In 1834, the year of Kinglake’s journey, Turkey in Europe was considerably more extensive than at the present day. Greece had already revolted and been recognised as an independent state. Wallachia and Moldavia were in process of securing their freedom. But the territories now known as Bulgaria, Bosnia, and Herzegovina were still integral portions of the Ottoman Empire; and though Servia (in which the scene of the opening chapters of _Eothen_ is laid) had been constituted a principality under Milosh Obrenovich as prince, in 1830, several of the fortresses were still garrisoned by Ottoman troops, which accounts for the presence of the Pasha at Belgrade. It is interesting to observe that though our Author must have proceeded to Adrianople straight across Bulgaria, he never mentions the name of that country. This apparently strange omission is really quite natural. The Bulgarians, though in some ways the most vigorous element among the Balkan races, passed through greater trials than the Servians or Roumanians, and for a time lost their national consciousness more completely. They were nearer Constantinople, and therefore any political movement was more easily kept in check; while all the religious and educational establishments of the country were in the hands of Greek priests who practically proscribed the Bulgarian language. I have been informed by a gentleman who has resided forty years in Turkey, that when he first entered the Ottoman dominions every educated Bulgarian called himself a Greek, and would have been ashamed to employ his national designation, which was hardly in general use before the movement of 1860. Another striking omission of _Eothen_ is that it contains hardly any allusion to the Sultan. At the present day the descendant of Osman, who claims to be also the successor of the Prophet, is a well-known figure to the British public. The _Pall Mall Gazette_ familiarly calls him “The Shadow.” { xiv} The friends of the Armenians hold him personally responsible for the massacres; and a modern Kinglake, even if bent on avoiding “political disquisitions,” would certainly describe the Selamlik or weekly visit of the Sovereign to the mosque. You cannot travel in Turkey without hearing the name of “Our Master” (Effendimiz) or “the Imperial Person” (Zat-i-Shahane) daily mentioned, and feeling that his wishes (which usually do not coincide with those of European travellers, and affect the minutest details) are the only real power in the country. This state of things is due almost entirely to the personal energy of the present occupant of the Ottoman throne, who for good or evil has succeeded in concentrating all power into his hands, and in displaying the greatest example of practical autocracy ever seen. In 1834 Mahmoud was Sultan, one of the most vigorous of Ottoman princes, but then near his end, and doubtless wearied out by a reign of constant reverse and ineffectual efforts at reform.