No wonder that Mustapha Pasha looks upon the mother of the boy as “the Light of the Harem.”
The Buyuk Hanoum led us across the outer saloon to a spacious staircase, then across an upper hall, through a short gallery, and finally to the door of the Pasha’s apartment. As I crossed the threshold, I was actually dazzled with light: the room was large; and was raised one step at the upper end, round which ran the sofa. Two tables, bearing trays of candles, were placed near the entrance; and a silver branch holding others was in the arched recess between them. The curtains and the covering of the sofa were of crimson satin, the latter fringed with gold a foot in depth, and furnished with cushions of gold tissue embroidered with coloured silk. At the extremity of the dais a pile of cushions were heaped upon the floor; and at the upper end of the sofa squatted the Pasha, with a negro slave on each side of him, busied in arranging his pipe which had been just replenished. A capacious mangal, heavy with perfume, occupied the centre of the floor.
Mustapha Pasha is still in the prime of life; of the middle size, with an agreeable and sensible expression of face, and a slight cast in one of his eyes. He received us very courteously, and ordered chairs for my friend and myself near his own seat, while he motioned the Buyuk Hanoum to be seated also; an intimation which she obeyed by placing herself on the extreme edge of the sofa. The next ceremony was to cause pipes to be presented to my companion and myself; the greatest honour that can be conferred on a female in Turkey being an invitation to smoke in the presence of the other sex.
This was indeed a dilemma, for smoking had formed no part of my education; and I knew that, did I even raise the pipe to my lips, I should infallibly be ill; but the Pasha fortunately remarked the slight shudder and the gesture of repugnance with which I took it from the hand of the slave; and he immediately requested me to refuse it, if I found it disagreeable, as he merely sought to pay me a compliment by offering it.
I need not say how gladly I availed myself of the permission, much to the amusement of the Pasha; who, after he had inhaled a few whiffs of his own chibouk, sent a second message to the harem, which was answered by the speedy appearance of Heyminè Hanoum and the favourite Odalique. A motion of his hand invited both to take their places upon the cushions already alluded to; and then I remarked the ascendency of the latter over the spirit of the Pasha—an ascendency due probably as much to her being the mother of his two sons, as to her natural shrewdness of intellect. Be that as it may, however, it was easy to perceive that she was a woman of great natural talent, and wonderful quickness of perception; and very likely to retain the supremacy that she had gained.
The Pasha understood a little French, but did not attempt to speak it; though it is probable that he will soon do so, as he is studying the language with unwearying perseverance. He has already formed a very respectable library, where he has collected together the works of Voltaire, Racine, Boileau, Molière, and many other standard authors; and he has done so thus prematurely, he says, in order that the sight of the volumes may stimulate him to industry; as he never looks towards them without reflecting on the riches that are hidden from him by his ignorance of the language, and which may one day be within his grasp.
I was astonished at many of the questions that he asked me; they were so unlike the generality of those to which I had already become accustomed in the country. He was very inquisitive on the subject of the Thames Tunnel—inquired as to its probable expense—the period at which it was likely to be completed—the width of the river at that precise spot—the amount of the toll to be paid by passengers—the mode in which the money had been obtained for its construction—in what manner it would be lighted—in short, he entered into every particular connected with the undertaking so earnestly, that I had reason to congratulate myself on being able to satisfy his curiosity.
He next asked a number of questions relatively to the Fire Insurance Companies of London, of which he had heard vaguely; and, when I had explained to him the whole of the system, he expressed his regret that no institution of the kind had been established in Constantinople; a want to which he was the more sensible as he had lately lost a house filled with valuable furniture and effects, of which he had been unable to save the smallest portion. He inquired if I thought that one of our Companies would consent to accept an insurance for his palace; as in the event of their being willing to do so, he would immediately take steps to make the arrangement. I explained to him the difficulty of inducing them to run so great a risk, aware as they must be of the frequency of fires in Stamboul, and the exorbitant interest they would require in the event of their consenting to his wish: when he at once allowed the objection to be perfectly reasonable, although he much regretted the necessity of abandoning the idea.
In the course of conversation, some allusion having been made to the philosophy with which he supported his reverses, his reply was so characteristic that it deserves record. “The chariot of my fortunes,” he said, “had, for so long a time, run smoothly over the highways of life, that I ought rather to feel surprise at its even pace during so many years, than wonder that its wheels should fail at last.”
To comment on such an answer would be idle.
It was not without regret that I took leave of the Pasha, whose courteous manners and intelligent conversation rendered him a most agreeable companion; and, had I been able to converse with him in his own language, I have no doubt that I should have been still more impressed in his favour. Before we quitted him, he invited us to spend a few days with the Buyuk Hanoum, and his daughter, during the marriage festivities of the Princess Mihirmàh, at a house which he had taken at the “Sweet Waters;” and, as we re-entered the harem, I could not refrain from expressing to the fair Heyminè my admiration of the intelligence and information of her father. But all praise of the Pasha to his daughter was “gilding refined gold, painting the lily, and throwing a perfume o’er the violet;” human commendations could not exalt him higher in her esteem.
If splendour could insure repose, we were destined to a long night of slumber beneath the roof of Mustapha Pasha, for our beds were one blaze of gold and embroidery; and it is certain that the fair form which hovered about me until I sank upon my pillows had a most pleasant influence over my dreams; I never passed a more delicious night. I had visions of beauty, of which the lovely Heyminè was the type and subject: and if some faint impressions of strife and suffering mingled in the illusion, a bright smile and a soft glance dispelled the gloom, and brought back the light and the loveliness, that had been veiled for a moment, with tenfold lustre.
In the morning we returned to Pera, carrying with us a store of pleasant memories for which we were indebted to this amiable family; and it was not without a very painful emotion that we learnt, in the course of the second day after we had quitted them, that the harem of the Pasha was dispersed in all directions, and the palace completely empty. The sick slave, whom I mentioned as having passed a considerable time in the apartment of Heyminè Hanoum, had died the previous night of plague!
Procession of Betrothal—Preliminary Ceremonies—The Mantle of Mahomet—The Palace of the Seraskier Pasha—The Palace Square—Picturesque Groups—An Interior—Turkish Children—Oriental Curiosity—Costume of the Turkish Children—Military Music—The Procession—Hurried Departure of the Crowd—The Seraskier’s Tower—The Fire Guard—Candidates for the Imperial Bride—Imperial Expedient—Saïd Pasha—Policy of the Seraskier—An Audience—The Biter Bitten—Ingenious Ruse—Sublime Economy—Brilliant Traffic—The Danger of Delay—The Marriage Gifts—An Interesting Interview.
A few days after my visit to the harem of Scodra Pasha, my father and myself started at nine o’clock in the morning to Constantinople, to be present at the procession consequent on the betrothal of the Princess Mihirmàh, the Sultan’s second daughter; a lovely girl of nineteen, about to be bestowed on Mohammed Saïd Pasha, who had been summoned from his Pashalik, at the Dardanelles, to receive at the hand of his Imperial Master this most honouring of all gifts.
But, before describing the procession, it may not perhaps be amiss to record some of the less public ceremonies of the betrothal, for which I am indebted to an eye-witness.
The day fixed upon for its celebration was the 7th of April; and, at the hour which the Court Astrologer had decided to be the most auspicious for the assembling together of the individuals necessary to its completion, who had received their notes of invitation two days previously from the Kislar-Aghasi (Chief of the Eunuchs), they met in the private apartment of the Imperial Treasurer, near the chamber that contains the holy Mantle of Mahomet—the same sacred locality that witnessed the betrothal of the elder Princess. Here the whole company entered at the moment which had also been previously pointed out by the Astrologer as fortunate, and remained for some time in religious silence, in presence of the inestimable relic; after which each member of the distinguished circle seated himself upon the carpet that had been prepared for him.
The Grand Vizier, Mohammed Ronouf Pasha, took the upper place upon the sofa, having near him the Chèïk-Islam, (or High Priest) Mekki Zadè Moustafa Assim Effendi, who officiated on the august occasion. On the right sat the chief of the Eunuchs of the Imperial Seraglio, who acted as the proxy of the Princess; and whose witnesses were the Commissioner of the Imperial Treasury, and Osman Agha, one of the principal Eunuchs.—On the left was placed the adopted father and representative of Mohammed Saïd Pasha, the Seraskier—having for his witnesses, Halil Rifat Pasha, the Sultan’s son-in-law, Akhmet Fevzi Pasha, Military Counsellor of the Palace, and Mohammed Saïd Pertew Effendi, Minister of the Interior, and Counsellor of State, with four others. Among the Chèïks and the men of letters who were admitted to this august assembly, to mingle their prayers with those of the Chèïk-Islam, were Elhadj Yousouf Effendi, Chief of the Chèïks, and preacher at the great mosque of St. Sophia; and Elhadj Abdoullah Effendi, first chaplain of the mosque of Eyoub, and preacher at the mosque of Sultan Akhmet.
They were no sooner seated than the officers attached to the service of this chamber, which bears the name of Khirkaï-Chériff, presented to each person perfumes and rose-water according to the Eastern custom; and, when they withdrew, the doors were closed, and the ceremony commenced with a prayer by the Chèïk-Islam, for the divine blessing on the union they were then assembled to celebrate; after which he put the customary questions to the proxies of the two contracting parties.
As soon as the act of betrothal was terminated, the doors were again thrown open, and the two Chèïks pronounced a prayer suited to the occasion. At the close of the prayer, the distinguished party quitted the Khirkaï-Chériff, and passed into a neighbouring apartment, where they partook of the refreshments provided for them, and were waited upon by the keeper of the Privy Purse, who presented to them the rich gifts with which his Sublime Highness was pleased to honour them. They then left the palace.
As soon as they had departed, the Sultana-Mother sent by the Bach-Agha (Eunuch and Major Domo) the nuptial offering of the bride to the bridegroom, who was awaiting it at the palace of the Seraskier, and superintending at the same time the arrangement of his own marriage present, which was to be conveyed with great pomp to the Seraï. The procession was to start from the palace of the Seraskier (the bridegroom’s adopted father) at half-past ten o’clock, and we accordingly hired a window overlooking the line of march; whence we could see the train issue from the palace court, cross the extensive space in front of it, and finally lose itself in a narrow street leading to the Imperial residence.
The esplanade on which we looked down was crowded with horsemen, footmen, and carriages. Groups of women were squatted immediately in the rear of the soldiers, who lined the space along which the procession was to move; others occupied a raised platform erected by some speculative Moslem, whereon a place could be secured for the modest remuneration of a piastre, (two-pence halfpenny.) Rows of arabas, like beds of scarlet poppies, were ranged behind the pedestrians; while, further from the scene of action, parties were scattered over the whole square in the most picturesque confusion. Here a train of Serudjhis walked the horses that they had brought for hire; there a knot of Jews chattered and gesticulated; while their women huddled themselves up in the coarse cotton scarfs which concealed their head-dresses. On one side the snowy turbans and dark robes of half a dozen Ulemas formed a striking contrast to the green shawls bound about the brows of a group of Hadjïs, and their ample pelisses of crimson or maroon, lined and overlaid with fur. Here it was a party of soldiers—there a band of Bulgarians, dressed in jackets of sheepskin, with the wool turned inwards, round caps of black lambskin, and leather leggings. Then moved by a score of Armenians, with their tall calpacs and crimson slippers—jostled, as they passed slowly along, by a set of Franks, crushing and squeezing, as though they were resolved to carry their point, coute qui coute.
On a little hillock near the window that we occupied, a couple of Turks had spread their carpet, and were quietly smoking their chibouks, attended by their negro pipe-bearers; while here and there a gigantic umbrella of white cotton overshadowed a round stand covered with sherbet and mohalibè, around which were clustered a throng of noisy Greeks, each with eyes as black as the shawl that he wore about his scarlet fèz.
Nor was the scene within the room less characteristic than that without; the remaining windows had been hired by four grave-looking elderly Turks, who had brought with them half a dozen pretty little girls, of eight or ten years of age; who were sitting, doubled up at one corner of the sofa, with all the early taught awe and deference for the lordly sex which is the leading sentiment of the harem.
Our entrance, however, aroused them into something like action; for while our dragoman explained who and what we were, whence we came, and whither we were bound:—questions which are asked by the grave and bearded Moslem, as unceremoniously as by any one of our Trans-Atlantic brethren, and without the slightest suspicion on his own part that he is guilty of any impertinence—I made an easy acquaintance with the pretty children, by permitting them to handle the flowers in my bonnet, to touch my shawl, and to run their little plump fingers over my waist-ribbon. And when the grandee of the party who occupied the upper end of the sofa, whereon, moreover, his attendants had spread a carpet of crimson shag, fringed with gold, as though the ignoble chintz were not worthy the honour of receiving him, had taken the chibouk from his own mouth, and sent it by his pipe-bearer to my father—a mark of high consideration rather flattering than fastidious—and my father had, in his turn, despatched the dragoman, to spread before the children a feast of mohalibè, frosted over with powdered sugar, we were all the best friends in the world.
One of the little girls—a calm, self-centered, true Turkish child, with all the premature languishment and indolence so peculiar to the women of the country, with black, sleepy eyes, and lips like rose-buds—was clad in a jacket of purple velvet, lined with ermine, and laced with gold; her antery of pale pink muslin was tucked up within the cachemire shawl that she wore about her waist; and her large trowsers of green chintz fell in ample plaits over the little naked feet, which, when she rose from the sofa, were scarcely covered at the extremities by the yellow slippers that lay beside her.
Another, perhaps a year younger, had her jacket of crimson merino doubled with sable, and her little Symrniote fèz worked with seed pearls; her antery was yellow, her trowsers blue, and her chemisette of pale amber-coloured gauze. Nothing can be more outré than the costume of a little Turkish maiden; the long hair hanging in a score of minute braids, each confined at the extremity with a small knot of ribbon; the tight sleeves, open from the elbow, falling below the hip, and edged with elaborately wrought silk fringe; the round, white, dimpled feet, peeping out beneath the full trowsers; and the heavy jacket folding back from the ivory shoulders and snowy throat.
There is no distinction of dress between the child of two years old and the woman of twenty; the same jewels, the same fashion, the same material, compose the one and the other; they differ only in quantity; the diamonds, except upon great occasions, are lavished on the children; and in fringe, and embroidery, and ribbon, they only yield to their elders, because there is not sufficient space upon their little persons to enable their parents to equalize the consumption between them.
At length, the distant sounds of military music came to us from the Palace court, and forth issued the Sultan’s Band, playing his Grand March; this was succeeded by a regiment of the line, moving in double files: then rode forward about a score of staff officers, including several generals of brigade, and colonels of the Imperial Guard, surrounded by servants on foot; these were succeeded by two open carriages and four, empty—and after these came the presents of the bridegroom to the Imperial Family. First walked a hundred men of the Seraskier’s establishment; about a score of whom bore upon their heads cages of wire, covered with coloured gauze, ornamented with flowing ribbons, and filled with sweetmeats of the most costly description, piled in porcelain dishes; the frosted sugar glittering in the light like jewels. Those were succeeded by others charged with silk stuffs of the most rare qualities, produced by the Indian looms—Cachemires of Tibet and Lahor—and other magnificent gifts, destined for the Sultan Mother.
The offerings to the bride followed. They consisted of two toilette services of massive silver, containing the most delicious perfumes of the East; a silver dinner service, arranged on a plateau of the same metal; several silver salvers covered with precious stones, and ornaments of gold and silver, and others heaped with gold coins: the whole covered with cages of silver net-work. Each of these bearers was attended by a page.
Then followed four more, having on their heads trays of shawls, folded in coloured muslin—and next came a dozen men, charged with all the articles necessary for the bath, under transparent coverings. One carried the pattens of ebony, inlaid with stars of mother-of-pearl, and clasped over the foot with a band of brilliants; another, the head-kerchief of silver tissue, embroidered with wreaths of silken flowers; the third, a pile of silk napkins, fringed with gold; the fourth, a wrapping-cloth of flowered satin; the fifth, a capacious basin of burnished gold; the sixth, a comb of ivory, enriched with diamonds; the seventh, a pair of slippers, wrought with emeralds and seed pearl; the eighth, a chemisette of pale pink gauze, edged round the bosom with silver fringe; the ninth, a cut crystal box clasped with gold, containing scented soaps; the tenth, an ebony essence case, studded with rubies; the eleventh, a hand-mirror in a gold frame, surrounded by a garland of jewels; and the twelfth, a sofa covering of crimson velvet, flowered and fringed with gold.
Four eunuchs in brown and gold followed the presents; and were succeeded by an escort of sergeants of the line; after which appeared the Seraskier Pasha, surrounded by a brilliant staff, and preceding a second regiment of infantry, with the bright barrels of their fire-locks flashing in the sunshine, and attended by their band. These terminated the procession. But an interesting feature of the show still remained, when the led horses of the palace guests, each held by a groom, came prancing through the wide gateway, as if vain of their glittering housings and embroidered reins; the groups which had been scattered over the square were all in motion; the crimson-covered arabas began to move from their station; the sherbet-venders vaunted their merchandize, with voluble eagerness, to the passers-by—the Turks resigned their chibouks to their pipe-bearers, and rose from their carpets, which were instantly rolled up, and carried away by their domestics—the Bulgarians inflated their bag-pipes, and obstructed the path of the foot-passengers, with their heavy and awkward dance, which must have been modelled upon that of the bear—and, ere I had wearied of contemplating the scene, nine-tenths of the crowd that had so lately thronged the wide space beneath me had passed away.
The sunshine was lying warm and bright on the dome of Sultan Bajazet’s mosque, with its portals of indented gothic; and its spiral minarets, with their galleries of rich tracery-work; dominated in their turn by the Tower of the Seraskier, which shoots up tall and white from an angle of the palace court, like the giant guardian of the locality; and whose summit (to which we afterwards ascended) commands a series of the most magnificent views that the world can produce.
On one side, the City of Constantinople is spread out beneath you like a map; and you look down upon its thousand domes, and its five thousand minarets—upon its khans, and its charshees, its palaces and its prisons. Move a few paces forward, only to the next window, and the Sea of Marmora, with its peopled coasts, its rocky islets, and its glittering waves, carries your thoughts homeward to the “golden west.” From one point you look on Mount Olympus, with its crown of snow; from another, on the sunny Bosphorus, laden with life, and laughing in the day-beam. Turn to the left, and the Golden Horn, from whence the riches of the world are poured forth over the East, lies at your feet. On—on—ere your eyes ache with gazing, and your mind with wonder, and repose your vision on the dark and arid rocks which enclose “The Valley of the Sweet Waters,” the most fairy-like glen that ever was hemmed in by a belt of mountains. And when you at length descend the three hundred and thirty steps of the dizzy Tower of the Seraskier, inscribe upon your tablets the faint record of an hour, during which, if you have sensibility or imagination, a love of the beautiful, or an appreciation of the sublime, you must have lived through an age of feeling and of fancy; with the busy, breathing city at your feet—the sweet, still valley beside you—and the wide sea, the unfathomable, the mysterious sea, bounding your vision.
What a pigmy is man amid such a scene as this!
I must not omit to mention that the Seraskier’s Tower, called, by the Turks, Yanguen Kiosk, or Fire Tower, is the watch-house of the fire-guard. Six individuals are constantly on the look-out during the day and night, who relieve each other every hour; and, during the night-watch, the guard constantly makes his round in a pair of spring pattens, which, being made of wood, and soled with iron, keep up a continual noise that prevents his giving way to drowsiness, and thus neglecting his duty.
There were seven equally eligible candidates for the hand of the Princess Mihirmàh; and consequently more than seven times seven intrigues set on foot, when it was finally announced that the Sultan, her father, had resolved on bestowing her in marriage on some fortunate noble of his Empire. The Sublime Porte was all in commotion—the seven Eligibles all in agitation—every palace and harem on the qui vive—bribes flew about, on yellow wings, like the bright butterflies that herald spring—and the Sultan himself, weary of conflicting counsels and opposing interests, wavering and undecided; while many persons agreed in believing that the Imperial choice would ultimately fall on the handsome and wealthy Mustapha Pasha of Adrianople; and the rather as it was rumoured that the Princess had seen and admired him.
But Sultan Mahmoud, after a youth of terror and a manhood of blood, had become too good a tactician to risk offending many by ennobling one; and he consequently adopted an expedient which had assuredly never been contemplated by those about his person. He caused the names of the seven candidates to be inscribed on as many separate shreds of parchment; and on the following Friday, when he visited the mosque, he cast them all in a mass beneath his prayer-carpet, where they remained during the service; at whose close, he put up a prayer to Allah and the Prophet to aid him in the hour of trial, by enabling him to withdraw the name of the individual whose alliance would prove the most beneficial, alike to his Empire, and to his daughter. Whether the prayer was heard and answered, I know not; but the Sublime fingers closed over the parchment which was inscribed with the cypher of Saïd Pasha of the Dardanelles.
Saïd Pasha is a handsome man of three or four and thirty, with an expression of benevolence and amiability strikingly in his favour. He commenced his career at Court as Page to the Sultan, where he lost the favour of his master by refusing to obey a command which would have rendered him for a time the companion of grooms and serving-men; an instance of self-respect and self-appreciation so rare in Turkey, that it excited quite as much astonishment as indignation. Dismissed from the Court in disgrace, the young adventurer became a member of the sect of the Mevlavies, or Turning Dervishes; but, after the expiration of a year, he was recalled by the Sultan, and received a post in the army. Subsequently to this period, his rise to the Pashalik was rapid, as is generally the case in the East; and, on the last page of existence which he has turned, the characters may indeed be said to have been traced in gold.
After this hasty sketch of his history, it is scarcely necessary for me to add that Saïd Pasha left the Dardanelles a poor man; nor to remind my readers that a titled Lackland was no meet match for a Sultan’s daughter. The evil cried aloud for remedy, and the cure came as speedily as its necessity had arisen.
The Seraskier had adopted Halil Pasha as his son, on the occasion of his marriage with the Princess Salihè, two years ago; and had been to him a most munificent father; in the present difficulty he again stepped forward, and the portionless Saïd Pasha beheld himself at once a rich man.
Upon the Seraskier it then devolved, in his double capacity of High Minister and Parent, to introduce the fortunate bridegroom to his Imperial father-in-law; and the recollection of all that the wily old courtier had done for the object of his first adoption, produced very different feelings in the breasts of the two individuals, more immediately interested in the financial arrangements of the marriage.
“I present to your Sublime Highness,” said the minister, “the son-in-law whom Allah has destined to the high honour of becoming the husband of your Imperial daughter—Saïd Pasha, my adopted son—and I do so with the greater delight that I know him to be as brave in the field, as he is wise in the cabinet—as mild in temper, as he is courageous in spirit—learned, gentle, submissive, and enthusiastic, in his attachment to your Sublime Highness (May your end be glorious!) He has every virtue under heaven, and but one defect.”
“And what may that be?” inquired the Sultan, arching his dark eyebrows in astonishment. “It must be weighty indeed if it can counteract the effect of so bright a list of qualities.”
“Alas! your Sublime Highness—” replied the Seraskier, “Saïd Pasha is poor!”
The point was pathetic enough; and the politic minister, who would gladly have secured the honour of being the adopted father of the Sultan’s second son-in-law, without paying quite so high a price for it as he had done on the marriage of his first, flattered himself that a recollection of the enormous outlay which he had made on that occasion would exonerate him from a similar expence on the present. But the Sultan had doubtlessly learnt that the diamond can be cut only with its own dust; and he acted upon that principle, as he blandly answered, if not in the words, at least in the feeling, of our immortal bard:—
“But, while he has the wealthy and munificent Seraskier of the Sublime Empire for his adopted father, he must remain unconscious of the fact.”
The Minister did all that have remained for him to do—he tried to look flattered and gratified—he even returned thanks for the gracious words which taught him to understand all that was expected of him: and he left the Presence to withdraw, from his strong box, ducats to the amount of two millions of piastres, which were bought up by the Frank Merchants at Galata.
But the best part of the jest was yet to come. On the marriage of one of the Imperial Family, every Pasha of the Empire is expected to present an offering proportioned to his means; and, as these generally consist of jewels, the Chamberlain acquaints each individual, on learning the amount of his purposed present, with the most acceptable shape in which he can make it; and by these means prevents the chance of a too frequent repetition of the same gift.
When the Princess Salihè became the wife of Halil Pasha, the amount of her diamonds thus obtained was very considerable; and, as she is a person of too morose and selfish a character to take pleasure in showing herself to the people as the sisters of the Sultan are in the habit of doing; and, moreover, too haughty to seek to dazzle even in the harem, his Sublime Highness, who is an admirable tactician, bethought himself of a most brilliant plan for making a little money in a quiet way out of these anti-engaging qualities.
He accordingly paid a visit to his daughter; and after she had enjoyed the high honour of kissing his foot, and he had graciously signified to her his Imperial permission that she should seat herself upon the cushions piled on the floor near him; he condescendingly explained to her the utter uselessness of jewels which she never wore, and suggested the expediency of her disposing of them, and adding the interest of the sum that they would produce to her present income.
The Princess listened in respectful silence; and then ventured to doubt whether a purchaser could be found for the diamonds of a Sultan’s daughter. This difficulty was, however, instantly overcome, by an offer, on the part of his Sublime Highness, to become himself that purchaser. And the consent of the Princess having been obtained, and the price to be paid decided on, the principal remained in the Imperial Treasury, whence the interest was to be drawn; and the jewels, thus, in point of fact, obtained for a per centage on their value, were carried off in triumph by the court jewellers, to be reset for the younger Princess!
Nor was this all—for, when the Pashas declared the amount of their offerings, the money was paid on the instant, and these very diamonds given in exchange, fashioned into such forms as best suited the taste and convenience of their new owner.
Thus were things situated when the baffled Seraskier withdrew from the Imperial Presence, to drag his beloved ducats from their snug resting-place in his strong box, and to scatter them among the money-changing Franks. Many of the Pashas had not yet come forward with their gifts, and he had still breathing time for a shrewd stroke. It is the fashion at the Sublime Court for each noble to announce the amount of the present which he purposes to make; and the declaration generally exceeds the actual value of the offering by fifty or a thousand piastres. The Seraskier accordingly collected these declarations, and having so done, he addressed a courtly circular to the tardy (in this case too tardy!) Pashas, informing them that his Sublime Highness Mahmoud “The Powerful,” the Light of the World, and Brother of the Sun, had so overwhelmed his intended son-in-law, Mohammed Saïd Pasha, with the brightness of his munificence, that he had rained diamonds upon him, and overstrown his path with precious stones; and, such being the case, he, the Seraskier, acting as his adopted father and counsellor, had suggested to him the expediency of proposing to those Pashas who had not yet honoured him with their gifts, to make them in the current coin of the Empire, rather than in diamonds which could not, under the circumstances, avail him any thing.
The suggestion was a command; the wily Seraskier held the list of names and offerings; and each Pasha was under the necessity of coming forward, and paying to the treasurer of the Seraskier the actual sum in money which he had specified!
Nothing sharpens the wits of a Turk like self-interest.
The procession, from which I have digressed, passed through the street called Divan-Yoli, terminating at the mosque of St. Sophia, near the Imperial Palace. When it arrived at Ortakapou, or The Middle Door, the whole of the officers alighted, and formed an avenue to the entrance of the harem, whence the marriage gifts were conveyed into the Seraï, where the Seraskier, acting for the bridegroom, craved and obtained an interview with the Kislar-Agha, who was proxy for the Princess. This hideous negro has the thickest lips, the flattest nose, the smallest eyes, and the most unwieldy person of all the eunuchs of the empire. Imagination cannot paint his ugliness! And before this revolting caricature of humanity, the haughty Minister, in whose hands are life and death, bent his stubborn knee in supplication. Scarcely had he crossed the threshold of the magnificent apartment in which the Kislar-Agha awaited him, ere he prostrated himself to the earth, as he besought the monstrous representative of youth and beauty to have mercy upon the slave who kissed the dust before the Light of the Creation, the Glory of the Moon,3 the Empress of his thoughts—upon which the unwieldy negro averted his face, cast down his eyes, and assumed the prude; but, after a vast deal of coquetting, the lover-like vehemence of the gray-headed Seraskier met with its reward—a sable hand was extended towards him, which he embraced with transport—the presents were condescendingly accepted; the sweetmeats by the Kislar-Agha himself: and the more costly offerings by the principal eunuchs of the palace, in the names of their Imperial Mistresses, to whom they were immediately conveyed.
And thus terminated the first act of the sublime comedy!
Fine Scenery—The Coast of Asia—Turkish Cemeteries—The Imperial Seraï—The Golden Horn—Mount Olympus—The Arabajhe—The Araba—The Persian Kiosk—The Barrack of Scutari—The Mosque of Selim III.—The Slipper of the Sultana Validè—The Imperial Guard—Military Material—The Macaroni Manufactory—Sublime Targets—A Major of the Imperial Guard—Triumph of Utilitarianism—The Rise of the Vines—The Holy Tomb—Encampments of the Plague-smitten—The Setting Sun—Return to Europe—The Square of Topphannè.
I have seldom seen a lovelier day than that on which we first passed over to Scutari; the sunshine was bright upon the Bosphorus, the tops of the tall cypresses were golden in the light, and their feathery branches heaved slightly beneath the breeze; the sky was blue about the spiral minarets: and the painted houses gleamed out like gigantic flowers as the day-beam touched them; the ripple sparkled like diamond-dust, and our arrowy caïque seemed to breathe as it undulated upon the surface.
It was a glorious scene! And we were soon upon the bosom of the blue waters, darting along, with the wild birds above our heads, out into the Sea of Marmora. Europe was beside and behind us—Europe, with its palaces, its politics, and its power—and the shadowy shore of Asia, with its cypress-crowned heights, and its dusky mountains, seemed to woo our approach. How I regretted that the passage was so brief—a few strokes of the oar, a few pulsations of the heart, after we had shot past the “Maiden’s Tower,” and we were landed beside the ruined mosque, in the valley beyond the Persian Kiosk of the Sultan, which crowns the crest of the highest hill.
The land curved gracefully downward at this point to form a fair green glen, where a group of plane trees and acacias threw their long branches over the remains of the crumbling temple. Here and there a solitary cypress shot up its dark head like a death-lance into the clear horizon, contrasting its funereal and gloomy pomp with the laughing clusters of the pink-blossoming almond-trees, which were scattering their petals over the grave-stones that rose on the side of the grassy bank amid the wild flowers, as if to link the present with the past.
It is a beautiful custom, that of burying the dead upon the very path of the living! It destroys so much of the gloom which imagination is prone to drape about the grave—it creates so much more of a common interest. The Turk smokes his chibouk with his back resting against a turban-crested grave-stone; the Greek spreads his meal upon a tomb; the Armenian shelters himself from the sunshine beneath the boughs that overshadow the burial-places of his people; the women sit in groups, and talk of their homes and of their little ones among the ashes of their ancestors; and the children gather the wild flowers that grow amid the graves, as gaily as though death had never entered there.
The caïque soon darted into the little bay, and we trod the shore of Asia. Immediately in front of us, on the European coast, stretched the long castellated wall of the ancient city of Constantine, with its Seven Towers, and its palace-girdled Point. Nothing could be more beautiful! The numerous buildings of the imperial Seraï were overtopped by shadowy plane-trees, leafy beeches, lofty cypresses, feathery acacias, and other magnificent forest trees; from amid whose foliage the gleaming domes and gilded spires of the palace peeped out like glimpses of fairy-land. On the extreme point of the shore stands that portion of the Seraglio which was formerly appropriated to the ladies of the Imperial Harem, but which is now untenanted, save by half a dozen old and withered women, the surviving wives of the unfortunate Sultan Selim. The sun had touched it, and was reflected back in brightness from its gilded doors and glittering lattices. It looked like a cluster of kiosks gracefully flung together in the hour of sport.
Beyond that point lay the Golden Horn; and, along the summit of the hill which shuts it in on the opposite shore, stretched the cypress-grove and houses of Pera. But ere long we turned away from these accustomed objects to glance upwards to the crest of Mount Olympus, far, far away in the distance, forming a mighty background to the Sea of Marmora. We saw it at a happy moment, for the sunbeams had turned its snows to jewels, which were flashing with a brightness that almost forbade our gaze; when suddenly a light cloud passed over its stately brow, and, deadening for an instant the glitter that it had borrowed from the day-beam, sobered down its tints into more subdued beauty, and made it look as though it were girdled by a rainbow.
As we reluctantly quitted this fair scene, and walked towards the valley, we saw the araba that we had appointed to await us there, standing beneath the shade of the tall trees; and as the arabajhe observed our approach, he rose from his seat beneath a stately elm, laid aside his chibouk, and prepared to assist us into the carriage. But I lingered yet another moment to contemplate his costume—his voluminous turban, which it must have required ells of muslin to produce; and his gaily-tasselled and embroidered jacket, falling back to disclose the shawl that bound his waist. I scarcely knew which to admire the most;—his black and bushy beard, and the thick mustachioes that adorned his upper lip; or the elaborately-wrought Albanian leggings and yellow slippers which completed his costume.
No one but a native of the luxurious East could ever have invented an araba; with its comfortable cushions, and its gaily painted roof, and gilded pillars. The prettiest are those of brown and gold, with rose-coloured draperies, through which the breeze flutters to your cheek as blandly as though it loved the tint that reminded it of the roses of the past season amid which it had wandered.
As we clomb the hill, we passed beside the Imperial kiosk, a delicate little edifice with walls of pale green, and snow-white jalousies; and then, descending a slight acclivity, we found ourselves opposite the magnificent barrack, which forms so fine a feature from the sea. There is probably no country in the world where the barracks are so elegantly built as in Turkey; they have all the appearance of palaces; and that of Scutari being appropriated to the Imperial Guard is the handsomest in the neighbourhood of the capital; being a quadrangle, flanked with square towers, built in three sections, gradually diminishing in size, and crowned by a slight spire. Immediately opposite to the principal gate of the barrack stands the magnificent mosque of Selim III.; but Scutari, among the numerous temples whose slender minarets are relieved by the dark back ground of her funereal cypresses, possesses one of which I must not forget to make mention. Small in size, and not particularly elegant in its appearance, the mosque of the Sultana Validè must not be passed over in silence, built as it was from the proceeds of one of her diamond-sprinkled slippers!
I have mentioned that this barrack is occupied by the Imperial Guard: and I never shall forget their appearance, as groups of them passed us on the road. Dirty, slouching, and awkward, many among them without either shirts or stockings, they certainly looked as unlike Household Troops as can well be imagined; and might have traversed three quarters of Europe without being mistaken for soldiers at all, either by their gait or their garb. When on duty, and not examined too closely, they make a fair figure as a body, but on ordinary occasions they are as unmilitary in their appearance and bearing as the rest of the Turkish army; and the majority of them are such mere boys that they induce a feeling of pity rather than fear. On one occasion, when I paid a visit to the Sultan’s sister, while waiting to be admitted, I amused myself by looking attentively at the palace-guard, who had all collected outside the guard-house to see the Franks; including the two sentinels on duty, they amounted to ten individuals; and certainly eight of the number were not more than fourteen years of age; nor do I believe that any of them had washed their faces, or brushed their garments for a week previously.
A Pasha, while speaking with me one day of the Turkish army, assured me that it was composed of “excellent materials.”—It may be so; I cannot, nor do I desire, to confute his opinion; but it is certain that, like other raw materials, it will require a great deal of working before it can be rendered serviceable; and that, at present, there are few things more laughable than to see a Turkish regiment at drill or exercise; there is an independence of feeling and action about each individual which is quite impayable.
But the surprise created by the appearance of the Imperial Guard was not to be the only cause for astonishment excited by this gallant corps; for we were yet indulging a hearty laugh at their expense when we were startled by the recommendation of the arabajhe that we should visit the Macaroni Manufactory of Achmet Pasha. At first we thought that our dragoman had played us false, for we could find no possible connection in our own minds between the Generalissimo of the Armies of the Sublime Porte, and a Macaroni Manufactory. The invitation had, however, been correctly interpreted, and we immediately diverged from the road to see this highly-connected establishment.
On rising a little hill, we entered the widest street that I had yet seen in the East, partly overshadowed by the stately trees which encircled an ancient mosque, and terminated by the principal entrance to the garrison.
I may as well mention here that the main portal of every Turkish barrack is decorated with a target, richly framed, and perforated with one or more balls, shot by the Sublime hand of the Sultan, who is an excellent marksman; and thus seeks to excite by his example a feeling of emulation among his soldiery.
The araba drew up before a neat-looking white building with a green balcony, and, ere we could alight, the door was opened to us; when one of the gentlemen of the party instantly recognized an acquaintance, to whom he hastened to present us; and I in turn made my bow to a Major of the Imperial Guard, with a diamond decoration on his breast, his sleeves tucked up to the shoulders, and his arms buried to the elbows in flour.
The Turks are utilitarians indeed!
The scene was a singular one; the large hall in which we stood was entirely over-canopied with ropes of macaroni, and surrounded by presses and rollers.—A major was deciding on the merits of the flour—a lieutenant was superintending the working of the machine—a couple of sergeants were suspending the paste to dry—and a fatigue party were turning the wheels.
Hear this, ye Grenadiers and Coldstream! ye exquisites of Bond Street and the Ring! There was no ennui here—all was grinding, and sifting, and rolling, and drying, and selling—yes, selling—The Imperial Guard of his Sublime Highness have no occasion to kill time; they rather seek customers. The whitest and finest of the paste supplies the kitchen of the Sultan: the darkest and coarsest finds its way to that of the soldiers; but “more remains behind;” and if you are inclined to feast on Imperial macaroni, you have but to draw out your purse, and pay it in piastres!
What a well-imagined antidote to the weariness of a garrison life—What a triumph for utilitarianism!
I shall say nothing of the forest-like cemetery; I have spoken of it elsewhere. The dark cypresses were flinging their long shadows across the road; and the hill which we slowly ascended on quitting the manufactory was called “The Rise of the Vines.” The name is appropriate; for the houses that fringe it on the left hand overlook a wide extent of orchard and vineyard, interspersed with kiosks, and groups of flowering acacias. The view was bounded by the sea, and the tall mountains above Broussa: and flowers were blossoming by the wayside, and wild-birds were singing among the boughs. No wonder that the nature-loving Turks are attached to Scutari.
A small building to the left of the road attracted my attention, and I alighted to examine it. It proved to be the tomb of a Saint; and I distinguished, through the closely-latticed casement, a wooden sarcophagus surmounted by a green turban, and surrounded by the prayer-carpets of the priests. The wire-work of the window was knotted all over with rags; shreds of cotton, woollen, and silk—morsels of ribbon and tape—and fragments of every description. They had been fastened there by sick and suffering persons, who had firmly believed that their trouble, whether mental or physical, would remain attached to the rag, and that they should themselves “return each to his home clean.”
We avoided the town, for the Plague was there; that omnipresent but invisible enemy which stretches its clammy hand over the East, and sweeps down its prey, unchecked by the groans of the bereaved, or the pangs of the smitten—the deadly Plague, which spares neither sex, nor age, nor condition, but makes one universal harvest of mankind.
Nothing ever thrilled me more than when I once came suddenly, during my wanderings, upon an encampment of the Plague-smitten. The huts are generally erected on a hill-side, and the tents pitched among them; and you see the families of the infected basking in the sunshine within their prescribed limits, and gazing eagerly at the chance passenger, whom his ignorance of their vicinity may conduct past their temporary dwellings; the children rolling half-naked upon the grass; and the sallow and careworn parents hanging out the garments of the patients on the trees of the neighbourhood. Such was precisely the case with that into which I had unconsciously intruded; and whence I was very hastily dislodged by the shouts of the guard, stationed to enforce the quarantaine of the mountain colony; and the alarmed exclamations of my companions.
It is difficult to look upon such a scene, and upon such a sky, and to believe in the existence of this frightful scourge! It is the canker at the core of the forest-tree—the serpent in the garden of Eden.
The sun was setting ere we prepared to traverse the Golden Horn, in order to reach the European side before the firing of the evening gun; the shadows were lying long upon the water: a yellow gleam was settling on the domes and houses of Stamboul, and a thick vapour lowered over the sky. The twilight of the East is fleeting as a thought—and the outline of the city ere long loomed out from amid the gathering darkness, like a spectre of the past. One line of light still glimmered across the waves like a thread of gold, linking the shores of Europe and of Asia; but, even as I pointed it out, it faded; softening down to a faint yellow, like the lip of a primrose—and in another instant, it was gone; while, as it disappeared, the hoarse cannon pealed over the ripple, and told that another day was spent.
Our rowers had calculated to a nicety, for, as the sound died away, the caïque touched the crazy wooden pier of Topphannè, and we were once more in Europe!
There is not a locality throughout the whole of the capital more strictly or more richly oriental in its aspect than the small square of Topphannè. In the midst stands the celebrated Kilidge Ali Pasha Djiamini, or Fountain of the Mosque of Ali Pasha, a French renegade, who built the temple which bears his name. Constantinople boasts no other fountain of equal beauty. Its rich and elegant arabesques are beyond all praise; and, when the sun is shining on them, almost look like jewels. It has, however, suffered materially from the reforming mania of the Sultan, who, in his rage for improvement, has replaced its wavy and deeply-projecting roof with a little terrace railing, out of all keeping, alike with its architecture and its ornaments; and who was with difficulty persuaded not to destroy it altogether.
On one side of the fountain is the mosque to which it belongs, and on the other the kiosk of Halil Pasha, with its magnificent portal and glittering casements. But to be seen to perfection, the square of Topphannè must be visited during the autumn, when the rich fruits of Asia are scattered over its whole extent; piles of perfumed melons, pyramids of yellow grapes, heaps of scarlet pomegranates—the golden orange, the amber-coloured lemon, the ruddy apple, the tufted quince, all are poured forth before you. Nor are the vendors less various or less glowing than their merchandize, as they sit doubled-up upon their mats, clad in all the colours of the rainbow, with their chibouks between their lips; rather waiting than looking for customers—a bright sky above them, and the blended languages of many lands swelling upon the wind.
Had I landed at Topphannè on my arrival in Turkey, I should have fancied myself a spectator of one of the scenes described by the tale-telling Schererazade.
Turkish Superstitions—Auguries—The Court Astrologer—The Evil Eye—Danger of Blue Eyes—Imperial Firman—The Babaluk—The Ceremony—Sable Pythonesses—Witchcraft.
The Turks are strangely superstitious; they cling resolutely to the absurd and wild fancies which have been banished from Europe for centuries; and that too with a blindness of faith, and a tenacity of purpose, quite in keeping with their firm and somewhat dogged natures.
Many of their superstitions they inherit from the Romans; they extract auguries of good and evil from the entrails of fresh-slaughtered animals—they draw inferences from the flight of birds—they have auspicious and inauspicious hours, which are gravely determined by the Astrologers; and no Osmanli ever undertakes a journey, builds a house, marries a wife, or commences any business of importance, without satisfying himself on this important point. Should evil or disappointment overtake him, despite the precaution he has used, he never blames either his own mismanagement or another’s treachery; neither does he sink beneath the trial: he tells you that it is his kismet—his fate—and he calmly submits to what he considers to have been inevitable; and should misfortunes accumulate about him, instead of attributing them to worldly causes, he ascribes them to felech—his constellation—without searching further.
When he is troubled with unpleasant dreams, haunted by melancholy fancies, or suffering from bodily disease, he tears away a fragment of his dress, and fastens the rag to the iron-work of a window belonging to the tomb of a saint, in order to deposit the evil along with it. When he is sick, he procures from the Priest an earthen bowl, inscribed throughout its interior with passages from the Koran; and, filling it with water, sets it aside until the whole of the writing becomes effaced, when he swallows the liquid, and thus administers to himself a dose of Holy Writ! The Court Astrologer publishes every year a species of supernatural almanack, in which he specifies the lucky and unlucky days of the different moons; foretells wars, deaths, and marriages; and imparts a vast quantity of multifarious information, which must be both valuable and curious, if it is to be estimated by the price paid for it, as the salary of the Seer is a most liberal one.
Another singular superstition common throughout Turkey is the belief that should a dog chance to pass between two persons who are conversing, one or the other will fall sick unless the animal be propitiated with food; and the first care of a Musselmaun to whom this ill-luck has occurred, is to look about him for the means of averting its effect.
But the predominant weakness of the East is the dread of the Evil Eye. Should you praise the beauty of a Turkish child to its mother, without prefacing your admiration with “Mashallah!” or, In the name of God—which is considered sufficient to counteract the power of all malignant spirits; and, should the child become ill or meet with an accident, it is at once decided that you have smitten it with the Evil Eye. The Greeks, when by accident they allude to their own good health or good fortune, immediately spit upon their breasts to avert the malign influence; and to such a pitch do they carry their faith in the efficacy of this inelegant exorcism, that on a recent occasion, when an acquaintance of my own was introduced to a beautiful Greek girl, and betrayed into an eulogium on her loveliness, he was earnestly entreated by her mother to perform the same ceremony in the very face which he had just been eulogizing, in order to annul the evil effects of his admiration; and so pressing were her instances that he was compelled to affect obedience to her wishes, ere she could be re-assured of the safety of her daughter!
The Turk decorates the roof of his house, the prow of his caïque, the cap of his child, the neck of his horse, and the cage of his bird, with charms against the Evil Eye; one of the most powerful of these antidotes being garlic: and it must be conceded that, here at least, the workers of woe have shown their taste. Every hovel has its head of garlic suspended by a string; and bouquets of flowers formed of spices, amid which this noxious root is nestled, are sent as presents to the mother of a new-born infant, as a safeguard both to herself and her little one.
A blue eye is super-eminently suspicious, for they have an idea that such is the legitimate colour of the evil orb; and you seldom see a horse, or a draught ox, or even a donkey, which has not about its neck a string of blue beads, to preserve it from the dark deeds of witchcraft. I was considerably amused on one occasion, when, being about to meet the carriage of a friend, the horse that drew it, either from idleness or caprice, suddenly stood still, and the arabajhe exclaimed with vehemence to his mistress, “You see, madam, you see that the horse is struck—the new Hanoum has blue eyes!” turning his own on me as he spoke, with a most unloving expression. I am perfectly convinced that, had the animal met with any misfortune, or been guilty of any misdemeanour during the remainder of the day, the whole blame would have inevitably been visited on my unlucky eyes, which had counteracted the effect of a row of glass beads, and a crescent of bone!
To protect the reigning Sultan from the power of the Evil Eye during his state progresses through the streets of the capital, a peculiar head-dress was invented for the Imperial body-pages, whose ornamented plumes were of such large dimensions as, collectively, to form a screen about his sacred person. Even Sultan Mahmoud, who is superior to many of the popular prejudices, has just caused a Firman to be published, prohibiting the women from looking earnestly at him as he passes them, on pain of—what think you, reader?—of subjecting their husbands or brothers to the bastinado! The Turkish laws are too gallant to condemn females to suffer this punishment in their own persons, and Mahmoud is consequently to be protected from the possibly fatal effects of the ladies’ eyes by their fears for their male relations.
Another singular custom is that of pouring water where any one has fallen, to prevent a recurrence of the accident on the same spot, which is religiously observed by the lower orders; as well as flinging stones at the body of a decapitated criminal, in order to secure the dreams of the spectator from an intrusion of the ghastly object.
No Turk of the lower ranks of society ever passes a shred of paper which may chance to lie upon his path; he always gathers it up with the greatest care; as the popular belief leads him to place implicit faith in an ancient superstition that all paper thus obtained will be collected after death, and scattered over the burning soil through which he is to pass to paradise; and that consequently the more he is enabled to secure, the less suffering he will have to endure hereafter.
A most extraordinary fact came to my knowledge a short time before I left the East, relatively to the female Arabs of the harem. They have a species of society, or institution—I scarcely know how to term it—in which they are initiated from their girlhood, that they call “Babaluk,” whose principle of mystery is kept as secret as that of freemasonry; while the occasional display of its influence is wild and startling enough to remind the spectator of the Priestesses of Delphi.
Far from affecting any concealment of their participation in the pretended powers of the society, you cannot, when a guest in the harem, please an initiated Arab more surely than by inquiring if she be a Babaluk; and the Turkish ladies frequently amuse themselves and their visitors by exhibiting their black slaves while under the influence of their self-excited phrenzy. When a sable Pythoness is informed of the wish of her mistress, she collects such of her companions as are Babaluks, for there are sometimes several in the same harem, and a brazier of burning charcoal is placed in the centre of the saloon in which the ceremony is to take place. Round this brazier the Arabs squat down, and commence a low, wild chant, which they take up at intervals from the lips of each other; and then break into a chorus, that ultimately dies away in a wail, succeeded by a long silence, during whose continuance they rock their bodies backwards and forwards, and never raise their eyes from the earth. From the moment in which the chant commences, an attendant is constantly employed in feeding the fire with aloes, incense, musk, and every species of intoxicating perfume.
After a time, they fall on the floor in a state of utter insensibility, and great exertion is frequently necessary to arouse them from their trance; but, when once they are awakened, they become furious—they rend themselves, and each other—they tear their hair and their clothing—they howl like wild beasts, and they cry earnestly for food, while they reject all that is offered except brandy and raw meat, both of which they destroy in great quantities. Having satisfied their hunger, they renew the warfare that they had discontinued to indulge it, and finally roll on the floor with bloodshot eyeballs, and foaming at the mouth.
A second trance ultimately seizes them, from which they are left to recover alone; fresh perfumes being flung into the brazier to expedite their restoration, which generally takes place in ten or fifteen minutes; and then it is that the spell of prophecy is on them. They rise slowly and majestically from the floor—they wave their hands solemnly over the aromatic flame—they have become suddenly subdued and gentle; and, after having made the circuit of the brazier several times in silence, they gaze coldly round the circle, until, fixing upon some particular individual, they commence shadowing forth her fate, past, present, and to come; and I have heard it seriously asserted that they have thus divulged the most secret events of by-gone years, as well as prophecying those which subsequently took place.
It is scarcely wonderful—even disgusting as a great portion of the ceremonial undoubtedly is—that many of the Turkish ladies occasionally relieve the tedium of the harem by the exhibition of the Babaluk; that vague yearning to pry into futurity so inherent in our nature, coupled with the uncertainty on whom the spell of the sybil may be cast, causes an excitement which forms an agreeable contrast from their customary ennui. No second fate is ever foretold at the same orgies. When the first Babaluk begins to speak, the others sink down into a sitting posture, occasionally enforcing her assertions by repeating the last words of any remarkable sentence in a long, low wail; and, when she ceases and takes her place among them, they are for the third time overtaken by a trance: the brazier is then removed, the spectators leave the room, the door is carefully closed, and the Babaluks are left to awaken at their leisure. When they finally come forth, they resume their customary avocations, without making the slightest allusion to the extraordinary scene in which they have been actors; nor do they like the subject to be mentioned to them until several days have elapsed.