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We had a large assemblage of the peasantry, and an ecclesiastical festival, such as they are celebrated in Servia." Author. "Your highness may rest assured that had I known that, I should not have failed to go. At Tronosha I saw a similar festival, and I am firmly convinced that no peasantry in Europe is freer from want." Prince.
But before pursuing his route to Sokol, a sky-threatening fortress, respecting which his curiosity had been excited by the account given of it by M. Ninitch, he was persuaded by the Natchalnik to attend a peasant festival held at the monastery of Tronosha, to celebrate the anniversary of its consecration.
Before going to Sokol the Natchalnik persuaded me to take a Highland ramble into the Gutchevo range, and first visit Tronosha, a large convent three hours off in the woods, which was to be on the following day the rendezvous of all the surrounding peasantry, in their holyday dresses, in order to celebrate the festival of consecration.
The next day, accordingly, he set off with the Natchalnik and his companions, all gallantly armed and mounted, and in gala dresses covered with gold embroidery; and, dashing up hill and down dale, through the majestic forests which covered the ascent of the mountains, they arrived in due time at Tronosha, "an edifice with strong walls, towers, and posterns, more like a secluded and fortified manor-house in the seventeenth century than a convent; for such establishments, in former times, were often subject to the unwelcome visits of minor marauders."
Romantic sylvan scenery. Patriarchal simplicity of manners. Krupena, Sokol. Its extraordinary position. Wretched town. Alpine scenery. Cool reception. Valley of the Rogatschitza. Words fail me to describe the beauty of the road from Tronosha to Krupena.
The soi-disant Austrian hussars subsequently attempted to raise the country, but, failing in this, were nearly all taken and executed. The Banat of Matchva. Losnitza. Feuds on the Frontier. Enter the Back-woods. Convent of Tronosha. Greek Festival. Congregation of Peasantry. Rustic Finery.
"There is Tronosha," said the Natchalnik, pulling up, and pointing to a tapering white spire and slender column of blue smoke that rose from a cul-de-sac formed by the opposite hills, which, like the woods we had traversed, wore such a shaggy and umbrageous drapery, that with a slight transposition, I could exclaim, "Si lupus essem, nollem alibi quam in Servia lupus esse!"
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