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                                 SERVIA,

                    YOUNGEST MEMBER OF THE EUROPEAN
                                FAMILY:

                                 OR, A

                        RESIDENCE IN BELGRADE,

                                  AND

               TRAVELS IN THE HIGHLANDS AND WOODLANDS OF
                            THE INTERIOR,

                    DURING THE YEARS 1843 AND 1844.

                                  BY

                     ANDREW ARCHIBALD PATON, ESQ.

                    AUTHOR OF "THE MODERN SYRIANS."

"Les hommes croient en general connaitre suffisamment l'Empire Ottoman
pour peu qu'ils aient lu l'enorme compilation que le savant M. de
Hammer a publiee ... mais en dehors de ce mouvement central il y a la
vie interieure de province, dont le tableau tout entier reste a
faire."

                                LONDON:
                 LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS,
                           PATERNOSTER ROW.

                                 1845.

PREFACE.

The narrative and descriptive portion of this work speaks for itself.
In the historical part I have consulted with advantage Von Engel's
"History of Servia," Ranke's "Servian Revolution," Possart's "Servia,"
and Ami Boue's "Turquie d'Europe," but took the precaution of
submitting the facts selected to the censorship of those on the spot
best able to test their accuracy. For this service, I owe a debt of
acknowledgment to M. Hadschitch, the framer of the Servian code; M.
Marinovitch, Secretary of the Senate; and Professor John Shafarik,
whose lectures on Slaavic history, literature, and antiquities, have
obtained unanimous applause.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER 1.

Leave Beyrout.--Camp afloat.-Rhodes.--The shores of the Mediterranean
suitable for the cultivation of the arts.--A Moslem of the new
school.--American Presbyterian clergyman.--A Mexican senator.--A
sermon for sailors.--Smyrna.--Buyukdere.--Sir Stratford
Canning.--Embark for Bulgaria.

CHAPTER II.

Varna.--Contrast of Northern and Southern provinces of
Turkey.--Roustchouk.--Conversation with Deftendar.--The Danube.--A
Bulgarian interior.--A dandy of the Lower Danube.--Depart for Widdin.

CHAPTER III.

River steaming.--Arrival at Widdin.--Jew.--Comfortless khan.--Wretched
appearance of Widdin.--Hussein Pasha.--M. Petronievitch.--Steam
balloon.

CHAPTER IV.

Leave Widdin.--The Timok.--Enter Servia.--Brza Palanka.--The Iron
Gates.--Old and New Orsova.--Wallachian Matron.--Semlin.--A
conversation on language.

CHAPTER V.

Description of Belgrade.--Fortifications.--Street and street
population.--Cathedral.--Large square.--Coffee-house.--Deserted
villa.--Baths.

CHAPTER VI.

Europeanization of Belgrade.--Lighting and paving.--Interior of the
fortress.--Turkish Pasha.--Turkish quarter.--Turkish
population.--Panorama of Belgrade.--Dinner party given by the prince.

CHAPTER VII.

Return to Servia.--The Danube.--Semlin.--Wucics and
Petronievitch.--Cathedral solemnity.--Subscription ball.

CHAPTER VIII.

Holman, the blind traveller.--Milutinovich, the poet.--Bulgarian
legend.--Tableau de genre.--Departure for the interior.

CHAPTER IX.

Journey to Shabatz.--Resemblance of manners to those of the middle
ages.--Palesh.--A Servian bride.--Blind
minstrel.--Gipsies.--Macadamized roads.

CHAPTER X.

Shabatz.--A provincial chancery.--Servian collector.--Description of
his house.--Country barber.--Turkish quarter.--Self-taught priest.--A
provincial dinner.--Native soiree.

CHAPTER XI.

Kaimak.--History of a renegade.--A bishop's house.--Progress of
education.--Portrait of Milosh.--Bosnia and the Bosnians.--Moslem
fanaticism.--Death of the collector.

CHAPTER XII.

The banat of Matchva.--Losnitza.--Feuds on the frontier.--Enter the
back-woods.--Convent of Tronosha.--Greek festival.--Congregation of
peasantry.--Rustic finery.

CHAPTER XIII.

Romantic sylvan scenery.--Patriarchal simplicity of
manners.--Krupena.--Sokol.--Its extraordinary position.--Wretched
town.--Alpine scenery.--Cool reception.--Valley of the Rogatschitza.

CHAPTER XIV.

The Drina.--Liubovia.--Quarantine station.--Derlatcha.--A Servian
beauty.--A lunatic priest.--Sorry quarters.--Murder by brigands.

CHAPTER XV.

Arrival at Ushitza.--Wretched street.--Excellent khan.--Turkish
vayvode.--A Persian dervish.--Relations of Moslems and
Christians.--Visit the castle.--Bird's eye view.

CHAPTER XVI.

Poshega.--The river Morava.--Arrival at Csatsak.--A Viennese
doctor.--Project to ascend the Kopaunik.--Visit the bishop.--Ancient
cathedral church.--Greek mass.--Karanovatz.--Emigrant priest.--Albanian
disorders.--Salt mines.

CHAPTER XVII.

Coronation church of the ancient kings of Servia.--Enter the
Highlands.--Valley of the Ybar.--First view of the High Balkan.--Convent
of Studenitza.--Byzantine Architecture.--Phlegmatic monk.--Servian
frontier.--New quarantine.--Russian major.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Cross the Bosniac frontier.--Gipsy encampment.--Novibazar
described.--Rough reception.--Precipitate departure.--Fanaticism.

CHAPTER XIX.

Ascent of the Kopaunik.--Grand prospect.--Descent of the
Kopaunik.--Bruss.--Involuntary bigamy.--Conversation on the Servian
character.--Krushevatz.--Relics of monarchy.

CHAPTER XX.

Formation of the Servian monarchy.--Contest between the Latin and Greek
Churches.--Stephen Dushan.--A great warrior.--Results of his
victories.--Kucs Lasar.--Invasion of Amurath.--Battle of Kossovo.--Death
of Lasar and Amurath.--Fall of the Servian monarchy.--General
observations.

CHAPTER XXI.

A battue missed.--Proceed to Alexinatz.--Foreign-Office
courier.--Bulgarian frontier.--Gipsy Suregee.--Tiupria.--New bridge and
macadamized roads.

CHAPTER XXII.

Visit to Ravanitza.--Jovial party.--Servian and Austrian
jurisdiction.--Convent described.--Eagles reversed.--Bulgarian
festivities.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Manasia.--Has preserved its middle-age character.--Robinson
Crusoe.--Wonderful echo.--Kindness of the
people.--Svilainitza.--Posharevatz.--Baby giantess.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Rich soil.--Mysterious waters.--Treaty of Passarovitz.--The castle of
Semendria.--Relics of the antique.--The Brankovitch
family.--Panesova.--Morrison's pills.

CHAPTER XXV.

Personal appearance of the Servians.--Their moral
character.--Peculiarity of manners.--Christmas
festivities.--Easter.--The Dodola.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Town life.--The public offices.--Manners half-oriental
half-European.--Merchants and tradesmen.--Turkish
population.--Porters.--Barbers.--Cafes.--Public writer.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Poetry.--Journalism.--The fine arts.--The Lyceum.--Mineralogical
cabinet.--Museum.--Servian Education.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Preparations for departure.--Impressions of the East.--Prince
Alexander.--The palace.--Kara Georg.

CHAPTER XXIX.

A memoir of Kara Georg.

CHAPTER XXX.

Milosh Obrenovitch.

CHAPTER XXXI.

The prince.--The government.--The senate.--The minister for foreign
affairs.--The minister of the interior.--Courts of justice.--Finances.

CHAPTER XXXII.

Agriculture and commerce.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

The foreign agents.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

VIENNA IN 1844.

Improvements in Vienna.--Palladian style.--Music.--Theatres.--Sir Robert
Gordon.--Prince Metternich.--Armen ball.--Dancing.--Strauss.--Austrian
policy.

CHAPTER XXXV.

Concluding observations on Austria and her prospects.

SERVIA.

CHAPTER I.

Leave Beyrout.--Camp afloat.--Rhodes.--The shores of the Mediterranean
suitable for the cultivation of the arts.--A Moslem of the new
school.--American Presbyterian clergyman.--A Mexican senator.--A
sermon for sailors.--Smyrna.--Buyukdere.--Sir Stratford
Canning.--Embark for Bulgaria.

I have been four years in the East, and feel that I have had quite
enough of it for the present. Notwithstanding the azure skies,
bubbling fountains, Mosaic pavements, and fragrant _narghiles_, I
begin to feel symptoms of ennui, and a thirst for European life, sharp
air, and a good appetite, a blazing fire, well-lighted rooms, female
society, good music, and the piquant vaudevilles of my ancient
friends, Scribe, Bayard, and Melesville.

At length I stand on the pier of Beyrout, while my luggage is being
embarked for the Austrian steamer lying in the roads, which, in the
Levantine slang, has lighted her chibouque, and is polluting yon white
promontory, clear cut in the azure horizon, with a thick black cloud
of Wallsend.

I bade a hurried adieu to my friends, and went on board. The
quarter-deck, which retained its awning day and night, was divided
into two compartments, one of which was reserved for the promenade of
the cabin passengers, the other for the bivouac of the Turks, who
retained their camp habits with amusing minuteness, making the
larboard quarter a vast tent afloat, with its rolled up beds, quilts,
counterpanes, washing gear, and all sorts of water-cans, coffee-pots,
and chibouques, with stores of bread, cheese, fruit, and other
provisions for the voyage. In the East, a family cannot move without
its household paraphernalia, but then it requires a slight addition of
furniture and utensils to settle for years in a strange place. The
settlement of a European family requires a thousand et ceteras and
months of installation, but then it is set in motion for the new world
with a few portmanteaus and travelling bags.

Two days and a half of steaming brought us to Rhodes.

An enchanter has waved his wand! in reading of the wondrous world of
the ancients, one feels a desire to get a peep at Rome before its
destruction by barbarian hordes. A leap backwards of half this period
is what one seems to make at Rhodes, a perfectly preserved city and
fortress of the middle ages. Here has been none of the Vandalism of
Vauban, Cohorn, and those mechanical-pated fellows, who, with their
Dutch dyke-looking parapets, made such havoc of donjons and
picturesque turrets in Europe. Here is every variety of mediaeval
battlement; so perfect is the illusion, that one wonders the waiter's
horn should be mute, and the walls devoid of bowman, knight, and
squire.

Two more delightful days of steaming among the Greek Islands now
followed. The heat was moderate, the motion gentle, the sea was liquid
lapis lazuli, and the hundred-tinted islets around us, wrought their
accustomed spell. Surely there is something in climate which creates
permanent abodes of art! The Mediterranean, with its hydrographical
configuration, excluding from its great peninsulas the extremes of
heat and cold, seems destined to nourish the most exquisite sentiment
of the Beautiful. Those brilliant or softly graduated tints invite the
palette, and the cultivation of the graces of the mind, shining with
its aesthetic ray through lineaments thorough-bred from generation to
generation, invites the sculptor to transfer to marble, grace of
contour and elevation of expression. But let us not envy the balmy
South. The Germanic or northern element, if less susceptible of the
beautiful is more masculine, better balanced, less in extremes. It was
this element that struck down the Roman empire, that peoples America
and Australia, and rules India; that exhausted worlds, and then
created new.

The most prominent individual of the native division of passengers,
was Arif Effendi, a pious Moslem of the new school, who had a great
horror of brandy; first, because it was made from wine; and secondly,
because his own favourite beverage was Jamaica rum; for, as Peter
Parley says, "Of late years, many improvements have taken place among
the Mussulmans, who show a disposition to adopt the best things of
their more enlightened neighbours." We had a great deal of
conversation during the voyage, for he professed to have a great
admiration of England, and a great dislike of France; probably all
owing to the fact of rum coming from Jamaica, and brandy and wine from
Cognac and Bordeaux.

Another individual was a still richer character: an American
Presbyterian clergyman, with furi-bond dilated nostril and a terrific
frown.

"You must lose Canada," said he to me one day, abruptly, "ay, and
Bermuda into the bargain."

"I think you had better round off your acquisitions with a few odd
West India Islands."

"We have stomach enough for that too."

"I hear you have been to Jerusalem."

"Yes; I went to recover my voice, which I lost; for I have one of the
largest congregations in Boston."

"But, my good friend, you breathe nothing but war and conquest."

"The fact is, war is as unavoidable as thunder and lightning; the
atmosphere must be cleared from time to time."

"Were you ever a soldier?"

"No; I was in the American navy. Many a day I was after John Bull on
the shores of Newfoundland."

"After John Bull?"

"Yes, Sir, _sweating_ after him: I delight in energy; give me the man
who will shoulder a millstone, if need be."

"The capture of Canada, Bermuda, and a few odd West India Islands,
would certainly give scope for your energy. This would be taking the
bull by the horns."

"Swinging him by the tail, say I."

The burlesque vigour of his illustrations sometimes ran to
anti-climax. One day, he talked of something (if I recollect right,
the electric telegraph), moving with the rapidity of a flash of
lightning, with a pair of spurs clapped into it.

In spite of all this ultra-national bluster, we found him to be a very
good sort of man, having nothing of the bear but the skin, and in the
test of the quarantine arrangements, the least selfish of the party.

Another passenger was an elderly Mexican senator, who was the essence
of politeness of the good old school. Every morning he stood smiling,
hat in hand, while he inquired how each of us had slept. I shall never
forget the cholera-like contortion of horror he displayed, when the
clerical militant (poking his fun at him), declared that Texas was
within the natural boundary of the State, and that some morning they
would make a breakfast of the whole question.

One day he passed from politics to religion. "I am fond of fun," said
he, "I think it is the sign of a clear conscience. My life has been
spent among sailors. I have begun with many a blue jacket
hail-fellow-well-met in my own rough way, and have ended in weaning
him from wicked courses. None of your gloomy religion for me. When I
see a man whose religion makes him melancholy, and averse from gaiety,
I tell him his god must be my devil."

The originality of this gentleman's intellect and manners, led me
subsequently to make further inquiry; and I find one of his sermons
reported by a recent traveller, who, after stating that his oratory
made a deep impression on the congregation of the Sailors' chapel in
Boston, who sat with their eyes, ears, and mouths open, as if
spell-bound in listening to him, thus continues: "He describes a ship
at sea, bound for the port of Heaven, when the man at the head sung
out, 'Rocks ahead!' 'Port the helm,' cried the mate. 'Ay, ay, sir,'
was the answer; the ship obeyed, and stood upon a tack. But in two
minutes more, the lead indicated a shoal. The man on the out-look sung
out, 'Sandbreaks and breakers ahead!' The captain was now called, and
the mate gave his opinion; but sail where they could, the lead and
the eye showed nothing but dangers all around,--sand banks, coral
reefs, sunken rocks, and dangerous coasts. The chart showed them
clearly enough where the port of Heaven lay; there was no doubt about
its latitude and longitude: but they all sung out, that it was
impossible to reach it; there was no fair way to get to it. My
friends, it was the devil who blew up that sand-bank, and sunk those
rocks, and set the coral insects to work; his object was to prevent
that ship from ever getting to Heaven, to wreck it on its way, and to
make prize of the whole crew for slaves for ever. But just as every
soul was seized with consternation, and almost in despair, a tight
little schooner hove in sight; she was cruizing about, with one Jesus,
a pilot, on board. The captain hailed him, and he answered that he
knew a fair way to the port in question. He pointed out to them an
opening in the rocks, which the largest ship might beat through, with
a channel so deep, that the lead could never reach to the bottom, and
the passage was land-locked the whole way, so that the wind might veer
round to every point in the compass, and blow hurricanes from them
all, and yet it could never raise a dangerous sea in that channel.
What did the crew of that distressed ship do, when Jesus showed them
his chart, and gave them all the bearings? They laughed at him, and
threw his chart back in his face. He find a channel where they could
not! Impossible; and on they sailed in their own course, and everyone
of them perished."

At Smyrna, I signalized my return to the land of the Franks, by
ordering a beef-steak, and a bottle of porter, and bespeaking the
paper from a gentleman in drab leggings, who had come from Manchester
to look after the affairs of a commercial house, in which he or his
employers were involved. He wondered that a hotel in the Ottoman
empire should be so unlike one in Europe, and asked me, "If the inns
down in the country were as good as this."

As for Constantinople, I refer all readers to the industry and
accuracy of Mr. White, who might justly have terminated his volumes
with the Oriental epistolary phrase, "What more can I write?" Mr.
White is not a mere sentence balancer, but belongs to the guild of
bona fide Oriental travellers.

In summer, all Pera is on the Bosphorus: so I jumped into a caique,
and rowed up to Buyukdere. On the threshold of the villa of the
British embassy, I met A----, the prince of attaches, who led me to a
beautiful little kiosk, on the extremity of a garden, and there
installed me in his fairy abode of four small rooms, which embraced a
view like that of Isola Bella on Lake Maggiore; here books, the piano,
the _narghile_, and the parterre of flowers, relieved the drudgery of
his Eastern diplomacy. Lord N----, Mr. H----, and Mr. T----, the other
attaches, lived in a house at the other end of the garden.

I here spent a week of delightful repose. The mornings were occupied
_ad libitum_, the gentlemen of the embassy being overwhelmed with
business. At four o'clock dinner was usually served in the airy
vestibule of the embassy villa, and with the occasional accession of
other members of the diplomatic corps we usually formed a large
party. A couple of hours before sunset a caique, which from its size
might have been the galley of a doge, was in waiting, and Lady C----
sometimes took us to a favourite wooded hill or bower-grown creek in
the Paradise-like environs, while a small musical party in the evening
terminated each day. One of the attaches of the Russian embassy, M.
F----, is the favorite dilettante of Buyukdere; he has one of the
finest voices I ever heard, and frequently reminded me of the easy
humour and sonorous profundity of Lablache.

Before embarking the reader on the Black Sea, I cannot forbear a
single remark on the distinguished individual who has so long and so
worthily represented Great Britain at the Ottoman Porte.

Sir. Stratford Canning is certainly unpopular with the extreme
fanatical party, and with all those economists who are for killing the
goose to get at the golden eggs; but the real interests of the Turkish
nation never had a firmer support.

The chief difficulty in the case of this race is the impossibility of
fusion with others. While they decrease in number, the Rayahs increase
in wealth, in numbers, and in intelligence.

The Russians are the Orientals of Europe, but St. Petersburg is a
German town, German industry corrects the old Muscovite sloth and
cunning. The immigrant strangers rise to the highest offices, for the
crown employs them as a counterpoise on the old nobility; as burgher
incorporations were used by the kings of three centuries ago.

No similar process is possible with Moslems: one course therefore
remains open for those who wish to see the Ottoman Empire upheld; a
strenuous insistance on the Porte treating the Rayah population with
justice and moderation. The interests of humanity, and the real and
true interests of the Ottoman Empire, are in this case identical.
Guided by this sound principle, which completely reconciles the policy
of Great Britain with the highest maxims of political morality, Sir.
Stratford Canning has pursued his career with an all-sifting
intelligence, a vigour of character and judgment, an indifference to
temporary repulses, and a sacrifice of personal popularity, which has
called forth the respect and involuntary admiration of parties the
most opposed to his views.

I embarked on board a steamer, skirted the western coast of the Black
Sea, and landed on the following morning in Varna.

CHAPTER II.

Varna.--Contrast of Northern And Southern Provinces of
Turkey.--Roustchouk.--Conversation with Deftendar.--The Danube.--A
Bulgarian interior.--A dandy of the Lower Danube.--Depart for Widdin.

All hail, Bulgaria! No sooner had I secured my quarters and deposited
my baggage, than I sought the main street, in order to catch the
delightfully keen impression which a new region stamps on the mind.

How different are the features of Slaavic Turkey, from those of the
Arabic provinces in which I so long resided. The flat roofs, the
measured pace of the camel, the half-naked negro, the uncouth Bedouin,
the cloudless heavens, the tawny earth, and the meagre apology for
turf, are exchanged for ricketty wooden houses with coarse tiling,
laid in such a way as to eschew the monotony of straight lines;
strings of primitive waggons drawn by buffaloes, and driven by
Bulgarians with black woolly caps, real genuine grass growing on the
downs outside the walls, and a rattling blast from the Black Sea, more
welcome than all the balmy spices of Arabia, for it reminded me that I
was once more in Europe, and must befit my costume to her ruder airs.
This was indeed the north of the Balkan, and I must needs pull out my
pea-jacket. How I relished those winds, waves, clouds, and grey skies!
They reminded me of English nature and Dutch art. The Nore, the Downs,
the Frith of Forth, and sundry dormant Backhuysens, re-awoke to my
fancy.

The moral interest too was different. In Egypt or Syria, where whole
cycles of civilization lie entombed, we interrogate the past; here in
Bulgaria the past is nothing, and we vainly interrogate the future.

The interior of Varna has a very fair bazaar; not covered as in
Constantinople and other large towns, but well furnished. The private
dwellings are generally miserable. The town suffered so severely in
the Russian war of 1828, that it has never recovered its former
prosperity. It has also been twice nearly all burnt since then; so
that, notwithstanding its historical, military, and commercial
importance, it has at present little more than 20,000 inhabitants. The
walls of the town underwent a thorough repair in the spring and summer
of 1843.

The majority of the inhabitants are Turks, and even the native
Bulgarians here speak Turkish better than their own language. One
Bulgarian here told me that he could not speak the national language.
Now in the west of Bulgaria, on the borders of Servia, the Turks speak
Bulgarian better than Turkish.

From Varna to Roustchouk is three days' journey, the latter half of
the road being agreeably diversified with wood, corn, and pasture; and
many of the fields inclosed. Just at sunset, I found myself on the
ridge of the last undulation of the slope of Bulgaria, and again
greeted the ever-noble valley of the Danube. Roustchouk lay before me
hitherward, and beyond the river, the rich flat lands of Wallachia
stretched away to the north.

As I approached the town, I perceived it to be a fortress of vast
extent; but as it is commanded from the heights from which I was
descending, it appeared to want strength if approached from the south.
The ramparts were built with great solidity, but rusty, old,
dismounted cannon, obliterated embrasures, and palisades rotten from
exposure to the weather, showed that to stand a siege it must undergo
a considerable repair. The aspect of the place did not improve as we
rumbled down the street, lined with houses one story high, and here
and there a little mosque, with a shabby wooden minaret crowned with
conical tin tops like the extinguishers of candles.

I put up at the khan. My room was without furniture; but, being lately
white-washed, and duly swept out under my own superintendence, and laid
with the best mat in the khan, on which I placed my bed and carpets,
the addition of a couple of rush-bottomed chairs and a deal table,
made it habitable, which was all I desired, as I intended to stay only
a few days. I was supplied with a most miserable dinner; and, to my
horror, the stewed meat was sprinkled with cinnamon. The wine was bad,
and the water still worse, for there are no springs at Roustchouk, and
they use Danube water, filtered through a jar of a porous sandstone
found in the neighbourhood. A jar of this kind stands in every house,
but even when filtered in this way it is far from good.

On hearing that the Deftendar spoke English perfectly, and had long
resided in England, I felt a curiosity to see him, and accordingly
presented myself at the Konak, and was shown to the divan of the
Deftendar. I pulled aside a pendent curtain, and entered a room of
large dimensions, faded decorations, and a broad red divan, the
cushions of which were considerably the worse for wear. Such was the
bureau of the Deftendar Effendi, who sat surrounded with papers, and
the implements of writing. He was a man apparently of fifty-five
years of age, slightly inclining to corpulence, with a very short
neck, surmounted by large features, coarsely chiselled; but not devoid
of a certain intelligence in his eye, and dignity in general effect.
He spoke English with a correct accent, but slowly, occasionally
stopping to remember a word; thus showing that his English was not
imperfect from want of knowledge, but rusty from want of practice. He
was an Egyptian Turk, and had been for eight years the commercial
agent of Mohammed Ali at Malta, and had, moreover, visited the
principal countries of Europe.

I then took a series of short and rapid whiffs of my pipe while I
bethought me of the best manner of treating the subject of my visit,
and then said, "that few orientals could draw a distinction between
politics and geography; but that with a man of his calibre and
experience, I was safe from misinterpretation--that I was collecting
the materials for a work on the Danubian provinces, and that for any
information which he might give me, consistently with the exigencies
of his official position, I should feel much indebted, as I thought I
was least likely to be misunderstood by stating clearly the object of
my journey to the authorities, while information derived from the
fountain-head was the most valuable."

The Deftendar, after commending my openness, said, "I suspect that you
will find very little to remark in the pashalic of Silistria. It is an
agricultural country, and the majority of the inhabitants are Turks.
The Rayahs are very peaceable, and pay very few taxes, considering the
agricultural wealth of the country. You may rest assured that there is
not a province of the Ottoman empire, which is better governed than
the pashalic of Silistria. Now and then, a rude Turk appropriates to
himself a Bulgarian girl; but the government cannot be responsible for
these individual excesses. We have no malcontents within the province;
hut there are a few Hetarist scoundrels at Braila, who wish to disturb
the tranquillity of Bulgaria: but the Wallachian government has taken
measures to prevent them from carrying their projects into execution."
After some further conversation, on indifferent topics, I took my
leave.

The succeeding days were devoted to a general reconnaissance of the
place; but I must say that Roustchouk, although capital of the
pashalic of Silistria, and containing thirty or forty thousand
inhabitants, pleased me less than any town of its size that I had seen
in the East. The streets are dirty and badly paved, without a single
good bazaar or cafe to kill time in, or a single respectable edifice
of any description to look at. The redeeming resource was the
promenade on the banks of the Danube, which has here attained almost
its full volume, and uniting the waters of Alp, Carpathian, and
Balkan, rushes impatiently to the Euxine.

At length the day of departure came. The attendant had just removed
the tumbler of coffee, tossing the fragments of toast into the
court-yard, an operation which appeared to have a magnetic effect on
the bills of the poultry; and then, with his accustomed impropriety,
placed the plate as a basis to my hookah, telling me that F----, a
Bulgarian Christian, wished to speak with me.

"Let him walk in," said I, as I took the first delightful whiff; and
F----, darkening the window that looked out on the verandah, gave me a
fugitive look of recognition, and then entering and making his
salutation in a kindly hearty manner, asked me to eat my mid-day meal
with him.

"Indeed," quoth I, "I accept your invitation. I have not gone to pay
my visit to the Bey, because I remain here too short a time to need
his good offices; but I am anxious to make the acquaintance of the
people,--so I am your guest."

When the hour arrived, I adjusted the tassel of my fez, put on my
great coat, and proceeded to the Christian quarter; where, after
various turnings and windings, I at length arrived at a high wooden
gateway, new and unpainted.

An uncouth tuning of fiddles, the odour of savoury fare, and a hearty
laugh from within, told me that I had no further to go; for all these
gates are so like each other, one never knows a house till after
close observation. On entering I passed over a plat of grass, and
piercing a wooden tenement by a dark passage, found myself in a
three-sided court, where several persons were sitting on rush-bottomed
chairs.

F---- came forward, took both my hands in his, and then presented me
to the company. On being seated, I exchanged salutations, and then
looked round, and perceived that the three sides of the court were
composed of rambling wooden tenements; the fourth was a little garden
in which a few flowers were cultivated.

The elders sat, the youngers stood at a distance;--so respectful is
youth to age in all this eastern world. The first figure in the former
group was the father of our host; the acrid humours of extreme age had
crimsoned his eye-lids, and his head shook from side to side, as he
attempted to rise to salute me, but I held him to his seat. The wife
of our host was a model of fragile delicate beauty. Her nose, mouth,
and chin, were exquisitely chiselled, and her skin was smooth and
white as alabaster; but the eye-lid drooped; the eye hung fire, and
under each orb the skin was slightly blue, but so blending with the
paleness of the rest of the face, as rather to give distinctness to
the character of beauty, than to detract from the general effect. Her
second child hung on her left arm, and a certain graceful negligence
in the plaits of her hair and the arrangement of her bosom, showed
that the cares of the young mother had superseded the nicety of the
coquette.

The only other person in the company worthy of remark, was a Frank.
His surtout was of cloth of second or third quality, but profusely
braided. His stock appeared to strangle him, and a diamond breast-pin
was stuck in a shirt of texture one degree removed from sail-cloth.
His blood, as I afterwards learned, was so crossed by Greek, Tsinsar,
and Wallachian varieties, that it would have puzzled the united
genealogists of Europe to tell his breed; and his language was a
mangled subdivision of that dialect which passes for French in the
fashionable centres of the Grecaille.

_Exquisite_. "Quangt etes vous venie, Monsieur?"

_Author_. "Il y a huit jours."

_Exquisite_ (looking at a large ring on his _fore_ finger). "Ce sont
de bons diables dans ce pays-ci; mais tout est un po barbare."

"Assez barbare," said I, as I saw that the exquisite's nails were in
the deepest possible mourning.

_Exquisite_. "Avez vous ete a Boukarest?"

_Author_. "Non--pas encore."

_Exquisite_. "Ah je wous assire que Boukarest est maintenant comme
Paris et Londres;"

_Author_. "Avez-vous vu Paris et Londres?"

_Exquisite_. "Non--mais Boukarest vaut cent fois Galatz et Braila."

During this colloquy, the gipsy music was playing; the first fiddle
was really not bad: and the nonchalant rogue-humour of his countenance
did not belie his alliance to that large family, which has produced
"so many blackguards, but never a single blockhead."

Dinner was now announced. F----'s wife, relieved of her child, acted
as first waitress. The fare consisted mostly of varieties of fowl,
with a pilaff of rice, in the Turkish manner, all decidedly good; but
the wine rather sweet and muddy. When I asked for a glass of water, it
was handed me in a little bowl of silver, which mine hostess had just
dashed into a jar of filtered lymph. Dinner concluded, the party rose,
each crossing himself, and reciting a short formula of prayer;
meanwhile a youthful relation of the house stood with the
washing-basin and soap turret poised on his left hand, while with the
right he poured on my hands water from a slender-spouted tin ewer.
Behind him stood the hostess holding a clean towel with a tiny web of
silver thread running across its extremities, and on my right stood
the ex-diners with sleeves tucked up, all in a row, waiting their turn
at the wash-hand basin.

After smoking a chibouque, I took my leave; for I had promised to
spend the afternoon in the house of a Swiss, who, along with the agent
of the steam-boat company and a third individual, made up the sum
total of the resident Franko-Levantines in Roustchouk.

A gun fired in the evening warned me that the steamer had arrived;
and, anxious to push on for Servia, I embarked forthwith.

CHAPTER III.

River Steaming.--Arrival at Widdin--Jew.--Comfortless Khan.--Wretched
appearance of Widdin.--Hussein Pasha.--M. Petronievitch.--Steam
Balloon.

River steaming is, according to my notions, the best of all sorts of
locomotion. Steam at sea makes you sick, and the voyage is generally
over before you have gained your sea legs and your land appetite. In
mail or stage you have no sickness and see the country, but you are
squeezed sideways by helpless corpulence, and in front cooped into
uneasiness by two pairs of egotistical knees and toes. As for
locomotives, tunnels, cuts, and viaducts--this is not travelling to
see the country, but arrival without seeing it. This eighth wonder of
the world, so admirably adapted for business, is the despair of
picturesque tourists, as well as post-horse, chaise, and gig letters.
Our cathedral towns, instead of being distinguished from afar by their
cloud-capt towers, are only recognizable at their respective stations
by the pyramids of gooseberry tarts and ham sandwiches being at one
place at the lower, and at another at the upper, end of an apartment
marked "refreshment room." Now in river steaming you walk the deck, if
the weather and the scenery be good; if the reverse, you lounge below;
read, write, or play; and then the meals are arranged with Germanic
ingenuity for killing time and the digestive organs.

On the second day the boat arrived at Widdin, and the agent of the
steam packet company, an old Jew, came on board. I stepped across the
plank and accompanied him to a large white house opposite the
landing-place. On entering, I saw a group of Israel's children in the
midst of a deadly combat of sale and purchase, bawling at the top of
their voices in most villainous Castilian; all were filthy and
shabbily dressed. The agent having mentioned who I was to the group, a
broad-lipped young man with a German _mutze_ surmounting his oriental
costume, stepped forward with a confident air, and in a thick guttural
voice addressed me in an unknown tongue. I looked about for an answer,
when the agent told me in Turkish that he spoke English.

_Jew_. "You English gentleman, sir, and not know English."

_Author_. "I have to apologize for not recognizing the accents of my
native country."

_Jew_. "Bring goods wid you, sir?"

_Author_. "No, I am not a merchant. Pray can you get me a lodging?"

_Jew_. "Get you as mush room you like, sir."

_Author_. "Have you been in England?"

_Jew_. "Been in London, Amsterdam, and Hamburgh."

We now arrived at the wide folding gates of the khan, which to be sure
had abundance of space for travellers, but the misery and filth of
every apartment disgusted me. One had broken windows, another a
broken floor, a third was covered with half an inch of dust, and the
weather outside was cold and rainy; so I shrugged up my shoulders and
asked to be conducted to another khan. There I was somewhat better
off, for I got into a new room leading out of a cafe where the
charcoal burned freely and warmed the apartment. When the room was
washed out I thought myself fortunate, so dreary and deserted had the
other khan appeared to me.

I now took a walk through the bazaars, but found the place altogether
miserable, being somewhat less village-like than Roustchouk. Lying so
nicely on the bank of the Danube, which here makes such beautiful
curves, and marked on the map with capital letters, it ought (such was
my notion) to be a place having at least one well-built and
well-stocked bazaar, a handsome seraglio, and some good-looking
mosques. Nothing of the sort. The Konak or palace of the Pasha is an
old barrack. The seraglio of the famous Passavan Oglou is in ruins,
and the only decent looking house in the place is the new office of
the Steam Navigation Company, which is on the Danube.

Being Ramadan, I could not see the pasha during the day; but in the
evening, M. Petronievitch, the exiled leader of the Servian National
party, introduced me to Hussein Pasha, the once terrible destroyer of
the Janissaries. This celebrated character appeared to be verging on
eighty, and, afflicted with gout, was sitting in the corner of the
divan at his ease, in the old Turkish ample costume. The white beard,
the dress of the pasha, the rich but faded carpet which covered the
floor, the roof of elaborate but dingy wooden arabesque, were all in
perfect keeping, and the dubious light of two thick wax candles rising
two or three feet from the floor, but seemed to bring out the picture,
which carried me back, a generation at least, to the pashas of the old
school. Hussein smoked a narghile of dark red Bohemian cut crystal. M.
Petronievitch and myself were supplied with pipes which were more
profusely mounted with diamonds, than any I had ever before smoked;
for Hussein Pasha is beyond all comparison the wealthiest man in the
Ottoman empire.

After talking over the last news from Constantinople, he asked me what
I thought of the projected steam balloon, which, from its being of a
marvellous nature, appears to have caused a great deal of talk among
the Turks. I expressed little faith in its success; on which he
ordered an attendant to bring him a drawing of a locomotive balloon
steered by flags and all sorts of fancies. "Will not this
revolutionize the globe?" said the pasha; to which I replied, "C'est
le premier pas qui coute; there is no doubt of an aërial voyage to
India if they get over the first quarter of a mile."[1]

I returned to sup with M. Petronievitch at his house, and we had a
great deal of conversation relative to the history, laws, manners,
customs, and politics of Servia; but as I subsequently obtained
accurate notions of that country by personal observation, it is not
necessary on the present occasion to return to our conversation.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Hussein Pasha has since retired from Widdin, where he
made the greater part of his fortune, for he was engaged in immense
agricultural and commercial speculations; he was succeeded by Mustapha
Nourri Pasha, formerly private secretary to Sultan Mahommud, who has
also made a large fortune, as merchant and ship-owner.]

CHAPTER IV.

Leave Widdin.--The Timok.--Enter Servia.--Brza Palanka.--The Iron
Gates.--Old and New Orsova.--Wallachian Matron.--Semlin.--A
Conversation on Language.

I left Widdin for the Servian frontier, in a car of the country, with
a couple of horses, the ground being gently undulated, but the
mountains to the south were at a considerable distance. On our right,
agreeable glimpses of the Danube presented themselves from time to
time. In six hours we arrived at the Timok, the river that separates
Servia from Bulgaria. The only habitation in the place was a log-house
for the Turkish custom-house officer. We were more than an hour in
getting our equipage across the ferry, for the long drought had so
reduced the water, that the boat was unable to meet the usual
landing-place by at least four feet of steep embankment; in vain did
the horses attempt to mount the acclivity; every spring was followed
by a relapse, and at last one horse sunk jammed in between the ferry
boat and the bank; so that we were obliged to loose the harness, send
the horses on shore, and drag the dirty car as we best could up the
half dried muddy slope. At last we succeeded, and a smart trot along
the Danube brought us to the Servian lazaretto, which was a new
symmetrical building, the promenade of which, on the Danube, showed an
attempt at a sort of pleasure-ground.

I entered at sunset, and next morning on showing my tongue to the
doctor, and paying a fee of one piastre (twopence) was free, and again
put myself in motion. Lofty mountains seemed to rise to the west, and
the cultivated plain now became broken into small ridges, partly
covered with forest trees. The ploughing oxen now became rarer; but
herds of swine, grubbing at acorns and the roots of bushes, showed
that I was changing the scene, and making the acquaintance not only
of a new country, but of a new people. The peasants, instead of having
woolly caps and frieze clothes as in Bulgaria, all wore the red fez,
and were dressed mostly in blue cloth; some of those in the villages
wore black glazed caps; and in general the race appeared to be
physically stronger and nobler than that which I had left. The
Bulgarians seemed to be a set of silent serfs, deserving (when not
roused by some unusual circumstance) rather the name of machines than
of men: these Servian fellows seemed lazier, but all possessed a
manliness of address and demeanour, which cannot be discovered in the
Bulgarian.

Brza Palanka, at which we now arrived, is the only Danubian port which
the Servians possess, below the Iron Gates; consequently, the only one
which is in uninterrupted communication with Galatz and the sea. A
small Sicilian vessel, laden with salt, passed into the Black Sea, and
actually ascended the Danube to this point, which is within a few
hours of the Hungarian frontier. As we approached the Iron Gates, the
valley became a mere gorge, with barely room for the road, and
fumbling through a cavernous fortification, we soon came in sight of
the Austro-Hungarian frontier.

_New_ Orsova, one of the few remaining retreats of the Turks in
Servia, is built on an island, and with its frail houses of yawning
rafters looks very _old_. Old Orsova, opposite which we now arrived,
looked quite _new_, and bore the true German type of formal
white-washed houses, and high sharp ridged roofs, which called up
forthwith the image of a dining-hall, where, punctually as the
village-clock strikes the hour of twelve, a fair-haired, fat,
red-faced landlord, serves up the soup, the _rindfleisch_, the
_zuspeise_, and all the other dishes of the holy Roman empire to the
Platz Major, the Haupt-zoll-amt director, the Kanzlei director, the
Concepist, the Protocollist, and _hoc genus omne_.

After a night passed in the quarantine, I removed to the inn, and
punctually as the clock struck half past twelve, the very party my
imagination conjured up, assembled to discuss the _mehlspeise_ in the
stencilled parlour of the Hirsch.

Favoured by the most beautiful weather, I started in a sort of caleche
for Dreucova. The excellent new macadamized road was as smooth as a
bowling-green, and only a lively companion was wanting to complete the
exhilaration of my spirits.

My fair fellow-traveller was an enormously stout Wallachian matron, on
her way to Vienna, to see her _daughter_, who was then receiving her
education at a boarding-school. I spoke no Wallachian, she spoke
nothing but Wallachian; so our conversation was carried on by my
attempting to make myself understood alternately by the Italian, and
the Spanish forms of Latin.

"_Una bella Campagna_," said I, as we drove out Orsova.

"_Bella, bella_?" said the lady, evidently puzzled.

So I said, "_Hermosa_."

"_Ah! formosa; formosa prate_," repeated the lady, evidently
understanding that I meant a fine country.

"_Deunde venut_?" Whence have you come?

"Constantinopolis;" and so on we went, supposing that we understood
each other, she supplying me with new forms of bastard Latin words,
and adding with a smile, _Romani_, or Wallachian, as the language and
people of Wallachia are called by themselves. It is worthy of remark,
that the Wallachians and a small people in Switzerland, are the only
descendants of the Romans, that still designate their language as that
of the ancient mistress of the world.

As I rolled along, the fascinations of nature got the better of my
gallantry; the discourse flagged, and then dropped, for I found myself
in the midst of the noblest river scenery I had ever beheld, certainly
far surpassing that of the Rhine, and Upper Danube. To the gloom and
grandeur of natural portals, formed of lofty precipitous rocks,
succeeds the open smiling valley, the verdant meadows, and the distant
wooded hills, with all the soft and varied hues of autumn. Here we
appear to be driving up the avenues of an English park; yonder, where
the mountain sinks sheer into the river, the road must find its way
along an open gallery, with a roof weighing millions of tons,
projecting from the mountain above.

After sunset we arrived at Dreucova, and next morning went on board
the steamer, which conveyed me up the Danube to Semlin. The lower town
of Semlin is, from the exhalations on the banks of the river,
frightfully insalubrious, but the cemetery enjoys a high and airy
situation. The people in the town die off with great rapidity; but, to
compensate for this, the dead are said to be in a highly satisfactory
state of preservation. The inns here, once so bad, have greatly
improved; but mine host, zum Golden Lowen, on my recent visits, always
managed to give a very good dinner, including two sorts of savoury
game. I recollect on a former visit, going to another inn, and found
in the dining-room an individual, whose ruddy nose, and good-humoured
nerveless smile, denoted a fondness for the juice of the grape, and
seitel after seitel disappeared with rapidity. By-the-bye, old father
Danube is as well entitled to be represented with a perriwig of grapes
as his brother the Rhine. Hungary in general, has a right merry
bacchanalian climate. Schiller or Symian wine is in the same parallel
of latitude as Claret, Oedenburger as Burgundy, and a line run
westwards from Tokay would almost touch the vineyards of Champagne.
Csaplovich remarks in his quaint way, that the four principal wines of
Hungary are cultivated by the four principal nations in it. That is to
say, the Slavonians cultivate the Schiller, Germans the Oedenburger
and Ruster, Magyars and Wallachians the Menesher. Good Schiller is the
best Syrmian wine. But I must return from this digression to the guest
of the Adler. On hearing that I was an Englishman, he expressed a wish
to hear as much of England as possible, and appeared thunderstruck,
when I told him that London had nearly two millions of inhabitants,
being four hundred thousand more than the population of the whole of
the Banat. This individual had of course learned five languages with
his mother's milk, and therefore thought that the inhabitants of such
a country as England must know ten at least. When I told him that the
majority of the people in England knew nothing but English, he said,
somewhat contemptuously, "O! you told me the fair side of the English
character: but you did not tell me that the people was so ignorant."
He then good-humouredly warned me against practising on his credulity.
I pointed out how unnecessary other languages were for England itself;
but that all languages could be learned in London.

"Can Wallachian be learned in London?"

"I have my doubts about Wallachian, but"--

"Can Magyar be learned in London?"

"I suspect not."

"Can Servian be learnt in London?"

"I confess, I don't think that any body in London teaches Servian;
but"--

"There again, you travellers are always making statements unfounded on
fact. I have mentioned three leading languages, and nobody in your
city knows anything about them."

CHAPTER V.

Description of Belgrade.--Fortifications.--Streets and Street
Population.--Cathedral.--Large Square.--Coffe-house.--Deserted
Villa.--Baths.

Through the courtesy and attention of Mr. Consul-general Fonblanque
and the numerous friends of M. Petronievitch, I was, in the course of
a few days, as familiar with all the principal objects and individuals
in Belgrade, as if I had resided months in the city.

The fare of a boat from Semlin to Belgrade by Austrian rowers is five
zwanzigers, or about _3s. 6d._ English; and the time occupied is half
an hour, that is to say, twenty minutes for the descent of the Danube,
and about ten minutes for the ascent of the Save. On arrival at the
low point of land at the confluence, we perceived the distinct line of
the two rivers, the Danube faithfully retaining its brown, muddy
character, while the Save is much clearer. We now had a much closer
view of the fortress opposite. Large embrasures, slightly elevated
above the water's edge, were intended for guns of great calibre; but
above, a gallimaufry of grass-grown and moss-covered fortifications
were crowned by ricketty, red-tiled houses, and looking very unlike
the magnificent towers in the last scene of the Siege of Belgrade, at
Drury Lane. Just within the banks of the Save were some of the large
boats which trade on the river; the new ones as curiously carved,
painted, and even gilded, as some of those one sees at Dort and
Rotterdam. They have no deck--for a ridge of rafters covers the goods,
and the boatmen move about on ledges at the gunwale.

The fortress of Belgrade, jutting out exactly at the point of
confluence of the rivers, has the town behind it. The Servian, or
principal quarter, slopes down to the Save; the Turkish quarter to
the Danube. I might compare Belgrade to a sea-turtle, the head of
which is represented by the fortress, the back of the neck by the
esplanade or Kalai Meidan, the right flank by the Turkish quarter, the
left by the Servian, and the ridge of the back by the street running
from the esplanade to the gate of Constantinople.

We landed at the left side of our imaginary turtle, or at the quay of
the Servian quarter, which runs along the Save. The sloping bank was
paved with stones; and above was a large edifice with an arcade, one
end of which served as the custom-house, the other as the Austrian
consulate.

The population was diversified. Shabby old Turks were selling fruit;
and boatmen, both Moslem and Christian--the former with turbans, the
latter with short fez's--were waiting for a fare. To the left was a
Turkish guard-house, at a gate leading to the esplanade, with as smart
a row of burnished muskets as one could expect. All within this gate
is under the jurisdiction of the Turkish Pasha of the fortress; all
without the gate in question, is under the government of the Servian
Prefect of Belgrade.

We now turned into a curious old street, built quite in the Turkish
fashion, and composed of rafters knocked carelessly together, and
looking as if the first strong gust of wind would send them smack over
the water into Hungary without the formality of a quarantine; but many
of the shops were smartly garnished with clothes, haberdashery, and
trinkets, mostly from Bohemia and Moravia; and in some I saw large
blocks of rock-salt.

Notwithstanding the rigmarole construction of the quarter on the
water's edge, (save and except at the custom-house,) it is the most
busy quarter in the town: here are the places of business of the
principal merchants in the place. This class is generally of the
Tsinsar nation, as the descendants of the Roman colonists in Macedonia
are called; their language is a corrupt Latin, and resembles the
Wallachian dialect very closely.

We now ascended by a steep street to the upper town. The most
prominent object in the first open space we came to is the cathedral,
a new and large but tasteless structure, with a profusely gilt
bell-tower, in the Russian manner; and the walls of the interior are
covered with large paintings of no merit. But one must not be too
critical: a kindling of intellectual energy ever seems, in most
countries, to precede excellence in the imitative arts, which latter,
too often survives the ruins of those ruder and nobler qualities which
assure the vigorous existence of states or provinces.

In the centre of the town is an open square, which forms a sort of
line of demarcation between the crescent and the cross. On the one
side, several large and good houses have been constructed by the
wealthiest senators, in the German manner, with flaring new white
walls and bright green shutter-blinds. On the other side is a mosque,
and dead old garden walls, with walnut trees and Levantine roofs
peeping up behind them. Look on this picture, and you have the type of
all domestic architecture lying between you and the snow-fenced huts
of Lapland; cast your eyes over the way, and imagination wings
lightly to the sweet south with its myrtles, citrons, marbled steeps
and fragrance-bearing gales.

Beside the mosque is the new Turkish coffee-house, which is kept by an
Arab by nation and a Moslem by religion, but born at Lucknow. One day,
in asking for the mullah of the mosque, who had gone to Bosnia, I
entered into conversation with him; but on learning that I was an
Englishman he fought shy, being, like most Indian Moslems when
travelling in Turkey, ashamed of their sovereign being a protected
ally of a Frank government.

I now entered the region of gardens and villas, which, previous to the
revolution of Kara Georg, was occupied principally by Turks. Passing
down a shady lane my attention was arrested by a rotten moss-grown
garden door, at the sight of which memory leaped backwards for four or
five years. Here I had spent a happy forenoon with Colonel H----, and
the physician of the former Pasha, an old Hanoverian, who, as surgeon
to a British regiment had gone through all the fatigues of the
Peninsular war. I pushed open the door, and there, completely secluded
from the bustle of the town, and the view of the stranger, grew the
vegetation as luxuriant as ever, relieving with its dark green frame
the clear white of the numerous domes and minarets of the Turkish
quarter, and the broad-bosomed Danube which filled up the centre of
the picture; but the house and stable, which had resounded with the
good-humoured laugh of the master, and the neighing of the well-fed
little stud (for horse-flesh was the weak side of our Esculapius),
were tenantless, ruinous, and silent. The doctor had died in the
interval at Widdin, in the service of Hussein Pasha. I mechanically
withdrew, abstracted from external nature by the "memory of joys that
were past, pleasant and mournful to the soul."

I then took a Turkish bath; but the inferiority of those in Belgrade
to similar luxuries in Constantinople, Damascus, and Cairo, was
strikingly apparent on entering. The edifice and the furniture were of
the commonest description. The floors of the interior of brick
instead of marble, and the plaster and the cement of the walls in a
most defective state. The atmosphere in the drying room was so cold
from the want of proper windows and doors, that I was afraid lest I
should catch a catarrh. The Oriental bath, when paved with fine
grained marbles, and well appointed in the departments of linen,
sherbet, and _narghile_, is a great luxury; but the bath at Belgrade
was altogether detestable. In the midst of the drying business a
violent dispute broke out between the proprietor and an Arnaout, whom
the former styled a _cokoshary_, or hen-eater, another term for a
robber; for when lawless Arnaouts arrive in a village, after eating up
half the contents of the poultry-yard, they demand a tribute in the
shape of _compensation for the wear and tear of their teeth_ while
consuming the provisions they have forcibly exacted.

CHAPTER VI.

Europeanization of Belgrade.--Lighting and Paving.--Interior of the
Fortress--Turkish Pasha.--Turkish Quarter.--Turkish
Population.--Panorama of Belgrade--Dinner party given by the Prince.

The melancholy I experienced in surveying the numerous traces of
desolation in Turkey was soon effaced at Belgrade. Here all was life
and activity. It was at the period of my first visit, in 1839, quite
an oriental town; but now the haughty parvenu spire of the cathedral
throws into the shade the minarets of the mosques, graceful even in
decay. Many of the bazaar-shops have been fronted and glazed. The
oriental dress has become much rarer; and houses several stories
high, in the German fashion, are springing up everywhere. But in two
important particulars Belgrade is as oriental as if it were situated
on the Tigris or Barrada--lighting and paving. It is impossible in wet
weather to pay a couple of visits without coming home up to the ankles
in mud; and at night all locomotion without a lantern is impossible.
Belgrade, from its elevation, could be most easily lighted with gas,
and at a very small expense; as even if there be no coal in Servia,
there is abundance of it at Moldava, which is on the Danube between
Belgrade and Orsova; that is to say, considerably above the Iron
Gates. I make this remark, not so much to reproach my Servian friends
with backwardness, but to stimulate them to all easily practicable
improvements.

One day I accompanied M. de Fonblanque on a visit to the Pasha in the
citadel, which we reached by crossing the glacis or neck of land that
connects the castle with the town. This place forms the pleasantest
evening lounge in the vicinity of Belgrade; for on the one side is an
extensive view of the Turkish town, and the Danube wending its way
down to Semendria; on the other is the Save, its steep bank piled with
street upon street, and the hills beyond them sloping away to the
Bosniac frontier.

The ramparts are in good condition; and the first object that strikes
a stranger on entering, are six iron spikes, on which, in the time of
the first revolution, the heads of Servians used to be stuck. Milosh
once saved his own head from this elevation by his characteristic
astuteness. During his alliance with the Turks in 1814, (or 1815,) he
had large pecuniary transactions with the Pasha, for he was the medium
through whom the people paid their tribute. Five heads grinned from
five spikes as he entered the castle, and he comprehended that the
sixth was reserved for him; the last head set up being that of
Glavash, a leader, who, like himself, was then supporting the
government: so he immediately took care to make the Pasha understand
that he was about to set out on a tour in the country, to raise some
money for the vizierial strong-box. "Peh eiu," said Soliman Pasha,
thinking to catch him next time, and get the money at the same time;
so Milosh was allowed to depart; but knowing that if he returned spike
the sixth would not wait long for its head, he at once raised the
district of Rudnick, and ended the terrible war which had been begun
under much less favourable auspices, by the more valiant but less
astute Kara Georg.

We passed a second draw-bridge, and found ourselves in the interior of
the fortress. A large square was formed by ruinous buildings.
Extensive barracks were windowless and tenantless, but the mosque and
the Pasha's Konak were in good order. We were ushered into an
audience-room of great extent, with a low carved roof and some
old-fashioned furniture, the divan being in the corner, and the
windows looking over the precipice to the Danube below. Hafiz Pasha,
the same who commanded at the battle of Nezib, was about fifty-five,
and a gentleman in air and manner, with a grey beard. In course of
conversation he told me that he was a Circassian. He asked me about my
travels: and with reference to Syria said, "Land operations through
Kurdistan against Mehemet Ali were absurd. I suggested an attack by
sea, while a land force should make a diversion by Antioch, but I was
opposed." After the usual pipes and coffee we took our leave.

Hafiz Pasha's political relations are necessarily of a very restricted
character, as he rules only the few Turks remaining in Servia; that is
to say, a few thousands in Belgrade and Ushitza, a few hundreds in
Shabatz Sokol and the island of Orsova. He represents the suzerainety
of the Porte over the Christian population, without having any thing
to do with the details of administration. His income, like that of
other mushirs or pashas of three tails, is 8000l. per annum. Hafiz
Pasha, if not a successful general, was at all events a brave and
honourable man, and his character for justice made him highly
respected. One of his predecessors, who was at Belgrade on my first
visit there in 1839, was a man of another stamp,--the notorious
Youssouf Pasha, who sold Varna during the Russian war. The
re-employment of such an individual is a characteristic illustration
of Eastern manners.

As my first stay at Belgrade extended to between two and three months,
I saw a good deal of Hafiz Pasha, who has a great taste for geography,
and seemed to be always studying at the maps. He seemed to think that
nothing would be so useful to Turkey as good roads, made to run from
the principal ports of Asia Minor up to the depots of the interior, so
as to connect Sivas, Tokat, Angora, Konieh, Kaiserieh, &c. with
Samsoun, Tersoos, and other ports. He wittily reversed the proverb
"_El rafyk som el taryk_" (companionship makes secure roads) by
saying, "_el taryk som el rafyk_" (good roads increase passenger
traffic).

At the Bairam reception, the Pasha wore his great nishau of diamonds.
Prince Alexander wore a blue uniform with gold epaulettes, and an
aigrette of brilliants in his fez. His predecessor, Michael, on such
occasions, wore a cocked hat, which used to give offence, as the fez
is considered by the Turks indispensable to a recognition of the
suzerainety of the Porte.

Being Bairam, I was induced to saunter into the Turkish quarter of the
town, where all wore the handsome holyday dresses of the old fashion,
being mostly of crimson cloth, edged with gold lace. My cicerone, a
Servian, pointed out those shops belonging to the sultan, still marked
with the letter f, intended, I suppose, for _mulk_ or imperial
property. We then turned to the left, and came into a singular looking
street, composed of the ruins of ornamented houses in the imposing,
but too elaborate style of architecture, which was in vogue in Vienna,
during the life of Charles the Sixth, and which was a corruption of
the style de Louis Quatorze. These buildings were half-way up concealed
from view by common old bazaar shops. This was the "Lange Gasse," or
main street of the German town during the Austrian occupation of
twenty-two years, from 1717 to 1739. Most of these houses were built
with great solidity, and many still have the stucco ornaments that
distinguish this style. The walls of the palace of Prince Eugene are
still standing complete, but the court-yard is filled up with
rubbish, at least six feet high, and what were formerly the rooms of
the ground-floor have become almost cellars. The edifice is called to
this day, "_Princeps Konak_." This mixture of the coarse, but
picturesque features of oriental life, with the dilapidated
stateliness of palaces in the style of the full-bottom-wigged
Vanbrughs of Austria, has the oddest effect imaginable.

The Turks remaining in Belgrade have mostly sunk into poverty, and
occupy themselves principally with water-carrying, wood-splitting, &c.
The better class latterly kept up their position, by making good sales
of houses and shops; for building ground is now in some situations
very expensive. Mr. Fonblanque pays 100£. sterling per annum for his
rooms, which is a great deal, compared with the rates of house-rent in
Hungary just over the water.

One day, I ascended the spire of the cathedral, in order to have a
view of the city and environs. Belgrade, containing only 35,000
inhabitants, cannot boast of looking very like a metropolis; but the
environs contain the materials of a good panorama. Looking westward,
we see the winding its way from the woods of Topshider; the Servian
shore is abrupt, the Austrian flat, and subject to inundation; the
prospect on the north-west being closed in by the dim dark line of the
Frusca Gora, or "Wooded Mountain," which forms the backbone of
Slavonia, and is the high wooded region between the Save and the
Drave. Northwards, are the spires of Semlin, rising up from the
Danube, which here resumes its easterly course; while south and east
stretch the Turkish quarter, which I have been describing.

There are no formal levees or receptions at the palace of Prince
Alexander, except on his own fete day. Once or twice a year he
entertains at dinner the Pasha, the ministers, and the foreign
consuls-general. In the winter, the prince gives one or two balls.

One of the former species of entertainments took place during my stay,
and I received the prince's invitation. At the appointed day, I found
the avenue to the residence thronged with people Who were listening to
the band that played in the court-yard; and on arriving fit the top
of the stairs, was led by an officer in a blue uniform, who seemed to
direct the ceremonies of the day, into the saloon, in which I had, on
my arrival in Belgrade, paid my respects to the prince, which might be
pronounced the fac simile of the drawing-room of a Hungarian nobleman;
the parquet was inlaid and polished, the chairs and sofas covered with
crimson and white satin damask, which is an unusual luxury in these
regions, the roof admirably painted in subdued colours, in the best
Vienna style. High white porcelain urn-like stoves heated the suite of
rooms.

The company had that picturesque variety of character and costume
which every traveller delights in. The prince, a muscular middle sized
dark complexioned man, of about thirty-five, with a serious composed
air, wore a plain blue military uniform. The princess and her _dames
de compagnie_ wore the graceful native Servian costume. The Pasha wore
the Nizam dress, and the Nishan Iftihar; Baron Lieven, the Russian
Commissioner, in the uniform of a general, glittered with innumerable
orders; Colonel Philippovich, a man of distinguished talents,
represented Austria. The archbishop, in his black velvet cap, a large
enamelled cross hanging by a massive gold chain from his neck, sat in
stately isolation; and the six feet four inches high Garashanin,
minister of the interior, conversed with Stojan Simitch, the president
of the senate, one of the few Servians in high office, who retains his
old Turkish costume, and has a frame that reminds one of the Farnese
Hercules. Then what a medley of languages; Servian, German, Russian,
Turkish, and French, all in full buzz!

We proceeded to the dining-room, where the _cuisine_ was in every
respect in the German manner. When the dessert appeared, the prince
rose with a creaming glass of champagne in his hand, and proposed the
health of the sultan, acknowledged by the pasha; and then, after a
short pause, the health of Czar Nicolay Paulovitch, acknowledged by
Baron Lieven; then came the health of other crowned heads. Baron
Lieven now rose and proposed the health of the Prince. The Pasha and
the Princess were toasted in turn; and then M. Wastchenko, the Russian
consul general rose, and in animated terms, drank to the prosperity of
Servia. The entertainment, which commenced at one o'clock, was
prolonged to an advanced period of the afternoon, and closed with
coffee, liqueurs, and chibouques in the drawing-room; the princess and
the ladies having previously withdrawn to the private apartments.

My time during the rest of the year was taken up with political,
statistical, and historical inquiries, the results of which will be
found condensed at the termination of the narrative part of this work.

CHAPTER VII.

Return to Servia.--The Danube.--Semlin.--Wucics and
Petronievitch.--Cathedral Solemnity.--Subscription Ball.

After an absence of six months in England, I returned to the Danube.
Vienna and Pesth offered no attractions in the month of August, and I
felt impatient to put in execution my long cherished project of
travelling through the most romantic woodlands of Servia. Suppose me
then at the first streak of dawn, in the beginning of August, 1844,
hurrying after the large wheelbarrow which carries the luggage of the
temporary guests of the Queen of England at Pesth to the steamer lying
just below the long bridge of boats that connects the quiet sombre
bureaucratic Ofen with the noisy, bustling, movement-loving new city,
which has sprung up as it were by enchantment on the opposite side of
the water. I step on board--the signal is given for starting--the
lofty and crimson-peaked Bloxberg--the vine-clad hill that produces
the fiery Ofener wine, and the long and graceful quay, form, as it
were, a fine peristrephic panorama, as the vessel wheels round, and,
prow downwards, commences her voyage for the vast and curious East,
while the Danubian tourist bids a dizzy farewell to this last snug
little centre of European civilization. We hurry downwards towards the
frontiers of Turkey, but nature smiles not,--We have on our left the
dreary steppe of central Hungary, and on our right the low distant
hills of Baranya. Alas! this is not the Danube of Passau, and Lintz,
and Molk, and Theben. But now the Drave pours her broad waters into
the great artery. The right shore soon becomes somewhat bolder, and
agreeably wooded hills enliven the prospect. This little mountain
chain is the celebrated Frusca Gora, the stronghold of the Servian
language, literature, and nationality on the Austrian aide of the
Save.

A few days after my arrival, Wucics and Petronievitch, the two pillars
of the party of Kara Georgevitch, the reigning prince, and the
opponents of the ousted Obrenovitch family, returned from banishment
in consequence of communications that had passed between the British
and Russian governments. Great preparations were made to receive the
popular favourites.

One morning I was attracted to the window, and saw an immense flock of
sheep slowly paraded along, their heads being decorated with ribbons,
followed by oxen, with large citrons stuck on the tips of their horns.

One vender of shawls and carpets had covered all the front of his shop
with his gaudy wares, in order to do honour to the patriots, and at
the same time to attract the attention of purchasers.

The tolling of the cathedral bell announced the approach of the
procession, which was preceded by a long train of rustic cavaliers,
noble, vigorous-looking men. Standing at the balcony, we missed the
sight of the heroes of the day, who had gone round by other streets.
We, therefore, went to the cathedral, where all the principal persons
in Servia were assembled. One old man, with grey, filmy, lack-lustre
eyes, pendant jaws, and white beard, was pointed out to me as a
centenarian witness of this national manifestation.

The grand screen, which in the Greek churches veils the sanctuary from
the vulgar gaze, was hung with rich silks, and on a raised platform,
covered with carpets, stood the archbishop, a dignified
high-priest-looking figure, with crosier in hand, surrounded by his
deacons in superbly embroidered robes. The huzzas of the populace grew
louder as the procession approached the cathedral, a loud and
prolonged buzz of excited attention accompanied the opening of the
grand central portal, and Wucics and Petronievitch, grey with the dust
with which the immense cavalcade had besprinkled them, came forward,
kissed the cross and gospels, which the archbishop presented to them,
and, kneeling down, returned thanks for their safe restoration. On
regaining their legs, the archbishop advanced to the edge of the
platform, and began a discourse describing the grief the nation had
experienced at their departure, the universal joy for their return,
and the hope that they would ever keep peace and union in view in all
matters of state, and that in their duties to the state they must
never forget their responsibility to the Most High.

Wucics, dressed in the coarse frieze jacket and boots of a Servian
peasant, heard with a reverential inclination of the head the
elegantly polished discourse of the gold-bedizened prelate, but nought
relaxed one single muscle of that adamantine visage; the finer but
more luminous features of Petronievitch were evidently under the
control of a less powerful will. At certain passages of the discourse,
his intelligent eye was moistened with tears. Two deacons then prayed
successively for the Sultan, the Emperor of Russia, and the prince.

And now uprose from every tongue, and every heart, a hymn for the
longevity of Wucics and Petronievitch. "The solemn song for many days"
is the expressive title of this sublime chant. This hymn is so old
that its origin is lost in the obscure dawn of Christianity in the
East, and so massive, so nobly simple, as to be beyond the ravages of
time, and the caprices of convention.

The procession then returned, the band playing the Wucics march, to
the houses of the two heroes of the day.

We dined; and just as dessert appeared the whiz of a rocket announced
the commencement of fire-works. As most of us had seen the splendid
bouquet of rockets, which, during the fetes of July, amuse the
Parisians, we entertained slender expectations of being pleased with
an illumination at Belgrade. On going out, however, the scene proved
highly interesting. In the grand square were two columns _a la
Vicentina_, covered with lamps. One side of the square was illuminated
with the word Wucics, and the other with the word Avram in colossal
letters. At a later period of the evening the downs were covered with
fires roasting innumerable sheep and oxen, a custom which seems in all
countries to accompany popular rejoicing.

I had never seen a Servian full-dress ball, but the arrival of Wucics
and Petronievitch procured me the opportunity of witnessing an
entertainment of this description. The principal apartment in the new
Konak, built by prince Michael, was the ball-room, which, by eight
o'clock, was filled, as the phrase goes, by all "the rank and fashion"
of Belgrade. Senators of the old school, in their benishes and
shalwars, and senators of the new school in pantaloons and stiff
cravats. As Servia has become, morally speaking, Europe's youngest
daughter, this is all very well: but I must ever think that in the
article of dress this innovation is not an improvement. I hope that
the ladies of Servia will never reject their graceful national
costume for the shifting modes and compressed waists of European
capitals.

No head-dress, that I have seen in the Levant, is better calculated to
set off beauty than that of the ladies of Servia. From a small Greek
fez they suspend a gold tassel, which contrasts with the black and
glossy hair, which is laid smooth and flat down the temple. Even now,
while I write, memory piques me with the graceful toss of the head,
and the rustle of the yellow satin gown of the sister of the princess,
who was admitted to be the handsomest woman in the room, and with her
tunic of crimson velvet embroidered in gold, and faced with sable,
would have been, in her strictly indigenous costume, the queen of any
fancy ball in old Europe.

Wucics and Petronievitch were of course received with shouts and
clapping of hands, and took the seats prepared for them at the upper
end of the hall. The Servian national dance was then performed, being
a species of cotillion in alternate quick and slow movements.

I need not repeat the other events of the evening; how forms and
features were passed in review; how the jewelled, smooth-skinned,
doll-like beauties usurped the admiration of the minute, and how the
indefinably sympathetic air of less pretentious belles prolonged their
magnetic sway to the close of the night.

CHAPTER VIII.

Holman, the Blind Traveller.--Milutinovich, the Poet.--Bulgarian
Legend.--Tableau de genre.--Departure for the Interior.

Belgrade, unlike other towns on the Danube, is much less visited by
Europeans, since the introduction of steam navigation, than it was
previously. Servia used to be the _porte cochere_ of the East; and
most travellers, both before and since the lively Lady Mary Wortley
Montague, took the high road to Constantinople by Belgrade, Sofia,
Philippopoli, and Adrianople. No mere tourist would now-a-days think
of undertaking the fatiguing ride across European Turkey, when he can
whizz past Widdin and Roustchouk, and even cut off the grand tongue at
the mouth of the Danube, by going in an omnibus from Czernovoda to
Kustendgi; consequently the arrival of an English traveller from the
interior, is a somewhat rare occurrence.

One day I was going out at the gateway, and saw a strange figure, with
a long white beard and a Spanish cap, mounted on a sorry horse, and at
once recognized it to be that of Holman, the blind traveller.

"How do you do, Mr. Holman?" said I.

"I know that voice well."

"I last saw you in Aleppo," said I; and he at once named me.

I then got him off his horse, and into quarters.

This singular individual had just come through the most dangerous
parts of Bosnia in perfect safety; a feat which a blind man can
perform more easily than one who enjoys the most perfect vision; for
all compassionate and assist a fellow-creature in this deplorable
plight.

Next day I took Mr. Holman through the town, and described to him the
lions of Belgrade; and taking a walk on the esplanade, I turned his
face to the cardinal points of the compass, successively explaining
the objects lying in each direction, and, after answering a few of his
cross questions, the blind traveller seemed to know as much of
Belgrade as was possible for a person in his condition.

He related to me, that since our meeting at Aleppo, he had visited
Damascus and other eastern cities; and at length, after sundry
adventures, had arrived on the Adriatic, and visited the Vladika of
Montenegro, who had given him a good reception. He then proceeded
through Herzegovina and Bosnia to Seraievo, where he passed three
days, and he informed me that from Seraievo to the frontiers of Servia
was nearly all forest, with here and there the skeletons of robbers
hung up in chains.

Mr. Holman subsequently went, as I understood, to Wallachia and
Transylvania.

Having delayed my departure for the interior, in order to witness the
national festivities, nothing remained but the purgatory of
preparation, the squabbling about the hire of horses, the purchase of
odds and ends for convenience on the road, for no such thing as a
canteen is to be had at Belgrade. Some persons recommended my hiring a
Turkish Araba; but as this is practicable only on the regularly
constructed roads, I should have lost the sight of the most
picturesque regions, or been compelled to take my chance of getting
horses, and leaving my baggage behind. To avoid this inconvenience, I
resolved to perform the whole journey on horseback.

The government showed me every attention, and orders were sent by the
minister of the interior to all governors, vice-governors, and
employes, enjoining them to furnish me with every assistance, and
communicate whatever information I might desire; to which, as the
reader will see in the sequel, the fullest effect was given by those
individuals.

On the day of departure, a tap was heard at the door, and enter Holman
to bid me good-bye. Another tap at the door, and enter Milutinovich,
who is the best of the living poets of Servia, and has been sometimes
called the Ossian of the Balkan. As for his other pseudonyme, "the
Homer of a hundred sieges," that must have been invented by Mr. George
Robins, the Demosthenes of "_one_ hundred rostra." The reading public
in Servia is not yet large enough to enable a man of letters to live
solely by his works; so our bard has a situation in the ministry of
public instruction. One of the most remarkable compositions of
Milutinovich is an address to a young surgeon, who, to relieve the
poet from difficulties, expended in the printing of his poems a sum
which he had destined for his own support at a university, in order to
obtain his degree.

Now, it may not be generally known that one of the oldest legends of
Bulgaria is that of "Poor Lasar," which runs somewhat thus:--

"The day departed, and the stranger came, as the moon rose on the
silver snow. 'Welcome,' said the poor Lasar to the stranger;
'Luibitza, light the faggot, and prepare the supper.'

"Luibitza answered: 'The forest is wide, and the lighted faggot burns
bright, but where is the supper? Have we not fasted since yesterday?'

"Shame and confusion smote the heart of poor Lasar.

"'Art thou a Bulgarian,' said the stranger, 'and settest not food
before thy guest?'

"Poor Lasar looked in the cupboard, and looked in the garret, nor
crumb, nor onion, were found in either. Shame and confusion smote the
heart of poor Lasar.

"'Here is fat and fair flesh,' said the stranger, pointing to Janko,
the curly-haired boy. Luibitza shrieked and fell. 'Never,' said Lasar,
'shall it be said that a Bulgarian was wanting to his guest,' He
seized a hatchet, and Janko was slaughtered as a lamb. Ah, who can
describe the supper of the stranger!

"Lasar fell into a deep sleep, and at midnight he heard the stranger
cry aloud, 'Arise, Lasar, for I am the Lord thy God; the hospitality
of Bulgaria is untarnished. Thy son Janko is restored to life, and thy
stores are filled.'

"Long lived the rich Lasar, the fair Luibitza, and the curly-haired
Janko."

Milutinovich, in his address to the youthful surgeon, compares his
transcendent generosity to the sacrifice made by Lasar in the wild and
distasteful legend I have here given.

I introduced the poet and the traveller to each other, and explained
their respective merits and peculiarities. Poor old Milutinovich, who
looked on his own journey to Montenegro as a memorable feat, was
awe-struck when I mentioned the innumerable countries in the four
quarters of the world which had been visited by the blind traveller.
He immediately recollected of having read an account of him in the
Augsburg Gazette, and with a reverential simplicity begged me to
convey to him his desire to kiss, his beard. Holman consented with a
smile, and Milutinovich, advancing as if he were about to worship a
deity, lifted the peak of white hairs from the beard of the aged
stranger, pressed them to his lips, and prayed aloud that he might
return to his home in safety.

In old Europe, Milutinovich would have been called an actor; but his
deportment, if it had the originality, had also the childish
simplicity of nature.

When the hour of departure arrived, I descended to the court yard,
which would have furnished good materials for a _tableau de genre_, a
lofty, well built, German-looking house, rising on three sides,
surrounded a most rudely paved court, which was inclosed on the fourth
by a stable and hay-loft, not one-third the height of the rest.
Various mustachioed _far niente_ looking figures, wrapped _cap-a-pie_
in dressing gowns, lolled out of the first floor corridor, and smoked
their chibouques with unusual activity, while the ground floor was
occupied by German washer-women and their soap-suds; three of the
arcades being festooned with shirts and drawers hung up to dry, and
stockings, with apertures at the toes and heels for the free
circulation of the air. Loud exclamations, and the sound of the click
of balls, proceeded from the large archway, on which a cafe opened. In
the midst of the yard stood our horses, which, with their heavily
padded and high cantelled Turkish saddles, somewhat _a la
Wouvermans_, were held by Fonblanque's robust Pandour in his crimson
jacket and white fustanella. My man Paul gave a smack of the whip, and
off we cantered for the highlands and woodlands of Servia.

CHAPTER IX.

Journey to Shabatz.--Resemblance of Manners to those of the Middle
Ages.--Palesh.--A Servian Bride.--Blind
Minstrel.--Gypsies.--Macadamized Road.

The immediate object of my first journey was Shabatz; the second town
in Servia, which is situated further up the Save than Belgrade, and is
thus close upon the frontier of Bosnia. We consequently had the river
on our right hand all the way. After five hours' travelling, the
mountains, which hung back as long as we were in the vicinity of
Belgrade, now approached, and draped in forest green, looked down on
the winding Save and the pinguid flats of the Slavonian frontier. Just
before the sun set, we wound by a circuitous road to an eminence
which, projected promontory-like into the river's course. Three rude
crosses were planted on a steep, not unworthy the columnar harmony of
Grecian marble.

When it was quite dark, we arrived at the Colubara, and passed the
ferry which, during the long Servian revolution, was always considered
a post of importance, as commanding a communication between Shabatz
and the capital. An old man accompanied us, who was returning to his
native place on the frontiers of Bosnia, having gone to welcome Wucics
and Petronievitch. He amused me by asking me "if the king of my
country lived in a strong castle?" I answered, "No, we have a queen,
whose strength is in the love of all her subjects." Indeed, it is
impossible to travel in the interior of Turkey without having the mind
perpetually carried back to the middle ages by a thousand quaint
remarks and circumstances, inseparable from the moral and political
constitution of a half civilized and quasi-federal empire. For, in
nearly all the mountainous parts of Turkey, the power of the
government is almost nominal, and even up to a very recent period the
position of the Dere Beys savoured strongly of feudalism.

We arrived at Palesh, the khan of which looked like a new coffee-shop
in a Turkish bazaar, and I thought that we should have a sorry night's
quarters; but mine host, leading the way with a candle up a ladder,
and though a trap-door, put us into a clean newly-carpeted room, and
in an hour the boy entered with Turkish wash-hand apparatus; and after
ablution the khan keeper produced supper, consisting of soup, which
contained so much lemon juice, that, without a wry face, I could
scarcely eat it--boiled lamb, from which the soup had been made, and
then a stew of the same with Tomata sauce. A bed was then spread out
on the floor _a la turque_, which was rather hard; but as the sheets
were snowy white, I reckoned myself very lucky.

I must say that there is a degree of cleanliness within doors, which I
had been led to consider as somewhat foreign to the habits of Slaavic
populations. The lady of the Austrian consul-general in Belgrade told
me that she was struck with the propriety of the dwellings of the
poor, as contrasted with those in Galicia, where she had resided for
many years; and every traveller in Germany is struck with the
difference which exists between the villages of Bohemia and those in
Saxony, and other adjacent German provinces.

From Palesh we started with fine weather for Skela, through a
beautifully wooded park, some fields being here and there inclosed
with wattling. Skela is a new ferry on the Save, to facilitate the
communication with Austria.

Near here are redoubts, where Kara Georg, the father of the reigning
prince, held out during the disasters of 1813, until all the women and
children were transferred in safety to the Austrian territory. Here we
met a very pretty girl, who, in answer to the salute of my
fellow-travellers, bent herself almost to the earth. On asking the
reason, I was told that she was a bride, whom custom compels, for a
stated period, to make this humble reverence.

We then came to the Skela, and seeing a large house within an
enclosure, I asked what it was, and was told that it was the
reconciliation-house, (_primiritelnj sud_,) a court of first instance,
in which cases are decided by the village elders, without expense to
the litigants, and beyond which suits are seldom carried to the higher
courts. There is throughout all the interior of Servia a stout
opposition to the nascent lawyer class in Belgrade. I have been more
than once amused on hearing an advocate, greedy of practice, style
this laudable economy and patriarchal simplicity--"Avarice and
aversion from civilization." As it began to rain we entered a tavern,
and ordered a fowl to be roasted, as the soup and stews of yester-even
were not to my taste. A booby, with idiocy marked on his countenance,
was lounging about the door, and when our mid-day meal was done I
ordered the man to give him a glass of _slivovitsa_, as plum brandy is
called. He then came forward, trembling, as if about to receive
sentence of death, and taking off his greasy fez, said, "I drink to
our prince Kara Georgovich, and to the progress and enlightenment of
the nation." I looked with astonishment at the torn, wretched
habiliments of this idiot swineherd. He was too stupid to entertain
these sentiments himself; but this trifling circumstance was the
feather which indicated how the wind blew. The Servians are by no
means a nation of talkers; they are a serious people; and if the
determination to rise were not in the minds of the people, it would
not be on the lips of the baboon-visaged oaf of an insignificant
hamlet.

The rain now began to pour in torrents, so to make the most of it, we
ordered another magnum of strong red wine, and procured from the
neighbourhood a blind fiddler, who had acquired a local reputation.
His instrument, the favourite one of Servia, is styled a _goosely_,
being a testudo-formed viol; no doubt a relic of the antique, for the
Servian monarchy derived all its arts from the Greeks of the Lower
Empire. But the musical entertainment, in spite of the magnum of wine,
and the jovial challenges of our fellow traveller from the Drina,
threw me into a species of melancholy. The voice of the minstrel, and
the tone of the instrument, were soft and melodious, but so
profoundly plaintive as to be painful. The song described the
struggle of Osman Bairactar with Michael, a Servian chief, and, as it
was explained to me, called up successive images of a war of
extermination, with its pyramids of ghastly trunkless heads, and
fields of charcoal, to mark the site of some peaceful village, amid
the blaze of which its inhabitants had wandered to an eternal home in
the snows and trackless woods of the Balkan. When I looked out of the
tavern window the dense vapours and torrents of rain did not elevate
my spirits; and when I cast my eyes on the minstrel I saw a peasant,
whose robust frame might have supported a large family, reduced by the
privation of sight, to waste his best years in strumming on a
monotonous viol for a few piastres.

I flung him a gratuity, and begged him to desist.

After musing an hour, I again ordered the horses, although it still
rained, and set forth, the road being close to the river, at one part
of which a fleet of decked boats were moored. I perceived that they
were all navigated by Bosniac Moslems, one of whom, smoking his pipe
under cover, wore the green turban of a Shereef; they were all loaded
with raw produce, intended for sale at Belgrade or Semlin.

The rain increasing, we took shelter in a wretched khan, with a mud
floor, and a fire of logs blazing in the centre, the smoke escaping as
it best could by the front and back doors. Gipsies and Servian
peasants sat round it in a large circle; the former being at once
recognizable, not only from their darker skins, but from their traits
being finer than those of the Servian peasantry. The gipsies fought
bravely against the Turks under Kara Georg, and are now for the most
part settled, although politically separated from the rest of the
community, and living under their own responsible head; but, as in
other countries, they prefer horse dealing and smith's work to other
trades.

As there was no chance of the storm abating, I resolved to pass the
night here on discovering that there was a separate room, which our
host said he occasionally unlocked, for the better order of
travellers: but as there was no bed, I had recourse to my carpet and
pillow, for the expense of _Uebergewicht_ had deterred me from
bringing a canteen and camp bed from England.

Next morning, on waking, the sweet chirp of a bird, gently echoed in
the adjoining woods, announced that the storm had ceased, and nature
resumed her wonted calm. On arising, I went to the door, and the
unclouded effulgence of dawn bursting through the dripping boughs and
rain-bespangled leaves, seemed to realize the golden tree of the
garden of the Abbassides. The road from this point to Shabatz was one
continuous avenue of stately oaks--nature's noblest order of sylvan
architecture; at some places, gently rising to views of the winding
Save, with sun, sky, and freshening breeze to quicken the sensations,
or falling into the dell, where the stream darkly pellucid, murmured
under the sombre foliage.

The road, as we approached Shabatz, proved to be macadamized in a
certain fashion: a deep trench was dug on each side; stakes about a
foot and a half high, interlaced with wicker-work, were stuck into the
ground within the trench, and the road was then filled up with gravel.

CHAPTER X.

Shabatz.--A Provincial Chancery.--Servian Collector.--Description of
his House.--Country Barber.--Turkish Quarter.--Self-taught Priest.--A
Provincial Dinner.--Native Soiree.

I entered Shabatz by a wide street, paved in some places with wood.
The bazaars are all open, and Shabatz looks like a good town in
Bulgaria. I saw very few shops with glazed fronts and counters in the
European manner.

I alighted at the principal khan, which had attached to it just such a
cafe and billiard table as one sees in country towns in Hungary. How
odd! to see the Servians, who here all wear the old Turkish costume,
except the turban--immersed in the tactics of _carambolage_, skipping
most gaily and un-orientally around the table, then balancing
themselves on one leg, enveloped in enormous inexpressibles, bending
low, and cocking the eye to catch the choicest bits.

Surrendering our horses to the care of the khan keeper, I proceeded to
the konak, or government house, to present my letters. This proved to
be a large building, in the style of Constantinople, which, with its
line of bow windows, and kiosk-fashioned rooms, surmounted with
projecting roofs, might have passed muster on the Bosphorus.

On entering, I was ushered into the office of the collector, to await
his arrival, and, at a first glance, might have supposed myself in a
formal Austrian kanzley.

There were the flat desks, the strong boxes, and the shelves of coarse
foolscap; but a pile of long chibouques, and a young man, with a
slight Northumbrian burr, and Servian dress, showed that I was on the
right bank of the Save.

The collector now made his appearance, a roundly-built, serious,
burgomaster-looking personage, who appeared as if one of Vander
Helst's portraits had stepped out of the canvass, so closely does the
present Servian dress resemble that of Holland, in the seventeenth
century, in all but the hat.

Having read the letter, he cleared his throat with a loud hem, and
then said with great deliberation, "Gospody Ilia Garashanin informs me
that having seen many countries, you also wish to see Servia, and that
I am to show you whatever you desire to see, and obey whatever you
choose to command; and now you are my guest while you remain here. Go
you, Simo, to the khan," continued the collector, addressing a tall
momk or pandour, who, armed to the teeth, stood with his hands crossed
at the door, "and get the gentleman's baggage taken to my house.--I
hope," added he, "you will be pleased with Shabatz; but you must not
be critical, for we are still a rude people."

_Author_. "Childhood must precede manhood; that is the order of
nature."

_Collector_. "Ay, ay, our birth was slow, and painful; Servia, as you
say, is yet a child."

_Author_. "Yes, but a stout, chubby, healthy child."

A gleam of satisfaction produced a thaw of the collector's ice-bound
visage, and, descending to the street, I accompanied him until we
arrived at a house two stories high, which we entered by a wide new
wooden gate, and then mounting a staircase, scrupulously clean, were
shown into his principal room, which was surrounded by a divan _a la
Turque_; but it had no carpet, so we went straight in with our boots
on. A German chest of drawers was in one corner; the walls were plain
white-washed, and so was a stove about six feet high; the only
ornament of the room was a small snake moulding in the centre of the
roof. Some oak chairs were ranged along the lower end of the room, and
a table stood in the middle, covered with a German linen cloth,
representing Pesth and Ofen; the Bloxberg being thrice as lofty as the
reality, the genius of the artist having set it in the clouds. The
steamer had a prow like a Roman galley, a stern like a royal yacht,
and even the steam from the chimney described graceful volutes, with
academic observance of the line of beauty.

"We are still somewhat rude and un-European in Shabatz," said Gospody
Ninitch, for such was the name in which the collector rejoiced.

"Indeed," quoth I, sitting at my ease on the divan, "there is no room
for criticism. The Turks now-a-days take some things from Europe; but
Europe might do worse than adopt the divan more extensively; for,
believe me, to an arriving traveller it is the greatest of all
luxuries."

Here the servants entered with chibouques. "I certainly think," said
he, "that no one would smoke a cigar who could smoke a chibouque."

"And no man would sit on an oak chair who could sit on a divan:" so
the Gospody smiled and transferred his ample person to the still
ampler divan.

The barber now entered; for in the hurry of departure I had forgotten
part of my toilette apparatus: but it was evident that I was the first
Frank who had ever been under his razor; for when his operations were
finished, he seized my comb, and began to comb my whiskers backwards,
as if they had formed part of a Mussulman's beard. When I thought I
was done with him, I resumed the conversation, but was speedily
interrupted by something like a loud box on the ear, and, turning
round my head, perceived that the cause of this sensation was the
barber having, in his finishing touch, stuck an ivory ear-pick against
my tympanum; but, calling for a wash-hand basin, I begged to be
relieved from all further ministrations; so putting half a zwanziger
on the face of the round pocket mirror which he proffered to me, he
departed with a "_S'Bogom_," or, "God be with you."

The collector now accompanied me on a walk through the Servian town,
and emerging on a wide space, we discovered the fortress of Shabatz,
which is the quarter in which the remaining Turks live, presenting a
line of irregular trenches, of battered appearance, scarcely raised
above the level of the surrounding country. The space between the
town and the fortress is called the Shabatzko Polje, and in the time
of the civil war was the scene of fierce combats. When the Save
overflows in spring, it is generally under water.

Crossing a ruinous wooden bridge over a wet ditch, we saw a rusty
unserviceable brass cannon, which vain-gloriously assumed the
prerogative of commanding the entrance. To the left, a citadel of four
bastions, connected by a curtain, was all but a ruin.

As we entered, a cafe, with bare walls and a few shabby Turks smoking
in it, completed, along with the dirty street, a picture
characteristic of the fallen fortunes of Islam in Servia.

"There comes the cadi," said the collector, and I looked out for at
least one individual with turban of fine texture, decent robes, and
venerable appearance; but a man of gigantic stature, and rude aspect,
wearing a grey peasant's turban, welcomed us with undignified
cordiality. We followed him down the street, and sometimes crossing
the mud on pieces of wood, sometimes "putting one's foot in it," we
reached a savage-looking timber kiosk, and, mounting a ladder, seated
ourselves on the window ledge.

There flowed the Save in all its peaceful smoothness; looking out of
the window, I perceived that the high rampart, on which the kiosk was
constructed, was built at a distance of thirty or forty yards from the
water, and that the intervening space was covered with boats, hauled
up high and dry, and animated with the process of building and
repairing the barges employed in the river trade. The kiosk, in which
we were sitting, was a species of cafe, and it being Ramadan time, we
were presented with sherbet by a kahwagi, who, to judge by his look,
was a eunuch. I was afterwards told that the Turks remaining in the
fortified town are so poor, that they had not a decent room to show me
into.

A Turk, about fifty years of age, now entered. His habiliments were
somewhere between decent and shabby genteel, and his voice and manners
had that distinguished gentleness which wins--because it feels--its
way. This was the Disdar Aga, the last relic of the wealthy Turks of
the place: for before the Servian revolution Shabatz had its twenty
thousand Osmanlis; and a tract of gardens on the other side of the
_Polje_, was pointed out as having been covered with the villas of the
wealthy, which were subsequently burnt down.

Our conversation was restricted to a few general observations, as
other persons were present, but the Disdar Aga promised to call on me
on the following day. I was asked if I had been in Seraievo.[2] I
answered in the negative, but added, "I have heard so much of
Seraievo, that I desire ardently to see it. But I am afraid of the
Haiducks."[3]

_Cadi_. "And not without reason; for Seraievo, with its delicious
gardens, must be seen in summer. In winter the roads are free from
haiducks, because they cannot hold out in the snow; but then Seraievo,
having lost the verdure and foliage of its environs, ceases to be
attractive, except in its bazaars, for they are without an equal."

_Author_. "I always thought that the finest bazaar of Turkey in
Europe, was that of Adrianople."

_Cadi_. "Ay, but not equal to Seraievo; when you see the Bosniacs, in
their cleanly apparel and splendid arms walking down the bazaar, you
might think yourself in the serai of a sultan; then all the esnafs are
in their divisions like regiments of Nizam."

The Disdar Aga now accompanied me to the gate, and bidding me
farewell, with graceful urbanity, re-entered the bastioned miniature
citadel in which he lived almost alone. The history of this individual
is singular: his family was cut to pieces in the dreadful scenes of
1806; and, when a mere boy, he found himself a prisoner in the Servian
camp. Being thus without protectors, he was adopted by Luka
Lasarevitch, the valiant lieutenant of Kara Georg, and baptized as a
Christian with the name of John, but having been reclaimed by the
Turks on the re-conquest of Servia in 1813, he returned to the faith
of his fathers.

We now returned into the town, and there sat the same Luka
Lasarevitch, now a merchant and town councillor, at the door of his
warehouse, an octogenarian, with thirteen wounds on his body.

Going home, I asked the collector if the Aga and Luka were still
friends. "To this very day," said he, "notwithstanding the difference
of religion, the Aga looks upon Luka as his father, and Luka looks
upon the Aga as his son." To those who have lived in other parts of
Turkey this account must appear very curious. I found that the Aga was
as highly respected by the Christians as by the Turks, for his
strictly honourable character.

We now paid a visit to the Arch-priest, Iowan Paulovitch, a
self-taught ecclesiastic: the room in which he received us was filled
with books, mostly Servian; but I perceived among them German
translations. On asking him if he had heard any thing of English
literature, he showed me translations into German of Shakspeare,
Young's Night Thoughts, and a novel of Bulwer. The Greek secular
clergy marry; and in the course of conversation it came out that his
son was one of the young Servians sent by the government to study
mining-engineering, at Schemnitz, in Hungary. The Church of the
Apostles St. Peter and St. Paul, in which he officiates, was built in
1828. I remarked that it had only a wooden bell tower, which had been
afterwards erected in the church yard; no belfry existing in the
building itself. The reason of this is, that, up to the period
mentioned, the Servians were unaccustomed to have bells sounded.

Our host provided most ample fare for supper, preceded by a glass of
slivovitsa. We began with soup, rendered slightly acid with lemon
juice, then came fowl, stewed with turnips and sugar. This was
followed by pudding of almonds, raisins, and pancake. Roast capon
brought up the rear. A white wine of the country was served during
supper, but along with dessert we had a good red wine of Negotin,
served in Bohemian coloured glasses. I have been thus minute on the
subject of food, for the dinners I ate at Belgrade I do not count as
Servian, having been all in the German fashion.

The wife of the collector sat at dinner, but at the foot of the table;
a position characteristic of that of women in Servia--midway between
the graceful precedence of Europe and the contemptuous exclusion of
the East.

After hand-washing, we returned to the divan, and while pipes and
coffee were handed round, a noise in the court yard denoted a visiter,
and a middle-aged man, with embroidered clothes, and silver-mounted
pistols in his girdle, entered. This was the Natchalnik, or local
governor, who had come from his own village, two hours off, to pay his
visit; he was accompanied by the two captains under his command, one
of whom was a military dandy. His ample girdle was richly embroidered,
out of which projected silver-mounted old fashioned pistols. His
crimson shaksheers were also richly embroidered, and the corner of a
gilt flowered cambric pocket handkerchief showed itself at his breast.
His companion wore a different aspect, with large features, dusky in
tint as those of a gipsy, and dressed in plain coarse blue clothes. He
was presented to me as a man who had grown from boyhood to manhood to
the tune of the whistling bullets of Kara Georg and his Turkish
opponents. After the usual salutations, the Natchalnik began--

"We have heard that Gospody Wellington has received from the English
nation an estate for his distinguished services."

_Author_. "That is true; but the presentation took place a great many
years ago."

_Natch_. "What is the age of Gospody Wellington?"

_Author_. "About seventy-five. He was born in 1769, the year in which
Napoleon and Mohammed Ali first saw the light."

This seemed to awaken the interest of the party.

The roughly-clad trooper drew in his chair, and leaning his elbow on
his knees, opened wide a pair of expectant eyes; the Natchalnik, after
a long puff of his pipe, said, with some magisterial decision, "That
was a moment when nature had her sleeves tucked up. I think our Kara
Georg must also have been born about that time."

_Natch_. "Is Gospody Wellington still in service?"

_Author_. "Yes; he is commander-in-chief."

_Natch_. "Well, God grant that his sons, and his sons' sons, may
render as great services to the nation."

Our conversation was prolonged to a late hour in the evening, in which
a variety of anecdotes were related of the ingenious methods employed
by Milosh to fill his coffers as rapidly as possible.

Mine host, taking a candle, then led me to my bedroom, a small
carpeted apartment, with a German bed; the coverlet was of green
satin, quilted, and the sheets were clean and fragrant; and I
observed, that they were striped with an alternate fine and coarse
woof.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: The capital of Bosnia, a large and beautiful city, which
is often called the Damascus of the North.]

[Footnote 3: In this part of Turkey in Europe robbers, as well as
rebels, are called Haiducks: like the caterans of the Highlands of
Scotland, they were merely held to be persons at war with the
authority: and in the Servian revolution, patriots, rebels, and
robbers, were confounded in the common term of Haiducks.]

CHAPTER XI.

Kaimak.--History of a Renegade.--A Bishop's house.--Progress of
Education.--Portrait of Milosh.--Bosnia and the Bosniacs.--Moslem
Fanaticism.--Death of the Collector.

The fatigues of travelling procured me a sound sleep. I rose
refreshed, and proceeded into the divan. The hostess then came
forward, and before I could perceive, or prevent her object, she
kissed my hand. "Kako se spavali; Dobro?"--"How have you slept? I hope
you are refreshed," and other kindly inquiries followed on, while she
took from the hand of an attendant a silver salver, on which was a
glass of slivovitsa, a plate of rose marmalade, and a large Bohemian
cut crystal globular goblet of water, the contents of which, along
with a chibouque, were the prelude to breakfast, which consisted of
coffee and toast, and instead of milk we had rich boiled kaimak, as
Turkish clotted cream is called.

I have always been surprised to find that this undoubted luxury, which
is to be found in every town in Turkey, should be unknown throughout
the greater part of Europe. After comfortably smoking another
chibouque, and chatting about Shabatz and the Shabatzians, the
collector informed me that the time was come for returning the visit
of the Natchalnik, and paying that of the Bishop.

The Natchalnik received us in the Konak of Gospody Iefrem, the brother
of Milosh, and our interview was in no respect different from a usual
Turkish visit. We then descended to the street; the sun an hour before
its meridian shone brightly, but the centre of the broad street was
very muddy, from the late rain; so we picked our steps with some care,
until we arrived in the vicinity of the bridge, when I perceived the
eunuch-looking coffee-keeper navigating the slough, accompanied by a
Mussulman in a red checked shawl turban.--"Here is a man that wishes
to make your acquaintance," said Eunuch-face.--"I heard you were
paying visits yesterday in the Turkish quarter," said the strange
figure, saluting me. I returned the salute, and addressed him in
Arabic; he answered in a strong Egyptian accent. However, as the depth
of the surrounding mud, and the glare of the sun, rendered a further
colloquy somewhat inconvenient, we postponed our meeting until the
evening. On our way to the Bishop, I asked the collector what that man
was doing there.

_Collector_. "His history is a singular one. You yesterday saw a Turk,
who was baptized, and then returned to Islamism. This is a Servian,
who turned Turk thirty years ago, and now wishes to be a Christian
again. He has passed most of that time in the distant parts of Turkey,
and has children grown up and settled there. He has come to me
secretly, and declares his desire to be a Christian again; but he is
afraid the Turks will kill him."

_Author_. "Has he been long here?"

_Collector_. "Two months. He went first into the Turkish town; and
having incurred their suspicions, he left them, and has now taken up
his quarters in the khan, with a couple of horses and a servant."

_Author_. "What does he do?"

_Collector_. "He pretends to be a doctor, and cures the people; but he
generally exacts a considerable sum before prescribing, and he has had
disputes with people who say that they are not healed so quickly as
they expect."

_Author_. "Do you think he is sincere in wishing to be a Christian
again?"

_Collector_. "God knows. What can one think of a man who has changed
his religion, but that no dependence can be placed on him? The Turks
are shy of him."

We had now arrived at the house of the Bishop, and were shown into a
well-carpeted room, in the old Turkish style, with the roof gilded and
painted in dark colours, and an un-artistlike panorama of
Constantinople running round the cornice. I seated myself on an
old-fashioned, wide, comfortable divan, with richly embroidered, but
somewhat faded cushions, and, throwing off my shoes, tucked my legs
comfortably under me.

"This house," said the collector, "is a relic of old Shabatz; most of
the other houses of this class were burnt down. You see no German
furniture here; tell me whether you prefer the Turkish style, or the
European."

_Author_. "In warm weather give me a room of this kind, where the sun
is excluded, and where one can loll at ease, and smoke a narghile; but
in winter I like to see a blazing fire, and to hear the music of a
tea-urn."

The Bishop now entered, and we advanced to the door to meet him. I
bowed low, and the rest of the company kissed his hand; he was a
middle sized man, of about sixty, but frail from long-continued ill
health, dressed in a furred pelisse, a dark blue body robe, and Greek
ecclesiastical cap of velvet, while from a chain hung round his neck
was suspended the gold cross, distinctive of his rank. The usual
refreshments of coffee, sweetmeats, &c. were brought in, not by
servants, but by ecclesiastical novices.

_Bishop_. "I think I have seen you before?"

_Author_. "Indeed, you have: I met your reverence at the house of
Gospody Ilia in Belgrade."

_Bishop_. "Ay, ay," (trying to recollect;) "my memory sometimes fails
me since my illness. Did you stay long at Belgrade?"

_Author_. "I remained to witness the cathedral service for the return
of Wucics and Petronievitch. I assure you I was struck with the
solemnity of the scene, and the deportment of the archbishop. As I do
not understand enough of Servian, his speech was translated to me word
for word, and it seems to me that he has the four requisites of an
orator,--a commanding presence, a pleasing voice, good thoughts, and
good language."

We then talked of education, on which the Bishop said, "The civil and
ecclesiastical authorities go hand in hand in the work. When I was a
young man, a great proportion of the youth could neither read nor
write: thanks to our system of national education, in a few years the
peasantry will all read. In the towns the sons of those inhabitants
who are in easy circumstances, are all learning German, history, and
other branches preparatory to the course of the Gymnasium of Belgrade,
which is the germ of a university."

_Author_. "I hope it will prosper; the Slaavs of the middle ages did
much for science."[4]

_Bishop_. "I assure you times are greatly changed with us; the general
desire for education surprises and delights me."

We now took our leave of the Bishop, and on our way homewards called
at a house which contained portraits of Kara Georg, Milosh, Michael,
Alexander, and other personages who have figured in Servian history. I
was much amused with that of Milosh, which was painted in oil,
altogether without _chiaro scuro_; but his decorations, button holes,
and even a large mole on his cheek, were done with the most painful
minuteness. In his left hand he held a scroll, on which was inscribed
_Ustav_, or Constitution, his right hand was partly doubled a la
finger post; it pointed significantly to the said scroll, the
forefinger being adorned with a large diamond ring.

On arriving at the collector's house, I found the Aga awaiting me.
This man inspired me with great interest. I looked upon him, residing
in his lone tower, the last of a once wealthy and powerful race now
steeped in poverty, as a sort of master of Ravenswood in a Wolf's
crag. At first he was bland and ceremonious; but on learning that I
had lived long in the interior of society in Damascus and Aleppo, and
finding that the interest with which he inspired me was real and not
assumed, he became expansive without lapsing into familiarity, and
told me his sad tale, which I would place at the service of the gentle
reader, could I forget the stronger allegiance I owe to the
unsolicited confidence of an unfortunate stranger.

When I spoke of the renegade, he pretended not to know whom I meant;
but I saw, by a slight unconscious wink of his eye, that knowing him
too well, he wished to see and hear no more of him. As he was rising
to take leave, a step was heard creaking on the stairs, and on turning
in the direction of the door, I saw the red and white checked turban
of the renegade emerging from the banister; but no sooner did he
perceive the Aga, than, turning round again, down went the red checked
turban out of sight.

When the Aga was gone, the collector gave me a significant look, and,
knocking the ashes out of his pipe into a plate on the floor, said,
"Changed times, changed times, poor fellow; his salary is only 250
piastres a month, and his relations used to be little kings in
Shabatz; but the other fellows in the Turkish quarter, although so
wretchedly poor that they have scarcely bread to eat, are as proud and
insolent as ever."

_Author_. "What is the reason of that?"

_Collector_. "Because they are so near the Bosniac frontier, where
there is a large Moslem population. The Moslems of Shabatz pay no
taxes, either to the Servian government or the sultan, for they are
accounted _Redif_, or Militia, for which they receive a ducat a year
from the sultan, as a returning fee. The Christian peasants here are
very rich; some of them have ten and twenty thousand ducats buried
under the earth; but these impoverished Bosniacs in the fortress are
as proud and insolent as ever."

_Author_. "You say Bosniacs! Are they not Turks?"

_Collector_. "No, the only Turks here are the Aga and the Cadi; all
the rest are Bosniacs, the descendants of men of our own race and
language, who on the Turkish invasion accepted Islamism, but retained
the language, and many Christian customs, such as saints' days,
Christian names, and in most cases monogamy."

_Author_. "That is very curious; then, perhaps, as they are not full
Moslems, they may be more tolerant of Christians."

_Collector_. "The very reverse. The Bosniac Christians are not half so
well off as the Bulgarians, who have to deal with the real Turks. The
arch-priest will be here to dinner, and he will be able to give you
some account of the Bosniac Christians. But Bosnia is a beautiful
country; how do you intend to proceed from here?"

_Author_. "I intend to go to Vallievo and Ushitza."

_Collector_. "He that leaves Servia without seeing Sokol, has seen
nothing."

_Author_. "What is to be seen at Sokol?"

_Collector_. "The most wonderful place in the world, a perfect eagle's
eyrie. A whole town and castle built on the capital of a column of
rock."

_Author_. "But I did not contemplate going there; so I must change my
route: I took no letters for that quarter."

_Collector_. "Leave all that to me; you will first go to Losnitza, on
the banks of the Drina, and I will despatch a messenger to-night,
apprising the authorities of your approach. When you have seen Sokol,
you will admit that it was worth the journey."

The renegade having seen the Aga clear off, now came to pay his visit,
and the normal good-nature of the collector procured him a tolerant
welcome. When we were left alone, the renegade began by abusing the
Moslems in the fortress as a set of scoundrels. "I could not live an
hour longer among such rascals," said he, "and I am now in the khan
with my servant and a couple of horses, where you must come and see
me. I will give you as good a pipe of Djebel tobacco as ever you
smoked."

_Author_. "You must excuse me, I must set out on my travels to-morrow.
You were in Egypt, I believe."

_Renegade_. "I was long there; my two sons, and a married daughter,
are in Cairo to this day."

_Author_. "What do they do?"

_Renegade_. "My daughter is married, and I taught my sons all I know
of medicine, and they practise it in the old way."

_Author_. "Where did you study?"

_Renegade_ (tossing his head and smiling). "Here, and there, and
everywhere. I am no Ilekim Bashi; but I have an ointment that heals
all bruises and sores in an incredibly short space of time."

Me gave a most unsatisfactory account of his return to Turkey in
Europe; first to Bosnia, or Herzegovina, where he was, or pretended to
be, physician to Husreff Mehmed Pasha, and then to Seraievo. When we
spoke of Hafiz Pasha, of Belgrade, he said, "I know him well, but he
does not know me; I recollect him at Carpout and Diarbecr before
the battle of Nisib, when he had thirty or forty pashas under him. He
could shoot at a mark, or ride, with the youngest man in the army."

The collector now re-entered with the Natchalnik and his captains, and
the renegade took his leave, I regretting that I had not seen more of
him; for a true recital of his adventures must have made an amusing
chapter.

"Here is the captain, who is to escort you to Ushitza," said the
Natchalnik, pointing to a muscular man at his left. "He will take you
safe and sound."

_Author_. "I see he is a stout fellow. I would rather have him for a
friend than meet him as an enemy. He has the face of an honest man,
too."

_Natchalnik_. "I warrant you as safe in his custody, as if you were in
that of Gospody Wellington."

_Author_. "You may rest assured that if I were in the custody of the
Duke of Wellington, I should not reckon myself very safe. One of his
offices is to take care of a tower, in which the Queen locks up
traitorous subjects. Did you never hear of the Tower of London?"

_Natchalnik_. "No; all we know of London is the wonderful bridge that
goes under the water, where an army can pass from one side to the
other, while the fleet lies anchored over their heads."

The Natchalnik now bid me farewell, and I gave my rendezvous to the
captain for next morning. During the discussion of dinner, the
arch-priest gave us an illustration of Bosniac fanaticism: A few
months ago a church at Belina was about to be opened, which had been a
full year in course of building, by virtue of a Firman of the Sultan;
the Moslems murmuring, but doing nothing. When finished, the Bishop
went to consecrate it; but two hours after sunset, an immense mob of
Moslems, armed with pickaxes and shovels, rased it to the ground,
having first taken the Cross and Gospels and thrown them into a
latrina. The Bishop complained to the Mutsellim, who imprisoned one or
two of them, exacted a fine, which he put in his own pocket, and let
them out next day; the ruins of the Church remain _in statu quo_.

The collector now produced some famous wine, that had been eleven
years in bottle. We were unusually merry, and fell into toasts and
speeches. I felt as if I had been his intimate friend for years, for
he had not one atom of Levantine "humbug" in his composition. Poor
fellow, little did he think, that in a few short weeks from this
period his blood would flow as freely as the wine which he poured into
my cup.

Next morning, on awaking, all the house was in a bustle: the sun shone
brightly on the green satin coverlet of my bed, and a tap at the door
announced the collector, who entered in his dressing gown with the
apparatus of brandy and sweetmeats, and joined his favourable augury
to mine for the day's journey.

"You will have a rare journey," said the collector; "the country is a
garden, the weather is clear, and neither hot nor cold. The nearer you
get to Bosnia, the more beautiful is the landscape."

We each drank a thimbleful of slivovitsa, he to my prosperous journey,
while I proposed health and long life to him; but, as the sequel
showed, "_l'homme propose, et Dieu dispose_." After breakfast, I bade
Madame Ninitch adieu, and descended to the court-yard, where two
carriages of the collector awaited us, our horses being attached
behind.

And now an eternal farewell to the worthy collector. At this time a
conspiracy was organized by the Obrenowitch faction, through the
emigrants residing in Hungary. They secretly furnished themselves
with thirty-four or thirty-five hussar uniforms at Pesth, bought
horses, and having bribed the Austrian frontier guard, passed the Save
with a trumpeter about a month after this period, and entering
Shabatz, stated that a revolution had broken out at Belgrade, that
prince Kara Georgevitch was murdered, and Michael proclaimed, with the
support of the cabinets of Europe! The affrighted inhabitants knew not
what to believe, and allowed the detachment to ride through the town.
Arrived at the government-house, the collector issued from the porch,
to ask what they wanted, and received for answer a pistol-shot, which
stretched him dead on the spot. The soi-disant Austrian hussars
subsequently attempted to raise the country, but, failing in this,
were nearly all taken and executed.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 4: The first University in Europe was that of Prague. It was
established some years before the University of Paris, if I recollect
right.]

CHAPTER XII.

The Banat of Matchva.--Losnitza.--Feuds on the Frontier.--Enter the
Back-woods.--Convent of Tronosha.--Greek Festival.--Congregation of
Peasantry.--Rustic Finery.

Through the richest land, forming part of the ancient banat of
Matchva, which was in the earlier periods of Servian and Hungarian
history so often a source of conflict and contention, we approached
distant grey hills, which gradually rose from the horizon, and, losing
their indistinctness, revealed a chain so charmingly accidented, that
I quickened my pace, as if about to enter a fairy region. Thick turf
covered the pasture lands; the old oak and the tender sapling
diversified the plain. Some clouds hung on the horizon, whose
delicate lilac and fawn tints, forming a harmonizing contrast with the
deep deep blue of the heavens, showed the transparency of the
atmosphere, and brought healthful elevation of spirits. Even the
brutes bespoke the harmony of creation; for, singular to say, we saw
several crows perched on the backs of swine!

Towards evening, we entered a region of cottages among gardens
inclosed by bushes, trees, and verdant fences, with the rural quiet
and cleanliness of an English village in the last century, lighted up
by an Italian sunset. Having crossed the little bridge, a pandour, who
was sitting under the willows, rose, came forward, and, touching his
hat, presented the Natchalnik's compliments, and said that he was
instructed to conduct me to his house. Losnitza is situated on the
last undulation of the Gutchevo range, as the mountains we had all day
kept in view were called. So leaving the town on our left, we struck
into a secluded path, which wound up the hill, and in ten minutes we
dismounted at a house having the air of a Turkish villa, which
overlooked the surrounding country, and was entered by an enclosed
court-yard with high walls.

The Natchalnik of Losnitza was a grey-headed tall gaunt figure, who