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.
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