We now, by a narrow, steep, and winding path cut on the face of a precipice, descended to Sokol, and passing through a rotting wooden bazaar, entered a wretched khan, and ascending a sort of staircase, were shown into a room with dusty mustabahs; a greasy old cushion, with the flock protruding through its cover, was laid down for me, but I, with polite excuses, preferred the bare board to this odious flea-hive.  The more I declined the cushion, the more pressing became the khan-keeper that I should carry away with me some reminiscence of Sokol.  Finding that his upholstery was not appreciated, the khan-keeper went to the other end of the apartment, and began to make a fire for coffee; for this being Ramadan time, all the fires were out, and most of the people were asleep.  Meanwhile the captain sent for the Disdar Aga.  I offered to go into the citadel, and pay him a visit, but the captain said, “You have no idea how sensitive these people are:  even now they are forming all sorts of conjectures as to the object of your visit; we must, therefore, take them quietly in their own way, and do nothing to alarm them.  In a few minutes the Disdar Aga will be here; you can then judge, by the temper he is in, of the length of your stay, and the extent to which you wish to carry your curiosity.”

I admitted that the captain was speaking sense, and waited patiently till the Aga made his appearance.

Footsteps were heard on the staircase, and the Mutsellim entered,—­a Turk, about forty-five years of age, who looked cross, as most men are when called from a sound sleep.  His fez was round as a wool-bag, and looked as if he had stuffed a shawl into it before putting it on, and his face and eyes had something of the old Mongol or Tartar look.  He was accompanied by a Bosniac, who was very proud and insolent in his demeanour.  After the usual compliments, I said, “I have seen some countries and cities, but no place so curious as Sokol.  I left Belgrade on a tour through the interior, not knowing of its existence.  Otherwise I would have asked letters of Hafiz Pasha to you:  for, intending to go to Nish, he gave me a letter to the Pasha there.  But the people of this country having advised me not to miss the wonder of Servia, I have come, seduced by the account of its beauty, not doubting of your good reception of strangers:”  on which I took out the letter of Hafiz Pasha, the direction of which he read, and then he said, in a husky voice which became his cross look,—­

“I do not understand your speech; if you have seen Belgrade, you must find Sokol contemptible.  As for your seeing the citadel, it is impossible; for the key is with the Disdar Aga, and he is asleep, and even if you were to get in, there is nothing to be seen.”