Servia, Youngest Member of the European Family | Page 9

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