The Solemnities of Bairam.
The Appearance of the New Moon--The Festival of Bairam--The Interior of
the Seraglio--The Pomp of the Sultan's Court--Rescind Pasha--The
Sultan's Dwarf--Arabian Stallions--The Imperial Guard--Appearance of the
Sultan--The Inner Court--Return of the Procession--The Sultan on his
Throne--The Homage of the Pashas--An Oriental Picture--Kissing the
Scarf--The Shekh el-Islàm--The Descendant of the Caliphs--Bairam
Commences.
Constantinople, _Monday_, _July_ 19, 1852.
Saturday was the last day of the fast-month of Ramazan, and yesterday the
celebration of the solemn festival of Bairam took place. The moon changed
on Friday morning at 11 o'clock, but as the Turks have no faith in
astronomy, and do not believe the moon has actually changed until they see
it, all good Mussulmen were obliged to fast an additional day. Had
Saturday been cloudy, and the new moon invisible, I am not sure but the
fast would have been still further prolonged. A good look-out was kept,
however, and about four o'clock on Saturday afternoon some sharp eyes saw
the young crescent above the sun. There is a hill near Gemlik, on the Gulf
of Moudania, about fifty miles from here, whence the Turks believe the new
moon can be first seen. The families who live on this hill are exempted
from taxation, in consideration of their keeping a watch for the moon, at
the close of Ramazan. A series of signals, from hill to hill, is in
readiness, and the news is transmitted to Constantinople in a very short
time Then, when the muezzin proclaims the _asser_, or prayer two hours
before sunset, he proclaims also the close of Ramazan. All the batteries
fire a salute, and the big guns along the water announce the joyful news
to all parts of the city. The forts on the Bosphorus take up the tale, and
both shores, from the Black Sea to the Propontis, shake with the burden of
their rejoicing. At night the mosques are illuminated for the last time,
for it is only during Ramazan that they are lighted, or open for night
service.
After Ramazan, comes the festival of Bairam, which lasts three days, and
is a season of unbounded rejoicing. The bazaars are closed, no Turk does
any work, but all, clothed in their best dresses, or in an entire new suit
if they can afford it, pass the time in feasting, in paying visits, or in
making excursions to the shores of the Bosphorus, or other favorite spots
around Constantinople. The festival is inaugurated by a solemn state
ceremony, at the Seraglio and the mosque of Sultan Achmed, whither the
Sultan goes in procession, accompanied by all the officers of the
Government. This is the last remaining pageant which has been spared to
the Ottoman monarchs by the rigorous reforming measures of Sultan Mahmoud,
and shorn as it is of much of its former splendor, it probably surpasses
in brilliant effect any spectacle which any other European Court can
present. The ceremonies which take place inside of the Seraglio were,
until within three or four years, prohibited to Frank eyes, and travellers
were obliged to content themselves with a view of the procession, as it
passed to the mosque. Through the kindness of Mr. Brown, of the American
Embassy, I was enabled to witness the entire solemnity, in all its
details.
As the procession leaves the Seraglio at sunrise, we rose with the first
streak of dawn, descended to Tophaneh, and crossed to Seraglio Point,
where the cavass of the Embassy was in waiting for us. He conducted us
through the guards, into the garden of the Seraglio, and up the hill to
the Palace. The Capudan Pasha, or Lord High Admiral, had just arrived in a
splendid caïque, and pranced up the hill before us on a magnificent
stallion, whose trappings blazed with jewels and gold lace. The rich
uniforms of the different officers of the army and marine glittered far
and near under the dense shadows of the cypress trees, and down the dark
alleys where the morning twilight had not penetrated. We were ushered into
the great outer court-yard of the Seraglio, leading to the Sublime Porte.
A double row of marines, in scarlet jackets and white trowsers, extended
from one gate to the other, and a very excellent brass band played "_Suoni
la tromba_" with much spirit. The groups of Pashas and other officers of
high rank, with their attendants, gave the scene a brilliant character of
festivity. The costumes, except those of the secretaries and servants,
were after the European model, but covered with a lavish profusion of gold
lace. The horses were all of the choicest Eastern breeds, and the broad
housings of their saddles of blue, green, purple, and crimson cloth, were
enriched with gold lace, rubies, emeralds and turquoises.
The cavass took us into a chamber near the gate, and commanding a view of
the whole court. There we found Mr. Brown and his lady, with several
officers from the U.S. steamer San Jacinto. At this moment the sun,
appearing above the hill of Bulgaria, behind Scutari, threw his earliest
rays upon the gilded pinnacles of the Seraglio. The commotion in the long
court-yard below increased. The marines were formed into exact line, the
horses of the officers clattered on the rough pavement as they dashed
about to expedite the arrangements, the crowd pressed closer to the line
of the procession, and in five minutes the grand pageant was set in
motion. As the first Pasha made his appearance under the dark archway of
the interior gate, the band struck up the _Marseillaise_ (which is a
favorite air among the Turks), and the soldiers presented arms. The
court-yard was near two hundred yards long, and the line of Pashas, each
surrounded with the officers of his staff, made a most dazzling show. The
lowest in rank came first. I cannot recollect the precise order, nor the
names of all of them, which, in fact, are of little consequence, while
power and place are such uncertain matters in Turkey.
Each Pasha wore the red fez on his head, a frock-coat of blue cloth, the
breast of which was entirely covered with gold lace, while a broad band of
the same decorated the skirts, and white pantaloons. One of the Ministers,
Mehemet Ali Pasha, the brother-in-law of the Sultan, was formerly a
cooper's apprentice, but taken, when a boy, by the late Sultan Mahmoud, to
be a playmate for his son, on account of his extraordinary beauty. Rescind
Pasha, the Grand Vizier, is a man of about sixty years of age. He is
frequently called Giaour, or Infidel, by the Turks, on account of his
liberal policy, which has made him many enemies. The expression of his
face denotes intelligence, but lacks the energy necessary to accomplish
great reforms. His son, a boy of about seventeen, already possesses the
rank of Pasha, and is affianced to the Sultan's daughter, a child of ten,
or twelve years old. He is a fat, handsome youth, with a sprightly face,
and acted his part in the ceremonies with a nonchalance which made him
appear graceful beside his stiff, dignified elders.
After the Pashas came the entire household of the Sultan, including even
his eunuchs, cooks, and constables. The Kislar Aga, or Chief Eunuch, a
tall African in resplendent costume, is one of the most important
personages connected with the Court. The Sultan's favorite dwarf, a little
man about forty years old and three feet high, bestrode his horse with as
consequential an air as any of them. A few years ago, this man took a
notion to marry, and applied to the Sultan for a wife. The latter gave him
permission to go into his harem and take the one whom he could kiss. The
dwarf, like all short men, was ambitious to have a long wife. While the
Sultan's five hundred women, who knew the terms according to which the
dwarf was permitted to choose, were laughing at the amorous mannikin, he
went up to one of the tallest and handsomest of them, and struck her a
sudden blow on the stomach. She collapsed with the pain, and before she
could recover he caught her by the neck and gave her the dreaded kiss. The
Sultan kept his word, and the tall beauty is now the mother of the dwarfs
children.
The procession grows more brilliant as it advances, and the profound
inclination made by the soldiers at the further end of the court,
announces the approach of the Sultan himself. First come three led horses,
of the noblest Arabian blood--glorious creatures, worthy to represent
"The horse that guide the golden eye of heaven,
And snort the morning from their nostrils,
Making their fiery gait above the glades."
Their eyes were more keen and lustrous than the diamonds which studded
their head-stalls, and the wealth of emeralds, rubies, and sapphires that
gleamed on their trappings would have bought the possessions of a German
Prince. After them came the Sultan's body-guard, a company of tall, strong
men, in crimson tunics and white trousers, with lofty plumes of peacock
feathers in their hats. Some of them carried crests of green feathers,
fastened upon long staves. These superb horses and showy guards are the
only relics of that barbaric pomp which characterized all State
processions during the time of the Janissaries. In the centre of a hollow
square of plume-bearing guards rode Abdul-Medjid himself, on a snow-white
steed. Every one bowed profoundly as he passed along, but he neither
looked to the right or left, nor made the slightest acknowledgment of the
salutations. Turkish etiquette exacts the most rigid indifference on the
part of the Sovereign, who, on all public occasions, never makes a
greeting. Formerly, before the change of costume, the Sultan's turbans
were carried before him in the processions, and the servants who bore them
inclined them to one side and the other, in answer to the salutations of
the crowd.
Sultan Abdul-Medjid is a man of about thirty, though he looks older. He
has a mild, amiable, weak face, dark eyes, a prominent nose, and short,
dark brown mustaches and beard. His face is thin, and wrinkles are already
making their appearance about the corners of his mouth and eyes. But for a
certain vacancy of expression, he would be called a handsome man. He sits
on his horse with much ease and grace, though there is a slight stoop in
his shoulders. His legs are crooked, owing to which cause he appears
awkward when on his feet, though he wears a long cloak to conceal the
deformity. Sensual indulgence has weakened a constitution not naturally
strong, and increased that mildness which has now become a defect in his
character. He is not stern enough to be just, and his subjects are less
fortunate under his easy rule than under the rod of his savage father,
Mahmoud. He was dressed in a style of the utmost richness and elegance. He
wore a red Turkish fez, with an immense rosette of brilliants, and a long,
floating plume of bird-of-paradise feathers. The diamond in the centre of
the rosette is of unusual size; it was picked up some years ago in the
Hippodrome, and probably belonged to the treasury of the Greek Emperors.
The breast and collar of his coat were one mass of diamonds, and sparkled
in the early sun with a thousand rainbow gleams. His mantle of dark-blue
cloth hung to his knees, concealing the deformity of his legs. He wore
white pantaloons, white kid gloves, and patent leather boots, thrust into
his golden stirrups.
A few officers of the Imperial household followed behind the Sultan, and
the procession then terminated. Including the soldiers, it contained from
two to three thousand persons. The marines lined the way to the mosque of
Sultan Achmed, and a great crowd of spectators filled up the streets and
the square of the Hippodrome. Coffee was served to us, after which we were
all conducted into the inner court of the Seraglio, to await the return of
the cortège. This court is not more than half the size of the outer one,
but is shaded with large sycamores, embellished with fountains, and
surrounded with light and elegant galleries, in pure Saracenic style. The
picture which it presented was therefore far richer and more
characteristic of the Orient than the outer court, where the architecture
is almost wholly after Italian models. The portals at either end rested
on slender pillars, over which projected broad eaves, decorated with
elaborate carved and gilded work, and above all rose a dome, surmounted by
the Crescent. On the right, the tall chimneys of the Imperial kitchens
towered above the walls. The sycamores threw their broad, cool shadows
over the court, and groups of servants, in gala dresses, loitered about
the corridors.
After waiting nearly half an hour, the sound of music and the appearance
of the Sultan's body-guard proclaimed the return of the procession. It
came in reversed order, headed by the Sultan, after whom followed the
Grand Vizier and other Ministers of the Imperial Council, and the Pashas,
each surrounded by his staff of officers. The Sultan dismounted at the
entrance to the Seraglio, and disappeared through the door. He was absent
for more than half an hour, during which time he received the
congratulations of his family, his wives, and the principal personages of
his household, all of whom came to kiss his feet. Meanwhile, the Pashas
ranged themselves in a semicircle around the arched and gilded portico.
The servants of the Seraglio brought out a large Persian carpet, which
they spread on the marble pavement. The throne, a large square seat,
richly carved and covered with gilding, was placed in the centre, and a
dazzling piece of cloth-of-gold thrown over the back of it. When the
Sultan re-appeared, he took his seat thereon, placing his feet on a small
footstool. The ceremony of kissing his feet now commenced. The first who
had this honor was the Chief of the Emirs, an old man in a green robe,
embroidered with pearls. He advanced to the throne, knelt, kissed the
Sultan's patent-leather boot, and retired backward from the presence.
The Ministers and Pashas followed in single file, and, after they had
made the salutation, took their stations on the right hand of the throne.
Most of them were fat, and their glittering frock-coats were buttoned so
tightly that they seemed ready to burst. It required a great effort for
them to rise from their knees. During all this time, the band was playing
operatic airs, and as each Pasha knelt, a marshal, or master of
ceremonies, with a silver wand, gave the signal to the Imperial Guard, who
shouted at the top of their voices: "Prosperity to our Sovereign! May he
live a thousand years!" This part of the ceremony was really grand and
imposing. All the adjuncts were in keeping: the portico, wrought in rich
arabesque designs; the swelling domes and sunlit crescents above; the
sycamores and cypresses shading the court; the red tunics and peacock
plumes of the guard; the monarch himself, radiant with jewels, as he sat
in his chair of gold--all these features combined to form a stately
picture of the lost Orient, and for the time Abdul-Medjid seemed the true
representative of Caliph Haroun Al-Raschid.
After the Pashas had finished, the inferior officers of the Army, Navy,
and Civil Service followed, to the number of at least a thousand. They
were not considered worthy to touch the Sultan's person, but kissed his
golden scarf, which was held out to them by a Pasha, who stood on the left
of the throne. The Grand Vizier had his place on the right, and the Chief
of the Eunuchs stood behind him. The kissing of the scarf occupied an
hour. The Sultan sat quietly during all this time, his face expressing a
total indifference to all that was going on. The most skilful
physiognomist could not have found in it the shadow of an expression. If
this was the etiquette prescribed for him, he certainly acted it with
marvellous skill and success.
The long line of officers at length came to an end, and I fancied that the
solemnities were now over; but after a pause appeared the _Shekh
el-Islàm,_ or High Priest of the Mahometan religion. His authority in
religious matters transcends that of the Sultan, and is final and
irrevocable. He was a very venerable man, of perhaps seventy-five years of
age, and his tottering steps were supported by two mollahs. He was dressed
in a long green robe, embroidered with gold and pearls, over which his
white beard flowed below his waist. In his turban of white cambric was
twisted a scarf of cloth-of-gold. He kissed the border of the Sultan's
mantle, which salutation was also made by a long line of the chief priests
of the mosques of Constantinople, who followed him. These priests were
dressed in long robes of white, green, blue, and violet, many of them with
collars of pearls and golden scarfs wound about their turbans, the rich
fringes falling on their shoulders. They were grave, stately men, with
long gray beards, and the wisdom of age and study in their deep-set eyes.
Among the last who came was the most important personage of all. This was
the Governor of Mecca (as I believe he is called), the nearest descendant
of the Prophet, and the successor to the Caliphate, in case the family of
Othman becomes extinct. Sultan Mahmoud, on his accession to the throne,
was the last descendant of Orchan, the founder of the Ottoman Dynasty, the
throne being inherited only by the male heirs. He left two sons, who are
both living, Abdul-Medjid having departed from the practice of his
predecessors, each of whom slew his brothers, in order to make his own
sovereignty secure. He has one son, Muzad, who is about ten years old, so
that there are now three males of the family of Orchan. In case of their
death, the Governor of Mecca would become Caliph, and the sovereignty
would be established in his family. He is a swarthy Arab, of about fifty,
with a bold, fierce face. He wore a superb dress of green, the sacred
color, and was followed by his two sons, young men of twenty and
twenty-two. As he advanced to the throne, and was about to kneel and kiss
the Sultan's robe, the latter prevented him, and asked politely after his
health--the highest mark of respect in his power to show. The old Arab's
face gleamed with such a sudden gush of pride and satisfaction, that no
flash of lightning could have illumined it more vividly.
The sacred writers, or transcribers of the Koran, closed the procession,
after which the Sultan rose and entered the Seraglio. The crowd slowly
dispersed, and in a few minutes the grand reports of the cannon on
Seraglio Point announced the departure of the Sultan for his palace on the
Bosphorus. The festival of Bairam was now fairly inaugurated, and all
Stamboul was given up to festivity. There was no Turk so poor that he did
not in some sort share in the rejoicing. Our Fourth could scarcely show
more flags, let off more big guns or send forth greater crowds of
excursionists than this Moslem holiday.