room to stir. Two or three other inconveniences must be mentioned. The mosquitoes, gnats, etc., abound, especially in the lower part of the river; and to escape this plague it may be prudent to take a mosquito net. The marshy land at the mouth of the Danube is most unhealthy at certain seasons, teeming with fever and ague, which those who merely pass up and down without stopping do not always escape. The Hungarians almost surpass the Americans in the filthy habit of spitting, which is not always confined to the deck.’

If our traveller deviates from the river, to look for adventure in other parts of the Austrian dominions, the railway to Lemberg will take him through the land of the Slovaks, who are ‘a quiet, inoffensive, industrious people, but are said to be obstinate, avaricious, fond of flattery, and no great lovers of cleanliness’.

It may be as well to avoid Stuhlweissenburg where the ‘palace of the bishop, and some of the buildings connected with it, are handsome, but the whole town is disagreeably placed in the centre of a huge bog’.

A romantic story is related concerting the seventeenth-century castle of Murany, the residence of ‘the young and beautiful’ widow Maria Szecsi. She was a Protestant and, in defence of that cause, garrisoned her mountain fastness with a detachment of troops commanded by her brother-in-law. ‘The castle was amply furnished with provisions and ammunition; the troops brave and faithful; their commander, a staunch Protestant. Murany was therefore deemed impregnable, and the defenders laughed and made merry when, in 1644, they saw it invested by an imperial army under the Palatine Vesselenyi. The Palatine, however, soon managed to acquire possession of it, — not indeed by force of arms, but simply by marrying its fair occupant, gaining thus, at the same time, both the lady and the castle.’

Venturing into the wilder parts of Wallachia, one travelled in the common cart of the country, ‘made entirely of wood, without a particle of iron, very light, on low wheels, easily upset, and as easily righted. They are … capable of holding only one person, and, on account of the rude jolting, are only to be endured, by those accustomed to them, when filled with hay to sit or lie upon. 4 horses are harnessed to them, and they always go at full gallop, driven by a rough peasant on the near wheeler. The situation of a traveller in rainy weather, seated close behind, and on a level with the heels of 4 wild horses, is not agreeable; in a few minutes he becomes plastered over with mud.’

One of the crossing points into the Turkish Empire was at Belgrade which, to quote Captain Spencer, ‘with its picturesque old castle, its domes and minarets, first announces to the traveller on the Lower Danube that he has entered the territory of the unchanged and unchanging Land of the Crescent’.

Murray’s Turkey, 1854, says: ‘The traveller will find here a very good khan and a large German hotel. The once celebrated fortress of Belgrade is now only a picturesque ruin. This citadel, and a few other fortresses in Serbia, are garrisoned by Turkish troops, but Serbia is virtually independent.’

Constantinople can be reached from Belgrade, we are told, in 143 hours, though it had been performed ‘in 6 days by couriers riding day and night, and in 12 days by ordinary travellers, who require 6 horses for himself, baggage, and tatar’. The cost was said to be £25, including £2 bakshish. ‘A Turkish shawl, sash, woollen overalls, leather trowsers, and two or three large cloaks, will be found convenient clothing, except in winter, when the “shaggy capote” is almost indispensable in the snowy passes. A pair of pistols worn in a belt may be advisable, rather in conformity with custom than for use.’

The Danubian principalities of Wallachia, Moldavia, Serbia, Bosnia, part of Croatia, Herzegovina, Montenegro, Bulgaria and Thrace were all under the control of the Turks. On one of his journies Captain Spencer passed through the town of Jassy, in a region of constantly shifting frontiers inhabited by ‘Boyards and Turks, Greeks, Armenians, Slavonians, and Jews’. Said to be beautifully situated it is, like everywhere else in the area, unhealthy. ‘There are, however, some signs of improvement at Jassy, since we see here and there an elegant mansion recently erected, and others in the hands of the builder.’ Of the various races, all are said to be

adhering as strictly to their own language and peculiar costume, as if their very existence depended upon the cut and form of their garments. Each of these nationalities also occupies a separate district in the town. The Jews are so numerous as to form about a third of the whole population, rather good-looking than otherwise, more especially the women, whose appearance was much improved by their half oriental dress. The velvet tiara, set with pearls and precious stones, is said to be of the same form as that worn by the court beauties in the days of King Solomon; which proves that the fair daughters of Israel in those days were so far coquettish as to invent a mode of head-dress well adapted to their peculiar style of beauty, as it certainly makes a pretty face look still more captivating; and I was assured by my Jew banker, whose guest I was during my stay at Jassy, that one of these head-dresses is not unfrequently worth five hundred pounds sterling, and descends as an heir-loom in the family.

Spencer goes on to tell us the same old story:

These poor people, the Jews, to whose industry and enterprise as merchants, traders, and shopkeepers, the state is indebted for a great part of its revenue, occasionally suffer severely from the fanaticism of the inhabitants, who are credulous enough to believe the most absurd reports that can be conceived. Still, the Jews of these countries, however averse they are in general to fighting, do not submit to be led like sheep to the slaughter; they are always prepared, if necessary, to repel force by force. Unhappily, these contests with the Christians of the Greek Church, both here and in Russia, are too frequent and sanguinary; and, singular enough, their rallying cry, Gewalt! Gewalt!, is in the German language; and when this is heard, the whole Hebrew population, men, women, and children, arm themselves with some weapon of defence, and rush to the scene of action.

Pursuing our slow way towards Constantinople and the Golden Horn, we would perhaps tarry awhile at Nissa where ‘the traveller is struck with the sight of a tower composed of skulls, erected to commemorate a victory over the Serbs by the Turks’. At Sofia, the hot baths were famous for their medicinal qualities, and: ‘Good accommodation may be found in a private Greek house.’ But the khan at Adrianople was ‘large and very dirty; a clean room, however, may be procured by means of bakshish to the innkeeper. An hotel according to European customs has of late been opened, but it can scarcely be considered preferable to the old khan.’

Those who went down the Danube to the Black Sea could take ship to Constantinople, and if they had not delayed, would have made the journey from England in about twelve days. A more leisurely method was to go all the way by sea on a P & O steamer in some fifteen days, the ship calling at Malta where, Murray says, ‘The higher classes of native Maltese are not surpassed by those of any country in general intelligence, in highly cultivated tastes, or in the accomplishments and personal character of individuals. But for many years it had been so much the practice of English residents to treat the Maltese with indifference or contempt, that there is very little opportunity for a stranger to form any opinion except from such examples as may be found in most places where a large fleet and garrison are stationed.’

A journey to the Mediterranean on a steamship from Liverpool took on the nature of a cruise, one line issuing a ticket, out and home, for thirty pounds. ‘A gentleman and his wife can obtain a reduction. This affords a most agreeable trip, particularly for an invalid, and occupies about six weeks or two months. Some of these are splendid vessels, and in the autumn there is often pleasant society.’ Should you go overland by rail as far as Trieste, and then on by boat: ‘The steamers are good, and each carries a doctor and stewardess.’

Travelling conditions and speeds were improving all through the nineteenth century, and by the end one could take the overland train to the Rumanian port of Constanza on the Black Sea, where ‘comfortable and well managed’ steamers went to Constantinople, the trip taking about four days. When the railway was opened to Salonika you could travel through Thrace, which shortened the journey even more.

Just before the First World War the Orient Express went into service ‘between London and Constantinople’ via Paris, Vienna, Budapest, Belgrade, Sofia and Adrianople. A copy of the timetable is given in the 1907 edition of Murray’s handbook, and Hachette published a special guide De Paris à Constantinople in 1912. This covered much of the Balkans and western Turkey, and it is hard to imagine anyone setting out on the journey without a copy, the latest Murray being by then out of date. The Orient Express did the 3200 kilometres from Paris in sixty hours, ‘without changing either train or carriage’, though a high supplement was payable on the first-class fare of the ordinary train.

Bradshaw’s Through Routes to the Capitals of the World, 1903, gave the route as via Paris in seventy-two hours, for the price of twenty-two pounds and eleven shillings, pointing out in the preface: ‘Travel is becoming more luxurious and more expensive. For the better accommodation provided and the greater speed attained the passenger has to pay.’

Half a century earlier, Murray had recommended the carrying of two pistols in the belt for the overland journey to the East. On the matter of public safety in 1903 Bradshaw comments: ‘A revolver is usually a tiresome encumbrance, never likely to be of service to those who are not well-practised shots. Where one must be carried, let it be a good one. In the few cases when one does want a revolver one wants it very badly, so let it be handy — not in the hip pocket, but in the side-pocket of the overcoat or jacket; not under the pillow, but down in the middle of the berth or bed, near the right hand; and at need do not hesitate to fire through the clothes, and before the weapon can be seen.’