Читать книгу The Lands of the Tamed Turk; or, the Balkan States of to-day онлайн

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THE ELIZABETH BRIDGE,—BUDA IN THE BACKGROUND.

The minute you cross the Danube at the Servian frontier you begin to feel the influence, although a waning one, of a nation that has been struggling desperately for hundreds of years to regain her lost provinces—the Turks. It is not so noticeable in Servia as in Bulgaria, not so noticeable in Bulgaria as in Bosnia and the Herzegovina, but it is there, nevertheless; the sullen, silent suffering of a nation of stoics, whose forefathers were defeated in their murderous attempts to Mohammedanize Europe only at the very gates of Vienna itself.

The fact that Servia entertains exaggerated fears for her own is brought to the notice of the traveller—and forcibly, too—at Zemlin, on the Austrian side of the Danube River, opposite Belgrade. At this point one of King Peter’s ominous-looking arms of the law, resplendent in epaulets and gold cord, boards each and every train from the west. Although his trailing sword appears to be no little hindrance to his ease in getting about, his temper remains unruffled and he examines with polite suspicion the passports of all who expect to leave the train at the Servian capital. The name of the owner of the passport is jotted down on a piece of paper which, later, in the depot, is handed surreptitiously to a pair of warlike individuals who guard the exit to the street, while the customs officials are demanding excuses for the contents of your grips. Between these two warriors you must pass out from the depot and give them your name, which is forthwith checked off the list previously furnished by the portly train inspector.