call Nissus. This we kept on our right, skirting its bank until we came
to Nissa (Nisch). Some way on, we found on the bank (where the traces
of an old Roman road still remained) a little marble pillar with a
Latin inscription, but so mutilated as to be undecipherable. Nissa is
a small town of some account, to which the people of the country often
resort.
I must now tell you something as to the inns we make use of,
for that is a subject on which you have been some time wanting
information. At Nissa I lodged in the public inn, called by the Turks
a caravanserai—the most common kind of inn in those parts. It consists
of a huge building, the length of which somewhat exceeds the breadth.
In the centre is an open space, where the camels and their baggage, as
well as the mules and waggons, have to be quartered.
This open space is surrounded by a wall about three feet high, and
this is bonded into the outer wall surrounding the whole building.
The top of the former is level, and about four feet broad. This ledge
serves the Turks for bedroom and dining-room, and kitchen as well,
for here and there fireplaces are built into the outer wall, which I
told you encloses the whole building. So they sleep, eat, and cook on
this ledge, three feet high and four feet broad; and this is the only
distinction between their quarters and those of the camels, horses, and
other beasts of burden.
Moreover, they have their horses haltered at the foot of the ledge, so
that their heads and necks come right over it; and as their masters
warm themselves or take their supper, the creatures stand by like so
many lackeys, and sometimes are given a crust or apple from their
master’s hand. On the ledge they also make their beds; first they
spread out the rug which they carry for that purpose behind their
saddles, on this they put a cloak, while the saddle supplies them
with a pillow. A robe, lined with skins, and reaching to the ankles
furnishes their dress by day and their blanket at night. And so when
they lie down they have no luxuries wherewith to provoke sleep to come
to them.
In these inns there is no privacy whatever; everything is done in
public, and the only curtain to shield one from people’s eyes is such
as may be afforded by the darkness of the night.
I was excessively disgusted with these inns, for all the Turks were
staring at us, and wondering at our ways and customs, so I always did
my best to get a lodging with some poor Christian; but their huts are
so narrow that oftentimes there was not room enough for a bed, and
so I had to sleep sometimes in a tent and sometimes in my carriage.
On certain occasions I got lodged in a Turkish hostel. These hostels
are fine convenient buildings, with separate bedrooms, and no one is
refused admittance, whether he be Christian or Jew, whether he be rich
or a beggar. The doors are open to all alike. They are made use of by
the pashas and sanjak-beys when they travel. The hospitality which I
met with in these places appeared to me worthy of a royal palace. It
is the custom to furnish food to each individual who lodges there, and
so, when supper-time came, an attendant made his appearance with a huge
wooden platter as big as a table, in the middle of which was a dish of
barley porridge and a bit of meat. Around the dish were loaves, and
sometimes a little honey in the comb.
At first I had some delicacy in accepting it, and told the man that my
own supper was being got ready, and that he had better give what he
had brought to people who were really in want. The attendant, however,
would take no denial, expressed a hope ‘that I would not despise their
slender fare,’ told me ‘that even pashas received this dole, it was
the custom of the place, and there was plenty more for supplying the
wants of the poor. If I did not care for it myself I might leave it
for my servants.’ He thus obliged me to accept it, lest I should seem
ungracious. So I used to thank whoever brought it, and sometimes took
a mouthful or two. It was not at all bad. I can assure you that barley
porridge is a very palatable food, and it is, moreover, recommended by
Galen[101] as extremely wholesome.
Travellers are allowed to enjoy this hospitality for three full days;
when these have expired, they must change their hostel. In these places
I found, as I have already told you, most convenient lodgings, but they
were not to be met with everywhere.
Sometimes, if I could not get a house to lodge in, I spent the night in
a cattle shed. I used to look out for a large and roomy stable; in one
part of it there would be a regular fire-place, while the other part
was assigned to the sheep and oxen. It is the fashion, you must know,
for the sheep and the shepherd to live under the same roof.
My plan was to screen off the part where the fire was with my tent
hangings, put my table and bed by the fire side, and there I was as
happy as a king. In the other part of the stable my servants took
their ease in plenty of good clean straw, while some fell asleep by
the bonfire which they were wont to make in an orchard or meadow hard
by, for the purpose of cooking our food. By means of the fire they
were able to withstand the cold; and, as to keeping it burning, no
vestal virgin at Rome was ever more careful than they. I dare say you
will wonder how I managed to console my people for their bad lodgings.
You will surmise that wine, the usual remedy for bad nights, is not
easily found in the heart of Turkey. This is quite true. It is not in
every district that you can get wine, and this is especially the case
in places where Christians do not live. For ofttimes, getting wearied
of Turkish insolence, they leave the neighbourhood of the high road,
and take refuge in pathless wilds, where the land is poorer, and they
themselves are safer, leaving their conquerors in possession of the
more fertile spots. When we drew near to such places, the Turks warned
us that we should find no wine there, and we then despatched a caterer
the day before under the escort of a Turk, to obtain a supply from the
neighbouring Christian districts. So my people did not lack this solace
of their hardships. To them wine supplied the place of feather beds and
bolsters, and every other comfort that induces sleep. As for myself, I
had in my carriage some flasks of excellent wine, which supplied my own
private table.
I have now told you how I and my people provided ourselves with wine;
but we had one hardship almost worse than want of wine, and this was
the dreadful way in which our nights were broken. Sometimes, in order
to reach a good halting-place betimes, it was necessary to rise very
early, while it was still dark. On these occasions it not unfrequently
happened that our Turkish guides mistook the moonlight for the approach
of dawn, and proceeded to wake us soon after midnight in a most noisy
fashion. For the Turks, you must know, have neither hours to mark
their time, nor milestones to mark their roads.
They have professional people, called talismans, set apart for the
service of their mosques, who use a water-glass; and when these
talismans know that morning is at hand, they utter a cry from a lofty
minaret built for that special purpose, in order to call and invite the
people to the performance of their devotions. They utter the same cry
when one quarter of the day has elapsed, at midday, again when three
quarters of the day are over, and, last of all, at sunset; each time
repeating the cry in shrill quavering tones, the effect of which is
not unpleasing, and the sound can be heard at a distance that would
astonish you.
Thus the Turks divide their day into four portions, which are longer or
shorter according to the season. They have no method for marking time
during the night.
But to return to my subject. Our guides, deceived by the brightness
of the moon, were wont to give the signal for striking camp when the
day was yet far distant. Up we jumped in haste, for fear of causing
any delay, or being blamed for any misadventure that might ensue. Our
baggage was got together, the bed and tents thrown into the waggon, our
horses harnessed, and we ourselves stood ready and equipped, waiting
for the signal to start. Meanwhile, our Turks had found out their
mistake, and turned into bed for another sleep.
When we had waited some time for them in vain, I would send a message
to tell them that we were quite ready, and that the delay rested with
them. My messengers brought back word that ‘the Turks had returned to
their bedclothes, and vowed that they had been atrociously deceived
by the moon when they gave the signal for starting; it was not yet
time to set out, and we had much better all go to sleep again.’ The
consequence was that we had either to unpack everything at the cost of
considerable labour, or to spend a good part of the night shivering
in the cold. To put a stop to this annoyance, I ordered the Turks not
to trouble me again, and promised to be responsible for our being up
in good time, if they would tell me the day before, when we ought
to start, assuring them that ‘I could manage it, as I had watches
that could be trusted; they might continue their slumbers,’ I added,
‘relying on me to have the camp roused at the proper time.’
My Turks agreed, but were not quite comfortable about it; so at first
they would come early, and wake up my servant, bidding him go to me,
and ask what the fingers of my timepieces said. On his return he would
tell them, as best he could, what the time was, informing them that
it was nearly morning, or that the sun would not rise for some time,
as the case might be. When they had once or twice proved the truth of
his report, they trusted the watches implicitly, and expressed their
admiration at their accuracy. Thenceforward we were allowed to enjoy
our night’s rest without having it cut short by their uproar.
On our way from Nissa to Sophia we had fair roads and good weather,
considering the season of the year. Sophia is a good-sized town, with
a considerable population both of residents and visitors. Formerly it
was the royal city of the Bulgarians; afterwards (unless I am mistaken)
it was the seat of the Despots of Servia, whilst the dynasty still
existed, and had not yet succumbed to the power of the Turk. After
quitting Sophia we travelled for several days through fruitful fields
and pleasant valleys, belonging to the Bulgarians.
The bread we used through this part of our expedition was, for the most
part, baked under ashes. The people call these loaves ‘fugacias:’ they
are sold by the girls and women, for there are no professional bakers
in that district. When the women hear of the arrival of strangers, from
whom they may expect to earn a trifle, they knead cakes of meal and
water without any leaven, and put them under the hot ashes. When baked
they carry them round for sale at a small price, still hot from the
hearth. Other eatables are also very cheap. A sheep costs thirty-five
aspres,[102] a fowl costs one; and fifty aspres make a crown. I must
not forget to tell you of the dress of the women. Usually, their sole
garment consists of a shirt or chemise of linen, quite as coarse as
the cloth sacks are made of in our country, covered with needlework
designs, of the most absurd and childish character, in different
colours. However, they think themselves excessively fine; and when
they saw our shirts—the texture of which was excellent—they expressed
their surprise that we should be contented with plain linen instead
of having worked and coloured shirts. But nothing struck us more than
their towering head-dresses and singular bonnets—if bonnets they can
be called. They are made of straw, woven with threads; the shape is
exactly the reverse of that which is usually worn by our women in
country districts; for their bonnets fall down on the shoulders, and
are broadest at the lowest part, from which they gradually slope up
into a peak. Whereas, in Bulgaria the bonnet is narrowest at the lowest
part; above the head it rises in a coil about three-quarters of a foot;
it is open at the top, and presents a large cavity towards the sky, so
that it seems expressly made for the purpose of catching the rain and
the sun, just as ours are made for the purpose of keeping them off.
The whole of the bonnet, from the upper to the lower rim, is ornamented
with coins and figures, bits of coloured glass, and anything else that
glitters, however rubbishy it may be.
This kind of bonnet makes the wearer look tall, and also obliges her
to carry herself with dignity, as it is ready to tumble off at the
slightest touch. When they enter a room you might imagine it was a
Clytemnestra,[103] or Hecuba such as she was in the palmy days of Troy,
that was marching on to the stage.
I had here an instance of the fickleness and instability of that which,
in the world’s opinion, constitutes nobility. For when, on noticing
some young women, whose persons had an air of better breeding than the
rest, I inquired whether they belonged to some high family, I was told
that they were descended from great Bulgarian princes, and, in some
cases, even from royal ancestors, but were now married to herdsmen and
shepherds. So little value is attached to high birth in the Turkish
realm. I saw also, in other places, descendants of the imperial
families of the Cantacuzeni[104] and Palæologi, whose position among
the Turks was lower than that of Dionysius at Corinth. For the Turks
do not measure even their own people by any other rule than that of
personal merit. The only exception is the house of Othman; in this
case, and in this case only, does birth confer distinction.
It is supposed that the Bulgarians,[105] at a time when many tribes
were migrating of their own accord or under compulsion, left the
Scythian river Volga to settle here, and that they are called
Bulgarians (an equivalent for Volgarians) from that river.
They established themselves on the Balkan range, between Sophia and
Philippopolis, in a position of great natural strength, and here they
long defied the power of the Greek Emperors.
When Baldwin[106] the elder, Count of Flanders, gained possession of
the imperial throne, they took him prisoner in a skirmish, and put him
to death. They were not able to withstand the power of the Turks, who
conquered them, and subjected them to their heavy yoke. They use the
language of the Illyrians, as do the Servians and Rascians.[107]
In order to descend to the level country in front of Philippopolis it
is necessary to cross the mountain by a very rough pass. This pass the
Turks call ‘Capi Dervent’[108]—that is to say, The Narrow Gate. On this
plain the traveller soon meets with the Hebrus, which rises at no great
distance in Mount Rhodope. Before we had crossed the pass I mentioned
above, we had a good view of the summit of Rhodope, which stood out
cold and clear with its snowy covering. The inhabitants, if I am not
mistaken, call the mountain Rulla. From it, as Pliny tells us, flows
the Hebrus, a fact generally known from the couplet of Ovid:—
‘Quâ patet umbrosum Rhodope glacialis ad Hæmum,
Et sacer amissas exigit Hebrus aquas.’
In this passage the poet seems to refer to the river’s want of depth
and its scant supply of water; for though a great and famous stream,
it is full of shallows. I remember, on my return, crossing the Hebrus
by a ford close to Philippopolis, in order to reach an island, where
we slept under canvas. But the river rose during the night, and we had
great difficulty next day in recrossing and regaining our road.
There are three hills which look as if they had been torn away from the
rest of the range. On one of these Philippopolis is situated, crowning
the summit with its towers. At Philippopolis we saw rice in the marshes
growing like wheat.
The whole plain is covered with mounds of earth, which, according to
the Turkish legends, are artificial, and mark the sites of the numerous
battles which, they declare, took place in these fields. Underneath
these barrows, they imagine, lie the victims of these struggles.
Continuing our route, we followed pretty closely the banks of the
Hebrus, which was for some time on our right hand, and leaving the
Balkans, which ran down to the Black Sea, on our left, we at last
crossed the Hebrus by the noble bridge built by Mustapha, and arrived
at Adrianople, or, as it is called by the Turks, Endrene. The name
of the city was Oresta until Hadrian enlarged it and gave it his own
name. It is situated at the confluence of the Maritza, or Hebrus,
and two small streams, the Tundja and Arda, which at this point
alter their course and flow towards the Ægean Sea. Even this city is
of no very great extent, if only that portion is included which is
within the circuit of the ancient walls; but the extensive buildings
in the suburbs, which have been added by the Turks, make it a very
considerable place.
After stopping one day at Adrianople, we set out to finish the last
stage of our journey to Constantinople, which is not far distant.
As we passed through these districts we were presented with large
nosegays of flowers, the narcissus, the hyacinth, and the tulipan (as
the Turks call this last). We were very much surprised to see them
blooming in midwinter, a season which does not suit flowers at all.
There is a great abundance of the narcissus and hyacinth in Greece;
their fragrance is perfectly wonderful, so much so, that, when in great
profusion, they affect the heads of those who are unaccustomed to the
scent. The tulip has little or no smell; its recommendation is the
variety and beauty of the colouring.
The Turks are passionately fond of flowers, and though somewhat
parsimonious in other matters, they do not hesitate to give several
aspres for a choice blossom. I, too, had to pay pretty dearly for these
nosegays, although they were nominally presents, for on each occasion
I had to pull out a few aspres as my acknowledgment of the gift. A man
who visits the Turks had better make up his mind to open his purse as
soon as he crosses their frontier, and not to shut it till he quits
the country; in the interval he must sow his money broadcast, and may
thank his stars if the seed proves fruitful. But even assuming that
he gets nothing else by his expenditure, he will find that there is
no other means of counteracting the dislike and prejudice which the
Turks entertain towards the rest of the world. Money is the charm
wherewith to lull these feelings in a Turk, and there is no other way
of mollifying him. But for this method of dealing with them, these
countries would be as inaccessible to foreigners as the lands which are
condemned (according to the popular belief) to unbroken solitude on
account of excessive heat or excessive cold.
Half way between Constantinople and Adrianople lies a little town
called Tchourlou, famous as the place where Selim was defeated by his
father, Bajazet. Selim,[109] who was only saved by the speed of his
horse Caraboulut (i.e. the dark cloud), fled to the Crimea, where his
father-in-law exercised supreme power.
Just before we reached Selimbria, a small town lying on the coast, we
saw some well-preserved traces of an ancient earthwork and ditch,
which they say were made in the days of the later Greek emperors, and
extended from the Sea of Marmora to the Danube.
These fortifications were intended to defend the land and property of
the people of Constantinople which lay within their defences, against
the inroads of barbarians. They tell of an old man in those days who
declared that the existence of these works did not so much protect what
was inside, as mark the surrender of the rest to the barbarians, and so
encourage them to attack, while it damped the spirit of the defenders.
At Selimbria we stopped awhile to enjoy the view over the calm sea and
pick up shells, while the waves rolled merrily on to the shore. We were
also attracted by the sight of dolphins sporting in the waters; and,
in addition to all these sights, we enjoyed the heat of that delicious
clime. I cannot tell you how warm and mild the air is in this charming
spot. As far as Tchourlou there was a certain amount of cold, and the
wind had a touch of the North about it; but on leaving Tchourlou the
air becomes extremely mild.
Close to Constantinople we crossed over bridges, which spanned two
lovely bays.[110] If these places were cultivated, and nature were to
receive the slightest assistance from art, I doubt whether in the whole
world anything could be found to surpass them in loveliness. But the
very ground seems to mourn its fate, and complain of the neglect of its
barbarian master. Here we feasted on most delicious fish, caught before
our eyes.
While lodging in the hostels, which the Turks call Imaret, I happened
to notice a number of bits of paper stuck in the walls. In a fit of
curiosity I pulled them out, imagining that there must be some reason
for their being placed there. I asked my Turks what was written on the
paper, but I could not find that they contained anything which could
account for their being thus preserved. This made me all the more eager
to learn why on earth they were kept; for I had seen the same thing
done in other places. My Turks made no reply, being unwilling to answer
my question, either because they were shy of telling me that which I
should not credit, or because they did not wish to unfold so mighty a
mystery to one outside the pale of their religion. Some time later I
learned from my friends among the Turks, that great respect is paid
to a piece of paper, because there is a possibility that the name of
God may be written on it; and therefore they do not allow the smallest
scrap to lie on the ground, but pick it up and stick it quickly in some
chink or crack, that it may not be trodden on. There is no particular
fault, perhaps, to be found with all this; but let me tell you the rest.
On the day of the last judgment, when Mahomet will summon his followers
from purgatory to heaven and eternal bliss, the only road open to them
will be over a red-hot gridiron, which they must walk across with
bare feet. A painful ordeal, methinks. Picture to yourself a cock
skipping and hopping over hot coals! Now comes the marvel. All the
paper they have preserved from being trodden on and insulted, will
appear unexpectedly, stick itself under their feet, and be of the
greatest service in protecting them from the red-hot iron. This great
boon awaits those who save paper from bad treatment. On some occasions
our guides were most indignant with my servants for using paper for
some very dirty work, and reported it to me as an outrageous offence.
I replied that they must not be surprised at such acts on the part
of my servants. What could they expect, I added, from people who are
accustomed to eat pork?
This is a specimen of Turkish superstition. With them it is a fearful
offence for a man to sit, even unwittingly, on the Koran (which is
their Bible); in the case of a Christian the punishment is death.
Moreover, they do not allow rose-leaves to lie on the ground, because
they think that the rose sprang from the sweat of Mahomet, just as the
ancients believed that it came from the blood of Venus. But I must
leave off, or I shall tire you with these trifling matters.
I arrived at Constantinople on January 20, and there I found the
colleagues I mentioned above, Antony Wranczy and Francis Zay. The
Sultan was away in Asia with the Turkish army, and no one was left at
Constantinople except the eunuch Ibrahim Pasha, governor of the city,
and Roostem, who had been deprived of his office. Nevertheless, we
visited the ex-chief-Vizier, showed him every courtesy, and gave him
presents to mark our esteem; for we did not forget the great influence
he once had, and his prospect of shortly regaining it.