CHAPTER X.
Character of the Constantinopolitan Greeks—The Greek Colony at the Fanar—Vogoride, Logotheti, and Angiolopolo—Political Sentiment—Chateaubriand at the Duke de Rovigo’s—Biting Criticism—Greek Chambers—“What’s in a Name?”—Custom of Burning Perfumes—The Pastille of the Seraglio—Turkish Cosmetics—Eastern Beauty.
The more I saw of the Greeks, the more curious did I find the study of that page of the great volume of human nature which was there flung back; and, far from sharing in the astonishment of those who almost deem it a miracle that the whole nation has not been swept away, I rather marvel at the state of moral and political thraldom in which they exist. The tolerated citizens of an Empire whose interests, both civil and religious, differ so widely from their own, the Fanariote Greeks nourish in their heart’s core a hatred of their masters as intense as it is enduring, and serve them rather from fear than zeal.
Every Greek is an intuitive diplomatist; nature has endowed him with a keen and subtle spirit—a power to see deeply, and to act promptly—and as their motto is palpable to all who have studied their character—tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis—they are any thing but safe counsellors or firm friends. Each is to be had at a price: and, as several of the most talented among them are in the confidence of the leading members of the Turkish government, it were idle to expatiate on the pernicious consequences of their influence. There are so many spies in the camp—so many breaches in the fortress—and, with the helm of affairs, although not actually in their grasp, at least sufficiently within their reach to enable them occasionally to make the vessel of state policy swerve towards the course whither they would fain direct it, they are no contemptible allies to any foreign power that may need their services. The Turk probably possesses the soundest judgment, but the Greek is more subtle and quick-witted, and dazzles even where he may fail to convince.
Under these circumstances, partially trusted by the Turks, and enriched and employed by other nations—gifted with subtlety, energy of character, and that keenness of perception and quickness of intellect for which they are remarkable—the Greeks would be dangerous, if not fatal enemies to their Moslem masters, had they not, like Achilles, one vulnerable point—they are not true, even to each other. Dissimulation is the atmosphere in which they livejealousy is the food on which they prey—and, while they are urging on the chariot of their own fortunes, they are sure to have some luckless rival impaled upon one of the spokes of its uncertain wheel.
Hence, all those overwhelming revolutions which render the tenure of wealth and honours among them almost as precarious as among the Turks themselves. The tolerance of the Sultan’s government has conceded to them a magistracy and an ecclesiastical power as distinct as though they were a free people and the denizens of a free country; and their shrewd and subtle spirits, trammelled without, become tenfold more bitter in their concentrated struggle for supremacy among themselves. Their circle is limited: their hemisphere will afford space for one luminary only; to aggrandize one, another must be sacrificed; and thus it is a perpetual grappling for ascendency; and public probity and private friendship give way before it.
The Greek colony at the Fanar is the focus of intrigue; each is a spy upon his neighbour—here “Greek meets Greek,” and the “tug of war” is deadly. Patriarchs and archbishops are deposed and exiled—magistrates are displaced and banished, as one or the other party obtain power—until the concentration of hatred atrophises every heart, and the smile upon every lip waits but the opportunity to wither into a sneer.
With the double impulsion of honour and power among their own community, and wealth and influence without, it will be readily understood that a people constituted like the Fanariote Greeks pursue their purpose with a tenacity that blinds them to all less absorbing considerations. Each suffices to himself—he is his own world—and he centres all his energies and exertions upon one point. In this fact exists the weakness of the Greeks—they are too egotistical to be dangerous—they indulge individual selfishness when they should exert themselves for the common benefit of the community—the fruit is perished at the core, and it consequently decays upon the surface—and, while they thus make war upon each other, and fling the brand of jealousy upon the hearths of their own race, they require no exterior force to crush them.
The three most conspicuous individuals now left among the Fanariote Greeks are Vogorede, Logotheti, and Angiolopolo, each of whom is more or less in the confidence of the Porte. The war between these talented and ambitious men is literally a war of wits. The craft is with Vogorede, the energy with Logotheti, and the tenacity of purpose with Angiolopolo. The nature of each individual is written on his countenance—that of Vogorede changes like the hue of the camelion; he is a man whose smile is not mirth, nor approbation, nor enjoyment—his brow is narrow and deeply interlined, less by time than by the workings of his spirit; his eye is cold and quick, but it is the quickness which gives no token of intelligence—the restlessness of suspicion.
The personal attributes of Logotheti are of a different character; his glance is searching and fiery, his features mobile and expressive, and his forehead high and strongly marked; and to these no more striking contrast can be afforded than by the truly magnificent head of Angiolopolo. There is not a vestige of passion, not a trace of anxiety, nor care, nor emotion perceptible; his countenance is calm, benevolent, and beautiful: his brow is singularly smooth for his age, and its character of placidity has continued unchanged throughout a long life of political exertion and excitement; while the white beard, which he wears to the utmost length that is now permitted, (Sultan Mahmoud having lately regulated this important point, and having even curtailed the exuberance of that of one of his ministers with his own Imperial hands!) gives him an air of patriarchal dignity in excellent keeping with his strictly Oriental costume.
Having been for twelve years Chargé d’Affaires at Paris during the reign of Napoleon, he has a memory stored with anecdote; and a vivacity of expression, and an accuracy of detail, which make his portraits life-like, and never fail to point the moral of the tale. He discourses fluently in French, and enters into the most trifling subjects with a relish and gaiety quite wonderful when his age (near seventy) and his pursuits are taken into consideration; and you have not been half an hour in his society before you feel the greatest surprise that the maladie de pays should ever have been sufficiently strong to induce him to solicit his recall from a court whose now time-worn recollections yet retain so bright a hold upon his nature. Angiolopolo has neither the appearance nor the bearing of a veteran politician; and, were you ignorant of his history, you would look upon him as one who had fallen into “the sear and yellow leaf,” without one storm to hasten the decay.
After an existence of political toil, Angiolopolo has ostensibly retired into the calm and quiet of domestic life. I speak, therefore, of him rather as he was a few months back than as he now actually is; though the fire which has been long burning requires time ere it can be thoroughly extinguished, and it is only fair to infer that, after so many years of state service, Angiolopolo will carry with him the same tastes and pursuits to the grave.
Prepossessed by his appearance, I accepted with pleasure an invitation to spend the day with his family, and the more particularly as I was anxious to make the acquaintance of all those individuals who had become matter of local interest.
When I entered, he was seated in the Oriental fashion on a corner of the sofa, with a small writing-stand on a low stool beside him, and leaning his arm upon a chest of polished wood containing papers. He received us with much politeness, and presented me to his wife and daughter, who were nestled under the covering of the tandour, on the other side of the apartment, and who welcomed me in the most cordial manner.
For a time, nothing but the veriest commonplace was uttered by any of the party; but some political allusion having been accidentally made, he expressed himself both disappointed and annoyed at the supineness of the British Government, though he admitted that it had caused him no surprize, as it was not the first occasion on which England, after amusing and deluding the Porte with promises of protection and support, had failed to fulfil her pledges in the hour of need. “As individuals,” he added emphatically, “no one can respect the English more than I do, but as a nation every thinking man throughout the Ottoman Empire has lost faith in them—the trust and confidence which the Turks once placed in the political integrity of Great Britain are at an end for ever.”
As he was an invalid, we dined en famille; and I was struck with the extreme attention and deference that he showed towards his wife; all the other Greeks with whom I had become acquainted being the most indifferent, or, as we style it in Europe, the most fashionable of husbands; nor was I less surprised at the apparent zest with which he entered into the inconsequent conversation that ensued, and the playfulness with which he bandied jest for jest, and piled anecdote on anecdote. One incident that he mentioned I may repeat without indiscretion, as it cannot, after such a lapse of time, affect the individual who is its subject, and whose literary reputation is now too well established to be injured by the old-world histories of the past.
Angiolopolo was one day dining at the table of the Duke de Rovigo, when the work of Chateaubriand on the East became the subject of conversation; the author himself, then a very young man, and but little known in the world of letters, being one of the guests; and, while it was under discussion, the Duke requested of Angiolopolo to give him his opinion on its merits. The Ottoman Chargé d’Affaires, aware that Chateaubriand was present, and not wishing to pronounce a judgment that must be displeasing to him, carelessly replied that he remembered having met with the work some time previously: and thus sought to turn aside the subject, the more particularly as, not being supposed to be aware of the vicinity of the author, he had no apology afforded him on the score of delicacy, should he pronounce an opinion tending to gloss over his real sentiments.
But this indefinite reply did not satisfy the Duke, who expressed his astonishment that a native of the country of which the work treated should feel so little interest in the subject as to retain no memory of its contents. Thus urged, Angiolopolo found himself compelled to declare that he had not only read the book carefully, but still retained the most perfect recollection of many of its passages; and that he had evaded the inquiry simply from a disinclination to speak with severity of a writer, who had permitted himself to describe the domestic manners of a people, of whom he had only been enabled to judge from such specimens as coffee-houses and the like places of vulgar resort had offered to his observation.
That he should form erroneous opinions of the mass from these low-bred and low-minded portions of the population might be pardoned, as the error of a surface-scanning and light-headed traveller; but that he should put them forth in sober earnestness to mislead wiser men, who did not possess the opportunity of forming a more correct judgment for themselves, was a graver and a more reprehensible fault, and one which no native of the East could easily forgive. Had he been honest, he would frankly have acknowledged that the doors of the higher classes were reluctantly and rarely opened to the Franks, who required the best introductions to secure an entrance into any distinguished house; both the habits and the position of the Orientals being unfavourable to the curiosity of strangers—and not have libelled a people of whom he really knew as little on his return to Europe as the day on which he landed at Stamboul.
“Chateaubriand has since become a distinguished writer;” he added in conclusion, “but I doubt not that often, amid his success, he has remembered the dinner at the Duke de Rovigo’s, and his inexorable critic.”
In anecdotes of this description, in which his powers of memory and his natural vivacity were equally apparent, the hours passed rapidly away; nor did we retire till near midnight, and even then more as a matter of expediency than of weariness, (for he was far too hospitable to suffer us to leave him until the following day,) and we had consequently full time to enjoy his reminiscences.
I should have previously remarked that the chambers in the Greek houses are generally arranged in the same manner as those of the Turks—that is to say, a pile of mattresses are heaped upon the floor, without a bedstead; but with the Greeks the coverlets are less splendid, and the pillows are less costly. In each, a tray is conspicuously set out with conserves, generally strongly impregnated with perfume, such as rose, bergamotte, and citron: and covered goblets of richly-cut crystal, filled with water. The custom appears singular to an European, but it is by no means unpleasant; and I had not been long in the country ere I found the visit of the servant, who knelt down at my bedside, and handed the tray to me on my awaking, a very agreeable one.
“What’s in a name?” asks Juliet. I confess that to me there is a spell in many; and among the Greeks I did not enjoy my sweetmeats the less that they were handed to me by Euphrosine or Anastasia; or my coffee that the tray was held by Demetrius or Theodosius. This may be folly, but it is not the less fact.
The custom of burning perfumes in the mangal is, if not a healthy, at least a very luxurious one; and the atmosphere of the saloon of Angiolopolo was heavy with ambergris and musk. I have not yet met with a native of the East, of either sex, who was not strongly attached to their use; their own perfumes are delicate and agreeable, being rather concentrated preparations, than individual scents; and soothing, rather than exciting, the nerves; but they are also very partial to those of Europe, and among the latest presents of the Empress of Russia to the Princess Asmé, the Sultan’s eldest sister, were several cases of Eau de Cologne.
The pastille of the seraglio, of which a large quantity has been presented to me by different Turkish and Armenian gentlemen, is a delightful invention; and looks, moreover, in its casing of gold leaf, extremely elegant; as it is somewhat costly, it is not in common use, but it is greatly prized in the harems.
Perhaps no country exceeds Turkey in the variety and value of its cosmetics; and, although there are no daily prints to advertise their virtues, no ingenious puffs to expatiate on their properties, the ladies are by no means ignorant of their existence, but employ them in all their varieties; from the dye with which they darken their eyebrows, to the henna that disfigures the extremities of their fingers.
Among the fair Greeks, the use of rouge is by no means uncommon; and they also carry to a greater extreme than the Turkish women the frightful custom of joining the eyebrows artificially across the nose, by which mistaken habit I have seen many a really pretty face terribly disfigured. I am, however, bound to confess that the dearth of beauty among the Greek ladies is very striking; their expression is good, but their features are irregular, and ill-assorted; and, were it not that they have almost universally fine, sparkling, dark eyes, they would be, taking them collectively, a decidedly plain race.
I looked in vain for the noble, calm, and peculiar outline which we are prone to believe must characterize the whole people; for the finely-poised head, the expansive brow, the drooping eyelid, and, above all, the straight nose and short upper lip of genuine Grecian beauty; I met with it only in one instance, but that one was a breathing model of the beautiful and classical in nature.
The Greek ladies are bad figures, are by no means gifted either as to hands or feet, walk ungracefully, and are remarkable only, as I have already stated, for their bright eyes, and their dark, lustrous hair.
The men are a much finer race, or rather there are more individuals among them who have the distinguished outline of head which one looks to meet with in their nation; but the females have neither the sweet, sleepy, fascinating expression of the Turkish beauties, nor the pure, fresh, sparkling complexion of the Armenian maidens, whose foreheads are frequently as snowy as the veil that binds them, and whose lips and cheeks look like crushed roses.
Not the least lovely among them is the fair girl who, in a spirit of frolic, consented to be presented to an English traveller, (Mr. Auldjo) as a Turkish lady, but whose style of beauty is perfectly dissimilar from that of the nation which she personated; the dark eyes, the henna-tipped fingers, and the costume, which is essentially the same as that of the harem, were, however, quite sufficient to deceive an unpractised eye; and the lively Armenian, to whom I was introduced at my express desire, tells the tale of her successful deceit with a self-complacency and enjoyment perfectly amusing.
Had she more mind, and less enbompoint, an Armenian beauty would be perfect!
CHAPTER XI.
The Kourban-Baïram—Politeness of Mustafa Effendi—Depressing Recollections—Unquiet Night—Midnight March—Turkish Coffee—A Latticed Araba—The Mosque of Sultan Achmet—Beautiful coup d’œil—Dress of the Turkish Children—Restlessness of the Franks—The Festival of Sacrifice—Old Jewish Rite—The Turkish Wife—Sun-rise—Appearance of the Troops—Turkish Ladies—Group of Field Officers—The Sultan’s Stud—Magnificent Trappings—The Seraskier Pasha—The Great Officers of State—The Procession—The Sultan—Imperial Curiosity—The Chèïk-Islam—Costume of the Sultan—Japanese Superstition—Vanity of Sultan Mahmoud—The Hairdresser of Halil Pasha—Rapid Promotion—Oriental Salutations—Halil Pasha—Saïd Pasha—Unruly Horses—The Valley of the “Sweet Waters”—Pera.
The Kourban-Baïram being fixed for the 28th of March, we crossed over to Constantinople on the evening of the 27th, in order to be on the spot, and thus diminish the fatigue of the morrow. Mustafa Effendi, who had removed with his harem to his country-house, very obligingly offered us the use of his mansion for the night, as well as the services of his house-steward and a couple of servants; and we accordingly found ourselves once more at home beneath his hospitable roof.
I rejoiced that we required the accommodation only for some hours; as perhaps there are few things more depressing than a stroll through the empty and echoing chambers that you have associated with ideas and memories of mirth, and inhabitation, and amusement. The spacious apartments gave back a hollow reverberation, as we wandered over their uncarpeted floors, and flung open the casements of their uncurtained windows. The very chambers which had been purposely and carefully prepared for us were new and strange, being in a different part of the house from that occupied by the harem; and I more than once regretted the absence of the courteous old man who had received me so kindly on my first visit.
As I had failed to obtain a view of the procession at the Festival of the Baïram, that terminated the Ramazan, when an apartment had been prepared for us at the Mint, of which we were unable to take possession, owing to the density of the crowd, that filled every street in its neighbourhood, and which we were not sufficiently early to precede; I was the more anxious not to subject myself to a similar disappointment on the present occasion; a feeling that was, indeed, shared by the whole party; and, accordingly, on parting for the night, which we did at an early hour, we were very sincere in our reciprocal promises to be hyper-diligent on the morrow.
And what a night we passed! The cannon was booming along the water, and rattling in long-sustained echoes among the hills—the myriad dogs that infest the city, scared from their usually quiet rest, were howling, whining, and barking, without a moment’s intermission; and the Imperial band was perambulating the streets, attended by flambeau-bearers; and executing, with admirable precision, some noble pieces of music. The wind-instruments were relieved at intervals by the drums and fifes, than which there are, perhaps, none better in the world: and these were succeeded by the tramp, beneath our window, of the whole garrison of the city, afoot and under arms two hours before daybreak.
I watched the troops as they passed, the flaring torches throwing them into broad light between the two lofty white walls that hemmed in the narrow street, and from whose surface the sickly moonlight was fast waning, scrambling up the steep hill upon whose rise the house is built, rather in masses than in columns; officers and men mingled pell-mell, laughing, talking, and struggling over the rough pavement, in a manner much more picturesque than imposing.
I had scarcely thrown myself once more upon my sofa, in order to court the sleep of which I had as yet only dreamt, when the rattling of our heavy carriage into the courtyard, and the loud knock at the door by which the Greek waiting-maid announced her wish for admittance, dispelled my hopes once more; and when she entered, candle in hand, I resigned myself to my fate, and, having ascertained that it was nearly four o’clock, made a hasty toilette, and joined my companions.
The warmest and strongest of coffee was soon swallowed—by the way, what a sad pity it is that we know nothing about making coffee in Europe—and having settled ourselves comfortably in our well-cushioned araba, Madame ——, myself, and our attendant were soon jolting over the rough pavé towards the scene of action, followed by my father and the two Turkish servants. The lattices of the carriage were closely shut, to avoid any possible difficulty, owing to our being Europeans; and one servant walked close beside each door, as though guarding the harem of some bearded Moslem.
Arrived within the precincts of the court of Sultan Achmet’s magnificent mosque, and fairly entamés among the carriages, which resembled a bed of scarlet and yellow poppies, we removed the lattices altogether, and remained lying very comfortably among our silken cushions, with the araba open on all sides, and immediately in front of us the space along which the procession was to pass: the line of carriages forming one boundary, and the other being guarded by a treble rank of military.
The coup-d’œil was beautiful! The sun was just fringing the fleecy clouds with a glad golden edge; and, as the vapours rolled away, the bright blue of the laughing sky spread far and wide its stainless canopy. The noble trees that overshadow a portion of the enclosure were just putting forth their young spring leaves, all fresh, and dewy, and tender—tokens of that infant vegetation which may be blighted by too rude a blast, and which awakens in the heart such gentle and such fond associations—the spacious steps of white marble that stretch far in front of the principal entrance of the mosque were crowded with human beings—the exterior gallery that runs along the side of the edifice on which the Sultan was to pass was filled with women, whose white veils and dark feridjhes made them look like a community of nuns—while, in the rear of the military, groups were every where forming, shifting, and producing the most interesting pictorial effects.
Here, it was a party of Jews—there, a knot of Armenians—further on, a circle of Greeks—and close beside us a cluster of women huddled together, and holding by the hand their rosy children, whose appearance I cannot more appropriately describe than by comparing them to the sweeps on May-day—such costumes! such pinks, greens, reds, and yellows, each out-glaring the other on the girls; the most grotesque prints fashioned into the most outré forms—pendent sleeves, trailing anterys, and little curly heads enveloped in painted handkerchiefs: while the boys from three years of age figured in surtout coats as brightly buttoned, and as ill-cut as those of their fathers—miniature pantaloons, corded with scarlet—and minute fez’s, with their purple tassels attached by stars of pearl of great beauty, or decorated with magnificent brilliant ornaments, fastened to the cap with pearl loops, to which were generally added golden coins, blue beads, and other preservatives against the Evil Eye!
A few Franks were distinguishable among the crowd; but they appeared and disappeared like wandering spirits, never resting long on the same spot, and earning many a quiet smile from their Moslem neighbours, who are never weary of marvelling at the perpetual locomotion of the Giaours, so opposed to their own love of rest and quiet. Give a Turk a moderately good position on such an occasion as this, and he will never abandon it on the bare possibility of procuring a better; but the Greek and the European fidget and fuss to the last moment, and very probably do not always profit by their pains.
The Kourban-Baïram, or festival of sacrifice, differs from that which takes place at the conclusion of the Ramazan, by its greater pomp and the circumstance that, on the occasion of the present festival, animals are sacrificed to propitiate the favour of the Divinity: and, as we drove along the streets, they were crowded with sheep and lambs about to be offered up.
Every head of a family sacrifices an animal with his own hands; and every male member of his household is at liberty to indulge his piety in a similar manner; but the chief of the house is bound to observe the ceremonial.
On his return from the Mosque, the Sultan puts on a sacrificial dress, and, while two attendants hold the lamb which is to be honoured by suffering the stab of the Imperial knife, he slaughters it with his Sublime hands. The first victim that he destroys is a propitiation for himself, but he afterwards offers up one for each member of his family, and consequently his office is by no means a sinecure.
Nor is this the only occasion on which this ancient Jewish rite is observed by the Turks. On recovery from a severe illness, on the birth of a child, on return from a pilgrimage—in short, in every leading circumstance of his life, the Musselmaun immolates a victim: but the Kourban-Baïram is the great sacrificial anniversary, and is observed with much splendour and rejoicing by all the population of the capital. The vessels in the harbour are gaily decked out with flags; all business is suspended; men grasp each other by the hand in the streets, and utter a fraternal greeting—and the poor are seen hastening from house to house to secure the flesh of the sacrifices, which is divided among themselves and the dogs of the city, scarcely less sacred than their own kind in the eyes of the Osmanlis.
A friend of mine was told the other day by a Turk with whom he is intimate, and who had just returned to Stamboul after an absence of six months, that he had ascertained that while he was away from home his wife had not once quitted the house; a piece of intelligence which so rejoiced him, that he had sacrificed six sheep, one for each month, in gratitude to Allah and the Prophet, who had bestowed on him so virtuous a helpmate.
What a glorious burst of light flooded the enclosure when the sun at length clomb the horizon! It was not only a time of human festival, but nature’s own peculiar holyday; and there was an elasticity and balminess in the air that swept through the carriage, which made the heart leap for gladness.
The troops presented a better appearance in line than I had expected, but Sultan Mahmoud has yet much to do if he ever intends to make them look like soldiers. They are dirty, slouching, and awkward; tread inwards from their habit of sitting upon their feet, and march as though they were dragging their slippers after them. The frightful fèz is pulled down to their very eyebrows, and the ill-cut clothing is composed of the coarsest and dingiest materials.
But what shall I say of the officers? How shall I describe the appearance of the gallant individuals who were constantly passing and repassing, and making frequent pauses in our immediate vicinity; incited thereto, as I have no doubt, by the presence of two lovely young Turkish ladies, who had quitted their carriage, and established themselves on the footboard behind, in order to secure a better sight of the “Brother of the Sun,” whom we were all anxiously awaiting; and whose yashmacs were so gracefully, or shall I say coquettishly, arranged, that I doubt whether they would have been so attractive without them. They were of the whitest and clearest muslin, through which I not only saw the flowers that rested on their foreheads, and the diamonds that sparkled in the embroidered and richly-fringed handkerchiefs bound about their heads, but even the very colour of their lips. And then the magic of their long, sleepy, jet-black eyes, and the constant flinging back and refolding of the jealous feridjhe, by fingers white, and slender, and henna-tipped! I really pitied the sword-girt Moslems.
I was still gazing at these lovely women, when a party of about thirty field-officers passed the carriage, on their way to their places near the door of the Mosque, at which the Sultan was to enter. They were all similarly attired in surtout coats of Spanish brown, gathered in large folds at the back of the waist, and buttoned beneath a cloth strap; a very common and ugly fashion among the Turks; and wore sword-belts richly embroidered with gold. Many among them were some of the stoutest men I ever saw.
In about five minutes after them, arrived the led horses of the Sultan; and these formed by far the most splendid feature of the procession; they were ten in number, and wore on their heads a panache of white and pink ostrich feathers mixed with roses, and fastened down upon the forelock with a clasp of precious stones. Each was attended by a groom, controlling, with some trouble, the curvettings and capers of the pampered animals, who were caparisoned in a style of splendour which, if it have ever been equalled, can certainly never have been surpassed. Their housings, which were either of silk or velvet, all differing the one from the other, were embroidered with gold and silver, large pearls, and jewels. One of them bore, on a ground of myrtle-coloured velvet, the cypher of the Sultan wrought in brilliants, and surrounded by a garland of flowers formed of rubies, emeralds, and topaz. Another housing, of rich lilac silk, was worked at the corners with a cluster of musical instruments in diamonds and large pearls, and, as the sunshine flashed upon it, it was like a blaze of light. The remainder were equally magnificent; and the well-padded saddles of crimson or green velvet were decorated with stirrups of chased gold, while the bridles, whose embroidered reins hung low upon the necks of the animals, were one mass of gold and jewels.
The Sultan’s stud was succeeded by the Seraskier Pasha in state, mounted on a tall gray horse, (whose elaborate accoutrements were only inferior to those that I have attempted to describe,) and surrounded and followed by a dozen attendants on foot: his diamond-hilted sword—the rings upon his hands—the star in front of his fèz, and the orders on his breast, were perfectly dazzling.
At intervals of about a minute, all the great officers of state passed in the same order, and according to their respective ranks; and at length we heard the welcome sounds of the Imperial band, which struck up the Sultan’s Grand March, as Mahmoud the Powerful, the Brother of the Sun, and Emperor of the East, passed the gates of the court.
First came twelve running footmen, in richly laced uniforms, and high military caps; and these were succeeded by the twenty body pages, who were splendidly dressed, and wore in their chakos, plumes, or rather crêtes of stiff feathers, intermixed with artificial flowers of immense size, and originally invented to conceal the face of the Sultan as he passed along, and thus screen him from the Evil Eye! But his present Sublime Highness is not to be so easily scared into concealment, and the pages who were wont to surround his predecessors merely precede him, while a crowd of military officers supply their place, one walking at each of his stirrups, and the rest a little in the rear.
As this was the first occasion on which I had seen the Sultan, I leant eagerly forward upon my cushions to obtain a good view of him; and I saw before me, at the distance of fifteen or twenty yards at the utmost, a man of noble physiognomy and graceful bearing, who sat his horse with gentlemanlike ease, and whose countenance was decidedly prepossessing. He wore in his fèz an aigrette of diamonds, sustaining a cluster of peacock’s feathers; an ample blue cloak was flung across his shoulders, whose collar was one mass of jewels, and on the third finger of his bridle hand glittered the largest brilliant that I ever remember to have seen.
As he moved forward at a foot’s pace, loud shouts of “Long live Sultan Mahmoud!” ran along the lines, and were re-echoed by the crowd, but he did not acknowledge the greeting, though his eyes wandered on all sides, until they fell upon our party, when a bright smile lit up his features, and for the first time he turned his head, and looked long and fixedly at us. In the next instant, he bent down, and said something in a subdued voice to the officer who walked at his stirrup, who, with a low obeisance, quitted his side, and hastily made his way through the crowd, until he reached our carriage, to the astonishment and terror of a group of Turkish women who had ensconced themselves almost under it; and, bowing to my father, who still stood bare-headed beside us, he inquired of one of the servants who I was and what had brought me to Constantinople; the Sultan, meanwhile, looking back continually, and smiling in the same goodhumoured and condescending manner.
The reply was simple—I was an Englishwoman, and had accompanied my father to Turkey, for the purpose of seeing the country; and, having received this answer, the messenger again saluted us, and withdrew.
A very short interval ensued ere he returned, and hurriedly and anxiously resumed his inquiries, to which our attendant became too nervous to reply; when he exclaimed, “Is there no one here who can act as Dragoman, and give me the intelligence which is required by his Sublime Highness?”
“I will inform you of all that you require to learn, Effendim;” said my companion in her soft, harmonious, Turkish: “the lady is English.”
“His Highness sees that she is English;” replied the officer: “but he wishes to know who she is.”
This important information was added, and once more he departed.
Crowds of decorated individuals closed the procession; and in five minutes more Sultan Mahmoud dismounted and entered the Mosque.
The Chèïk-Islam, or High Priest, had preceded his Imperial Master; but we saw him only at a distance as he ascended the marble steps that I have already mentioned, and passed in through the great entrance. He wore a turban of the sacred green, about which was wound a massive chain, or rather belt, of gold; and was mounted on a fine Arabian, whose bridle was held by two grooms.
Sultan Mahmoud is not a handsome man, and yet it is difficult to define wherefore; for his features are good and strongly marked, and his eye bright and piercing. His jet black hair, seen in heavy curls beneath the fèz, which, like most of his subjects, he wears drawn down low upon his forehead; and his bushy and well-trimmed beard, add considerably to the dignity of his appearance, as well as giving to him a look of much greater youth than he can actually boast; but this is a merely artificial advantage, being the effect of one of those skilful dyes so common in the East.
As in Japan, the popular belief is firm that the King never dies, so in Turkey the Sovereign is never permitted to imagine that he can grow old; and thus every officer of the household stains his hair and beard, and uses all the means with which art or invention can supply him, in order that no intrusive symptom of age or decay may shock the nerves, and awaken the regrets of his lord and contemporary—the faded beauties of the Seraglio are removed from his sight, the past is seldom adverted to, and the future is considered as his sure and undoubted heritage.
Never did monarch lend himself to the delicious cheat more lovingly than Sultan Mahmoud; who, with all his energy of character, is the victim (for in his case I can apply no other term) of the most consummate personal vanity. We are accustomed in England to think of George the Fourth as the ne plus ultra of exquisitism—the Prince of Petit-maîtres—but what will honest John Bull say to a Turkish Emperor, an Imperial Mussulmaun, who paints white and red, and who considers himself sufficiently repaid for all the care and anxiety of a costly toilette, by the admiration and flattery of the ladies of the Seraglio? And yet such is the case—the Immolator of the Janissaries, the reformer of a mighty empire, the sovereign of the gravest people upon earth, is a very “thing of shreds and patches”—a consumer of cosmetics—an idolater of gauds and toys—the Sacrificing High Priest at the altar of self-adornment!
On a recent occasion, having caused his hair (of which he is extremely vain) to be cut by the court coiffeur, he withdrew his fèz and inquired of his son-in-law, Halil Pasha, if he approved of the style in which it had been done. The Favorite, with a sincerity which did him honour, replied that the Imperial Head had been most basely shorn; and was forthwith desired to display the honours of his own cranium to his Sublime Highness, who immediately acquiesced in the superior skill of the artist who had operated upon the Pasha; and desired that, without a moment’s delay, the happy mortal who had exhibited such distinguished taste in curling and cutting should be summoned to his presence.
In five minutes, half a dozen of the palace officers were en route in search of the coiffeur, who was accidentally from home: and it was not until after a considerable delay that he was discovered, basin in hand, and razor in grasp, busily engaged in shaving the head of a grave-looking Armenian, who had already undergone half the operation. Despite the lathered skull of the customer, and the terrified deprecations of the artiste, the officers, who were utterly ignorant of the Sultan’s motive for summoning their prisoner, pounced upon him without mercy, and rather dragged than conducted him to the caïque that was waiting to convey him to the palace; whither he was followed by the silent and pitying wonder of the men, and the low wailing of the women.
On his arrival, he was immediately led into the Imperial presence, where his trembling knees instinctively bent under him, as he wildly gasped out his innocence of any and every crime against His Sublime Highness; he wrung his hands, he implored a mercy for which he scarcely dared to hope, he writhed in his agony of spirit, expecting nothing less than the bowstring for some imputed delinquency, and he talked of his wife, and his young and helpless children so soon to be cast upon the world unless his life were spared; while the Sultan laid aside his fèz, and prepared his own head for a more simple operation.
“Peace, fool!” said His Highness at length, “did you not cut the hair of Halil Pasha?”
“I did, your Sublime Highness; and to the best of my poor skill,” faltered out the pale and terrified artiste; “have mercy upon my want of knowledge!”
“Compose your nerves, and produce your scissors,” returned the Sultan; “you shall have the distinguished honour of cutting mine, also—to your task at once.”
No sooner said than done: men of this craft have been gifted with ready wit and self-possession, from the days in which the red-robed ghost of the German barber shaved the adventurous student in the haunted castle; and ere long His Imperial Highness was cropped and curled to his sublime satisfaction; and the hairdresser found himself appointed keeper of the head of the Turkish Empire—a “man of mark”—and returned to his home in triumph, not only quitte pour la peur, but with his wildest visions realized!
During the short period that the Sultan remained in the mosque, the scene around us was far from unamusing: the horses were paraded to and fro; the troops rested on their arms, and conversed freely with each other; the officers, breaking through the spell that had lately bound them, resumed their stroll and their scrutiny; and many a glance was directed towards our little party, for which we were indebted to the curiosity of their Imperial Master. Then came a rush from the great entrance of the mosque; and, when a host of red-capped and turbaned Turks had issued forth, the Chèïk-Islam slowly descended the steps, and departed in the same state as he had come. The horses were led back into their ranks; the military shouldered their muskets; and once more the Seraskier Pasha with his train of attendants paced slowly along the line.
Those officers who were of sufficiently high grade to attract his attention made their graceful obeisance, first laying their right hand upon their lips, and then upon their foreheads, and bowing down nearly to the earth; while the Pashas, who were not of a rank elevated enough to appear mounted before the Sultan, moved amid the throng, with their diamond orders and embroidered sword-belts glittering in the light. Among these was Namik Pasha, whom I had known in England, and who approached the carriage to greet me, while the Seraskier reined up his horse beneath the window of a house that overlooked the scene, and paid his compliments to Madame de Boutenieff, who sat surrounded by secretaries and attachés.
One by one, all the Pashas re-appeared, and, having saluted each other with a ceremonious etiquette that distinctly marked their respective ranks, they marshalled themselves round the gateway according to their precedence of power; and then it was that I particularly remarked the unpleasant effect of their ungloved hands, so utterly inconsistent, according to European ideas, with the magnificence of all the other details of their costume.
By a happy, though not altogether singular, coincidence, the husband of one of the princesses, and the intended husband of the other, are both the adopted sons of the old Seraskier; and as they took their places on either side of him, they naturally excited considerable attention.
Halil Pasha is a good-looking man, but clumsily and ungracefully made, with a grave expression of countenance; which, if report speak truly, the temper of his Imperial helpmate is not calculated to gladden.
Having mentioned the Princess Salihè, I may as well introduce in this place a little anecdote, for whose veracity my informant pledged himself. Her Imperial Highness, on one occasion, only a few months back, chanced to pass in her araba by a coffee-kiosk, in which a party of Ulemas, about thirty in number, were gravely smoking their chibouks. It chanced that no individual among them remarked the approach of the Imperial carriage; and they consequently all remained seated, as though the owner of the equipage had not been the Cousin of the Sun and Moon, and herself one of the principal constellations. The rage of the Princess was unbounded; and she instantly despatched one of her kavashlir for an armed guard, to whom she gave orders to convey the whole party to the palace of the Seraskier, to receive the bastinado for the want of respect which they had displayed towards her sacred person. To hear was to obey; and forthwith the thirty Ulemas, members of the most powerful body of men now existing in the Empire, were marched off to the Seraskier; to whom, on their appearance in the court of the palace, it was immediately announced that a formidable group of Ulemas, attended by a number of soldiers, were approaching, as if to demand an audience of His Excellency.
The Seraskier, anxious as to the purport of their visit, ordered that they should instantly be admitted; and, suspicious of some popular discontent, resolved upon giving them a most courteous reception; when he was struck dumb by the intelligence that they were prisoners sent to receive the punishment of their crime! For a moment even the Seraskier was at fault; but, suddenly looking towards them with a smiling countenance, and affecting not to remark the lowering brows of the outraged professors—“Her Imperial Highness has condescended to make merry with me,” he said gaily. “She threatened that I should pay dear for some unpalatable advice that I ventured to give her, and you are to be the medium of her vengeance. I comprehend the jest, and must abide by her good pleasure.” Then, turning to his purse-bearer, he desired him to count out one hundred piastres to each individual, which was accordingly done, and the discomfited Ulemas left the palace.
But the affair might have proved to be the very reverse of a jest in its consequences, and this the Pasha well knew when he ventured to set at nought the orders of the princess; and he accordingly lost no time in obtaining an audience of the Sultan, to whom he explained the whole circumstance. His Highness, after commenting gaily on the expedient of the Seraskier, and causing steps to be taken to ascertain that the aggrieved parties harboured no thoughts or designs of revenge, sent a stern message to his Imperial daughter, in which he warned her not to attempt on any future occasion to bastinado his learned and faithful subjects, thirty at a time.
Saïd Pasha, the affianced bridegroom of the Princess Mihirmàh, is decidedly the handsomest man at court, as well as one of the youngest; he has fine eyes, a prominent and well-shaped nose, and a smile of peculiar sweetness.
A burst of martial music again warned us of the approach of the Sultan; and, as he moved along upon his proud steed, which tossed its party-coloured plumes and flashing jewels in the clear sunshine, he turned towards us another look and another smile—and, in a few minutes, nothing of the pageant remained with us save its memory; if, indeed, I except the band, whose thrilling music, as they marched past, startled our horses, which began to rear and kick in so inconvenient a manner that we were glad to drive off; and, taking our way through “The Valley of the Sweet Waters,” along the banks of the sparkling Barbyses, and past the Imperial Kiosks, that rise like fairy palaces from the soft turf of that lovely spot, we returned, amid the freshness and beauty of a quiet day in Spring, to our residence at Pera.
CHAPTER XII.
The Military College—Achmet Pasha and Azmi Bey—Study of Azmi Bey—His grateful Memories of England and the English—The Establishment—The Lithographic Presses—Extemporaneous Poetry—Halls of Study—Number of Students—Mathematical Hall—The Sultan’s Gallery—The Mosque—The Mufti—The Turkish Creed—The Imperial Closet—The Gallery of the Imperial Suite—The Retiring-Room—The Printing-Office—The Hospital—The Refectory—The Professor of Fortification—Negro Officers—Moral Condition of the College—Courtesy of the Officers—Deficiencies of the Professors—The Turks a Reading People—Object of the Institution—Reasons of its Failure—Smiling Enemies—Forlorn Hope—Russian Influence—Saduk Agha—Achmet Pasha—Azmi Bey—Apology for my Prolixity.
The Military College, which, from its extent, and the lavish liberality of its arrangements, may well be termed a princely establishment, occupies the crest of a hill immediately above the Imperial palace of Dolma Batché, signifying the “Valley of Gourds”—and the tall minaret of its mosque shoots upwards into the blue heaven with the grace and lightness of a sky-winged arrow; while the gilded crescent in the centre of the dome reflects back the sparkling sunbeams as they flash upon its glittering surface.
As I had brought an introductory letter to Achmet Pasha, the governor, and had been personally acquainted in London with Azmi Bey, the Military Commandant, and, in fact, Principal of the Institution, I experienced no difficulty whatever in obtaining permission to pay it a visit; and I accordingly proceeded thither, accompanied by my father and a couple of friends, who were, like myself, anxious to form a correct opinion of the establishment.
We were met at the great entrance by the young Bey himself, who welcomed us with the most sincere cordiality; and, offering me his arm with a ready politeness quite European, he conducted us to his private apartment, or, perhaps, I should rather call it, study. This very cheerful and comfortable room, situated at an angle of the building, and commanding two magnificent points of view, was thickly hung with English and French engravings, principally interiors of our metropolitan buildings, college-halls, theatres, and other places of public resort, highly coloured—a large stove gave forth an agreeable warmth—the window seats were strown with books and papers—a few maps were lying upon a side table—a curious collection of volumes was gathered together in a small bookcase—and the apartment had altogether a more furnished and snug look than any which I had yet seen inhabited by a Turk—there were flowers also in a glass vase; and a paper-presser on which a sleeping Cupid lay stretched listlessly among his fabled roses—the souvenir of an European friend.
We remained some time talking over past days, and I was sincerely pleased by the fond and grateful manner in which he spoke of England, and his English acquaintance. He reminded me of several little by-gone incidents, inquired for particular individuals, and exhibited a warmth of feeling and interest in the past for which I was scarcely prepared. During the conversation, tea was handed to us in the Russian fashion by his dragoman, attended by two negro slaves, and after partaking of it we commenced our survey of the establishment.