The City of the Sultan; and Domestic Manners of the Turks, in 1836, Vol. 1 (of 2)

The main building forms three sides of a square, and the centre of the fourth is occupied by an elegant kiosk-like edifice, containing the lithographic presses. Here we found an individual designing a very neatly-ornamented sheet-almanac, of which he had sketched the border with great delicacy. All the machinery is English, and appears to be in constant use. I have omitted to mention that, before we quitted the apartment of Azmi Bey, he presented to us several of the Professors, who entered to pay their respects. Among these, the most remarkable was Saduk Agha, a Prussian renegade, who speaks French, Italian, and Turkish fluently, and has a considerable knowledge of English. After conversing with him for some time on the merits of lithography, and examining a number of drawings, principally military figures, that had been executed by the pupils of the establishment, and were many of them of considerable merit; he joined his entreaties to those of Azmi Bey that I would write a few lines as evidence of my visit, which they might put under the press. Finding that they were both determined to succeed, and not considering the point worthy of contention, I complied with the request, not a little amused at my first appearance in print in Turkey: and I much doubt whether any thing that I have hitherto written, am now writing, or may hereafter write, will ever be read and re-read with so much apparent gusto as the half dozen lines of doggrel verse which I improvised on a scrap of torn paper, sur la plante des pieds, surrounded by about a score of Turkish spectators.

From this point, we proceeded to the inner or garden court, of which one side is laid out in a parterre inclosure, the centre being occupied by the mosque, and the extreme end terminated by the two great halls of study. We entered the first of these by a noble flight of stone steps, and found ourselves in an apartment of vast extent, admirably lighted, and arranged with the most perfect order and conveniency. Thickly set rows of high-backed benches of stained wood extended the whole depth of the hall, leaving a passage on either side just sufficiently wide for the ingress and egress of visitors; and the first ranges of seats were occupied by about one hundred and fifty of the junior pupils, who were busily employed in tracing upon their slates the elegant characters of their language, as sentence after sentence was slowly declaimed by the head boy of the class. This department of the institution is on the Lancastrian system.

There are at present only three hundred students on the establishment; a report having been promulgated by its enemies that an attempt would be made to interfere with their religious tenets; in consequence of which many parents declined sending their sons: the only answer of the Governors to this calumny has been to compel the attendance of the boys three times a day at the mosque; a tolerably convincing proof that they entertain no anti-Mohammedan partialities.

As the School is expressly intended as a nursery for the army, all the ambition of the students is made to bear upon that point: extraordinary application, or regularity of conduct, is recompensed by a step of military rank; and thus, should the intention of the authorities ever be borne out, a youth of talent and good conduct may hereafter quit the college as an officer, and thus commence his actual career of life, where many of his predecessors have terminated their’s.

Having traversed the Lancastrian class, we reached the mathematical hall, where a considerable number of young men were busily engaged in colouring ground-plans of the surrounding country. The lower end of this stately apartment forms a deep bay, round which rows of seats are arranged amphitheatrically, having in the midst of them a table whereon are placed globes, charts, and all the requisites for study. The other extremity of the hall is terminated by a raised gallery, intended for the use of the Sultan, above which hangs his portrait in oils, executed by an Armenian artist, harsh, and crude, and wiry, as though it had been the production of a Chinese easel, and surmounted by a most elaborate drapery. Beneath the portrait is stretched a noble map of the Archipelago, the Sea of Marmora, and the Bosphorus. An electrifying machine, and a large map of America, an immense table, and the desks and seats of the students, made up the remainder of the furniture; and the apartment itself was by far the finest that I had yet seen in the country.

The next point of curiosity was the mosque; and I was no less surprised than gratified at the readiness with which Azmi Bey acceded to our desire of visiting it. The outer apartment, or vestibule, was covered with fine Indian matting, and before we traversed it the Bey requested my father to put off his boots, though he made no objection to my retaining my slippers. As we reached the door which opened into the body of the mosque, I perceived that we had arrived during the prayers. The High Priest sat with his arms folded above his ample robe; his dark brow surmounted by a turban of the sacred green, and his feet doubled under him, in a recess facing the entrance, chanting in a nasal and monotonous drawl; while a very slender congregation was scattered over the floor, squatted upon the rich carpets that covered it. But we no sooner made our appearance than the Mufti rose and quitted the mosque, followed by his little flock; and we were left in quiet possession of the elegant temple whence they had so hastily withdrawn.

The faith of the Musselmauns is that of love, not fear: to believe in One God, and to be charitable—and who shall deny that it is a comprehensive creed? The mosque in which we stood was the very embodiment of such a worship—the sunshine streamed through its many windows upon the most delicate fresco-painting, the brightest and richest of carpets, and the glittering lattices of the Imperial closet. The only dark object that met the eye was a curtain of olive-coloured cloth, surrounded by a bordering of flowers, delicately worked in tinted silks, which veiled the entrance of the marble steps leading to the pulpit—all beside was dazzlingly bright, and it was almost with regret that I returned into the vestibule, in order to ascend to the Sultan’s gallery.

A small hall and a handsome flight of stairs, closely covered with English carpeting, conducted us to an elegant anti-room, from which four doors, veiled by draperies of dove-coloured cloth heavily fringed, opened into as many apartments, appropriated to the Sultan and his suite.

The Imperial closet is richly hung with gold-coloured draperies, that fling a sunset glow on the surrounding objects: a magnificent sofa occupies one side of the room, and the floor is covered with a Brussels carpet. Portions of the gilded lattice open and shut at pleasure; and the whole has so perfectly Oriental an effect, that you involuntarily think of Scheherazade and her fable-loving Sultan; and forget the sanctity of the place, while contemplating the luxury of its arrangement.

The gallery appropriated to the Imperial suite adjoins the closet, and beyond this is the retiring-room of the Sultan, wherein he performs his ablutions, previously to the commencement of the service. It is less gorgeous in its general effect than the closet, but commands a noble view of the Bosphorus, and the Sea of Marmora.

On leaving the mosque, we descended by a flight of stone steps into the vaults beneath it, to visit the printing-office, where all was activity: compositors were setting the types—“devils” were guiding the rollers—lads were folding the printed sheets—and binders were stitching them into volumes. Every thing was clean, and orderly, and well conducted.

We next made a tour of the hospital; and, had not two of the beds been tenanted, I should have quitted the establishment, if not with a firm conviction, at least with a very strong suspicion, that it was intended merely for show, it was so delicately clean and so beautifully arranged.

At the head of the stairs was the receiving-room of the surgeon; and beyond this, on either side of the gallery, were the laboratory and the surgery, their doors veiled with white muslin, and every article in its place; the dormitories, which are only two in number, each capable of containing about a score of patients, were carpeted along the centre; the beds were tastefully draperied with muslin: and a small table stood near each pillow; while along the cornice of the ceiling were suspended, at regular distances, small tablets, whereon were inscribed the names of the different diseases to be treated in the ward.

The refectory was perfectly European in its aspect, surrounded by long narrow tables and benches, and well supplied with plates, spoons, forks, and soup-ladles. As we entered, Azmi Bey looked towards us confidently for applause. He had truly worked a goodly reform in Turkish habits, when he taught each boy to put his fork into his own plate, instead of plunging his fingers into the dish of the community! Nor did we fail to compliment him on the change.

By the time that we had completed our survey of the Establishment, our “tail” would have been no contemptible rival to that of Mr. O’Connell—every Professor and Officer connected with the Institution having made his bow, and joined the party. And not the least conspicuous of the number was the Professor of Fortification, who, besides being a Creole, had one of the most frightful and resolute squints I ever had the misfortune to meet with; and the Captain of the Guard, a very corpulent and consequential negro. Black officers and soldiers are, however, common in Turkey, where a man’s colour is never construed into an objection to profit by his services, nor an excuse for leaving them unrewarded.

Having described in detail the external arrangements of the Military College of Turkey, it now remains for me to advert to its moral condition, and this is truly a melancholy task; for, rich as I have shown it to be in all the outward attributes necessary to such an Establishment, it is utterly destitute of the more essential requisites for insuring the important end of its foundation.

Care and cost have been lavished upon it unsparingly: it is a favourite toy of the Sultan—a subject of ceaseless thought and interest to Achmet Pasha, to whose immediate control it has been entrusted—the one engrossing object of Azmi Bey’s solicitude—the Great National Scholastic Establishment—the nursery for the Imperial Army. But, alas! despite all these advantages, it is like the Statue of Pygmalion ere it was warmed to life—a body without a soul—matter without mind—a splendid machine, without a competent and practised hand to call forth its powers, and to work out its effects!

To the courtesy of the several individuals immediately connected with the Institution, I have already borne testimony; nor does a doubt exist in my own mind of their sincere zeal for its welfare and prosperity. But, unhappily, the best intentions, and the most earnest enthusiasm, must fail to compensate the painful deficiency of that talent and experience necessary to its success. Could sentiment be deepened into science, and inclination be wrought into ability, the Military College would take high ground; for the students are eager in the pursuit of knowledge, but, where the means are limited, the effects must be comparatively inconsequent: and it is a melancholy truth that the untiring application, the admirable docility, and the promising talents of the pupils, can only conduct them to a certain point, beyond which their best efforts will not enable them to progress unassisted. This is more particularly the fact as regards the youth of Turkey, from the circumstance of their being by nature imitative rather than inventive; and, moreover, not possessing those opportunities of observation and individual research which lead the students of Europe to rely in no trifling degree upon their own mental resources.

In our western world the wings of Genius are never clipped—the sunny path of Talent is never overshadowed—the calm brow of Science is never clouded—by a deficiency in the means of further improvement, encouragement, and support. But Education, as we comprehend the term, is yet in its first infancy in Turkey; and should the same evil influence which is now blighting with its Upas breath the Ottoman atmosphere be long suffered to exhale its poisonous properties, it is certain to annihilate all power of improvement.

Perhaps, with the single exception of Great Britain, there exists not in the world a more reading nation than Turkey. I have no doubt that this assertion will startle many individuals in Europe, who have been accustomed, and, indeed, led to believe, that the natives of the East are, as a people, plunged in the profoundest ignorance. It is, nevertheless, a fact that nearly every man throughout the Empire can read and write, and that there are at this moment upwards of eight thousand children scattered through the different schools of the capital. But the studies of the Osmanlis of both sexes have, with some few exceptions, hitherto been confined to the Koran, and to works of an inconsequent and useless description; the mere plaything of an idle hour, incapable of inspiring one novel idea, or of leaving upon the mind impressions calculated to exalt or to enlighten it.

The object of such an Institution as a Public School was undoubtedly to widen the mental views, and to enlarge the tastes of the youth of Turkey. But, in order to effect this very desirable end, it was requisite that the soundest judgment should be exercised in the selection of the individuals to whom were committed its different departments of literature and science, and this was unfortunately far from being the case; the internal economy of the Establishment having been entrusted to persons so decidedly incompetent that, with every desire to do their duty, they have erred, from their utter ignorance of the extent of the task which they have undertaken, or which has been forced upon them.

As far as the different Professors are capable of so doing, they have directed the studies and formed the tastes of the students; but the young and ardent mind, thirsting after knowledge, and earnest in its acquirement, demands assistance as progressive as its own advancement. The fresh and buoyant spirit requires external aid, at once able and judicious, to support its vigour, and to strengthen its yet unpractised wing. And where these fail, where the shadow is alone furnished, while the substance is wanting, what can be expected from the comparatively unassisted efforts of young and unformed intellects, that have not simply to struggle onward towards a goal to be attained only by their best energies; but also to contend against, and to cast from them, a crowd of early prejudices and associations—while they are destitute of the assistance of more experienced and mature talents, upon which to fall back, when they have themselves just acquired sufficient knowledge to feel their own deficiencies?

Let it not be believed for an instant that the Turks, had they been left to the free exercise of their own good sense and reflection, are so obtuse as not to have made the discovery that the progress of the pupils was necessarily retarded by the inexperience and incompetency of the preceptors. He who judges thus hastily will wrong them. Already had the suspicion sprung up in their minds—already did those on whom the authority for so doing more particularly devolved suggest the expediency of procuring, from Europe, men of talent, science, and judgment, capable of sustaining the credit of the Establishment. But the project was crushed in the bud; negatived on its first suggestion; set aside by a single sentence; that sentence which has become all-powerful in Constantinople—and thus the ruin of the Institution is already sealed by the incapacity of its professors, the prejudices of its enemies, and the lavish and deceitful encomiums of its false friends.

Achmet Pasha has been told that never did establishment prosper like the Military College of Constantinople. A foreign minister has declared it perfect; and obsequious secretaries and attachés have raised their hands and eyes in almost religious wonder. Compliments have been lavished on the meagre talents of the masters, and smiles have veiled their deficiencies. And thus, flattered into a belief of their own sufficiency on the one hand, and misled by misstatements on the other, the influential individuals connected with the unhappy College have abandoned it to the ruin which must ultimately, and at no distant period, overtake it; from the hopeless incapacity of a set of men, who, familiar with the name of every science under Heaven, are most of them profoundly ignorant of all save the first rudiments of each; and who are, consequently, ill calculated to work that great moral change so ardently desired by all the true friends of Turkey.

I put forth this assertion boldly, because I have convinced myself of its justice; and if—after having stated the eagerness with which the students seek to acquire information, the care and cost that have been lavished on the College itself, and the zeal and untiring watchfulness of those to whose charge it has been intrusted—I am asked the simple question of wherefore this great National Institution is crippled in so senseless and ruinous a manner by the appointment of inefficient individuals to its most important and responsible posts, the answer is ready—It is the will of Russia!

The growth of knowledge is the destruction of tyranny and oppression: it is the moral axe struck to the core of the wide-spreading Banian of usurpation and encroachment—it is the light of mind, dispelling the darkness of prejudice and falsehood.

Were Turkey once roused to a perfect estimate of her own moral power, she must inevitably cast off the web that has been slowly and craftily woven about her; and which, should no friendly hand disentangle its intricate threads ere it be yet too late, must ultimately fetter her strength beyond all power of resuscitation. To do this she must take an enlarged and correct view of her position—she must be able to appreciate her just value among the nations—she must be capable of combating sophistry with caution, and craft with calculative wisdom. This power she can only acquire by placing herself upon a mental equality with more civilized Europe; by training up her youth to habits of reflection and scientific research; by awakening within their breasts the generous emulation of excellence; and by opening before them paths of honour and advancement, no longer to be trodden by the weak foot of chance, but sacred to superior merit and superior genius.

All this must Turkey accomplish ere she can once again be great and free. And it is to prevent this that the subtle policy of her archenemy, Russia, strains every nerve, and exerts every energy—the blandishments of a flattery, to which she is constitutionally too susceptible for her real welfare—the threats of a strength beneath which she is unfortunately already bowed almost to the dust—for should some generous spark of honour be aroused to resistance, there is the unanswerable declaration—L’Empereur le veut! beyond which there is no appeal.

Thus Russia looked upon the College with a jealous eye—it might, if suffered to progress towards perfection unchecked, ultimately become a great moral engine in the hands of the Turkish government: and this was, of course, not to be permitted. The Russian Legation consequently took an overwhelming and most generous interest in all the details of the establishment; laughed to scorn the necessity of European science and European assistance, where native talent was so rife—employed her creatures in writing complimentary and fulsome panegyrics on the Institution, which were lithographed at the school, and translated for the Sultan; and, in short, administered such copious draughts of flattery to all connected with the establishment, that their soporific effects are painfully apparent in the quiet, self-gratulatory, smiling satisfaction of those, who, while they believe that they are nursing the new-born Institution into vigour, are actually closing their encircling arms so tightly about its throat that they are strangling it in its first weakness.

The School has but one hope—and that is unhappily faint and afar off. There are now between thirty and forty promising young men studying in Europe, who may perchance one day be enabled to effect its resuscitation. But years must elapse ere the most gifted pupils are eligible to become preceptors: and before those years are past, what may be the fate of Turkey? England must resolve the question.

At present it is certain that the Military College is indirectly under Russian control and patronage; all the professors having been selected openly or covertly by themselves. And thus, one individual, for the limited remuneration of about £200 a year, not having the fear of ridicule before his eyes, gravely undertakes to impart to his pupils the knowledge of some half dozen sciences, among which geography and astronomy are far from being the most profound or conspicuous.

Saduk Agha, of whom I have already spoken, is a man of distinguished abilities, who, had he been suffered to do so, might have materially assisted the studies of the pupils; but this point would have been too mighty for Russian policy to concede; and, as it was not judged prudent to exclude him altogether, and thus draw down remarks which might have proved inconvenient, his services were secured at a salary of £150 a year, to teach the Prussian game entitled Le Jeu de Guerre, which is a species of dissected military map, put together precisely like the puzzles used by children in England.

Achmet Pasha, (to whom, as I have already remarked, the superintendence of the Institution has been immediately confided), however much he may desire its prosperity, has scarcely time, talent, or opportunity, (as I think it will be conceded when I have enumerated his multitudinous avocations) to give to it the care and attention which it requires from its Principal; or to bestow upon it that watchful surveillance so necessary to the prosperity of an Establishment for youth. He is Grand Chamberlain—Generalissimo of the Imperial Guard—Governor of the Military College—Director of the Roads—Grand Master of the Artillery—Head of the Police—Inspector of Naval Architecture—pro tempore Lord of the Admiralty, and Governor of Natolia—in short, he either is, or requires to be, an universal genius.

Azmi Bey, the Military Commandant, with a zeal which retains him a willing prisoner almost constantly within the walls of the college, and an enthusiasm that neither difficulties nor disappointments have yet quenched, is, nevertheless, too young and too inexperienced to be equal to meet efficiently the weighty responsibility that has been thrust upon him; and for which he is indebted to a quickness of observation, an ardent desire of improvement, and a facility of imitation, called forth and developed by his brief residence in Europe. All that he was competent to effect, he has already accomplished; for he has reduced to order the chaos of conflicting prejudices and associations, and habits, which met him, Hydra-headed, on the very threshold of his task. From his limited experience of European feelings and manners, he has also profited sufficiently to enable him to adopt much that was worthy of imitation; while, on the other hand, he has judiciously rejected much of which the utility and desirableness were at best problematical. The easy, I may almost say, affectionate manner of all around him convince you at once that he is gentle in his rule; while the earnestness with which he interests himself in the most minute details connected with the Establishment is an equal proof of his unfeigned desire for its success. But the brevity of his European sojourn, and the confusion of ideas, and hurry of mind, consequent on a residence in London during the height of the season—the rapidity with which he was whirled from military and naval colleges to railroads and manufactories, from museums and libraries to public gardens and theatres—could scarcely, even with the most ceaseless efforts on his own part, have afforded opportunities for study, or time for reflection and research, calculated to render him the efficient mainspring of so complicated and delicate a piece of machinery as a great National Academy.

I fear that I have been prolix on the subject of this interesting Establishment, which might have become a moral sceptre in the hand of a future Sultan, and which is now “a vain shadow” and “a white-washed sepulchre;” but it is impossible not to feel deeply the cruel wrong committed by the false sophisms of a smiling enemy, towards a confiding and unsuspicious people; yet was my sympathy unmingled with surprise. Did not Russia refuse to allow the Porte to ratify the engagements entered into by Reschid Bey with the European officers whom he had selected for the service of the Sultan? And was it probable that she would permit a nearer and a more certain danger without an effort to annihilate it?

One more question, and I have done. Will the traveller in Turkey, fifty years hence, have any thing to tell of the Military College of Constantinople? Alas! I doubt it.

CHAPTER XIII.

Invitation from Mustapha Pasha of Scodra—The Caïque, and the Caïquejhes—How to Travel in a Caïque—Hasty Glances—Self-Gratulation—Scutari—Imperial Superstition—The Seraglio Point—Dolma Batchè—Beshiktash—The Turning Dervishes—Beglièrbey—The Kiosks—A Dilemma—A Ruined Palace—An Introduction—A Turkish Beauty—A Discovery—A New Acquaintance—The Buyuk Hanoum—Fatiguing Walk—Palace of Mustapha Pasha—The Harem—Turkish Dyes—Ceremonies of Reception—Turkish Establishment—The Buyuk Hanoum—Turkish Chaplets—The Imperial Firman—Pearls, Rubies, and Emeralds—The Favourite Odalique—Heyminè Hanoum—A Conversation on Politics—Scodra Pasha—Singular Coincidence—Convenience of the Turkish Kitchen—Luxury of the Table—Coquetry of the Chibouk—Turkish Mode of Lighting the Apartments—Gentleness towards the Slaves—Interesting Reminiscences—Domestic Details—Dilaram Hanoum—A Paragraph on Pearls—A Turkish Mirror—A Summons—Scodra Pasha—Motives for Revolt—The Imperial Envoy—Submission—Ready Wit of the Pasha’s Son—The Reception Room—Personal Appearance of the Scodra Pasha—Inconvenient Courtesy—Conversation on England—Philosophy—Pleasant Dreams—The Plague-Smitten.

Accompanied by a Greek lady of my acquaintance, I embarked one fine morning on board our caïque, to pay a visit to the wife and daughter of Mustapha Pasha of Scodra. As his palace was situated in a distant quarter of the city, and we were anxious to avoid the necessity of rattling over the rude and broken pavement of the streets in an araba, we resolved to stretch out beyond the Seraglio Point; and, following the walls that are now crumbling into ruin along the coast, disembark at Yani-capu, or the New Gate pier.

Our sturdy rowers accordingly bent to their oars, and the arrowy caïque shot across the port, and out into the wider sea beyond, like a wild bird. The boatmen were clad in their summer garb, for the sunshine lay bright upon the water, and scarcely a breath of air murmured among the dark branches of the cypress groves. They wore shirts of silk gauze, of about the thickness of mull-muslin, with large hanging sleeves, and bordered round the breast with a narrow scallopping of needlework; their ample trowsers were of white cotton, and their shaven heads were only partially covered by small skull-caps of red cloth, with pendent tassels of purple silk; their feet were bare.

My companion and myself occupied cushions spread along the bottom of the boat: the most comfortable, as well as the safest way to travel in a caïque, which, from its peculiar formation, is liable to be overset by the slightest imprudence; while our Greek servant, with his legs folded under him, was seated on the raised stern of the boat, immediately behind us.

What pretty peeps we had of the Seraglio gardens, as we shot along; through the many latticed openings contrived for the gratification of the fair prisoners. What magnificent glimpses of domes and minarets, of bursting foliage, of marble fountains, and of gilded kiosks! But, alas! how vain must have been all the luxurious inventions of the most luxurious of Sultans, to insure happiness to the tenants of this painted prison! I looked around me on the sea-birds that were sporting upon the wave—above me, to the fleecy clouds that were sailing over the blue ether—far into the distance where a shoal of dolphins were gamboling almost above the water; and, as I felt the motion of the swift caïque, while it was gently heaved up and down by the current of the sea of Marmora, and saw how rapidly we sped along, I breathed a silent thanksgiving that I too was free! Free to come and to go—to love or to reject—to gaze in turn upon every bright and beautiful scene of nature, untrammelled, and unquestioned—that no Sultan could frown me into submission—no Kislar Agha frighten me into hypocrisy—in short, that I was not born a subject of his Sublime Highness, Mahmoud the Powerful.

On our left, rose the lordly mountain of Bulgurlhu Dagi, above Scutari, whose shores were fringed with country-houses, and hanging gardens; gradually deepening into a sterner character as they receded from the Bosphorus, and lifting to the sky the palace-like barrack, and the elegant Persian kiosk of the Sultan. The present Sovereign has a superstition derived from an astrologer whom he consulted in his youth, that, while he is constructing Imperial residences, he is sure to be fortunate in his other undertakings; and hence he is continually adding to the almost countless numbers of palaces and kiosks, that occupy the loveliest spots throughout the vicinity of the capital.

The most extensive and ancient of these is that which is situated at the entrance of the harbour, and gives its name to the “Seraglio Point,” the walls of the Imperial Seraï running, as I have already mentioned, far along the coast. On the opposite shore is the small but elegant palace of Scutari, with its bowery terraces, which are overlooked by the Sultan’s principal residence of Dolma Batchè; and you may shoot an arrow from the many-coloured and irregularly constructed palace of Dolma Batchè to the vast edifice now building on the same border of the Bosphorus, with infinitely less taste and more architectural pretension—although, with true Eastern inconsistency, the whole of the stupendous palace above Beshiktash, save the foundation, is of wood, surrounded by a colonnade, supported on stately columns of white marble.

This palace, of which the expence is estimated at a million sterling, has been already a considerable time in progress; and is erected on a locality that was partly occupied by a beautiful kiosk of Sultan Selim, and partly by a Tekiè and Chapel of Turning Dervishes.

These latter, with a tenacity altogether incompatible with our European ideas of a despotic government, resolutely refused to quit their convent, when the plan of the new palace which rendered their ejection indispensable was explained to them. They had come to a resolution not to move—their mausoleum contained the holy ashes of a saint, and, in short, they were determined to measure their strength with the Sultan. Accordingly, raising the cry of sacrilege, they continued snugly within their convent walls, which were soon overtopped by the Imperial pile that rose gradually on either side of them.

But Sultan Mahmoud was born a century too late to be thus baffled—the work went on; and he bore the opposition to his will with most exemplary patience so long as it did not retard the operations of his architects. But, when the moment at length arrived which rendered expedient the removal of the fraternity, he claimed from the Chèïk Islam, or High Priest, his permission to expel them; and, having failed in procuring it, quietly mounted his horse, and rode up to the convent gate. The Chief Dervish met him on the threshold, and the dialogue was brief:—

“Your Tekiè occupies the ground necessary to the completion of my palace:—you must vacate it.”

“We guard the sepulchre of a saint, may it please your Sublime Highness.”

“My pleasure is your immediate removal—I have provided a place of reception for your community.”

“We are not strong enough to contend against your Imperial will. We obey.” And the fraternity were put in possession of an extensive edifice, lately occupied by the Court Jester!

By a strange chance, this house was situated immediately under the holy tomb which had afforded to the Dervishes their principal pretext for disobedience to the Imperial mandate; and the Sultan adroitly availed himself of the fact to impress upon them the eligibility of the situation, pointing out, with a solemnity worthy of the occasion, that it was more decent for them to be domesticated on the very spot consecrated by the remains of the illustrious deceased, than at the distance of a furlong, as had hitherto been the case. The observation was a happy one, and the remark unanswerable; and the fraternity were fain to affect accordance with the sentiment, however inconvenient its effects.

Immediately opposite, seated upon the Asian shore, like a regal beauty contemplating her gorgeousness in the clear mirror of the Bosphorus, rises the summer palace of Beglièrbey—with its walls of pale gold and dead white; the prettiest and most fanciful of all the Imperial residences, and rendered doubly agreeable by its spacious gardens and overhanging groves.

But the kiosks! Who shall number the kiosks! those gilt-latticed, many-formed, and graceful toys, which seem as though they had been rained from the sky during an hour of sunshine—see them on the heights of the Asian shore—seek them in the depths of the “Valley of Sweet Waters”—count them as they rise at short distances along the walls of the Seraï—pause a moment to admire their fairy-like beauty as you gallop through some lovely glen, so wild and solitary that you almost fancied yourself to have been the first who has ever explored its recesses—any where, every where, you come upon them; and they are so neatly kept, so brightly gilt, and so gaily painted, that they look like gigantic flowers scattered over the landscape.

But back, my truant fancy, to the sea of Marmora, and the shores of Scutari; where the light caïque is bounding over the heaving waters, and Mount Olympus, with its crown of snow, is summoning you to memories of the days when, if Gods indeed were not, men lent them life! Back to the hoary walls of Byzantium—to the lingering relics of the Ancient Romans—to the City of the True Believers!

We passed the little bay of Cum-capu, or Sandport, and our caïque shortly afterwards shot into the creek of Yani-capu; but we had not left the boat five minutes when we became suspicious that the servant was not altogether so familiar with the road leading to the palace of the Pasha as he had professed to be. Nor were our suspicions erroneous; for, after leading us up one street and down another; along the foot of the Aqueduct of Justinian; and amid the blackened remains of the last great fire, he fairly confessed that he had lost his way.

In this dilemma, we took a guide, who assured us that he was as familiar with the palace of the Scodra Pasha as with his own house, and so he proved to be; though the trifling inconvenience that ensued convinced us that we were as far from our object as ever. After threading a vast number of narrow streets, each more filthy than the last, we at length reached one which, built on a steep acclivity, boasted a somewhat more comfortable and cleanly appearance; the houses were larger and better kept, and the shops less frequent and more respectable. Our guide stopped before a pair of great gates about half way up the hill, and, seizing the knocker, gave very audible evidence of our wish for admittance; after which he pocketed his piastres, and withdrew.

On the opening of the gate, we found ourselves in a small covered court, choked with rubbish. A house, literally “tottering to its fall,” and propped on the garden side with heavy pieces of timber, presented itself as the palace of the Pasha; and the door of the harem, which one rude blow would have shivered to atoms, was immediately before us.

We looked at each other in wonder; but, as the servant who had given us admittance assured us that we had made no mistake, which we were not only inclined, but really anxious to believe that we had done, we desired to be conducted to the Buyuk Hanoum. A loud blow on the door of the harem, most portentously echoed by the void beyond, was instantly answered by the appearance of a tall, bony, grinning negress; who, having bade us welcome, invited us to follow her to her mistress.

The stairs by which we ascended to the harem creaked and quivered beneath our weight; the window that lighted them was uncurtained, and its missing panes were replaced by rags and paper—there was no matting upon the floor of the empty, chilly, comfortless hall into which the apartments opened—and the whole appearance of the place was so desolate and wretched, that I shivered as I remembered that I had engaged myself to pass the night there.

Having traversed the hall, the slave lifted the heavy curtain veiling the door of one of the inner apartments; and, having obeyed her bidding, we found ourselves in a small, snug, well-heated room, closely carpeted and curtained; and at the instant of our entrance a beautiful girl rose from the sofa where she had been seated, and welcomed us with a smile and a blush that made us forget at once “the ruin of her house.” There was one circumstance connected with the greeting, however, that struck us as very singular; she made no allusion to our having been expected: but there was, on the contrary, a sort of wonder and curiosity in her manner, which, with intuitive good-breeding, she did not express.

We were both still haunted by the idea that there must be some mistake; and this impression was heightened by the timid and constrained bearing of the young beauty, who, after having clapped her hands, and desired the two or three slaves who hastily obeyed the summons to prepare sweetmeats and coffee, suddenly sank into silence, as though waiting to learn the purport of our visit. My companion, acting upon the presumption that some mistake must exist, although she was unable to comprehend its nature, once more inquired if she were correct in supposing that we were in the palace of the Scodra Pasha.

Again she was answered affirmatively.

“And you are then the beautiful daughter of the Pasha, of whom I have heard so much?”

“I am the wife of his son,”—was the reply, which, concise as it was, brought a brighter blush to the cheek of the speaker.

And she was beautiful, according to the strict rule of Turkish loveliness; with rich red lips, large dark sleepy eyes, and a throat as white and dazzling as the inner leaf of the water-lily.

“You are young to be a wife; have you been long married?”

“Exactly twelve months—I am thirteen; my husband is a year older.”

“Did you expect us earlier?”

“Expect you!” echoed the fair Turk, opening her deep eyes in wonder: “Mashallah! how could I expect that two Frank ladies would come to visit me?”

This was inexplicable!

“I trust that the Pasha has quite recovered his late indisposition,” pursued my companion after a moment’s silence.

“I did not know that he was unwell; we have not heard from him lately.”

“Heard from him?” echoed Madame——in her turn; “my husband had a long conversation with him yesterday.”

Again the beauty dilated her large eyes in wonder. “Impossible! He is in Albania.” Here was the solution of the enigma. We were bound on a visit to Mustapha Pasha, the rebel—and we were under the roof of Omer Pasha, his present successor!

After a hearty laugh on all sides, we were quite at our ease; the young beauty handed scented conserves and coffee to us with her own pretty, plump, henna-tipped fingers; and informed us that her mother-in-law, the Buyuk Hanoum, and herself, were occupying a house lent to them by a friend, for the few weeks which they found it expedient to pass in Constantinople, while making their arrangements for Albania, where they were shortly to join the Pasha.

After passing half an hour in chatting on various subjects, we rose to take our leave, and to profit by the polite offer of our new acquaintance to send a servant to point out to us the palace of Mustapha Pasha. As we were making our parting compliments, a slave came in to request that we would pay a visit to the Buyuk Hanoum in her apartment, whither she had just returned from the bath.

We immediately assented, and were conducted to a spacious room at the other extremity of the hall, where we found the lady seated under the tandour, and almost in darkness; the windows of the room being on the old Turkish principle—that is, perforated in a double tier—the lower ones so closely latticed that they admitted scarcely any light, and barely permitted those within to see into the street; and the upper ones, small and half circular, dull with dust, situated close to the ceiling, and, in several instances, where time or accident had displaced the glass, repaired roughly with thin planks nailed across. The atmosphere of the apartment was close and oppressive, perfume having been flung into the mangal as we entered, which was rising in a dense vapour; and every creek and crevice in the room (and they were not few) being stopped with pink paper.

The Buyuk Hanoum received us with much courtesy, and apologized for not having welcomed us herself on our first arrival in her own apartment, owing to her having been at the moment in the bath; and she appeared much amused at the mistake, (of which her slaves had already informed her) that had brought us under her roof. She had formerly been a fine woman, but was no longer young, and had consequently lost all the charming fraicheur (I use the French word, for it is perfectly untranslateable) which is the great beauty of Oriental females. In the course of conversation, we discovered that she was sister to one of the wives of Achmet Pasha; and had herself been to pay a visit to the harem of Mustapha Pasha the previous day.

As our engagement still remained to be fulfilled, we did not long linger in the apartment of the Buyuk Hanoum; but, taking leave of herself and her pretty little daughter-in-law, who had, during our visit, remained standing at the end of the room, with her hands folded meekly before her, while we shared the sofa of the hostess: we placed ourselves under the guidance of a bearded and turbaned Moslem, who was awaiting us in the courtyard, and once more sallied forth.

What a walk we had! Up and down, and in and out, until I began to think that the tales of Eastern enchantment that I had read in my girlhood were now realized for my individual inconvenience, and that the palace was receding as rapidly as we advanced. I was not, however, suffered to persist in this idle fancy, for we really did arrive at last, although some hours later than we should have done, before the great gates of an extensive edifice, which I am bound to admit had, externally, more the appearance of a barrack than a palace. Half a dozen servants, several of them negroes, were lounging in listless idleness at the entrance, which our arrival instantly changed into ready and officious bustle.

We were ushered across an extensive courtyard to one of the wings of the palace, a vast, irregular, pile of building; and a single stroke upon the door of the harem was immediately answered from within: a group of smiling female slaves received us in an inner court, wherein stood the araba of the Buyuk Hanoum, and a very handsome marble fountain, at which a pretty girl of about eighteen was performing her ablutions. A couple of the negroes accompanied us up stairs, and, leading us across a very handsome saloon, whose recesses were filled with cushions, and whose open gallery commanded the court beneath, showed us into a smaller apartment, and seated us on a sofa, whereon lay a mandolin and a tambourine, probably flung there by some fair musicians whom our approach had startled from their pastime.

Here we were shortly joined by a very old woman, who came to pay her compliments to us; and who, from her manner, was evidently a confidential person in the harem. She had been extremely beautiful, and was still a fine ruin; the outline of her features being delicate and regular; while her hair, of a bright chesnut colour, unmixed with a taint of gray, gave her a softness of expression perfectly singular. This latter circumstance only served to convince me of the great superiority of the dyes in use among the Turkish women, to those common in Europe; a fact which I had already occasion to notice: whatever may be the age of a Turkish female, she is seldom disfigured by gray hair, but, on the contrary, her tresses are as pure in colour, and as smooth and glossy, as those of the youngest girl in her family.

A female slave shortly afterwards appeared to conduct us to the apartment of the Buyuk Hanoum, which, when we entered, was half filled with attendants, some standing in a semicircle round the mangal, and others squatted on the carpet at the extremity of the room.

As this was the first harem that I had visited, where the establishment was on the true Turkish footing—or, to speak more plainly, where there were more candidates than one for the affections of the master of the house, although there was, in point of fact, actually but one wife—I paid particular attention to those delicate shades of etiquette and gradations of ceremony that I had been prepared to notice in these “princely families.”

The Buyuk Hanoum occupied the upper end of the sofa, against which the tandour was placed; she was a plain woman, with a cold and somewhat stern expression of countenance: and there was more haughtiness in the bend and the smile wherewith she welcomed us, than I had yet seen exhibited by a Turkish female; when we entered, she was amusing herself, as is common with both sexes in this country, (as well Turks as Armenians) in passing rapidly through her fingers the beads of a chaplet, that rested on the gold-embroidered covering of the tandour.

I must be permitted a momentary digression on the subject of these chaplets, which are as popular, or very nearly so, as the chibouk. They resemble, somewhat, the rosary of the Roman Catholics, save that instead of being terminated by a crucifix and a knot of relics, they are merely beads strung upon a silk cord, divided at intervals by some of a larger size, and secured, at the junction of the cord, by a carved acorn, or an ornament of a like description. They are commonly made of a wood, which, becoming heated by the action of the hand emits a delicious perfume; but their material depends upon the taste and means of the owner; the poorer classes carrying chaplets of berries, common beads, and other cheap substitutes, for this somewhat costly indulgence.

The more independent the circumstances of a Turk, and consequently the less use he is called upon to make of his hands, the more constantly are they employed in toying with his chaplet—his fingers are busy with it as he walks along the street—you hear the light click, click, click, of the fast-falling beads, as he is squatted on his sofa—nay, so fond is he of this dull enjoyment, that, only a short period after my arrival at Constantinople, a Firman was issued by the Sultan, forbidding the use of the chaplet in the mosques, the noise of so many collected together, and all at work at the same time, disturbing the Mufti.

It is composed of ninety-nine beads, without including that which connects the ends of the cord. With each of the former, an attribute of God is recited thus; Great—Glorious—Excellent—Omnipotent—&c. &c. The final bead terminates the ejaculatory prayer, and bears the name of the Deity himself.

The chaplet of the Buyuk Hanoum was of fine pearls, beautifully matched, and each the size of a pea, the divisions being formed by emeralds similarly shaped and sized, and the whole string secured by one pear-shaped emerald the size of a hazel-nut.

At the angle of the sofa sat the favourite Odalique of the Pasha, a short, slight, unattractive woman of about thirty years of age; with common, and rather coarse features, but with a shrewd and keen expression that almost made them interesting. Close beside her was seated a third lady, who, although certainly not pretty, was nevertheless tall, graceful, and delicate, with full, fine eyes, and an exquisite complexion; when we entered, she was employed in fondling a sweet little child of between one and two years old. A pile of cushions, carefully and comfortably arranged, were prepared immediately opposite to the seat of the Buyuk Hanoum, for her fair daughter, but the lovely Heyminè had not yet left the bath.

At the invitation of the Buyuk Hanoum, we placed ourselves beside her, and partook of sweetmeats and coffee, amid the polite greetings of the whole party; and the refreshments had scarcely disappeared, when the fair bather entered the apartment.

How shall I describe the beautiful Heyminè Hanoum? How paint the soft, sweet, sleepy loveliness of the Pasha’s daughter? She was just sixteen, at the age when Oriental beauty is at its height, and Oriental gracefulness unsurpassed by any gracefulness on earth. Her slight, willow-like, figure—her dark deep eyes, long and lustrous, with lashes edging like silken fringes their snowy and vein-traced lids—her luxuriant hair, black as the wing of the raven—her white and dazzling teeth—and the sweet but firm expression of her beautifully formed mouth——

I had seen many lovely women in Turkey, but never one so purely, so perfectly lovely, as Heyminè Hanoum; and I am not quite sure that I did not admire her the more for the deep shade of melancholy that cast a sort of twilight over her beauty, and softened, without diminishing, its effect.

She had been born in Albania; it was the land of her love; the Buyuk Hanoum, her mother, was descended from one of the most powerful and princely families of the country; and she had been used to see her looked upon with the reverence due to her birth and rank; she remembered that the Pasha, her father, had dared, in his pride of place, to measure strength with the Sultan, his master, and to defy his power—he had failed, but the haughty effort had been made; and the fair Heyminè looked back with sadness and regret to the days of past splendour and warrior strife amid which she had grown to womanhood. She clung to her mother with the loving gentleness that spoke in her deep eyes: but she worshipped her father, as something more than mortal; and her fair cheek flushed crimson, and her proud lip dilated into smiles, as she spoke of him. And how she had garnered up within her heart those sweet, sad, memories which mock the brightness of the present! How she dwelt upon the country she had loved and lost, and amid whose mountains she had breathed the breath of freedom! I never saw the enthusiasm of the spirit more legibly written upon the brow of any human being than on her’s. It redeemed the apathy of a score of Eastern women!

The Buyuk Hanoum was as far from being reconciled to the change of country and position as her daughter; but her sadness was more subdued by resignation—she had reached the age when reverses are less keenly felt—a calm sorrow sat upon her brow, and breathed in her low, tremulous, tone; but the blood which leaped to the brow of the daughter in warmer gushes as she spoke of the past only curdled more chillingly about the heart of the mother when the same visions arose in vain mockery before her, to remind her of what had once been, and could never be again!

Scodra Pasha had earned for himself a place on the page of history, but he had paid a high and a painful price for the privilege. He had tasted for a brief space the intoxicating draught of power, but the bowl had been dashed from his lips. He had defied the yoke beneath which he had been ultimately bowed, and the iron that has been resisted is ever that which eats deepest into the soul.

It must be a severe trial to sink from a leader to a vassal; even when it is from a rebel chief to the dependent Pasha of a Sultan. Mustapha Pasha had been almost a sovereign in Albania, a brave soldier, and a powerful prince; and, when he accepted the conditions of his Imperial Master, and bought his life at the price of his country and his fortune, the struggle of the spirit must have been a bitter one.

It was a singular circumstance that, at the period of my first visit to his harem, he was occupying a palace adjoining that in which resided another attainted noble—the Ex-Pasha of Bagdad! Both men of information—both blighted in their ambition, and bowed beneath the power they had defied—they amused the ennui of their monotonous existence with writing poetry; and moralizing on the instability of human greatness. I have remarked elsewhere that the Turks are seldom found wanting in philosophy.

As we did not arrive at the Pasha’s palace for several hours after we were expected, it was supposed that some accidental circumstance had prevented our visit, and the family had consequently dined before we got there: but such an occurrence as this never causes the slightest inconvenience in a Turkish house, where the culinary arrangements are so regulated that you can command an excellent repast at whatever moment you may chance to require it.

On the present occasion, I rather regretted that the profuse and even sumptuous dinner that was served up to us was, from an excess of courtesy on the part of our entertainers, perfectly European in its arrangement, being accompanied by silver forks, knives, and chairs; but the luxury of the East had, nevertheless, its part in the banquet, for the cloth that covered the table was enriched with a deep border of exquisite needlework, and the napkins of muslin, almost as impalpable as a cobweb, were richly embroidered in gold. Wine was handed to us on a beautifully chased golden salver, and the glasses from which we drank it were of finely cut crystal; while the table stood upon a tapestry carpet.

But the most beautiful objects employed during the repast were the silver basin, strainer, and vase, that were held by two black slaves for us to wash our hands, while a third stood a pace behind them, bearing upon his arm the napkin, wrought with a border of flowers in coloured silks, whereon they were to be dried. The vase, shaped like that from which Ganymede might have poured wine for Imperial Jove, was chased in the most delicate manner with grapes and vine leaves; and the same design enriched the border of the capacious basin.

As soon as we had dined, we adjourned to the private apartment of Heyminè Hanoum, at her especial invitation; when the young beauty, freed from the restraint of her mother’s presence, clapped her hands, and ordered her pipe, which she smoked with as much grace and gusto as any Moslem of the Empire. They who cavil at this application of the word grace, have certainly never seen a young Turkish woman manage her chibouk—Nothing can be more coquettish!

The chapter on fans, so celebrated in the “Spectator,” might be out-written a hundredfold by one competent to describe the manœuvres of an Eastern beauty, with her amber-lipped and gold-twisted pipe. Such soft and studied attitudes—such long and slowly-drawn respirations, having all the sentiment of a sigh without its sadness—such clasping and unclasping of the delicate fingers about the slender tube—-no novice should venture to smoke beside a Turkish woman, who is not satisfied to look as awkward as a poor mortal can desire!

We were all comfortably nestled among our cushions; and, on a small round table at the extremity of the apartment, stood a tray, bearing four wax lights. This custom of clustering the candles together is common in both Turkish, Armenian, and Greek houses; and is peculiarly congenial to the indolence of Eastern habits, as it leaves such deep shadows in the distance, that those who have no immediate occupation to confine them to the vicinity of the glare may doze in undisturbed twilight on their sofas.

At intervals, a slave entered to trim the candles, or to replenish the pipe of Heyminè Hanoum; and each lingered awhile, unchidden, to listen to a fragment of the conversation, or to indulge in another gaze at the Frank strangers; among the rest, one pale, languid-looking woman, who complained of sudden and severe suffering, and to whom the Pasha’s daughter spoke even more kindly and gently than to any of the others, squatted down near the door, and remained a considerable time, with her head drooping on her bosom, apparently amused in spite of her indisposition.

The slaves, both black and white, were innumerable—I should think that we had at least a score in attendance on us during dinner.

Despite the occasional interruptions that I have described, our conversation became gradually extremely interesting. The young beauty talked of Albania—of the proud and happy life that she had led there during her father’s prosperity; and then of the misery which she had endured in exchanging its delights for the chilling observances and restraints of the Turkish capital. Had the heart of Heyminè Hanoum beat in the breast of her father, let the result have been what it might, he never would have recanted his rebellion.

From the political position of her family, she digressed to its social condition; and I was not a little amused by the perfect sang froid with which she entered into a detail of the domestic arrangements of the household.

“You have seen my brother;” she said, “and I need not tell you that he is delicate and sickly. He was my mother’s last child, and the Pasha feared that he should be left without a son. In this dilemma, he expressed to the Buyuk Hanoum his desire to contract a second marriage; but this she would by no means permit. She could not, however, avoid seeing that his anxiety was but too well founded: and she accordingly proposed a compromise, to which he at once agreed. Without loss of time, he wrote to a friend in Constantinople to purchase for him four young Circassians, and to embark them, under the charge of an elderly woman, for Albania.

“Young as I was, I shall not attempt to describe to you my mortification on their arrival. I saw the tears of my mother, which, when alone with me, she did not attempt to suppress; we had hitherto had but one heart and one interest in the harem of my father, and we became suddenly domesticated with strangers—women of another land and another language; to whom we were knit by no ties, bound by no sympathies.

“But all this is idle. You saw the Odalique who sat nearest to my mother? Allah has been gracious to her—she has borne two sons to the Pasha.—She with the large dark eyes, who when you entered was nursing her infant, has no other child than that one little girl. A third you will shortly see, when she pays me her visit previously to retiring for the night: I love her much, but she, poor thing! is childless. The fourth died in consequence of her sufferings during the passage to Albania, which was tempestuous and protracted. The aged woman who received you on your arrival was the person who accompanied the four Circassians from Constantinople, and—but here is Dilaram Hanoum.”

As she spoke, the curtain that shaded the door was pushed aside, and the Odalique entered. She was by far the prettiest woman of the three, but there was a subdued and hopeless expression about her, which showed at once that she had not been a favourite child of fortune. She was slight and beautifully formed, with a low, soft voice which was almost music. She appeared much attached to the lovely Heyminè, and hastened, after the first salutations were over, to replenish the pipe that rested beside the young beauty, and to hand it to her; a mark of attention and respect which was acknowledged by its object with the graceful salutation common in the East—the pressure of the fingers of the right hand to the lips and brow.

The conversation was, of course, changed on her entrance; and the subject of jewels having been mentioned, Heyminè Hanoum despatched a slave for a handkerchief with which she was in the habit of binding up her hair, in order to show us one of the Albanian fashions. It was of black muslin, painted with groups of coloured flowers, and bordered all round with a deep fringe of fine pearls. I never in my life saw any mixture which produced a more striking effect; and when she wound it about her head—the dark glossy tresses of her hair relieved by the bright tints of the flowers, and the whiteness of her clear brow rivalling the pearls that rested on it—her crimson jacket, lined with sable, falling back, and revealing the transparent chemisette of gauze, and the fair throat which it shaded—the pale blue silk trowsers trimmed with silver, and the small white naked foot that peeped for an instant from beneath them as she altered her position—I thought that earth could hold nothing more lovely than Heyminè Hanoum!

I was very busily engaged in examining an elegant hand-mirror set in a frame of chased silver, when a couple of negroes entered to invite us to the presence of the Pasha, who was awaiting us in his apartment. I have already mentioned that one room in the harem is appropriated to the master of the house, wherein he receives such of its inmates as he desires to converse with.

The message was scarcely delivered when the Buyuk Hanoum, whom the Pasha had desired to introduce us, entered the apartment, evidently somewhat surprised at the honour which was about to be bestowed upon two female Infidels. I had heard a great deal of the Scodra Pasha, and I naturally desired to see him; nor perhaps may it be amiss to impart to my readers a portion of his history.

Mustapha Pasha was residing on his Pashalik in Albania when Sultan Mahmoud reformed the national costume of the country, and replaced the lofty turbans and flowing garments of past centuries, with the scarlet fèz and frock coat of the present day. When the order for this change reached the Pasha, he at once communicated it to the troops, who resisted it with such violence as to threaten not only the liberty, but the life of their Chief if he persisted in its enforcement. In vain did he argue, explain, and persuade; the soldiery, wedded to their ancient usages, refused to listen to his reasonings; their opposition being furthermore aggravated by a conscription, enforced with sufficient severity to lend them arguments against all concession to a power by which they were thus oppressed; and he finally found himself compelled to adopt a decided line of conduct in order to insure his own personal safety.

Already nearly in a state of siege in one of his palaces—surrounded by troops on whom he could by no means depend, seconded as they were by the people, in the indignation excited by the threatened infringement on their cherished habits—drawing the whole of his revenue from the soil—married to a lady of the country—possessed of considerable property within the Pashalik—and threatened with death by an infuriated populace—it cannot be wondered at that Mustapha Pasha, thus hard pressed, resolved to assist his people in the struggle; and strengthening his army, and trusting to his mountain fastnesses, determined on a resistance to the Imperial will which at once placed Albania in a state of revolt.

It were tedious to detail at length the various fortunes of the rebel Pasha: a brave man, beloved by his troops, and sincere in the same cause—greatly assisted, moreover, by the mountainous and difficult character of the country naturally possesses the means of making head against a superior power to his own; and thus it was with the Scodra Pasha. Many abortive attempts were made to dislodge and capture him, by an army under the command of Reschid Mehemet Pasha, but in vain. He still held on his way, until at length the Sultan, irritated at the ill-success of his endeavours, despatched Achmet Pasha with full power to act as a pacificator, and to use all possible means to recall the rebel chief to his allegiance, and an order not to return without having terminated the rebellion.

Thus instructed, the Imperial Envoy left the capital for Albania; and his attempts were not destined to be as fruitless as those of his predecessors. The rebel Pasha’s army had fought for their lives as well as their privileges; they had gone too far to recede; and Achmet Pasha felt at once the utter futility of persisting in a system of violence which could produce no definite result. The character of his adversary was well known to him; it was high, honourable, and unsullied, save by his revolt against his Imperial Master; and it was to this knowledge that he resolved to trust, in order to bring about a submission which the Sultan’s arms were unable to effect. He accordingly despatched a messenger to Mustapha Pasha, by whom he requested an interview; and, to prove that no treachery was intended on the one hand, or feared on the other, he offered to place himself in the power of the rebel leader, by meeting him alone and unattended wherever he might appoint.

The Scodra Pasha, a man of amiable disposition and quick feelings, was touched by this mark of confidence, and unhesitatingly acceded to the request; when Achmet Pasha, without further delay, fulfilled the conditions which he had imposed upon himself, mounted his horse, and rode boldly off to the palace of the rebel. He was received with the utmost courtesy; coffee and pipes were introduced, and the two Pashas sat down side by side upon their cushions to discuss the important subject of their meeting.

To a man of Mustapha Pasha’s good sense and sound judgment, it was by no means difficult for his visitor to demonstrate in the clearest manner the hopelessness of his situation. It was true that hitherto he had baffled all the attempts of the Imperial troops, by the wisdom of his measures, the judiciousness of his arrangements, the bravery of his own bearing, and the zeal of his soldiery. But this state of things could not last for ever—he was feeding upon his own strength, and his resources must ultimately fail—he had yet time to make a creditable and a free submission—he had still an opportunity to save his head—but, when he yielded from weakness, (and, should he persist in his rebellion, the bitter hour of helplessness must come;) how could he look for a mercy which he had rejected when it was freely extended to him?

Thus pressed, both by exterior argument and internal conviction; wearied also, it may be, of opposition to a sovereign whom he reverenced; the rebel leader asked time for deliberate consideration ere he returned a definite answer to the proposition—he stipulated also that an assurance should be solemnly given that his own life and those of his family should be spared; which Achmet Pasha did not hesitate to promise upon the spot. It was accordingly determined that the latter should remain two days in the palace of the rebel chief, when he should either depart alone, and unmolested, bearing with him the continued defiance of the revolted province; or that he should return to Constantinople accompanied by his host, and the females of his family, under the safeguard of his plighted word.

The latter alternative was adopted; and Achmet Pasha ultimately returned to Constantinople in company with the Scodra Pasha and his Harem. The fortune of the rebel chief was confiscated, and a hundred and twenty thousand piastres a-year settled upon him to supply the means of existence. But some time elapsed ere he was admitted to the presence, and allowed the high honour of kissing the foot, of his Sublime Highness.

On the same occasion he presented his two eldest sons, with whom the Sultan was so much pleased that he created them Pashas on the instant; and, having entered into conversation with them, he inquired how they liked the fèz, upon which the younger of the two, a fine boy of eight years of age, answered with a promptitude worthy of an accomplished courtier, that he had always liked it, but since he had seen it on the head of the Sultan, he should like it a thousand times better; a reply which so delighted Mahmoud that he immediately presented him with a watch magnificently enriched with diamonds. Nor was the child less fortunate throughout the audience, for the smiling sovereign tried him with another question, to which he answered with even more point—“And which do you like the best, my young Pasha?” asked the Sultan: “Constantinople or Albania?”

“Constantinople,” replied the boy; “because you are here—the leaves cannot come upon the trees without the sun; and we cannot grow up to be brave men if we are not near you.”