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.”