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Transcribers note:
This is the combined version of The Life and Letters
Of Ogier Ghiselin De Busbecq Volume I and Volume II.
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OGIER GHISELIN
DE BUSBECQ
VOL. I.
[Illustration: AVGERIVS GISLENVS BVSBEQVIVS.
_Te voce, Augeri, mulcentem Cæsaris aures
Laudauit plausis Austrius Ister aquis.
Te Ducis Ismarij flectentem pectora verbis
Thrax rapido obstupuit Bosphorus e pelago.
Te gesfisfe domum pro nata Cæsaris, ingens
Sequana conspexit, Parisÿq3 lares_
_I. Lernutius._]
THE
LIFE AND LETTERS
OF
OGIER GHISELIN DE BUSBECQ
SEIGNEUR OF BOUSBECQUE
KNIGHT, IMPERIAL AMBASSADOR
BY
CHARLES THORNTON FORSTER, M.A.
_Late Fellow of Jesus College, Cambridge: Vicar of Hinxton_
AND
F. H. BLACKBURNE DANIELL, M.A.
_Late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge: Barrister-at-Law_
Πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω
_IN TWO VOLUMES_
VOL. I.
LONDON
C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1881
(_The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved_)
TO
MONSIEUR JEAN DALLE
MAIRE OF BOUSBECQUE
AS A SLIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF HIS KINDNESS
AND THE VALUABLE ASSISTANCE WE HAVE
DERIVED FROM HIS RESEARCHES
THESE VOLUMES ARE RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
PREFACE.
We ask to be allowed to introduce the Reader to a kind and genial
cicerone, who can take him back, three centuries deep, into the Past,
and show him the Turk as he was when he dictated to Europe instead of
Europe dictating to him; or conjure once more into life Catherine de
Medici, Navarre, Alençon, Guise, Marguerite the fair and frail, and
that young Queen, whom he loved so well and served so faithfully.
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.
PAGE
LIFE OF BUSBECQ 1
TURKISH LETTER I. 75
” ” II. 174
” ” III. 192
” ” IV. 315
_Errata._
The references in footnotes on pp. 105-250, to other passages in this
volume after p. 72, should be advanced by 2 pages, e.g. _for_ 163,
_read_ 165.
LIFE OF BUSBECQ.
[Illustration]
LIFE OF BUSBECQ.
_Introductory._
The days are now past when students were content to take their history
at second hand, and there is therefore the less reason to apologise for
introducing to the reader, in an English dress, the letters of one who
was an eyewitness and actor in some of the most important events in the
sixteenth century.
Several of the most striking passages in Robertson’s _History of
Charles V._ are taken from Busbecq; De Thou has borrowed largely from
his letters; and the pages of Gibbon, Coxe, Von Hammer, Ranke, Creasy,
and Motley, testify to the value of information derived from this
source. It must not, however, be supposed that all that is historically
valuable in his writings has found a place in the works of modern
authors. On the contrary, the evidence which Busbecq furnishes has
often been forgotten or ignored.
A remarkable instance of this neglect is to be found in Prescott’s
account of the capture of Djerbé,[1] or Gelves, by the Turks. The
historian of Philip II. has made up this part of his narrative from
the conflicting and vainglorious accounts of Spanish writers, and does
not even allude to the plain, unvarnished tale which Busbecq tells—a
tale which he must have heard from the lips of the commander of the
Christian forces, his friend Don Alvaro de Sandé, and which he had
abundant opportunities of verifying from other sources.
The revival of the Eastern Question has drawn attention in France[2]
to the career and policy of one who was so successful as an ambassador
at Constantinople, and the life of Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq has been
the subject of two treatises at least since 1860, while a far more
important work dealing with our author’s life is about to issue from
the press. Of this last we have been allowed to see the proof-sheets,
and we take this opportunity of expressing our obligation to the
author, Monsieur Jean Dalle, Maire de Bousbecque. His book is a
perfect storehouse of local information, and must prove invaluable
to any future historian of the Flemings. It is entitled _Histoire de
Bousbecque_.
During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries hardly any author was
so popular as Busbecq. More than twenty editions[3] of his letters
were published in the literary capitals of Europe—Antwerp, Paris,
Bâle, Frankfort, Hanau, Munich, Louvain, Leipsic, London, Oxford and
Glasgow. His merits as a recorder of contemporary history are briefly
sketched by a writer of that period, who thus describes his despatches
to Rodolph: ‘C’est un portrait au naturel des affaires de France sous
le régne de Henri III. Il raconte les choses avec une naïveté si grande
qu’elles semblent se passer à nos yeux. On ne trouve point ailleurs
tant de faits historiques en si peu de discours. Les grands mouvemens,
comme la conspiration d’Anvers, et les petites intrigues de la cour
y sont également bien marquées. Les attitudes (pour ainsi dire) dans
lesquelles il met Henri III., la Reine Mere, le duc d’Alençon, le roi
de Navarre, la reine Marguerite, le duc de Guise, le duc d’Espernon, et
les autres Courtisans ou Favoris de ce tems-là, nous les montrent du
côté qui nous en découvre, à coup seur, le fort et le foible, le bon et
le mauvais.’[4]
All who have studied the letters of Busbecq will endorse this opinion;
nor is it possible for anyone even superficially acquainted with his
writings, not to recognise the work of a man who combined the rarest
powers of observation with the greatest industry and the greatest
honesty.
He was eminently what is called ‘a many-sided man’; nothing is above
him, nothing beneath him. His political information is important to the
soberest of historians, his gossiping details would gladden a Macaulay;
the Imperial Library at Vienna is rich with manuscripts and coins
of his collection. To him scholars owe the first copy of the famous
Monumentum Ancyranum. We cannot turn to our gardens without seeing the
flowers of Busbecq around us—the lilac, the tulip, the syringa. So much
was the first of these associated with the man who first introduced it
to the West, that Bernardin de Saint Pierre proposed to change its name
from lilac to Busbequia. Throughout his letters will be found hints for
the architect, the physician, the philologist, and the statesman; he
has stories to charm a child, and tales to make a grey-beard weep.
Of his careful and scientific investigations it is almost unnecessary
to cite examples. Never having seen a camelopard, and finding that one
had been buried at Constantinople, he had the animal dug up, and a
careful examination made of its shape and capabilities. On his second
journey to Constantinople he took a draughtsman with him, to sketch
any curious plants and animals he might find. He sent his physician to
Lemnos to make investigations with regard to Lemnian earth—a medicine
famous in those days; while he despatched an apothecary of Pera to the
Lake of Nicomedia to gather acorus[5] for his friend Mattioli, the
celebrated botanist.
While furnishing information of the highest value, Busbecq never
assumes the air of a pedant. He tells his story in a frank and genial
way, not unlike that of the modern newspaper correspondent. If to
combine amusement and instruction is the highest art in this branch
of literature, he would have been invaluable as a member of the staff
of some great newspaper. Among books, Kinglake’s _Eothen_ is perhaps
the nearest parallel to Busbecq’s Turkish letters; the former is more
finished in style—Busbecq evidently did not retouch his first rough
draft—but it does not contain one tithe of the information. Such is the
author for whom we venture to ask the attention of the English reader.
Even to those who can read the elegant Latin in which he wrote, it is
hoped that the notes and articles appended may be found interesting and
useful. They have been gleaned from many different quarters, and to a
great extent from books inaccessible to the ordinary student. This is
specially the case with the _Sketch of Hungarian History during the
Reign of Solyman_. In no modern writer were we able to find more than
scattered hints and allusions to the history of Hungary during this
important epoch, when it formed the battle-field on which the Christian
and the Mussulman were deciding the destinies of Europe.
The object of Busbecq’s mission was to stay, by the arts of diplomacy,
the advance of the Asiatic conqueror, to neutralise in the cabinet the
defeats of Essek and Mohacz. In this policy he was to a great extent
successful. He gained time; and in such a case time is everything. What
he says of Ferdinand is eminently true of himself.[6]
There are victories of which the world hears much—great battles,
conquered provinces, armies sent beneath the yoke—but there is also
the quiet work of the diplomatist, of which the world hears little. In
the eyes of those who measure such work aright, not even the hero of
Lepanto or the liberator of Vienna will hold a higher place among the
champions of Christendom than Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq.
_Removal of the Rubbish._
For the rebuilding of a house, it is absolutely necessary to remove the
rubbish with which the site is encumbered. Unfortunately, the process
is equally necessary in writing the life of Busbecq. There is rubbish
of ancient date and rubbish of modern date, which cannot be ignored and
must be removed. With regard to one story, a writer of the present time
is specially bound to protest. It is to be found in the treatise of
Monsieur Rouzière, entitled, _Notice sur Auger de Busbecq, Ambassadeur
du Roi Ferdinand_ 1^{er} _en Turquie, et de l’Empereur Rodolphe II.
en France_. There is the more need for warning the reader against it,
because Monsieur Rouzière ushers in his narrative with a long tirade
against similar inventions. ‘He is not,’ he tells us, ‘a professor of
history, or one of those knights of the quill who wander from town to
town discovering documents which, like the Sleeping Beauty, are waiting
for the champion who is to break the enchanter’s spell.’ Monsieur
Rouzière is specially bitter against ‘un Américain qui vient de mourir
en parcourant l’Europe pour faire des découvertes historiques, et
qui à l’Escurial avait fait la trouvaille d’une relation sur la mort
de don Carlos écrite par son valet-de-chambre.’ With this preamble,
he introduces his readers to the following story, which is simply a
romance of his own creation:
‘When Charles V. came to Flanders for the purpose of installing his
sister Mary, Queen of Hungary, in the government, he visited Comines,
in company with Gilles Ghiselin, Seigneur of Bousbecque, father of the
Ambassador. As they were entering the town, the Seigneur, entreating
Charles to wait for a few moments, knocked at the door of a house,
which, though unpretentious, had a dignity of its own. Out of it issued
a boy with sparkling eyes; so interesting was his appearance, that
the words, ‘O! what a lovely child!’ burst from the emperor’s lips.
The Seigneur bade the boy kneel down. ‘Ogier,’ said he, ‘look well at
your lord; when you are older you will serve him as faithfully as your
father and grandfather.’ He then informed the emperor that, not having
any legitimate children, he had allowed all his love to centre on this
offshoot, who, he fondly hoped, would one day be admitted into his
family.’
Monsieur Rouzière is certainly not fortunate in his story;[7] the
Seigneur’s name was George[8] and not Gilles, and he had, moreover,
three legitimate children. A house at Comines is shown as the scene of
this event, but from inquiries made on the spot, we have ascertained
that there is no tradition connecting it with Busbecq earlier than the
publication of Monsieur Rouzière’s treatise in 1860. He is a lively and
amusing writer. It is the more to be regretted that he has not regarded
the line which separates biography from romance.
Monsieur Huysmans, the well-known French artist, has also laid the
foundation of several errors in the striking picture which has been
purchased by the Belgian Government, and now adorns the Hôtel de Ville
of Belgian Comines. Its artistic merits make one regret the more that
he did not select one of the many dramatic events in Busbecq’s life,
instead of giving us a scene which not only is not recorded, but never
could have happened. In the first place, the date 1555 is wrong; in
no case could the scene have taken place earlier than 1556. Secondly,
Monsieur Huysmans has been led into error by a loose translation in the
French version of Busbecq’s letters by the Abbé de Foy. For some time
Busbecq was confined to his house by the Turkish authorities. De Foy,
in speaking of this curtailment of his liberty, uses the expression
‘une étroite prison’ (whence, by the way, some have supposed that
Busbecq was confined in the Seven Towers). Monsieur Huysmans, led
astray by this phrase, and imagining that the Ambassador was confined
in a prison, straightway concluded that if he was imprisoned he must
have been _arrested_. On this he grounded the subject of his work,
‘Soliman fait arrêter Busbecq, diplomat Flamand, Constantinople,
1555.’ There is also a striking error in the persons represented in
the picture. When Busbecq first arrived at Constantinople Roostem was
in disgrace, and Achmet held the post of chief Vizier. The latter had
only consented to accept the seal of office on condition that the
Sultan undertook never to remove him. The Sultan kept his word. When it
was convenient to reinstate Roostem, he did not deprive Achmet of the
seal of office, but _of his life_. The execution of Achmet is one of
the most striking scenes recorded by Busbecq. Unfortunately, Monsieur
Huysmans had not studied his subject sufficiently, for in his picture
Roostem is in office, and Achmet stands by as a subordinate.
As to errors of a less recent date, they are, for the most part, such
as an intelligent reader of Busbecq’s letters may correct for himself.
For instance, it is not hard to prove that the author of the life
prefixed to the Elzevir edition is wrong in stating that Busbecq’s
father died before the Ambassador went to England, when we find that
he had an interview with him after his return from our island. Neither
is there much danger of the veriest tiro being led astray by De Foy’s
suggestion that, when Busbecq came to England for the marriage of
Philip and Mary, he had long conversations with Henry VIII., who
tried to induce him to enter his service. There is, however, danger
in Howaert’s[9] statement that Busbecq accompanied the younger sons
of Maximilian to Spain, and introduced them to Philip. The story is
not impossible in itself, nor is it even improbable. But there is this
suspicious circumstance about it; those who mention it do not seem to
be aware that Busbecq did accompany the two elder sons of Maximilian,
Rodolph and Ernest, to Spain in the capacity of ‘_Écuyer trenchant_.’
This latter fact is established on the best of authorities, namely,
the Patent of knighthood issued by the Emperor Ferdinand to Busbecq,
a copy[10] of which we have, through the kindness of a friend, been
enabled to procure from the archives of Vienna.
That Busbecq accompanied the four younger Archdukes to Spain is perhaps
doubtful, and still more doubtful is the story grafted on to it by
later hands, namely, that Busbecq pleaded the cause of the Netherlands
before Philip II., obtained the recall of Alva and the substitution
of Requesens in his place. No facts could be more interesting if they
should but prove to be true; unfortunately they are at present without
authority.
_Bousbecque and its Seigneurs._
It is from the seigneury of Bousbecque that Ogier[11] Ghiselin takes
the name by which he is best known, Busbecq (Latin, Busbequius).
Properly of course his name is identical with that of the seigneury,
but, by common consent, the Ambassador is known as Busbecq, while
the name of the place, after numerous variations—Bosbeke, Busbeke,
Bousbeke, &c., has settled down into the form Bousbecque.[12]
It will be necessary therefore to speak of the man by one name and the
place by another.
The geographical position of Bousbecque has an important bearing on
the biography of the Ambassador; as the place is not marked in English
maps, a plan of the district is given in this volume showing the
relative positions of Bousbecque, Comines, Wervicq, Halluin, &c. It
will be seen that Bousbecque lies on the river Lys, about two miles
from Comines. In the times with which we shall have to deal, it formed
part of the County of Flanders; it is now part of the French frontier,
and is included in the Département du Nord.
The neighbourhood of Bousbecque has a history extending to early times,
for close to it stands Wervicq, marking with its name the Roman station
of Viroviacum; in Bousbecque itself Roman paving-stones have been dug
out on the road now known as the ‘Chemin des Oblaers;’ whence it may
be assumed that the road mentioned in the itinerary of Antoninus, as
running from Tournay to Wervicq, passed through Bousbecque.
The depth of the river Lys, which is an affluent of the Scheldt,
exposed the neighbouring country to the attacks of the Northmen; the
hardy pirates sailed up the stream, and built their castles and forts
on the banks of the river. Their descendants became the seigneurs, or
lords, of the territories which their ancestors had won.
A distinction must here be drawn between the seigneury of Bousbecque
and the parish (now commune) of Bousbecque. The parish of Bousbecque
contained a great many other seigneuries besides that from which it
takes its name; notably, for instance, the seigneuries of la Lys and
Rhume. The first mention of Bousbecque occurs in a deed, without
date, but necessarily between 1098 and 1113; in it Baudry, bishop of
Tournay, conveys to the Collegiate Chapter of St. Peter, at Lille, the
whole tithes of Roncq and half the tithes of Halluin and Bousbecque
(Busbeka).[13]
In 1159, Wautier, Seigneur of Halluin, husband of Barbe daughter of
the Count of Soissons, conveys to the Abbey of St. Aubert, with the
consent of his wife and his children—Wautier, Roger, Guillaume, Alix,
and Richilde—his share of the tithes of Iwuy. The Roger here mentioned,
married Agnes de Bousbecque; hence we see the high position held at
that early date by the family of Busbecq;[14] a daughter of their house
was considered a proper partner for a nobleman of royal family, the
grandson of a Comte de Soissons.
Adjoining the seigneury of Bousbecque lay the seigneury of la Lys, and
in 1298 both these seigneuries are found in the possession of the same
person, mention being made in the archives of Lille of ‘William de la
Lys, sire de Bousbeke, fius Monseigneur William de la Lys, ki fu sire
de Bousbeke.’
Thus for a time the title by which the family was known was not
Bousbecque, but la Lys.
In December 1348, was signed the Treaty of Dunkirk, by the Earl of
Lancaster, the Earl of Suffolk, and Sir Walter Manny on the part of
England, and on the part of Flanders, by ten delegates of rank; among
their names is found that of Jehan de la Lys.
About this time the seigneuries of la Lys and Bousbecque passed to
the house of Pontenerie; William of that name marrying Marie de la
Lys, heiress of the seigneuries, and assuming—no doubt as one of the
conditions of the contract—the name of la Lys. His children were
severally known as, Guillaume, Jeanne, and Marie de la Pontenerie, dit
de la Lys.
Again there was a failure in the male line, and Marie, the youngest
daughter, brought the seigneuries to Bauduin de Hingettes.
Their son, Jehan de Hingettes, married a Halluin, and dying in
1466, his daughter Adrienne de Hingettes, dit de la Lys, became
representative and heiress of the family. She married Gilles Ghiselin
I., and thus the seigneuries of la Lys and Bousbecque passed into the
possession of the noble house of Ghiselin.[15]
On the marriage of Adrienne to Gilles Ghiselin I. the title of la Lys
was dropped, and that of Bousbecque resumed.
Gilles Ghiselin I., Seigneur of Bousbecque, knight of Jerusalem and
Cyprus, was a man of considerable importance, and from the following
notice it would appear that he was a man of high character. In 1474
there was a dispute between the dean and chapter of Messines[16] on the
one side, and the abbess, convent, and church on the other. It appears
that the bailiffs of the abbess had arrested a man in a house belonging
to the dean and chapter. The chapter resented this intrusion on their
rights, and the case was submitted to two men for arbitration, Gilles
Ghiselin I. and Guillaume Wyts.
_George Ghiselin I., great uncle of the Ambassador._
Gilles Ghiselin I., died in 1476, leaving six children by his wife
Adrienne; two of whom, George and Gilles, were destined to occupy a
prominent part in the history of their time.
George, the elder, succeeded to the seigneury of Bousbecque; his
grandmother was a Halluin, and he also was married to a member of the
same house.
It is not improbable that he owed his promotion to a high place in
the Burgundian Court to the influence of Jeanne de la Clite, dame de
Comines, the wife of Jean Halluin, Seigneur of Halluin, and the head of
that important family.
At any rate this lady had an influence at the Court of Burgundy
which it is impossible to overestimate, and we find her husband’s
relations,[17] the Ghiselins of Bousbecque, occupying high positions
in the ducal household.
In June 1478, Mary of Burgundy, daughter and heiress of Charles the
Bold, was married to the Archduke Maximilian, afterwards Emperor;
George Ghiselin was appointed one of his chamberlains, and a member of
his council.
On August 7, 1479, there was a great battle at Guinegatte, between
Maximilian and the French. The latter were at first successful, their
men at-arms defeated Maximilian’s horse, and chased them off the field,
while the free-archers began plundering the baggage, and murdering the
non-combatants. But the battle had yet to be decided. Maximilian’s
army did not consist solely of horse, for there were two divisions of
Flemish pikemen on foot. To the surprise of Philippe de Comines, who
gives an account of the battle, the Flemish infantry were not shaken
by the defeat of the cavalry; the firm front which they showed was
probably owing to a custom which the Burgundians had adopted from their
English Allies. Their officers, who in this instance consisted of two
hundred of their own nobles and gentlemen, _fought on foot_. These two
divisions were severally commanded by the Count of Nassau and the
Count of Romont. As soon as a French force could be collected, it was
brought up to crush the Flemings; the Count of Nassau’s command was
hard pressed, and in spite of a gallant resistance, Maximilian’s guns
were taken, and turned on the Burgundians. At this critical moment,
the Count of Romont charged with his division, retook the guns, and
sweeping on, captured the whole of the French artillery, thirty-seven
pieces, with their camp and commissariat stores. This battle is
generally spoken of as an indecisive one, because Maximilian retired
instead of following up his success. His strategy may have been bad,
but, as to the great victory he gained, there can be no doubt. On the
Burgundian side, we have the account of Molinet, who tells us that the
French lost ten thousand men, thirty-seven guns, and their camp with
all its stores. On the French side, we have the account of Philippe
de Comines, who endeavours to represent it as a drawn battle; but he
does not disguise the effect which the news of this defeat had on his
master, Louis XI. He was with him when the tidings came, and _from
that very hour_, he tells us, _the French king determined to make
peace with Maximilian_. It was on the field of Guinegatte[18] that
George Ghiselin, Seigneur of Bousbecque, in company with nine other
gentlemen, received knighthood at the hand of Maximilian. It seems
certain that he was fighting on foot, with his retainers, in the ranks
of the Flemish pikemen.
The scene now changes from the battle-field to the scaffold. The
Flemings, as represented by their four members—Ghent, Bruges, Ypres,
and the belt of villages known as the Francq—were anxious for peace
with France. They had also serious grievances against Maximilian (now
King of the Romans) and his ministers. They declared that the latter
had misappropriated the revenues, and the former been more grievous in
his exactions than Philippe le Bon or Charles the Bold.
They also objected to having German troops quartered in the country.
Early in 1488 the smouldering fires of insurrection burst into a flame.
Curiously enough, Maximilian’s treatment of a friend and relation
of the Busbecqs was the proximate cause of the outbreak. Adrien de
Vilain,[19] Seigneur of Rasenghien, had been one of the leaders of the
Gantois after the outbreak in 1485. He had subsequently retired to
Lille, with the approval of Maximilian, who had given him a pardon.
Here no doubt he felt safe in the neighbourhood of the Ghiselins of
Bousbecque and other friends; but one day he was seized by Charlot de
Menneville and a party of the Count of Nassau’s archers, who carried
him off, and imprisoned him in the castle of Villevorde. His relations
were naturally incensed at this breach of faith, and one morning, when
the warden of the castle had gone to Brussels, Vilain’s first cousin,
Adrien de Lickerke, rode into Villevorde with thirteen of his friends;
leaving the rest in the town, he proceeded to the castle with three of
his companions, and knocked at the gate. The porter at first refused
to admit them, but by dint of entreaties, backed by the offer of a
handsome reward, his scruples were at last overcome. On entering, they
asked for Adrien Vilain. The porter replied that he was no longer in
the castle; but a glance into the court-yard disproved his words, for
there was the prisoner drearily pacing up and down in his gown. De
Lickerke went up to him. ‘You have been here long enough, fair cousin,’
quoth he, ‘come back with us.’ Vilain’s gown (the civilian dress), was
quickly exchanged for a soldier’s doublet, and a hat placed on his
head. The porter, seeing their intentions, attempted to raise an alarm,
but they hustled him against the wall, and nearly killed him. Quitting
the castle with the prisoner they joined their friends in the town, and
taking horse rode for their lives. Avoiding Brussels, they made for
Tournai, some seventy miles distant, not sparing the spur till they
were in a place of safety.
Whether Maximilian had authorised the seizure of Vilain or not, at any
rate he was deeply annoyed at his escape. De Lickerke was now a marked
man; probably he thought that his safety lay in boldness, for he put
himself at the head of 3,000 Gantois, and one wintry night (January
9, 1488) took Courtrai[20] by surprise, making the inhabitants swear
allegiance to Philippe (Maximilian’s infant son) and the Gantois.
The King of the Romans was at this time at Bruges, where the States
were assembled to conclude a peace with France. The Gantois had
committed themselves; it was time for the Brugeois to rise. On the
last day of January, 1488, the guild of carpenters made the first move
by seizing two of the gates of Bruges,[21] those of St. Catherine and
Ghent. Maximilian, with his officers, attendants, and body-guard lay at
the Palace (Prinssenhof), not far from the centre of the town; with him
were Pierre Lauchast, Carondelet the Chancellor, George Ghiselin, and
other faithful followers.
It is difficult to say whether his best plan would have been to remain
quiet, or to follow the example of Philippe le Bon,[22] put himself at
the head of his guard, and fight his way out of the city. Unfortunately
for himself and his friends, he took a middle course. On February 1,
between five and six in the morning, he marched into the market-place
with his household troops. Leaving the larger portion of them there,
he proceeded with his personal attendants to the gates of Ghent and
St. Catherine, where he met with scant courtesy from the guard of
carpenters.
Meanwhile the troops in the market-place had been standing round a huge
bonfire, and it occurred to their commanding officer that it would be
a good opportunity to put them through their drill. He gave the order
for them to execute a German[23] manœuvre, ‘Faison le limechon à la
mode d’Allemagne,’ and marched them round the square in fours. Next he
gave the order for them to bring their pikes to the charge; there was a
crowd looking on, and, imagining they were about to be attacked, they
fled in confusion and dismay. Maximilian, hearing the uproar, returned,
and led his men back to their quarters. No blood had been shed, but the
mischief had been done.
At twelve o’clock the same day the trades of Bruges met at their
several halls, arms were served out, flags were unfurled, and columns
of citizens streamed into the market-place. There they formed a
regular encampment, planting their fifty-two banners, throwing up
entrenchments, and arming them with cannon.
The Brugeois were now masters of the situation. On February 5, at the
request of the Gantois, they compelled Maximilian to leave his palace,
and lodged him in the famous grocer’s shop in the market-place, known
as the Cranenburg. But the king of the Romans was not the chief object
of their wrath; it was against his ministers that they vowed their
direst vengeance. A reign of terror commenced; rewards were offered
for the apprehension of Pierre Lauchast and others connected with the
treasury. Maximilian’s friends and advisers were compelled to seek
safety in concealment or in flight.
George Ghiselin had his head tonsured, and assumed the dress of a
mendicant friar of the Augustin order. In this disguise he attempted
to leave the city. Unfortunately he was recognised at the gate, and
arrested.
Shortly afterwards he was called up for examination before the town
judges, in company with Jehan Van Ninove, and a sergeant named
Bontemps. The court had not sat for a full hour, when the dean of the
carpenters brought a detachment of his men to the door, and threatened
to break it open. The judges, seeing that resistance was useless,
allowed them to seize the unfortunate prisoners, whom they straightway
carried off to the market-place, and there examined after their own
fashion.
The deans of the different trades had enclosed a space for the purpose
of holding their consultations; in the middle of this enclosure stood a
rack, specially constructed for torturing victims of different sizes.
Hard by was a scaffold of unusual size, and there, waiting for his
prey, stood Maistre Charles, the executioner of Bruges.
Jehan Van Ninove’s turn came first. He was frightfully tortured,
his legs being actually dislocated. Whilst he was being racked,
proclamation was made that he had agreed with Pierre Lauchast to bring
the troops of the guard into the town for the purpose of intimidating
the citizens of Bruges. Bontemps was then tortured, but George Ghiselin
was respited. The unfortunate prisoners had now no doubt as to what
their ultimate fate would be, and they all three asked to be executed,
and forgave those who had compassed their death.
There was one listening on whose ears the words fell with no unwelcome
sound; Maistre Charles[24] had an eye to his fees, and determined
that there should be no delay on his part. In a trice he was on the
scaffold, getting out his swords and preparing his bandages. Then,
louder than thunder, swelled the shouting in the market-place, some
demanding their immediate execution, and some its postponement. The
latter prevailed. Maistre Charles was disappointed of his prey, and the
unhappy men were sent back to prison.
On February 28, the leading spirits of the insurrection being absent
from the town and engaged in an attack on Middelbourg, the town judges
made a most meritorious effort to save the lives of these victims of
mob law. They called them up for sentence.[25] Maistre Charles was
again in high glee; his swords and bandages were all ready, and his
palm itching for the fees. He must have been greatly cast down when
the judges passed a merely nominal sentence on George Ghiselin and
his companions; they were to beg pardon in their shirts of the deans,
make some pilgrimages, and distribute certain sums in charity; the
only object of the sentence being to satisfy the people. There was now
a gleam of hope for the unhappy men; but, unfortunately, Middelbourg
surrendered the same day, and the ringleaders, returning in triumph,
were furious at this attempt to frustrate their vengeance. They seized
the unfortunate prisoners, and racked them again in the market-place.
On the next day, February 29, 1488, Maistre Charles once more made his
preparations, and this time he was not disappointed. Bontemps, whose
turn came last, was pardoned by the mob, now glutted with blood, but
the rest were all executed, and amongst them died that gallant knight,
George Ghiselin, Seigneur of Bousbecque.
_Gilles Ghiselin II., Grandfather of the Ambassador._
George Ghiselin left no children, and on his death the seigneury of
Bousbecque passed to his brother Gilles. The latter appears to have
entered the public service at an earlier period than his elder brother.
Gilles won his spurs from Charles the Bold, and George from Maximilian.
At home and at court, Gilles Ghiselin II. must necessarily have
been brought into contact with a man of world-wide fame—Philippe de
Comines,[26] the father of modern history. Living within two miles of
each other during their boyhood, and connected by marriage, they were
both at an early age introduced into the household of Charles the Bold.
The famous Duke of Burgundy made a point of gathering[27] round him and
educating his young nobles. Philippe de Comines entered his service
when he was about seventeen years old, and it is not improbable that
Gilles Ghiselin II. joined his court at the same time. It will be
necessary here to give some account of the posts which the two young
men severally filled. In the ducal household[28] there were fifty
bread-servers, fifty cupbearers, fifty carvers, and fifty equerries,
each of whom in battle was accompanied by a swordbearer, and the whole
body was commanded by four captains. Thus the officers of Charles the
Bold’s house were formed into an organised band of picked troops. In
this body Philippe de Comines was enrolled as a cup-bearer, ‘_écuyer
échanson_,’ and Gilles Ghiselin II. as a carver, ‘_écuyer trenchant_.’
They were both at a later date appointed chamberlains to the duke,
and members of his council; they were also both knighted by their
Sovereign, and not improbably on the same occasion.
Philippe de Comines is supposed to have won his spurs on the occasion
of the Burgundian and French armies entering Liege, an event rendered
familiar to English readers by the pages of _Quentin Durward_. Gilles
Ghiselin II. may have received the accolade at the same time.
In August 1472, Philippe de Comines deserted his master, and threw in
his lot with Louis XI. of France. Gilles Ghiselin remained constant
to the house of Burgundy in sunshine and in shade. He accompanied his
master in his numerous campaigns, and was with him at the fatal battle
of Nancy.[29]
Gilles Ghiselin must have taken part in many a victory, but it is only
the disastrous defeat that is recorded by his descendant on his tomb.
That inscription must have been placed by one who valued loyalty above
success, and merit above reward. We know who caused that inscription to
be engraved; it was his grandson, Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq.
The death of his master on the fatal field of Nancy, January 1477,
apparently marks the termination of Gilles Ghiselin’s military career.
Though he did not become Seigneur of Bousbecque till after his
brother’s death in 1488, there was probably some family arrangement
by which he resided at the château, and represented its absent
lord. During his service under Duke Charles, he must have acquired
considerable wealth, for shortly after his return to Bousbecque he
built the noble church[30] which still stands as a memorial of his
munificence. He also rebuilt, or more probably restored, the seigneur’s
château, the family residence of the Busbecqs, and there with his wife,
Agnes Gommer, he settled down to lead the life of a country gentleman.
He was, however, too valuable a man to be left without work. In 1480,
three years after the battle of Nancy, he was appointed High Bailiff
of Ypres, ‘grand bailly de la ville, salle et châtellenie d’Ypres.’
This important town, which formed one of the four members of Flanders,
is situated about ten miles north of Bousbecque. About six miles from
either of these places lies Messines, of which his sister Marie was
lady-abbess. The castles of Halluin and Comines were both in the hands
of his relations; while in the important town of Lille, Gilles Ghiselin
and his wife had a magnificent hotel, whither after her husband’s death
Agnes Gommer retired to end her days. It will be seen, therefore, that
Gilles Ghiselin II., the grandfather of the Ambassador, was, at this
period of his life, a man of very high position and influence. Unlike
his brother George, he did not accept any office in the household of
Maximilian. It would appear that if Gilles Ghiselin II. was a loyal
subject, he was no less a loyal Fleming, and had little taste for the
service of the German Archduke, who had been married by his Sovereign.
That this is the true reading of his story may be gathered with fair
probability from the records of Bousbecque church. It was built by
Gilles Ghiselin about 1480. In 1485 a window was presented to this
church, blazoned with the arms of Ghent and Rasenghien, by a distant
relation of the family, Adrien Vilain, Seigneur of Rasenghien, whose
story has already been told. Now in 1485 Adrien Vilain was one of
the leaders of the Gantois in opposing Maximilian. It may fairly be
inferred that his views met with some sympathy from his friend at
Bousbecque. To admit such a window into his church was not the way to
curry favour with Maximilian.
With regard to Maximilian’s son Philippe le Beau, Gilles Ghiselin was
in a different position. He was the child not only of Maximilian, but
also of Mary of Burgundy, and the grandson of his old master Charles
the Bold. Moreover, the early education of Philippe had been entrusted
to the neighbour, connection, and doubtless intimate friend and ally of
the Busbecqs, Jeanne de la Clite,[31] of whom mention has already been
made. She probably exercised considerable influence over the selection
of the officers of the young prince’s household, and it is not
surprising to find that Gilles Ghiselin II. filled the post of _écuyer
trenchant_.[32]
It is not probable that Philippe le Beau had like his grandfather fifty
squires to discharge the duties of this office. It is more likely that
Gilles Ghiselin II. was his sole _écuyer trenchant_, though it is
possible that he may have had one or two coadjutors.
On attaining his eighteenth year Philippe was united to Joanna the
second daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain. In its political
issues this marriage was probably the most important event of its kind
in the history of the world. Philippe was already Sovereign of the Low
Countries, as his mother’s heir; through his father he was entitled
to the reversion of the possessions of the house of Hapsburg, and had
practically a claim on the Imperial title. Joanna, on her part, was
destined to become by the death of her brother and her nephew heiress
of Spain, and to transmit not only Spain itself, but vast empires in
the western hemisphere to the descendants of this marriage.
Of Philippe and Joanna were born two sons, Charles V., the famous
Emperor, and Ferdinand, who was born in Spain, and brought up there
by his grandfather Ferdinand of Aragon, to whom his brother resigned
Austria, Styria, and the Tyrol, and who succeeded eventually to the
Imperial title. The last of these two princes specially commands
our notice, for he it was who invited young Ogier Ghiselin into
his service, and sent him first to England, and afterwards to
Constantinople.
In November 1501 Philippe and Joanna left the Netherlands for a visit
to Spain. The Count of Nassau was entrusted with the government of the
country, and with the care of their children whom they left behind
them. Their family then consisted of Charles, the future Emperor, and
his two sisters, Leonora[33] and Elizabeth.[34] Mechlin was appointed
as their residence, and an establishment was created for them, in which
the post of _premier écuyer trenchant_ was assigned to Gilles Ghiselin,
who had been the faithful servant of their father and their great
grandfather.
Gilles Ghiselin did not live to see his young master and mistresses
ascend the thrones, to which they were destined; he died in 1514, full
of years and honours.
The careers of George and Gilles Ghiselin had an important bearing on
the destinies of Ogier; his credentials to Ferdinand were the eminent
services of his grandsire and great uncle.
Possibly the calm courage with which he faced the prospect of death
and torture at Constantinople, may have arisen in some degree from the
memory of what his ancestors had been.
In Bousbecque church still stands the monument which marks Ogier’s
regard for the grandsire he never saw.
To this object he devoted what was probably the first large sum he was
able to save from his salary as ambassador.
It bears the date 1559, and the following inscription:—
CY GIST MESSIRE GILLES CHEVALIER SEIGNEUR DE BOUSBEKE
FILZ DE FEU GILLES AUSSY CHEVALIER EN SON TEMPS S^R DUDICTE
BOUSBEKE DU HEULLEHOF ET WASTINES &C EN SON TEMPS ESCUIER
TRENCHANT A FEU DUC CHARLE DE BOURGOGNE LE SERVIT A LA
JOURNEE DE NANSY ET DEPUIS AU DICT ESTAT A TRES PUISSANT
ROY PHILIPPE DE CASTILLE ET PREMIER ESCUIER TRENCHANT A
MESSEUR LES ENFFANS DU ROY QUAND IL SE PARTIT DES PAYS
DEMBAS POUR ESPAIGNE LEQUEL TERMINA VIE PAR MORT LE XVIII^E
JO^R DU MOIS D’APVRIL ANNO XV^CXIIII ET DAME AGNIES GOMMER SA
COMPAIGNE EN SON TEMPS DAME DESPLANQUES, ET DE LE PHALESQUES
LAQUELLE TERMINA VIE PAR MORT LE SECOND JOUR DE JUILLET
XV^CXLI PROES DIEU POUR LEURS AMES.
_Jeanne de la Clite and her son George Halluin._
Hitherto the family history has been traced, but before proceeding
further, it will be necessary to describe the man to whom the
Ambassador must have owed more than to anyone else.
This was George Halluin, son of Jeanne de la Clite, cousin of Philippe
de Comines,[35] and an intimate friend of the great Erasmus. Mention
has already been made of alliances between the Busbecqs and the
Halluins; in the map it will be seen that Bousbecque lies half way
between Halluin and Comines, being about two miles distant from either.
Towards the end of the fourteenth century, Colard de la Clite I.
married Jeanne de Wazières, Lady of Comines, and thus became seigneur
of the place. He had two sons, (1) Jean de la Clite I.,[36] Seigneur of
Comines, guardian of Philippe de Comines; (2) Colard de la Clite II.,
dit de Comines, father of Philippe de Comines.
Jean de la Clite I. married Jeanne de Ghistelles, and had a son, Jean
de la Clite II., who was united to Jeanne d’Estouteville.
The sole child of the pair last mentioned was Jeanne de la Clite, who
was destined to exercise so important an influence on the current of
modern history.
It will be seen therefore that Jeanne de la Clite was the
granddaughter, and Philippe de Comines the nephew, of Jean de la Clite
I., but though the girl belonged to a younger generation, she was older
than her cousin Philippe, having been born in the Castle of Comines in
1440, while the historian was born in the same place in 1445.
Philippe de Comines, being yet a child when his father died, was handed
over to the care of his uncle; and there is a manifest probability that
he and Jeanne were brought up together. His name is famous, she was one
of the most accomplished women of her age. As she was so much older,
it is probable that hers was the predominating influence: what that
influence was likely to be may be traced in the education she bestowed
on her son.
Charles the Bold, as has been already stated, made his court a sort of
school for young men of noble birth; it was not likely therefore that
he would neglect the education of his only child.
He provided for it by appointing Jeanne de la Clite as _première
gouvernante_ to the young princess.
On three remarkable occasions in the life of Mary of Burgundy we meet
with Jeanne de la Clite; (1) when tidings came of the disastrous defeat
of Nancy, and the death of Duke Charles, the Chancellor Hugonet asked
Jeanne de la Clite[37] to break the news to her young mistress before
he himself made the official announcement; (2) when it was proposed to
marry the princess to the Dauphin of France, a sickly child of eight,
Jeanne de la Clite[38] put her veto on the project. Her interference
was not altogether approved of by the Burgundian Council, but it was
decisive; (3) Mary of Burgundy’s first-born, Philippe le Beau, was
baptised when six days old. Jean Molinet, the court chronicler,
thought it necessary to record the order in which the great nobles and
ladies went to the ceremony: of Jeanne de la Clite[39] we read that she
stopped behind to take care of her young mistress.
After Mary’s accession to the throne, Jeanne de la Clite became her
_première dame d’honneur_; her next office was _gouvernante_ to
Philippe le Beau, who lost his mother when he was scarce five years
old. She saw her young charge grow up, and became _dame d’honneur_ to
his wife, the unfortunate Joanna of Spain, accompanying her in that
capacity to Spain in 1501.
She had been _gouvernante_ to Mary of Burgundy, and in all probability
she was present at the birth and christening of her grandchildren,
Charles and Ferdinand, but her long connection with the royal family
was now to terminate. Of her own choice she retired to Comines, and
spent her last days in ministering to the welfare of her people.
Her important duties had not prevented her forming domestic ties.
Early in life she was married to Jean Halluin, or Halewin, Seigneur of
Halluin, and chief of what may be termed the Halluin clan,[40] bringing
as her marriage portion the important seigneury of Comines. Five
children were the fruit of this marriage, three daughters, Wautier, who
died young, and George Halluin.
The last succeeded to the seigneuries of Halluin and Comines, and
also to the title[41] which had been bestowed on his mother for her
eminent services. George Halluin was born in 1470, his father died in
1473, so that, from his earliest infancy, his mother must have had the
supreme direction of his education. Probably no woman was ever better
fitted for the task. It is remarkable that Philippe de Comines, who
was an excellent modern linguist, regretted deeply his ignorance of
the ancient languages, when we couple this circumstance with the fact
that his cousin and playmate, Jeanne, gave her son an education which
made him one of the first Latin scholars of his age. With regard to
his literary merits, we can produce two unimpeachable witnesses; the
one is a man whose name was for centuries familiar to the schoolboy,
Jean Despauteres, the writer of Latin grammars, the other is the great
Erasmus.
Long before his mother had resigned her influential position at the
Court, George Halluin had grown to man’s estate. A brilliant career,
accompanied with wealth and high honours, seemed the manifest destiny
of the young Seigneur. He was a gallant knight, placed at the head, not
only of numerous vassals, but also of an important clan. His advice
was sought by his Sovereign, and his voice in the council chamber was
listened to with respect.[42]
As a loyal gentleman he was ever ready to give his country the benefit
of his services, but of ambition he had none. The campaign over,
the crisis past, George Halluin sought once more his books and his
friends. He collected a magnificent library, he surrounded himself
with students, young and old, and became the guide and oracle of the
best scholars of his age. He took an interest not only in the pursuits
of finished scholarship, but also in the best method of instructing
beginners. He had a theory, which Erasmus thought he pushed too far,
that grammars and rules were a hindrance rather than a help, and that
the only road to a real knowledge of the Latin language lay through the
best Latin authors.
In order to establish his views, he wrote a treatise on modern and
ancient writers, showing how many mistakes arose from the grammars
used by the former. It is curious that such a man should have been
brought into so close connection with Despauteres, the great writer
of grammars. When the latter was schoolmaster at St. Winoc, he showed
George Halluin his treatise on Versification, ‘Ars Versificatoria,’[43]
which it had cost him three years to prepare, feeling confident of his
approval. George Halluin examined it, and at once hit the blot.
Despauteres had to a great extent followed the lines of his
predecessors, instead of mastering the authors for himself. George
Halluin’s first question was, ‘Have you read Silius Italicus?’
Despauteres had not. ‘Read him by all means,’ said the Seigneur, ‘and
you will then see your mistakes.’ When Silius Italicus was finished,
he sent the schoolmaster Lucretius, Virgil, Manilius, Catullus,
Tibullus, Propertius, &c., all of which were new to Despauteres, with
the exception of Virgil. Despauteres read them, and rewrote his book
at the cost of three years more labour. The preface testifies his
gratitude to George Halluin. At this time Despauteres was schoolmaster
of St. Winoc, but not long afterwards he became master of the ancient
chapter school at Comines,[44] a post which he owed no doubt to the
patronage of the Seigneur.
The following extracts from the letters of Erasmus will show what the
great leader of the Renaissance thought of George Halluin.
_Erasmus to George Halluin, Seigneur of Comines._
‘Dearest George, if I am not very much mistaken, I have a clue to the
man who quarrels with my book on Folly.[45] He is a monk, he is a dark
man, and his stomach is the biggest part of him. At first my book was
understood by few, till Listrius published notes on it; but when,
thanks to your translation, people were able to read it in French,
fellows understand it who cannot construe the Psalms they patter.
‘Louvain, August 29, 1517.’
_Erasmus to Thomas More._
‘In time we shall have scholars, for there is hardly a gentleman who
is not giving his children a classical education, though there is not
in the Court circle a single well-educated man, _with the solitary
exception of George Halluin_.
‘Anderlecht, 1520.’
_Erasmus to George Halluin, Seigneur of Comines._
‘I cannot tell you with what pleasure I received your letter. You have
not then forgotten your old friend Erasmus, and in spite of your rank
can condescend to write to him.
‘You say you are not satisfied with any of the Latin grammars or
exercise books yet published, or with the Latin of modern writers. I am
not sure, my dear friend, that you would not criticise Cicero himself,
just as some have accused Virgil of solecisms, and Livy of writing dog
Latin.
‘For my own part, I approve not of those who neglect either their
authors for their grammar, or their grammar for their authors. The
grammar rules should be few and sound; all the rest should be picked
up from reading the best authors, or in conversation with good Latin
scholars.... I should be more inclined to agree with you, if an
instance could be given of a man who had learnt to write Latin without
the aid of a grammar. I have with me here Ulrich von Hutten,[46] an
exquisite Latin scholar, of gentle birth and good breeding. I should
recommend you to discuss the subject with him. I will come to you
the day after to-morrow, health permitting, for I am still poorly,
otherwise this letter would have been in my own handwriting, instead
of being dictated. Most honoured Sir, farewell.
‘Louvain, June 21, 1520.’
An account of George Halluin would be incomplete without a list of his
works, which are, (1) A translation into French of the [Greek: Enkômion
Môrias], written by Erasmus, and dedicated to Sir Thomas More. (2) A
treatise _De Restauratione Linguæ Latinæ_. (3) _On the Coronation of
Emperors._ (4) A work on Music. (5) A treatise against Luther. (6)
Notes on Virgil.[47]
This list shows the wide range of his studies, and also implies no
small amount of literary toil, for George Halluin was one who loved
to polish and mature his work. As Despauteres puts it, ‘nothing would
satisfy him that fell short of perfection.’
Such was the man who must have exercised the greatest influence
over Busbecq’s earlier years. The latter was born in 1522. George
Halluin did not die till 1536, when Busbecq had left his home for the
University of Louvain.
As, however, we have no direct record of the connection between George
Halluin and Busbecq, the probabilities, which in this case seem to
amount to certainty, must be set before the reader. (1) Busbecq was
born at Comines, and passed his earlier years at his father’s house,
two miles from Comines. (2) Though Jean Despauteres was dead, the
school at Comines under his pupils maintained its high reputation.
(3) George Halluin was a great patron of scholars, and had the finest
library in Flanders. (4) The Busbecq family, as has been already
shown, had made constant alliances with the Halluins; moreover, not
only were they their nearest neighbours, but they had also been brought
into close relations by the positions that George and Gilles Ghiselin
and Jeanne de la Clite had severally occupied in the Burgundian Court.
(5) Busbecq’s father was on intimate terms with George Halluin,
hawking and feasting with him (see _infra_, page 39). Taking all these
points into consideration, is it probable that Busbecq’s father, the
neighbour, relative, fellow seigneur, and intimate friend of George
Halluin, would fail to consult him as to the education of his scholar
son? Erasmus, it is to be remembered, writing of these days, says that
all the noblemen were anxious to give their sons a good education, but
that George Halluin was the only member of the Court circle who was
himself a scholar. Is it likely, therefore, that Busbecq’s father,
having such a man at his door, went elsewhere for advice? Then there is
the other side. Busbecq’s writings will show that he was formed in the
mould of George Halluin. A Latin scholar of exquisite taste and wide
reading, a student of many different subjects; in religion a reformer
within the pale of the Church, desiring comprehension and objecting
to schism; in short, a follower of George Halluin and a follower of
Erasmus. At the end of Busbecq’s fourth Turkish letter will be found a
distinct reference to the life which George Halluin led, as his _beau
idéal_ of earthly happiness. His wants are summed up thus—a quiet home,
a good garden, a few friends, and plenty of books. This was the lot
which George Halluin deliberately chose: this the life which Busbecq
would fain have led.
The following epitaph was engraved on George Halluin’s tomb:—
Munera qui sprevit aulæ fumosa superbæ
Pro dulci Aonidum ludo et sudore Minervæ,
Nec tamen abstinuit regum, si quando vocatus,
Conciliis, gravibus consultans publica dictis,
Nec patriæ duros sudanti Marte labores
Defuit, et neutram contempsit tempore laudem.
Qui, quos antiqua populos ditione tenebat,
Legibus instituit, fuerant ut tempora, sanctis.
Comminii genetrix, Halewini cui pater arcem
Jure dedit prisca majorum laude regendam,
Ejus habes clausos cineres hoc marmore, mentem
Pronus ei precibus commenda, siste viator,
Æternum cineres faciat qui vivere rursus.
Of which the following is a free translation.
He left ambition’s phantom-chase,
The glare of Court, the greed of place,
For joys that letters yield;
But yet should Halluin’s sovereign call,
He gave good counsel in the hall,
And struck a blow amongst them all
For country on the field.
At once the scholar and the knight,
He taught his people what was right—
At least the best he knew.
The Seigneur he of old Comines,
And on his scutcheon might be seen
The arms of Halluin too.
On either side of lineage high,
He ruled each ancient seigneury,
The head of Halluin’s clan.
Then, traveller, pause awhile, and pray
To Him who can revive this clay
Mid realms of everlasting day.
There’s One alone who can.
_George Ghiselin II., father of the Ambassador._
Gilles Ghiselin II. had four children, (1) Gilles Ghiselin III., who
died childless; (2) Marie Ghiselin, who appears to have accompanied
her widowed mother to Lille, and after her death to have occupied the
family mansion. It was with her, in all probability, that Busbecq was
staying when he received the summons to Vienna (see page 75); (3) Barbe
Ghiselin, married to François de Hocron, governor of Bethune; (4)
George Ghiselin II., Knight, Seigneur of Bousbecque.
The lives of George Ghiselin I. and his brother Gilles introduce us
to the scenes of public life, the Court, the battle-field, and the
scaffold. George Halluin has given us a glimpse of the library and
the student. From the story of George Ghiselin II. may be gleaned not
less valuable knowledge of a seigneur’s life whilst living amongst
his people. It is not impossible that the influence of his friend,
relative, and near neighbour, the student Seigneur of Comines, may have
induced George Ghiselin to prefer home duties and home pleasures to the
perilous honours of a public career. At any rate, the life of Busbecq’s
father is the life of a country gentleman, interested in the welfare of
those around him, and joining in the recreations and festivities of his
neighbours.
Comines had long been celebrated for its cloth, and George Ghiselin
II. endeavoured to establish the manufacture in his own seigneury.
Nearly two hundred years before, 1352, the inhabitants of Bousbecque
had been given a charter, entitling them to manufacture cloth. Their
right appears to have lapsed, for on June 7, 1531, George Ghiselin
II.[48] obtained from Charles V. a renewal of the privilege. It does
not appear, however, that his vassals reaped much advantage from this
right. About this time the trade of Comines began to decline, and under
these circumstances it is not surprising to find that the attempt to
revive the industry in Bousbecque proved a failure. It is interesting,
however, to notice the source from which the Ambassador acquired his
knowledge of the mysteries of the craft.[49]
A curious document has been discovered among the archives of Lille,
which furnishes us with a striking picture of the sort of life led by
George Ghiselin II. and his brother seigneurs. It will be found in the
Appendix, under the head of _Pardon of Daniel de Croix_. From this
interesting record it appears that on a certain day in the summer of
1519, George Halluin, Seigneur of Comines, had a meeting in the broad
meadows beneath the castle, for the knightly sport of hawking. Thither
came George Ghiselin, the father of the Ambassador, from his château at
Bousbecque, bringing with him the Seigneur of Wambrechies, Daniel de
Croix, a relative of his wife’s, and thither rode other gentlemen of
the country, Jacques de le Sauch and the Seigneur of Croiselle; while
Comines was represented by its bailiff, Jehan Homme, and several other
townsmen who had fought against the French under the banner of the
Halluins.
The noble seigneurs and the worthy clothiers passed a merry day with
hawk and hound; they had their sport in the field, and they feasted
in the castle. Their host was one whom they all respected, a gallant
knight, a safe adviser, a prince of scholars, one who could hold his
own in the field or in the council-chamber, and yet preferred his
library at Comines, and a chat with Erasmus, to the honours of a Court
and the condescensions of an Emperor.
Between eight and nine in the evening, the festivities drew to a close.
George Halluin and the Seigneur of Croiselle, according to the official
account, retired to bed. It is pardonable to imagine that the former
may have sought his library, to add another note to his Virgil, to
have a chat about Latin grammars with Jean Despauteres, or to indite a
letter to Erasmus in the most faultless of Latin.
Meanwhile, George Ghiselin, in company with Jehan Homme, bailiff of
Comines, Jacques de le Sauch, and Daniel de Croix, strolled towards the
market-place of the town. It happened to be a fête-day, so there was
a general holiday and merry-making. To this fête had come a minstrel
named Chariot Desrumaulx. Perhaps he may have helped to entertain
the gentlemen at the castle, at any rate he attached himself to the
party of seigneurs as they went towards the market-place. Possibly
in Provence he would have been allowed to associate with men of
rank, but the Flemish seigneurs evidently thought that the man was
taking a liberty. On the road one of them suggested that they should
adjourn to the inn of Master Francis Barbier, on the Place de Comines,
and there prolong their festivities. The proposal met with general
approval. Daniel de Croix and Jacques de le Sauch went on in front,
while the Seigneur of Bousbecque and the bailiff followed at some
little distance. When the two gentlemen first mentioned came to the
inn, Charlot Desrumaulx insisted on entering with them. De Croix, who
still had his hawk upon his wrist,[50] remonstrated with him, and told
him in plain terms that he was too drunk and quarrelsome for them to
wish for his company. The minstrel persisted in entering, whereupon de
Croix took him by the collar, and, with the assistance of de le Sauch,
expelled him from the house. Desrumaulx grew violent, and attempted
to draw his sword, but his hand was stopped by de le Sauch before he
could disengage his weapon. At this moment up came Jehan Homme, bailiff
of Comines, and George Ghiselin. The former immediately executed his
office by arresting Desrumaulx, and was on the point of consigning
him to the gaol, when the bystanders good-naturedly interfered. They
made what excuses they could for the man; ‘he was drunk and saucy now,
but if he were allowed to sleep it off, he would come to his senses in
the morning.’ Desrumaulx promised to go to bed quietly, and on this
understanding he was released. On regaining his liberty, however,
instead of going off to his lodgings, he stationed himself at the
entrance to the Place, laid down his violin, took off his coat, and in
loud insulting language challenged the best of the seigneurs to single
combat. Young Daniel de Croix, no doubt with good reason, considered
the challenge as specially addressed to himself. According to his
ideas, his reputation as a gentleman and a soldier was at stake; if he
permitted a base-born minstrel publicly to insult him, he could never
hold up his head again among his comrades at arms. Assuming, probably,
that with his superior skill he would have no difficulty in disarming
his tipsy antagonist, he threw his hawk to his man-servant, and sallied
out into the market-place. Desrumaulx, on seeing him, repeated his
insults, and drawing his sword advanced to meet him. Hereon de Croix,
unsheathing his rapier, exchanged some passes with the minstrel; the
latter’s skill proved greater than the young Seigneur had anticipated,
and he succeeded in hitting his antagonist’s shoulder. De Croix,
smarting under the blow, made a lunge at the minstrel, and ran him
through the body; his rapier entered a little below the right breast,
inflicting a wound that was almost immediately fatal. De Croix was now
in a very serious position, for not only was the man dead, but he had
died before he could be confessed and shriven, consequently the young
Seigneur had to answer for the perdition[51] of his soul, as well as
the destruction of his body! We are left to imagine the hurried council
held in the market-place by the seigneurs; how the swiftest horse was
saddled, and de Croix rode forth into the night to escape for his life.
The French frontier was not far distant, and there probably he took
refuge. When the time came for trial at Lille, de Croix did not appear,
being afraid that the justice of the court would not be tempered with
mercy. Application was made to Charles V. for a pardon; the petition
was no doubt backed up by the influence of the Halluins, Ghiselins, and
other noble houses connected with the family of de Croix. At any rate
it was successful; and de Croix received a free pardon, on condition of
his paying all legal expenses, and compensating the family of the man
he had killed.
The scene preserved in this curious document furnishes a picture of a
seigneur’s life in the country, and conveys some idea of the tone of
the society from which Busbecq went forth to sketch the manners and
customs of the East.
George Ghiselin II. died in 1561, leaving three legitimate children,
(1) Jean Ghiselin, Seigneur of Bousbecque, whose name[52] is found
amongst the signatures appended to a remonstrance addressed by the
Estates of Lille to Margaret of Parma, against the decrees she had
issued for enforcing the edicts of Charles V. for the suppression of
heresy. He died childless, November 1578; (2), Marguerite Jacqueline
Ghiselin, married November 28, 1565, to Jean Baptiste de Thiennes,
Seigneur of Willersies; she died March 27, 1611. (3), Agnes Ghiselin,
who succeeded her brother Jean in the seigneury of Bousbecque. She
married Jacques Yedeghem, Seigneur of Wieze, captain, governor, and
high bailiff of Termonde (Dendermonde).
These last had a son, Charles de Yedeghem, who became Seigneur of
Bousbecque; from him, his uncle, the Ambassador, on December 18, 1587,
bought a life-interest in the seigneury.[53]
_Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq._
Besides the children born in lawful wedlock, George Ghiselin II. had,
by Catherine Hespiel,[54] an illegitimate son, who is the subject of
this memoir, Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq. The mother was an unmarried
woman, in a humble position of life, and is supposed to have been a
servant at the Bousbecque château. If this was the case, there is
nothing surprising in the fact that she was at Comines when her son was
born, in 1522; for it is hardly likely that her mistress would allow
her to remain an inmate of the Seigneur’s house. In justice to George
Ghiselin himself, it must be remembered that the standard of morality
in Flanders, with regard to such connections, was not high, as is shown
by Motley’s[55] description of a seigneur’s privileges in old times;
and also by the fact that up to a late date they retained the right
of legitimating their bastard children. At any rate, his conduct as
a father was unimpeachable; he received the little fellow into his
château, and gave him an excellent education.
From considerations already stated, it is impossible to doubt that
Busbecq came under the influence of George Halluin. He must often have
been found in the famous library[56] of the Seigneur of Comines, with
his head buried in some weighty folio; thither, no doubt, he brought
the botanical specimens he had discovered in the woods and fields of
Bousbecque, and the Roman coins he had unearthed at Wervicq. From his
kind patron he must have heard of the great Erasmus, of Melancthon,
Thomas More, and other leaders of that age. One can picture to oneself
how Ogier may have questioned him as to Luther, and asked how it was
that he and Erasmus were so far apart, when they agreed so heartily
in detesting the greed and superstition of the monks. ‘My boy,’[57]
one can imagine George Halluin saying, ‘when your grandsire, Gilles
Ghiselin, was about to restore the Bousbecque château, he took me to
see the old place. The great hall was well-nigh perfect, and all the
windows had been closed with boards. On entering, we found it had been
made a home for the owl and the bat; the creatures flew up against me;
and as I tried to escape, I stumbled over the rubbish, and fell on the
floor, which was covered with filth. I was so disgusted that I would
fain have persuaded your grandfather to leave the old place to its
present occupants, and build a fair castle at some little distance; but
he laughed at my boyish fancy, saying it were foul scorn that he should
be ousted from the roof of his ancestors by a set of night-birds.
He called in his men, the windows were unbarred, and broad streams
of light poured into the hall. Then might you have seen owl and bat
shrinking from the bright sunbeams; thenceforth the Bousbecque hall was
no resting-place for them, for they love not to roost save where there
is perpetual darkness and night.[58] Here is my parable, Ogier; Luther
would quit our Church because of the many corruptions and abuses that
have crept in; he would leave the monks to their darkness, and build
himself a brand-new chapel after his own design. Erasmus would count
it shame to allow such night-birds to deprive him of his inheritance
in the Church. He would do what your grandsire did, open the windows
and pour in the light; that is a power against which neither monks
nor bats can stand.’ ‘But where is the light,’ says Ogier, ‘and where
are the windows?’ ‘There,’ replies the Seigneur, pointing to his
well-stored shelves, ‘there is the light of antiquity, which will chase
the night-birds from our Church. Never think, Ogier, that the Bible
is the only revelation of God; all knowledge comes from him. Seneca,
who never read a word of the Bible, can help us to the truth; and if
it be the truth, it is God’s truth, as much as if it had been uttered
by inspired lips. I will tell you a secret, boy; you remember the old
line, “Fas est et ab hoste doceri.” The drones in the monasteries have,
like other animals, that intuitive knowledge which tells them what is
fatal to their existence; so we may learn from them their vulnerable
part. Erasmus has said many hard things of them, but that is not the
chief reason of their hate. What is it then? _It is because he has sent
the world to school with Greece and Rome for its masters._[59] Just as
the owls and bats in your grandsire’s hall might have held their own
had we attacked them with sticks and stones, but shrank discomfited
before the light of day, so the monks might battle against downright
attacks, but they know that the light of antiquity must drive them
from their roosts. My ancestors have left their mark on the history
of Flanders; but I doubt whether they ever discharged a more glorious
office than that which fell to me when I undertook the translation of
the great satire which Erasmus[60] dedicated to Sir Thomas More. I
once spoke of it to my friend. He shook his head. “You have brought
me, my dearest George, into some trouble with your translation; it is
too good; it seems incredible, but the lazy crew positively understand
it. No, no, stick to your Virgil; they cannot attack me about it; and,
between ourselves, you will frighten them much more.” As he said to me,
so I say to you, my dear young friend, leave religious questions alone;
they will right themselves, if we only let in the light.
‘And why should not you help in this work, Ogier? There are manuscripts
yet to be discovered, there are inscriptions yet to be copied, there
are coins of which no specimen has been garnered. Then there is the
great field of Nature before you; plants with rare virtues for healing
sicknesses, fruits that are good for food, flowers with sweet scents
and various hues. Why, again, should you not utilise the taste you have
for observing the habits of the animal world? Depend upon it, these
studies are intended by God for the improvement and advancement of the
human race. Let monk and sectary fight it out as they will; do you be
content to let in the light, and leave the rest to God.’
Such was the influence that presided over Comines during Busbecq’s
earlier years; for the ideas of George Halluin were the ideas of
Erasmus. We may be quite certain also that, under the same guide,
Busbecq was not allowed to damp his ardour and stupefy his brains with
too copious doses of Latin grammar, before he was made free of his Livy
and his Virgil. As much as possible of the works of the ancients, and
as little as possible of the cut and dried rules of the moderns—such
would be George Halluin’s advice. If any one be curious as to the
result of such a system, they have but to look at Busbecq’s Latin for
the answer.
At the age of thirteen Busbecq became a student at Louvain, the
celebrated University of Brabant, where Erasmus once taught. Here he
spent five years, at the end of which he received a reward, which must
have been more precious to him than any of his University laurels. In
consideration of his merits as a student, and other good qualities,
Charles V. issued a Patent,[61] removing the stain from his birth, and
admitting him into the noble family of Busbecq.
According to the fashion of the times, the young man’s education was
not completed at Louvain. He went the round of the great Universities
of Europe, studying at Paris, Bologna, and Padua; at the last he became
the pupil of the famous Baptista Egnatius, the friend and fellow-worker
of Erasmus.
The ideas which he imbibed in the course of his education appear to be
a sort of continuation or development of those of Erasmus. There is
a striking resemblance between the views of Busbecq and those of his
contemporary, Pierre de la Ramée. These views and theories consisted in
making the results achieved by the ancients a new point of departure
for the learning of modern times.[62] In medicine, for instance, the
works of Galen and Hippocrates were to be taken for the foundation, and
all later writers ignored; on this substratum the medical science of
the future was to be built. That these ideas rested on a sound basis
there can be no doubt. Immense results, in almost every field of human
knowledge, had been achieved during the palmy days of Greece and Rome;
with the downfall of the latter a flood of barbarism had poured over
the civilised world. The human race had been struggling again towards
the light, but struggling with slow and feeble step. In Busbecq’s days
they had not nearly reached the point where Greece and Rome left off.
Compare, for instance, the writings of Philippe de Comines, one of
the ablest men of his time, with those of Busbecq sixty years later.
The former are stamped with the ideas of the middle ages, the latter
are bright with the freshness of a modern writer. The difference is
simply enormous, and it is to be attributed to the fact that Philippe
de Comines, who was fully conscious of his loss, was ignorant of Latin,
while Busbecq had kept company, as it were, with the brightest wits
and most learned men of ancient times.
But it must not be supposed that the men of Ramée’s school had any
idea of contenting themselves with the knowledge of the ancients; on
the contrary, they made it the starting-point for the prosecution of
further discoveries. Busbecq’s letters furnish us with an excellent
instance of the practice of these ideas. With Pliny, Galen, Vopiscus at
his fingers’ ends, he is ever seeking to verify, correct, or enlarge
the store he has received. For him all knowledge is gain, and he seeks
it in every quarter; inscriptions, coins, manuscripts; birds, beasts,
and flowers; the homes, customs, and languages of mankind; the secrets
of earth, air, and water—all alike are subjects of interest to him. One
trait marks the man. On his journeys he made it a rule, as soon as he
reached his halting-place for the night, to sally forth in search of
some discovery. Occasionally an inscription, or some of his favourite
coins, was the result; at other times it would be a strange plant, or
even a quaint story; but whatever it was, it was duly garnered.
It seems probable that Busbecq, after the completion of his studies,
returned to Flanders, and for a few years led that quiet life with his
books and a few friends, which afterwards, amid the blaze and glare of
a court, seemed to him the perfection of human happiness. We have no
record of his life during these years, but it is easy to picture it.
Many a quiet morning spent in reading at Bousbecque, or in a corner of
the Halluin library at Comines, a chat with a chance student friend
as to the last news from the Universities, a stroll to inspect Roman
coins or pottery lately discovered at Wervicq, a search for some rare
plant, a series of observations on the habits of some animal. Nor would
his life be spent only in the country. At Lille there was the family
mansion, and his aunt Marie Ghiselin to welcome him; there he could
find a larger circle of literary friends, and ransack their libraries
for books, which might be absent from the collections at Bousbecque and
Comines.
It may seem strange that he was so thoroughly accepted in the family,
but the explanation is not difficult. His address was singularly
winning, and at the same time he inspired every one with confidence in
his honesty;[63] he was remarkable for his tact[64] in dealing with the
prejudices of his fellow-creatures, and when it was necessary to be
firm[65] he could be firm without blustering. The qualities which made
him so successful as a diplomatist were the qualities most calculated
to endear him to his friends. The man who could ingratiate himself with
Roostem was not likely to be unpopular among his own kith and kin.
We now come to the event which first introduced Busbecq into public
life. On July 25, 1554, in Winchester Cathedral, Mary of England gave
her hand to Philip of Spain. Among those who witnessed the ceremony was
Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq.
It was only natural that Ferdinand, the brother of Charles V., should
send an ambassador to represent him at the marriage of his nephew
to the daughter of his unfortunate aunt, Catherine of Aragon. For
this purpose he selected a Spanish gentleman, Don Pedro Lasso de
Castilla,[66] who had been the companion of his boyhood in Spain,
and had since continued to be a member of his household. With him
Busbecq went as attaché. In the life appended to the Elzevir edition
of Busbecq’s letters, we are told that he joined the embassy on Don
Pedro’s invitation; but in a document of infinitely higher authority,
the Patent of knighthood given in the Appendix, it is distinctly stated
that the summons came from Ferdinand himself, who thus adopted into
his service the grandson of the _écuyer trenchant_ who had served his
brother, his father, and his great-grandfather.
In order to mark the importance of the occasion, Don Pedro Lasso was
attended to England by a numerous train, many of whom were gentlemen.
Altogether there were nearly seventy persons in his suite.[67]
The arrival of this embassy was peculiarly gratifying to Queen Mary,
and she caused Don Pedro and his staff to be received with special
honours. As they entered London, June 26, 1554, a salute was fired from
the Tower, a compliment which excited the jealousy of Noailles, the
French ambassador.[68]
Busbecq must have had no ordinary powers as a linguist, for we have
it on the authority of his contemporary, L. Guicciardini, that there
were six languages with which he was as familiar and ready as with his
mother tongue (Flemish). These were Latin, Italian, French, Spanish,
German, and Slav; unfortunately, a knowledge of English was not amongst
the number of his accomplishments, and this may partially account for
the absence in his letters of any allusion to the manners and customs
of our country. It is much to be regretted that we have not got some
record of his visit; if he acted as secretary, as is supposed, possibly
his despatches from England may still be lying among the archives at
Vienna to gladden the heart of some future discoverer.
Don Pedro Lasso with Busbecq and the rest of his suite, stayed in
England till October 1554. They then took leave of the Queen, and
travelled down to Dover with the intention of crossing over to the
Continent. Here they found themselves stopped. Every day French
vessels could be seen hovering off the harbour in search of a Prize.
The Ambassador found it necessary to write[69] to Queen Mary, reminding
her that he had only come to England by his master’s orders to do
honour to her nuptials, and asking her to give such instructions as
would ensure his safe departure. It is not likely that an ambassador
who was received with such high distinction made so reasonable a
request in vain, and there can therefore be little doubt, that Busbecq
and his chief were escorted to Calais by a squadron of English ships
manned with stout sailors from the Cinque Ports.
On reaching the Netherlands, the embassy was broken up, Don Pedro
repaired to Brussels, and Busbecq went back to his friends and
relatives. It is evident that the young diplomatist had impressed his
chief with a very high idea of his ability and discretion, for a few
days after his return from England, whilst staying with his aunt Marie
Ghiselin, at Lille, he received a summons from Ferdinand to undertake
the duties of ambassador at Constantinople. He was called to a most
difficult and apparently hopeless task.
Ferdinand of Austria, King of the Romans, and afterwards Emperor,
Sovereign of Hungary and Bohemia, was in a most critical position; it
is no exaggeration to say that he and his kingdoms lay at the mercy
of the Sultan, who might any day annihilate his forces, and take
possession of his dominions. His only hope of rescuing his subjects
from slavery lay in the skill of his ambassadors. In 1545 Gerard
Veltwick[70] (Velduvic), had been sent to represent the two brothers,
Charles V. and Ferdinand, at the Turkish court; on his return, John
Maria Malvezzi, one of his companions, had succeeded to the post.
Malvezzi was not fortunate; the Turks regarded an ambassador simply in
the light of a hostage,[71] and when Ferdinand in the autumn of 1551
broke faith with them by taking possession of Transylvania, they threw
Malvezzi into a horrible dungeon; there the unfortunate man remained
till August 1553, when his release was procured by Francis Zay and
Antony Wranczy (Verantius) afterwards Bishop of Erlau, who came to
Constantinople as Ferdinand’s representatives.
Malvezzi returned to Vienna broken in health by his sufferings in the
Turkish dungeon. It was not long, however, before Ferdinand ordered
him to resume his duties at Constantinople; Malvezzi did his utmost to
comply with his master’s wish; he struggled as far as Komorn and there
broke down. Ferdinand suspected him of pretending to be worse than he
really was, in order to avoid a post of the perils of which he had had
such painful experience. As Busbecq forcibly remarks, Malvezzi’s death
a few months later removed this doubt!
Ferdinand had need of some one to succeed Malvezzi. It was not an
enviable post, and the courtiers of Vienna had no fancy for the risk of
being slowly done to death in some noisome dungeon at Constantinople,
or of returning, as the Pashas at one time intended Busbecq should
return, noseless and earless! But Ferdinand felt that it was absolutely
necessary to have a representative at the Turkish Court to assist him
in staving off the evil day. Accordingly he sent a summons to Busbecq,
and at the same time despatched a message to his late chief, Don Pedro
Lasso, asking him to use his influence with the young diplomatist,
and urge him to start at once for Vienna. It would seem as if the
post were but little coveted, when such pressure had to be applied.
Busbecq, however, needed no urging; he was a man capable of finding
intense pleasure in new scenes, new work, new discoveries, and all were
included in the prospect now opening to his eager eyes.
It was on November 3, 1554, that Ogier received Ferdinand’s message. He
at once started for Bousbecque, and paid a last visit of love to his
father, his friends, and the home that was so dear to him. Thence he
hurried off to Brussels, where he had an interview with his old chief,
and before many hours were past he was galloping along the road to
Vienna. A comparison of dates will show how very prompt Busbecq must
have been. He received the summons on November 3, and by the eighteenth
he had reached Vienna, having paid at least two visits in the meantime,
and made his preparations for his distant journey. It was probably
at Bousbecque that he enlisted the followers who were to accompany
him in his long and perilous expedition; it is evident that they were
Flemings, sturdy fellows who knew no fear, fond of a bottle of wine,
and not averse to a practical joke.[72] There were amongst them men of
fair education,[73] who had perhaps been trained in the chapter-school
of Comines, and there was one man of eminent ability, who came from the
neighbouring town of Courtrai, William Quacquelben.[74] He acted as
physician to the party, and at first seems to have occupied a position
little differing from that of a servant; how Busbecq learnt to love and
appreciate him will be told in his own words.
Even the journey to Vienna had dangers of its own. A system of posting
had already been established between Brussels and Vienna, so that
Busbecq could change his weary steeds at every stage; but it was
November, the days were short and the nights long, and his business
being urgent, he had to risk his neck by galloping over villainous
roads long after it was dark.
At Vienna he was welcomed by an old friend and fellow-countryman, John
Van der Aa, who was now acting as one of Ferdinand’s privy council;
it was in a great measure owing to his strong recommendation that
Ferdinand invited Busbecq into his service. John Van der Aa had now the
pleasure of presenting the young Ambassador to Ferdinand, who received
him in a manner betokening at once kindness and confidence.
It is not the object here to anticipate his account; how he visited his
dying predecessor Malvezzi, and all the particulars of his journey to
Constantinople, may be read in his own words. Busbecq tells his story
in his own pleasant way; this memoir is only intended to fill up the
blanks as far as possible; as to the rest, the writer will be left to
speak for himself.[75]
Something perhaps ought to be said as to the style of his work. It
was the fashion among the students of that day to compose short
accounts of their journeys for the information and amusement of
their friends. These were generally written in Latin verse, very
much after the model of Horace’s journey to Brundisium. (Hor. _Sat._
i. 5.) Busbecq speaks of his first Turkish letter as containing two
of these itineraries,[76] and it was originally published under the
title of _Itinera Constantinopolitanum et Amasianum_; the other three
letters, though not strictly itineraries, are written in the same
style. Probably these letters would not have been half so amusing, or
half so instructive, if Busbecq had intended them for publication; so
far was he from thinking, when he wrote them, of committing them to
print, that it was not till some twenty years later that any of them
saw the light, and then only the first was published. Neither did the
author ever sanction the publication. His countryman, L. Carrion, took
on himself the responsibility of sending the work to the press. It is
from him we learn that the letters were written to Nicolas Michault,
seigneur of Indeveldt, Busbecq’s fellow-student in Italy, and for many
years Ambassador[77] to the Court of Portugal; he also tells us that
the writer never intended to give them to the public. That Busbecq had
at any rate no hand whatever in the publication is abundantly proved by
the mistakes of Carrion, some of which have been repeated in subsequent
editions. For instance, the first letter ought to be dated September
1, 1555, whereas in all the Latin editions it is printed September 1,
1554, the internal evidence being conclusive as to the correctness of
the former date.
_Busbecq at the Court of Vienna._
The four Turkish letters supply us with a full account of the eight
years which Busbecq spent at the Court of Solyman, and it will not be
necessary to take up the thread of his story till his return to Germany
in the autumn of 1562.
At first he was uncomfortable, and felt out of his element in the
atmosphere of a court; he hoped for a peaceful paradise after George
Halluin’s model, by the waters of the Lys, a quiet home furnished with
plenty of books, a good garden, and a few friends.
But his services were far too highly valued by Ferdinand and his son
Maximilian to allow of his retirement.
It was not long before a new post was found for him. Very soon after
Busbecq’s return from Constantinople, an application was made to
Maximilian, which, if it gratified his ambition, must also have
filled him with the greatest anxiety. Philip of Spain proposed to
bestow the hand of his daughter on one of Maximilian’s sons, and,
distrusting no doubt the more liberal tone which prevailed at the Court
of Vienna, coupled the proposal with the condition, that the young
Archdukes, Rodolph and Ernest, should be entrusted to his charge.
Though Maximilian acceded to his request, it was probably not without
compunction that that wise and tolerant prince committed his two
boys—the eldest of whom was only eleven years of age—into the keeping
of the royal bigot.
The only precaution open to him lay in the appointment of the officers
of the household which was to accompany them to Spain. To Busbecq was
assigned the post of _écuyer trenchant_,[78] an appointment which met
with the warm approval of Ferdinand.
The young Archdukes proceeded to Spain. They were handed over to the
Jesuits to be educated, and Busbecq left their service. It is easy
to understand that a man brought up in the school of Erasmus was not
likely to prove acceptable to the staff of instructors appointed
by Philip; but whatever the circumstances may have been through
which he lost his post, it is certain that he in no way fell in the
estimation of Ferdinand and Maximilian. The latter, on his coronation
as King of Hungary (September 8, 1563), bestowed on Busbecq the
honour of knighthood; the occasion was peculiarly appropriate, as the
Ambassador had by his diplomatic skill greatly mitigated the lot of the
inhabitants of that unfortunate kingdom. This distinction was confirmed
by the Emperor, who issued the Patent, dated April 3, 1564, a copy of
which will be found in the Appendix. A far greater proof, however, of
Maximilian’s esteem and confidence was received by Busbecq about this
time. Rodolph and Ernest, his two eldest sons, were being educated
by Philip’s Jesuits; but the Archdukes Matthias, Maximilian, Albert,
and Wenceslaus, were still under their father’s care, and by him
Busbecq was appointed their governor and seneschal. For several years
he was engaged in superintending the household and education of the
young Archdukes, whom, according to Howaert,[79] he had the honour of
escorting to Spain and introducing to Philip. His youthful charges had
not yet arrived at manhood, when his services were required for their
sister.
_Busbecq in France._
Maximilian’s daughter, the Archduchess Elizabeth (Isabella), had to
leave her family and her country to unite her fortunes with Charles IX.
of France, the unhappy king whose memory will be for ever associated
with the massacre of St. Bartholomew. The position she went to occupy
was as perilous as it was brilliant. Queen of France, wife of Charles
IX., daughter-in-law of Catherine de Medici, with Marguerite de Valois
(afterwards Queen of Henry of Navarre), for a sister-in-law, she had
need of the trustiest and wisest counsellor her father could supply;
and it was therefore no idle compliment to Busbecq, when he was called
from the care of her brothers to take his place at the head of her
household. He had, like his grandfather Gilles Ghiselin II., held the
post of _écuyer trenchant_ in the imperial family. He had next been
appointed governor and seneschal to the young Archdukes, and he was now
sent as seneschal, or high steward, of the Archduchess’s household when
she left parents and fatherland to share a foreign throne.
The marriage took place by proxy, October 23, 1570, and in the
following month the Archduchess set out for France under the care of
her faithful seneschal. A reader of the life of Busbecq prefixed to the
Elzevir edition, would be led to suppose that he remained at the head
of the Queen’s household in France from that time forth. Such, however,
was not the case. Various notices by his friends Lipsius,[80] the
celebrated scholar, and de l’Ecluse, the botanist, prove beyond doubt
that he shortly afterwards returned to Vienna. At any rate he was there
in the summer of 1572 and the winter of 1573, apparently the life and
soul of the literary and scientific society of the Austrian capital.
Here he was able to keep up to some degree his connection with Turkey,
for we find that he received parcels of tulip bulbs and other rare
plants from Constantinople, of which his countryman de l’Ecluse reaped
the benefit.
Such a life must have been nearly as much after Busbecq’s own heart
as the paradise of which he dreamed by the waters of the Lys; perhaps
he thought his troubles were over, and he would be allowed to go
peacefully to his grave after enriching the world with the fruits of a
long course of scientific study. Such, however, was not to be the case.
On May 30, 1574, Charles IX. of France ended his brief and unhappy
life. The Archduchess Elizabeth was now a widow. What her position was
may be gathered from the graphic touches in Busbecq’s letters; from
the first it was difficult, and at last—to use her own words—it became
intolerable.
The Emperor, on hearing of his son-in-law’s death, immediately
despatched his old friend and faithful servant to comfort his daughter,
and take charge of her affairs.
The instructions which Busbecq received were by no means simple. It
was thought probable that the new king, Henry III., would make an
offer of his hand to Elizabeth, and this alliance would, it appears,
have been acceptable to Maximilian; the widowed Queen did not care for
her brother-in-law, but was prepared to yield to her father’s wishes.
There was a possibility also of a match with Sebastian, the chivalrous
boy-king of Portugal, or, again, of her being asked to undertake the
government of the Netherlands.
There was also the question whether if she remained a widow, she was
to live in France or return home, and whether, if she came back, she
would be allowed to bring with her her delicate little daughter.
Important above all other matters though, in the eyes of Maximilian,
was the question of her dower. The usual allowance for a widowed Queen
of France was 60,000 francs per annum, and this sum had been settled
on Elizabeth at her marriage. Busbecq was to see that this income
was properly secured, and this was no easy matter. He found from the
case of Mary Queen of Scots, that promises to pay were of little
value unless the sums were charged on part of the crown lands, and it
was only with great difficulty that he managed to effect a tolerably
satisfactory arrangement. Such was the general purport of Busbecq’s
instructions. He had also a sort of roving commission to report on
the general condition of France, and the character of her public men;
he was to chronicle passing events, and give an estimate of what the
future was likely to bring forth. Reports on these heads, with an
occasional piece of gossip, form the contents of his letters to the
Emperor Maximilian.[81] The first of this series is dated Speyer,
August 22, 1574, and the last, Wasserburg, February 8, 1576.
After conducting his widowed mistress back to her parents, Busbecq
returned to France to take charge of her affairs. He had to collect the
revenues of her dower, which were charged on sundry lands in Berry,
Marche, and Forez, and generally to protect her interests at the court.
To this employment more important duties were afterwards united. On
the death of Maximilian, his son Rodolph succeeded to the throne. The
new Emperor was well acquainted with Busbecq, who, as has already been
mentioned, had acted as his _écuyer trenchant_ when he left his home
for Spain; and though Rodolph’s mind was to a certain extent warped
by the education he had received from the Jesuits, he nevertheless
inherited his father’s and grandfather’s appreciation of Busbecq.
Accordingly, we find him employing Busbecq as his representative at
the Court of France, and receiving letters from him containing not
only the news, but the gossip of the capital. It is generally stated
that Busbecq’s position was that of ambassador; this is doubtful,
though there is no question as to his having discharged the duties
and exercised the influence of an ambassador. There is an obvious
reason for his not having been accredited as a regular diplomatic
representative. He was a Fleming, and therefore a subject of Philip of
Spain. Even at the court of Constantinople this circumstance had proved
an obstacle in the course of his negotiations, and it was still more
likely to be a stumbling-block at the court of France. His services,
however, being too valuable to be dispensed with by the Emperor, it
would appear that the difficulty was surmounted by giving him the work
without the title—in short, he was ambassador without the credentials
of an ambassador.
The letters of Busbecq to Rodolph, as printed in the Elzevir edition,
are fifty-three in number. The first is dated March 25, 1582; the last
was written December 8, 1585. We have in them a description of France
on the eve of a most important epoch, the wars of the League; and we
have also a most valuable account of the progress of events in the
Low Countries, in which Busbecq as a Fleming felt a strong personal
interest.
It is not necessary to enter into the history of a period which has
been made familiar to English readers by Motley’s _Rise of the Dutch
Republic_, and _United Netherlands_; but, on the other hand, it must
not be supposed that there is no additional information to be gleaned
from Busbecq’s letters by those who are already acquainted with the
works of the American historian. On the contrary, there are points
omitted by Motley which are of considerable importance; as, for
instance, Alençon’s plan for making Dunkirk the seat of his government.
Again, there are questions like that of Salceda’s conspiracy, in
which Busbecq’s evidence does not appear to have been sufficiently
considered. To those who are content to take their history at second
hand, it is useless to suggest the advisability of comparing Busbecq’s
letters with the received modern histories; to real students the
advantages are obvious. Here is a witness almost, one might say, under
cross-examination. Busbecq had to send off his despatches to his master
periodically. He could not alter or retouch them; he was obliged to
content himself with giving the news of the day, and his estimate of
its value at the time. A distinguished general has said that in his
profession it was necessary to be near the troops who were actually
engaged, in order to feel the pulse of the battle; and it is only by
reading the works of contemporary writers that we can feel the pulse of
history.
It is not impossible that Busbecq had his own hopes and ambitions with
regard to the Netherlands. On September 15, 1578, the eldest of his
Imperial pupils, the Archduke Matthias, was appointed Governor-General
of the insurgent Provinces. It is vain now to inquire into what might
have been, but in 1578 it could not have seemed altogether impossible
that peace and happiness might be in store for the Netherlands under
the government of the son of Maximilian and grandson of Ferdinand. It
is a significant fact that Busbecq’s despatches to Rodolph prior to
March 1582 have not been allowed to see the light. Matthias left the
Netherlands in October 1581, so that Busbecq’s published correspondence
commences just six months after the departure of the Archduke. If ever
the earlier letters should be forthcoming, they will, no doubt, be
found to contain much interesting information as to this episode in the
history of the Netherlands, and this, in all probability, is the reason
they have been suppressed.
In writing to Maximilian of William the Silent, Busbecq speaks of the
great patriot of the Netherlands in terms of the highest respect. When
writing to Rodolph some eight years later, his tone is completely
altered. It is evident that he dislikes him. This change is not
surprising if we remember the treatment which Busbecq’s pupil had in
the interval experienced at his hands. It seems evident that in this
instance Orange placed his faith in the strong battalions; he preferred
a treacherous scoundrel to an honest and capable[82] man, because the
one could bring French troops into the field, and the other had but
his own sword to offer. It would be a curious problem to consider
whether in this matter Orange was wise in his generation. What did the
Netherlands gain by substituting Alençon for Matthias?
With regard to the religious aspect of the struggle, Busbecq’s evidence
is peculiarly valuable. He was a Netherlander, who had left his
native country before the struggle broke out. Circumstances had never
compelled him to cast in his lot with the one party or the other.
A reference to his conversation at Prinkipo with Metrophanes[83] the
Metropolitan, shows us what Busbecq’s wishes must have been. If he
desired to see the Greek Church reunited to the Western, he must have
been anxious to preserve the latter from schism. His views were those
of Erasmus; he wished for union and he wished for reform. That Busbecq
was a deeply religious man may be gathered from his description of the
death of Quacquelben and other passages; that he was not in any way
imbued with the superstitions of his time may be seen by the fact that
he went to Constantinople accompanied not by his priest, but by his
Bible. From the circumstances of the case it is almost necessary that
the evidence with regard to a religious war should be the evidence of
partisans; hence the great authority due to the testimony of a neutral.
The reader will be left to gather from Busbecq’s own letters an idea of
his life at Paris, and it will only be necessary to resume the story at
the point where his letters cease.
At the end of his fifty-first despatch we find that his couriers have
difficulty in passing through the country, on account of the outbreak
of hostilities between the Guises, the King, and Henry of Navarre.
At this point in the Elzevir edition, Busbecq’s letters come to an
end, and we should have to part company with him at the close of 1585,
if it were not for the edition by Howaert already referred to, which
fortunately preserves five more letters to Rodolph, dated from November
13, 1589 to August 27, 1590. These despatches contain interesting and
valuable information as to the state of France during the wars of the
League; among the more striking passages is an account of the siege of
Paris, and a comparison of the relative chances of Parma and Henry IV.
in the struggle that was then imminent.
During these troublous times, Busbecq must have led an uncomfortable
life in France, with no certain resting-place, but driven hither and
thither, as the tide of battle ebbed and flowed. It is no wonder that
he sighed for the day when he should bid farewell to his dangerous
task, and enter the quiet haven he had prepared for his old age.
In spite of his long sojourn in foreign courts, his heart still yearned
for the home of his forefathers. The château had suffered at the hands
of the insurgents, and the vassals of the seigneury were well nigh
ruined by the requisitions of the Spaniards; but its associations had a
charm for Busbecq such as no other place on earth could have. His first
step was to purchase[84] a life interest in the seigneury from his
nephew, Charles de Yedeghem. He next proceeded to restore and repair
the château, so as to make it fit for his residence. A tradition still
lingers at Bousbecque of the beautiful garden[85] which he formed, and
the lilacs, tulips, and other new plants with which he filled it. Nor
was he forgetful of the interests of his vassals. In the Mairie of
Bousbecque may still be seen the _Sauvegarde_ which Parma granted to
the inhabitants, in token of his respect for their Seigneur. A copy
of it will be found in the Appendix. Its date will recall a famous
event—the defeat of the Spanish Armada.
_Busbecq’s Death._
In the autumn of 1592, when he was seventy years old, Busbecq obtained
six months’ leave of absence from his post,[86] and set forth to
revisit the home of his youth. It does not appear that he had seen it
since the day he parted with his father, nearly forty years before;
meanwhile, the generation he knew must have well nigh passed away, and
it was, no doubt, with a melancholy pleasure that the old man set out
to take possession of his château and his seigneury.
The country was in an unquiet state on account of the civil war which
was then raging, and Busbecq took the precaution of furnishing himself
with the passports both of the Leaguers and the Royalists. While
passing through Normandy he stopped for the night at Cailly, a small
village about nine miles from Rouen. This part of the country had in
the preceding year been the scene of a long and desperate struggle
between Parma and Navarre, and parties of armed men were prowling
about, who combined the calling of the soldier with the exploits of the
brigand. During the night one of these troops, who professed to be
fighting for the League, swept down on the little hamlet where Busbecq
was lodging, took possession of his portmanteaux, and carried him off,
telling him that they were acting under the orders of the governor of
Rouen. The old man, nothing daunted by their violence, gave them a
lecture on the ambassadorial privileges to which he was entitled, and
told them that he did not believe that any such order had been issued
by the governor of Rouen. Perhaps he frightened them, more probably
he persuaded them—at any rate, next morning they brought him back to
Cailly, and restored his baggage.
The governor of Rouen, on hearing of the affair, apologised for the
outrage, and offered to inflict severe punishment on the offenders.
The good old man replied that he was too much occupied in making his
peace with God to think of revenging injuries. He felt he was dying.
The shock he had received in his encounter with the marauders proved
fatal. He was never to see the home for which he had so often yearned
in distant lands. He was removed from Cailly to the château of the Lady
of Maillot, near St. Germain, not far from Rouen, and there he died,
October 28, 1592.
Even when the hand of death was upon him, his thoughts were of the
home he loved. He desired that his heart at least should be laid in
Bousbecque Church by the side of his forefathers.
But his wish was not immediately fulfilled. All his attendants
could then do was to consign his body with due honours to a tomb in
the church of St. Germain. Six years later, when Busbecq’s former
pupil, Archduke Albert, was Governor-General of the Netherlands,
his dying wish was remembered. His heart was placed in a leaden
casket and conveyed to Bousbecque, where it was consigned to its last
resting-place amid all the pomp[87] and ceremony of a great military
funeral.
In Bousbecque Church may still be seen the monument which the
Ambassador erected to his grandfather, Gilles Ghiselin, _écuyer
trenchant_ to three generations of the house of Burgundy, and Agnes
Gommer, his wife. Underneath that monument their remains are still
resting to-day, and in the same grave still lies their grandson’s
heart.
TURKISH LETTERS.
LETTER I.
Introduction—Return from England—Visit to
Bousbecque—Posting to Vienna—Interview with
Ferdinand—Malvezzi’s misfortunes—Preparations for
the expedition—Impatience of Ferdinand—Komorn—Paul
Palyna—His ideas of punctuality—Meeting the Turkish
escort—Gran—A Sanjak-bey—Feats of Turkish horsemen—A
Tartar whose hair served as hat and helmet—Buda—The Pasha
of Buda—His sickness and its cause—William Quacquelben
called in—Busbecq’s fears—Janissaries—Their duties as
policemen—Their dress—Their visits to Busbecq—Turkish
guests and hard drinkers—Determined on making a night
of it—Why Turks never drink in moderation—The old
gentleman at Constantinople who gave notice to his
soul—Description of Buda-Pesth—Turkish ideas with regard
to houses—The fish in the boiling spring—Interview with
the Pasha of Buda—A dilemma—Turkish customs—Busbecq
embarks on the Danube for Belgrade—Heydons—Turkish
sailors—Belgrade—Roman coins—Defence and capture of
Belgrade—Louis of Hungary—Importance of fortresses
against Turkish inroads—Trajan’s bridge—A Servian
funeral—Servian marriage customs—Description of a
Turkish Khan—A Turkish hostel—Sleeping in a stable—How
Busbecq made himself comfortable—How the party obtained
supplies of wine—Turkish methods for measuring
time—Busbecq’s escort acknowledge the advantages
of a watch—Sophia—The Bulgarians—Dress and bonnets
of the women—Baldwin, Count of Flanders—Trajan’s
pass—Philippopolis—Adrianople—Turks fond of flowers—An
open purse necessary in Turkey—Tchourlou—Selim’s
defeat—Selimbria—Reverence of the Turks for paper—Reasons
assigned by themselves for this superstition—The
red-hot gridiron and the cock—Busbecq arrives at
Constantinople—Visits Roostem—The story of Roostem’s
fall from power—Solyman—Roxolana—Mustapha—Roostem
once a pig-driver—His services as a financier—Makes
a profit out of the vegetables and flowers from the
Sultan’s gardens—Why a Sultan is obliged to murder his
brothers—Mustapha summoned to his father’s camp—The
death sentence—The case submitted to the Mufti—The
mutes—A look from Solyman—Mustapha strangled—Mutiny in
the camp—Roostem dismissed—Mustapha’s wife and son—Visit
from Ibrahim Pasha—Trick played on the mother—Murder
of the boy—Constantinople—St. Sophia—Superstitions as
to unclean fish—The Greek and the snails—The cost of
absolution in the Greek Church—Ancient columns—Ingenuity
of a Greek architect—Wild beasts—A dancing elephant—A
camelopard—Sailing up the Bosphorus—Thoughts
suggested by the beauty of the scene—Lazarus the
Albanian—Busbecq summoned by Solyman to Amasia—Crosses
into Asia—Nicomedia—Jackals—Nicæa—Angora goats—Fat-tailed
sheep—The duck and the post-horn—Angora—Turkish tombs—The
hyena—Its knowledge of language—How to catch it—Coins and
plants—Town of Angora—Monumentum Ancyranum—Manufacture
of mohair—Fishing in the Halys—Ignorance of the
people—Sour milk—Turkish diet—Sherbet—Grapes preserved
in mustard—Dervishes—Legend of Chederle the same as that
of St. George—Amasia—Turkish incendiaries—Houses of
Amasia—Visit to Achmet Pasha—Interview with Solyman—The
Sultan’s court—Promotion among the Turks—A body of
Janissaries—Their steadiness in the ranks—The Persian
Ambassador and his presents—Ali Pasha—Dinner given to the
Persian Ambassador and his suite—Audience with Solyman
on leaving—Why the Sultan uses rouge—Departure from
Amasia—Busbecq ill—Returns to Constantinople—Schiites
and Sunnites—Busbecq leaves Constantinople—Meets a train
of Hungarian captives—One of the party dies from the
plague—Others are attacked—Providential discovery of a
remedy—Belgrade—Fertility of Hungary—Essek—Busbecq down
with the fever—Mohacz—Plots of the brigands—Busbecq
nearly caught—Interview with the Pasha of Buda—Departure
for Komorn—How one of Busbecq’s escort lost his nose and
his horse—The Sanjak-bey improves the occasion—The value
of a nose—The amount of compensation affected by the
doctrine of predestination—Return to Vienna—Busbecq looks
so ill that his friends think he is poisoned—Is regarded
with envy—Apologises for his want of style.
I undertook, when we parted, to give you a full account of my journey
to Constantinople, and this promise I now hope to discharge with
interest; for I will give you also an account of an expedition[88] to
Amasia, which is by far the rarer treat of the two.
To an old friend like yourself[89] I shall write very freely, and I am
sure you will enjoy some pleasant passages which befell me on my way;
and as to the disagreeables which are inseparable from a journey so
long and so difficult, do not give them a thought, for I assure you
that, though they annoyed me at the time, that very annoyance, now they
are past and gone, only adds to my pleasure in recalling them.
You will remember that, after my return home from England, where I
attended the marriage of King Philip and Queen Mary,[90] in the train
of Don Pedro Lasso, whom my most gracious master, Ferdinand, King of
the Romans, had deputed to represent him at the wedding, I received
from the last-mentioned Sovereign a summons to undertake this journey.
The message reached me at Lille[91] on November 3, and without any
delay, except such as was entailed by a detour to Bousbecque for the
purpose of bidding adieu to my father and my friends, I hurried through
Tournai, and thence to Brussels.
Here I met Don Pedro himself; and he, to use an old proverb, gave the
spur to a right willing horse, by showing me a letter he had received
from the King, in which he charged him to make me set out as soon as
possible. Accordingly, I took post-horses, and came with all speed to
Vienna. Even at this early stage my journey brought troubles of its
own, for I was quite unaccustomed to riding, and the time of year was
by no means favourable to such an expedition, involving as it did bad
weather, muddy roads, and short days. I had, therefore, to pursue my
journey long after nightfall, and to gallop over a track, which hardly
deserved the name of a road, in complete darkness, to the great danger
of my neck.
On my arrival at Vienna I was presented to King Ferdinand by John Van
der Aa, a member of his privy council. He received me with the kindness
which invariably marks his intercourse with those of whose loyalty and
honesty he has formed a favourable opinion. He told me at great length
his hopes with regard to me, and how important it was to his interests
that I should accept the office of ambassador, and start forthwith.
He informed me he had promised the Pasha of Buda that his ambassador
should be there without fail by the beginning of December, and he was
anxious there should be no want of punctuality on the part of his
representative, lest it should furnish the Turks with a pretext for not
fulfilling the engagements which they had undertaken in consideration
of this promise.
We were within twelve days of the date. There was barely time to make
preparations for a short journey, and I had a long one before me.
Even from this short space I had to deduct some days for a hurried
visit to John Maria Malvezzi at Komorn, whither I went by the commands
of the King, who considered it of great importance that I should
have an interview with Malvezzi, and receive from his own lips such
information and advice as he might be able to give me with regard to
the character and disposition of the Turks, inasmuch as I myself had no
knowledge or experience of them.
He had been for some years Ferdinand’s ambassador at the court of
Solyman, to which post he was first appointed when the Emperor Charles,
for divers weighty reasons, negotiated a truce with the Turks through
Gerard Veltwick;[92] for on that occasion he had also made a truce with
them for eight years on behalf of King Ferdinand.
Now Malvezzi had been one of Veltwick’s companions, and on his
return he was sent back to Constantinople by Ferdinand to act as his
ambassador, in the hope that his presence at the Sultan’s court would
be of service in checking the raids of the Turks in the kingdom of
Hungary, as there would be some one on the spot to remonstrate with
Solyman with regard to the outrages committed by his officers, and
demand satisfaction.
But it happened not long after, that an opportunity, which Ferdinand
felt he could not afford to lose, occurred for re-uniting Transylvania
to Hungary.[93] In this he was warmly supported by the Hungarians, who
looked on Transylvania as an appanage of the kingdom. Accordingly, he
came to an understanding with the widow and son of John the Voivode,
who had formerly usurped the title of King of Hungary, and recovered
Transylvania in exchange for other provinces.
When the Turks got wind of these transactions—and, indeed, they could
not have been kept secret—Roostem, the son-in-law of Solyman and chief
of the councillors who are called Vizierial Pashas, summoned Malvezzi
to his presence, and asked him whether the news was true. He, without
the slightest hesitation, contradicted the report, and offered,
moreover, to stake his life on the result, and to submit to their worst
tortures if his statement proved incorrect. But when, on Ferdinand’s
taking possession of the whole of Transylvania, the truth became clear,
and further concealment was impossible, the Sultan was furious with
Roostem for having placed so much confidence in Malvezzi’s assurances,
and Roostem was still more enraged with Malvezzi, and often declared
that he had cheated him. Not to make too long a story, Malvezzi was
thrown into prison, his goods confiscated, and his servants sold as
slaves. In this prison he was kept in close custody for nearly two
years. Sickness attacked him, and as he was not allowed to receive any
medicines, he contracted a disease which, some time after, terminated
his life. The Turks, in such matters, have no idea of moderation; they
are excessively complaisant when they wish to show their friendship,
and excessively bitter when their anger is roused. But when their
troubles at home made them desirous of peace, and their attempt to
recover Transylvania by force of arms was unsuccessful, they were
easily induced to leave off fighting and to arrange the dispute by
negotiation. The Turkish demand was that the whole of Transylvania
should be restored; but inasmuch as his treaty with the Voivode was
the result neither of force nor fraud, Ferdinand[94] maintained that
it ought not to be set aside, and declined to evacuate Transylvania.
With a view to satisfying the Turks on these matters, he despatched to
the Sultan’s Court two ambassadors, in whose loyalty and zeal he had
the greatest confidence—Antony Wranczy (or Verantius), Bishop of Erlau,
and Francis Zay, the commander of the ships which the Hungarians call
Nassades. On their arrival Malvezzi was released from his dungeon,
and sent back to Ferdinand with despatches from Solyman. Shortly
after this, the King desired him to return to Constantinople to act
as his ambassador in ordinary when peace should have been concluded.
Accordingly he set out, but a fresh attack of the disease he had
contracted during his confinement compelled him to stop at Komorn, a
fortress which lies at the point where the river Waag joins the Danube,
and is our furthest outpost against the Turk.
He felt that his end was drawing near, and wrote to Ferdinand, asking
him to appoint some one to take his place as ambassador. The King did
not altogether believe what Malvezzi said, nor, on the other hand,
was he disposed to think it quite without foundation. However, he was
rather inclined to suspect that his reason for avoiding the office
of ambassador was not so much the severity of his attack, as the
recollection of what he had suffered before, and the dread of what
might be in store for him in the future; at the same time, he felt
that he could not in decency compel a man who had done good service to
King and country to proceed on an errand for which he declared himself
unfit. The death of Malvezzi a few months afterwards gave ample proof
that his illness was neither an excuse nor a sham. The result of all
this was that I became Malvezzi’s successor; but inasmuch as I had
no experience in the tactics and character of the Turk, the King, as
I told you before, thought that a visit to Malvezzi would be useful,
since he could give me directions and suggestions as to the best
method of dealing with Turkish chicanery. Accordingly, I spent two
days with Malvezzi, and learnt as much as I could in so short a time
of the policy to be followed and the things to be avoided in one’s
daily transactions with the Turk Thence I returned to Vienna, and
set to work, as hard as I could, to get together what I wanted for my
journey. But there was so much business to be done, and the time was
so short, that when the day came on which I had arranged to leave, I
was not ready. The King kept pressing me to go, and I had been busy
arranging and packing since three o’clock that morning; but it was with
great difficulty that I managed to complete my preparations shortly
after dusk. The gates of Vienna, which at that hour are locked, were
unbolted, and I set out.
The King had gone hunting that day; and when he left he told me he felt
quite sure that before he returned in the evening I should be on my
road. And so I was; but there was very little difference between the
time of his return and of my departure.
At eleven, p.m., we reached Fiscagmund, a borough town of Hungary, four
miles[95] from Vienna, where we stopped for supper, for in our haste we
had left Vienna supperless, and then pursued our way towards Komorn.
One of the king’s instructions was that I should get hold of one Paul
Palyna at Komorn, who had great knowledge of the raids and robberies
of the Turks, and take him with me to Buda; since, if he were at hand
to prompt me, I should find it a great advantage when remonstrating
with the Pasha concerning the outrages, and demanding satisfaction
for the same. But that I should start punctually appeared to Palyna
the most unlikely thing in the world, and accordingly, when I arrived
at Komorn, he had not yet left his home, and not a soul could give me
any information as to when he was likely to arrive. I was intensely
annoyed. I despatched a report of the matter to Ferdinand, and devoted
the next day to waiting for this precious companion of mine at Komorn.
All in vain; so on the third day I crossed the river Waag, and pursued
my way towards Gran, the first fortress within the Turkish boundary
line.
The officer in command at Komorn, John Pax, had given me an escort of
sixteen hussars, as the Hungarians call these horsemen, with orders
not to leave me until we came in sight of the Turkish outposts. The
Turkish officer in command at Gran had given me to understand that
his men would meet me midway between that town and Komorn. For three
hours, more or less, we had advanced through a flat and open country,
when four Turkish horsemen appeared in the distance; my Hungarians,
however, continued to ride with me, until at last I advised them to
retire, fearing that, if they came nearer, some troublesome breach of
the peace might ensue. When the Turks saw me coming, they rode up, and,
halting by my carriage, saluted me. In this manner we advanced a short
distance, conversing with each other, for I had a lad who acted as
interpreter.
I was not expecting any addition to my escort, when suddenly, as we
came to a spot a little below the level of the rest of the country, I
found myself surrounded by a troop of 150 horsemen, or thereabouts. I
had never seen such a sight before, and I was delighted with the gay
colours of their shields and spears, their jewelled scimitars, their
many-coloured plumes, their turbans of the purest white, their robes of
purple and dark green, their gallant steeds and superb accoutrements.
The officers ride up, give me a courteous welcome, congratulate me on
my arrival, and ask whether I have had a pleasant journey. I reply in
terms befitting the occasion, and so they escort me to Gran, which
consists of a fort situated on a hill, at the foot of which flows the
Danube, and a town hard by on the plain, where I take up my quarters.
The archbishop of this place stands first among the nobles of Hungary
both in rank and wealth. My lodging had more of the camp than the city.
Instead of beds there were planks covered with coarse woollen rugs;
there were no mattresses, no linen. And so my attendants had their
first taste of Turkish luxury! As for myself, I had brought my bed with
me.
Next day the Sanjak-bey in command of the place repeatedly urged me
to visit him. This is the title which the Turks give to an officer in
command; and the name comes from the sanjak,[96] or standard, which is
carried in front of his squadron of cavalry; it consists of a lance,
on the top of which is a brass ball plated over with gold. I had no
despatches or commission for this officer, but he was so persistent
that I had to go. It turned out that all he wanted was to see me, to go
through some civilities, ask my errand, urge me to promote a peace, and
wish me a prosperous journey. On my way to his quarters I was surprised
to hear the frogs croaking, although it was December and the weather
was cold. The phenomenon was explained by the existence of some pools
formed by hot sulphur springs.
I left Gran after a breakfast, which had to serve for a dinner as well,
as there was no resting-place between it and Buda.
In spite of my entreaties that he would spare himself the trouble of
paying me so great an attention, the Sanjak-bey must needs escort
me with all his household, and the cavalry under his command. As the
horsemen poured out of the gates they engaged in mimic warfare, and
also performed several feats, one of which was to throw a ball on the
ground, and to carry it off on the lance’s point when at full gallop.
Among the troopers was a Tartar with long thick hair, and I was told
that he never wore any other covering on his head than that which
nature afforded, either to protect him against weather in a storm, or
arrows in a battle. When the Sanjak-bey considered that he had gone far
enough, we exchanged greetings, and he returned home, leaving an escort
to conduct me to Buda.
As I drew near to the city I was met by a few Turks, who were by
profession cavasses. These cavasses act as officials, and execute the
orders of the Sultan and Pashas. The position of cavasse is considered
by the Turks to be one of high honour.
I was conducted to the house of a Hungarian gentleman, where, I
declare, my luggage, carriage, and horses were better treated than
their owner. The first thing the Turks attend to is to get carriages,
horses, and luggage into safe quarters; as for human beings they think
they have done quite enough for them, if they are placed beyond the
reach of wind and weather.
The Pasha, whose name was Touighoun (which, by the way, signifies a
stork in Turkish), sent a person to wait on me and pay me his respects,
and asked me to excuse him from giving me audience for several days, on
account of a severe illness from which he was suffering, and assured me
that he would attend to me as soon as his health permitted.
This circumstance prevented my business from suffering at all by
Palyna’s delay, and enabled him also to escape the charge of wilful
negligence. For he used all diligence to reach me in time, and shortly
afterwards made his appearance.
The illness of the Pasha detained me at Buda for a considerable
time. The popular belief was that he had fallen sick from chagrin on
receiving the news that a large hoard of his, which he had buried in
some corner, had been stolen. He was generally supposed to be an arrant
miser. Well, when he heard that I had with me William Quacquelben,
a man of great learning and a most skilful physician, he earnestly
desired me to send him to prescribe for his case. I made no objection
to this proposal, but my consent was like to have cost me dear; for
when the Pasha gradually got worse, and a fatal termination to his
illness seemed probable, I was in great alarm lest, if he joined his
Mahomet in Paradise, the Turks should accuse my physician of murdering
him, to the danger of my excellent friend, and my own great disgrace as
an accomplice. But, by God’s mercy, the Pasha recovered, and my anxiety
was set at rest.
At Buda I made my first acquaintance with the Janissaries; this is
the name by which the Turks call the infantry of the royal guard. The
Turkish state has 12,000 of these troops when the corps is at its full
strength. They are scattered through every part of the empire, either
to garrison the forts against the enemy, or to protect the Christians
and Jews from the violence of the mob. There is no district with any
considerable amount of population, no borough or city, which has not a
detachment of Janissaries to protect the Christians, Jews, and other
helpless people from outrage and wrong.
A garrison of Janissaries is always stationed in the citadel of Buda.
The dress of these men consists of a robe reaching down to the ankles,
while, to cover their heads, they employ a cowl which, by their
account, was originally a cloak sleeve,[97] part of which contains the
head, while the remainder hangs down and flaps against the neck. On
their forehead is placed a silver-gilt cone of considerable height,
studded with stones of no great value.
These Janissaries generally came to me in pairs. When they were
admitted to my dining room they first made a bow, and then came quickly
up to me, all but running, and touched my dress or hand, as if they
intended to kiss it. After this they would thrust into my hand a
nosegay of the hyacinth or narcissus; then they would run back to the
door almost as quickly as they came, taking care not to turn their
backs, for this, according to their code, would be a serious breach
of etiquette. After reaching the door, they would stand respectfully
with their arms crossed, and their eyes bent on the ground, looking
more like monks than warriors. On receiving a few small coins (which
was what they wanted) they bowed again, thanked me in loud tones, and
went off blessing me for my kindness. To tell you the truth, if I had
not been told beforehand that they were Janissaries, I should, without
hesitation, have taken them for members of some order of Turkish
monks, or brethren of some Moslem college. Yet these are the famous
Janissaries, whose approach inspires terror everywhere.
During my stay at Buda a good many Turks were drawn to my table by
the attractions of my wine, a luxury in which they have not many
opportunities of indulging. The effect of this enforced abstinence
is to make them so eager for drink, that they swill themselves with
it whenever they get the chance. I asked them to make a night of it,
but at last I got tired of the game, left the table, and retired to
my bedroom. On this my Turkish guests made a move to go, and great
was their grief as they reflected that they were not yet dead drunk,
and could still use their legs. Presently they sent a servant to
request that I would allow them access to my stock of wine and lend
them some silver cups. ‘With my permission,’ they said, ‘they would
like to continue their drinking bout through the night; they were not
particular where they sat; any odd corner would do for them.’ Well, I
ordered them to be furnished with as much wine as they could drink, and
also with the cups they asked for. Being thus supplied, the fellows
never left off drinking until they were one and all stretched on the
floor in the last stage of intoxication.
To drink wine is considered a great sin among the Turks, especially in
the case of persons advanced in life: when younger people indulge in
it the offence is considered more venial. Inasmuch, however, as they
think that they will have to pay the same penalty after death whether
they drink much or little, if they taste one drop of wine they must
needs indulge in a regular debauch; their notion being that, inasmuch
as they have already incurred the penalty, appointed for such sin,
in another world, it will be an advantage to them to have their sin
out, and get dead drunk, since it will cost them as much in either
case. These are their ideas about drinking, and they have some other
notions which are still more ridiculous. I saw an old gentleman at
Constantinople who, before taking up his cup, shouted as loud as he
could. I asked my friends the reason, and they told me he was shouting
to warn his soul to stow itself away in some odd corner of his body, or
to leave it altogether, lest it should be defiled by the wine he was
about to drink, and have hereafter to answer for the offence which the
worthy man meant to indulge in.
I shall not have time to give you a full description of the good town
of Buda, but that I may not pass it over altogether, I will give you a
sketch of such sort as is suitable for a letter, though it would not be
sufficient for a book. The town is built on the side of a hill, in a
most delightful situation, the country around being rich and fertile.
On the one side it is bordered by vine-clad hills, and on the other it
commands a view of the Danube, as it flows past its walls, with Pesth
beyond, and the broad fields on the other side of the river. Well
might this town be selected as the royal capital of Hungary. In past
times it was adorned with the magnificent palaces of the Hungarian
nobility, some of which have fallen down, while others are only kept
from falling by a liberal use of props and stays. The inmates of these
mansions are generally Turkish soldiers, who, as their daily pay is all
they have to live on, can spare nothing for the purpose of mending the
walls or patching the roofs of these vast buildings. Accordingly, they
do not take it to heart if the roof lets in rain or the wall cracks,
provided they can find a dry spot to stable their horses and make
their own bed. As to the chambers above, they think it is no concern
of theirs; so they leave the rats and mice in full enjoyment of them.
Another reason for this negligence is that it is part of the Turkish
creed to avoid display in the matter of buildings; they consider that
a man proves himself a conceited fellow, who utterly misunderstands
his position, if he aims at having a pretentious house, for he shows
thereby, according to their notion, that he expects himself and his
house to last for ever. They profess to use houses as travellers use
inns, and if their habitations protect them from robbers, give them
warmth and shade, and keep off rain, they want nothing more. Through
the whole of Turkey it would be hard to find a house, however exalted
or rich its owner may be, built with the slightest regard to elegance.
Everyone lives in a hut or cottage. The great people are fond of
fine gardens and sumptuous baths, and take care to have roomy houses
to accommodate their retinues; but in these you never see a bright
verandah, or a hall worth looking at, nor does any sign of grandeur
attract one’s attention. The Hungarians also follow the same practice,
for with the exception of Buda, and perhaps Presburg, you will scarcely
find a city in the whole of Hungary containing buildings of any
pretension whatever. For my own part, I believe that this is a very old
habit of theirs, and arises from the circumstance that the Hungarians
are a warlike nation, accustomed to camp life and expeditions far from
home, and so, when they lived in a city, they did so as men who must
shortly leave it.
Whilst at Buda I was much struck with a spring which I saw outside
the gate on the road to Constantinople. The surface of the water was
boiling hot, but at the bottom you could see fish swimming about, so
that, if they were caught, you might expect them to come out ready
boiled!
At length, on December 7, the Pasha was ready to receive me. I gave
him a present with a view to securing his favour, and then proceeded
to complain of the arrogance and misdeeds of the Turkish soldiers. I
demanded the restitution of the places which had been taken from us in
violation of the truce, and which he had undertaken in his letters to
restore to my master on his sending an ambassador. The Pasha replied
with complaints as heavy as mine about the losses and injuries he had
sustained at the hands of our people. As to restoring the places, he
took refuge in the following dilemma:—‘I,’ said he, ‘either did not
promise to restore these places, or I did promise to restore them. In
the former case, I am not bound to restore them; while in the latter
case, a man of your intelligence must comprehend that I made a promise
which I have neither the right nor the power to keep; for my master has
assigned me the duty of enlarging his dominion, not of diminishing it;
and I have no right to impair his estate. Remember it is _his_ interest
that is in question, not _mine_. When you see him you can ask him for
whatever you like.’ He concluded by remarking that ‘it was very wrong
of me to bother a man still weak from illness with a long discourse
about nothing.’
When he had delivered this decision with the air of a judge, I had
leave to go. All I gained by my interview was the conclusion of a truce
until an answer should be brought back from Solyman.
I observed, when we were presented to the Pasha, that they kept up the
custom of the ancient Romans, who put in the word ‘feliciter’ at the
end of their speech, and used words of good omen. I noticed also that
in most cases the left-hand side was considered the more honourable.
The reason they assign for this is that the sword confers honour on
that side, for if a man stands on the right, he has in a certain sense
his sword under the hand of the man who flanks him on the left; while
the latter, of course, would have his sword free and disencumbered.
Our business at Buda being thus concluded, in so far as we were able
to accomplish it, my companion returned to the King, while I, with my
horses, carriages, and people, embarked on some vessels which were
waiting for us, and sailed down the Danube towards Belgrade. This route
was not only safer than that by land, but also occupied less time, for
encumbered as I was with baggage, I should have been twelve days at the
very least on the road, and there would also have been danger of an
attack from Heydons—for so the Hungarians call the banditti who have
left their flocks and herds to become half soldiers, half brigands. By
the river route there was no fear of Heydons, and the passage occupied
five days.
The vessel on board which I sailed was towed by a tug manned by
twenty-four oarsmen; the other boats were pulled along by a pair
of sweeps. With the exception of a few hours during which the
wretched galley-slaves and the crew took food and rest, we travelled
incessantly. I was much impressed on this occasion with the rashness
of the Turks, for they had no hesitation in continuing their voyage
during the night, though there was no moon and it was quite dark, amid
a gale of wind. We often, to our very great danger, encountered mills
and trunks and branches of trees projecting from the banks, so that
it frequently happened that the boat was caught by the gale and came
crashing on to the stumps and branches which lined the river side. On
such occasions it seemed to me that we were on the point of going to
pieces. Once, indeed, there was a great crash, and part of the deck
was carried away. I jumped out of bed, and begged the crew to be more
careful. Their only answer was ‘Alaure,’ that is, ‘God will help us;’
and so I was left to get back to my bed and my nap—if I could! I will
venture to make one prophecy, and that is, that this mode of sailing
will one day bring about a disaster.
On our voyage I saw Tolna, a Hungarian borough of some importance,
which deserves special mention for its excellent white wine and the
civility of the people. I saw also Fort Valpovar, which stands on high
ground, as well as other castles and towns; nor did I fail to notice
the points at which the Drave on the one side, and the Theiss on the
other, flow into the Danube. Belgrade itself lies at the confluence of
the Save and Danube, and at the apex of the angle where these streams
join, the old city is still standing; it is built in an antiquated
style, and fortified with numerous towers and a double wall. On two
sides it is washed by the rivers I mentioned, while on the third side,
which unites it to the land, it has a citadel of considerable strength,
placed on an eminence, consisting of several lofty towers built of
squared stone.
In front of the city are very large suburbs, built without any regard
to order. These are inhabited by people of different nations—Turks,
Greeks, Jews, Hungarians, Dalmatians, and many more.
Indeed, throughout the Turkish Empire the suburbs, as a rule, are
larger than the towns, and suburbs and town together give the idea of
a very considerable place. This was the first point at which I met
with ancient coins, of which, as you know, I am very fond, and I find
William Quacquelben, whom I mentioned before, a most admirable and
devoted fellow-student in this hobby of mine.
We found several coins, on one side of which was a Roman soldier
standing between a bull and a horse, with the inscription ‘Taurunum.’
It is a well-ascertained fact that the legions of Upper Mœsia were
quartered here.
Twice in the days of our grandfathers great efforts were made to
take Belgrade, on the first occasion by Amurath, and on the second
by Mahomet, the captor of Constantinople. But the efforts of the
barbarians were on both occasions baffled by the gallant defence of the
Hungarians and the champions of the Cross.
It was not till the year 1520 that Belgrade was taken. Solyman, who
had just ascended the throne, advanced against the city with powerful
forces. He found it in a weak state, the garrison not having been kept
at its proper strength, owing to the neglect of the young King Louis
and the feuds of the Hungarian nobles; consequently he made himself
master of the city without much loss. We can now see clearly that
Belgrade was the door of Hungary, and that it was not till this gate
was forced that the tide of Turkish barbarism burst into this unhappy
country. The loss of Belgrade entailed the death of Louis[98] on the
battle-field, the capture of Buda, the enthralment of Transylvania,
and the utter prostration of a flourishing realm, amid the alarm of
neighbouring kingdoms lest their turn should come next. The loss of
Belgrade ought to be a warning to the Princes of Christendom that they,
as they love their safety, should take the utmost possible care of
their forts and strongholds. For the Turks resemble in this point great
rivers swollen by the rains; if they can burst their banks in any
single place, they pour through the breach and carry destruction far
and wide. In yet more fearful fashion do the Turkish hordes, when once
they have burst the barriers in their path, carry far and wide their
unparalleled devastations.
But we must now return to Belgrade, with full purpose to make our
way straight to Constantinople. Having procured in the city what we
thought needful for our journey by road, leaving Semendria, formerly a
stronghold of the Despots[99] of Servia, on our left, we commenced our
journey towards Nissa. When we came to high ground the Turks showed us
the snow-capped mountains of Transylvania in the distance, and they
also pointed out by means of signs the place near which some of the
piles of Trajan’s bridge may still be seen.[100]
After crossing a river, called Morava by the natives, we took up our
lodgings in a village named Jagodin, where we had an opportunity of
seeing the funeral ceremonies of the country, which are very different
from ours. The body was laid in a chapel, with its face uncovered, and
by it was placed food in the shape of bread and meat and a cup of wine;
the wife stood by the side, and also the daughter, dressed in their
best clothes; the latter wore a head-dress of peacock’s feathers. The
last present which the wife made to her husband, after he had been
waked, was a purple cap of the kind that young ladies wear in that
country.
Then we heard wailing and crying and complaining, as they asked the
dead man ‘What they had done that he should desert them? Had they
in any way failed in showing submission to him or in ministering to
his comfort? Why did he leave them to loneliness and misery?’ &c.
&c. The religious ceremonies were conducted by priests of the Greek
Church. I noticed in the burial-ground a great many wooden figures of
stags, fawns, &c., placed on the top of posts or poles. On inquiring
the reason, I was informed that the husbands or fathers placed these
monuments as memorials of the readiness and care with which the wives
and daughters had discharged their domestic duties. On many of the
tombs were hanging tresses of hair, which the women and girls had
placed there to show their grief for the loss of relations. We heard
also that it was the custom in these parts, when the elders had
arranged a marriage between a young man and a young woman, for the
bridegroom to seize his wife by force and carry her off. According
to their ideas, it would be highly indelicate for the girl to be a
consenting party to the arrangement.
Not far from Jagodin we came to a little stream, which the inhabitants
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.
Now that I am speaking of Roostem, I may as well tell you how he came
to be deprived of his high office. Solyman had a son by a concubine,
who came from the Crimea, if I remember rightly. His name was Mustapha,
and at the time of which I am speaking he was young, vigorous, and
of high repute as a soldier. But Solyman had also several other
children by a Russian woman (Roxolana).[111] To the latter he was
so much attached that he placed her in the position of a wife, and
assigned her a dowry, the giving and receiving of which constitutes
a marriage amongst the Turks. In taking her as his wife, he broke
through the custom of his later predecessors on the throne, none of
whom, since the days of Bajazet the elder, had a lawful wife. For of
all the indignities which the vanquished Sultan endured, when he and
his wife fell into the hands of Tamerlane,[112] nothing seemed more
dreadful than the insults which his wife received before his eyes. His
humiliation made so deep an impression on his successors that, up to
the time of Solyman, they abstained from contracting a legal marriage
with any woman, by way of insuring themselves, under all circumstances,
against a similar misfortune. The mothers of their children were women
in the position of slaves, the idea being that, if they were insulted,
the disgrace to the Sultan would not be so great as in the case of a
lawful wife. You must not be surprised at this, for the Turks do not
consider the position of the children of concubines and mistresses
inferior to that of the offspring of wives; both have precisely the
same rights of inheritance to their father’s property.
Thus, then, matters stood. Mustapha’s high qualities and matured years
marked him out, to the soldiers who loved, and the people who supported
him, as the successor of his father, who was now in the decline of
life. On the other hand, his step-mother, by throwing the claim of a
lawful wife into the scale, was doing her utmost to counterbalance his
personal merits and his rights as eldest son, with a view to obtaining
the throne for her own children. In this intrigue she received the
advice and assistance of Roostem, whose fortunes were inseparably
linked with hers by his marriage with a daughter she had had by
Solyman. Of all the Pashas at Solyman’s court none had such influence
and weight as Roostem; his determined character and clear-sighted
views had contributed in no small degree to his master’s fame. Perhaps
you would like to know his origin. He was once a pig-driver;[113] and
yet he is a man well worthy of his high office, were his hands not
soiled with greed. This was the only point as to which the Sultan was
dissatisfied with him; in every other respect he was the object of his
love and esteem. However, this very fault his master contrived to turn
to his advantage, by giving him the management of the privy purse and
exchequer, Solyman’s chief difficulties being on the score of finance.
In his administration of this department he neglected no gain, however
trivial, and scraped up money from the sale of the vegetables and
flowers which grew in the imperial gardens; he put up separately to
auction each prisoner’s helmet, coat-of-mail, and horse, and managed
everything else after the same fashion.
By these means he contrived to amass large sums of money, and fill
Solyman’s treasury. In short, he placed his finances in a sound
position. His success in this department drew from a very bitter enemy
of his an expression, which will surprise you as coming from a Turk. He
declared that, even had he the power to hurt Roostem, he would not use
it against one whose industry, zeal, and care had re-established his
master’s finances. There is in the palace a special vault, where these
hoards are kept, and on it is this inscription, ‘The moneys acquired by
the care of Roostem.’
Well, inasmuch as Roostem was chief Vizier, and as such had the whole
of the Turkish administration in his hands, he had no difficulty,
seeing that he was the Sultan’s adviser in everything, in influencing
his master’s mind. The Turks, accordingly, are convinced that it was
by the calumnies of Roostem and the spells of Roxolana, who was in ill
repute as a practiser of witchcraft, that the Sultan was so estranged
from his son as to entertain the design of getting rid of him. A few
believe that Mustapha, being aware of the plans of Roostem and the
practices of his stepmother, determined to anticipate them, and thus
engaged in designs against his father’s throne and person. The sons of
Turkish Sultans are in the most wretched position in the world, for,
as soon as one of them succeeds his father, the rest are doomed to
certain death. The Turk can endure no rival to the throne, and, indeed,
the conduct of the Janissaries renders it impossible for the new Sultan
to spare his brothers; for if one of them survives, the Janissaries
are for ever asking largesses. If these are refused, forthwith the
cry is heard, ‘Long live the brother!’ ‘God preserve the brother!’—a
tolerably broad hint that they intend to place him on the throne. So
that the Turkish Sultans are compelled to celebrate their succession
by imbruing their hands in the blood of their nearest relatives. Now
whether the fault lay with Mustapha, who feared this fate for himself,
or with Roxolana, who endeavoured to save her children at the expense
of Mustapha, this much at any rate is certain—the suspicions of the
Sultan were excited, and the fate of his son was sealed.
Being at war with Shah Tahmasp, King of the Persians, he had sent
Roostem against him as commander-in-chief of his armies. Just as he
was about to enter the Persian territory, Roostem suddenly halted, and
hurried off despatches to Solyman, informing him that affairs were
in a very critical state; that treason was rife everywhere; that the
soldiers had been tampered with, and cared for no one but Mustapha;
that he (the Sultan) could control the soldiers, but that the evil
was past his (Roostem’s) curing; that his presence and authority were
wanted; and he must come at once, if he wished to preserve his throne.
Solyman was seriously alarmed by these despatches. He immediately
hurried to the army, and sent a letter to summon Mustapha to his
presence, inviting him to clear himself of those crimes of which he was
suspected, and indeed openly accused, at the same time assuring him
that, if he proved innocent, no danger awaited him. Mustapha had now
to make his choice. If he obeyed the summons of his angry and offended
father, the risk was great; but if he excused himself from coming, it
would be tantamount to an admission of treason. He determined to take
the course which demanded most courage and involved most danger.
He left Amasia, the seat of his government, and went to his father’s
camp, which lay at no great distance,[114] either trusting in his
innocence, or feeling confident that no evil would happen to him in the
presence of the army. However that may be, he fell into a trap from
which there was no escape.
Solyman had brought with him his son’s death doom, which he had
prepared before leaving home. With a view to satisfying religious
scruples, he had previously consulted his mufti. This is the name given
to the chief priest among the Turks, and answers to our Pope of Rome.
In order to get an impartial answer from the mufti, he put the case
before him as follows:—He told him that there was at Constantinople a
merchant of good position, who, when about to leave home for some time,
placed over his property and household a slave to whom he had shown the
greatest favour, and entrusted his wife and children to his loyalty.
No sooner was the master gone than this slave began to embezzle his
master’s property, and plot against the lives of his wife and children;
nay, more, had attempted to compass his master’s destruction. The
question which he (Solyman) wished the mufti to answer was this: What
sentence could be lawfully pronounced against this slave? The mufti
answered that in his judgment he deserved to be tortured to death.
Now, whether this was the mufti’s own opinion, or whether it was
pronounced at the instigation of Roostem or Roxolana, there is no doubt
that it greatly influenced Solyman, who was already minded to order
the execution of his son; for he considered that the latter’s offence
against himself was quite as great as that of the slave against his
master, in the case he had put before the mufti.
There was great uneasiness among the soldiers, when Mustapha arrived
in the camp. He was brought to his father’s tent, and there everything
betokened peace. There was not a soldier on guard, no aide-de-camp, no
policeman, nothing that could possibly alarm him and make him suspect
treachery. But there were in the tent certain mutes—a favourite kind
of servant among the Turks—strong and sturdy fellows, who had been
appointed as his executioners. As soon as he entered the inner tent,
they threw themselves upon him, and endeavoured to put the fatal noose
around his neck. Mustapha, being a man of considerable strength, made
a stout defence, and fought—not only for his life, but also for the
throne; there being no doubt that if he escaped from his executioners,
and threw himself among the Janissaries, the news of this outrage on
their beloved prince would cause such pity and indignation, that they
would not only protect him, but also proclaim him Sultan. Solyman felt
how critical the matter was, being only separated by the linen hangings
of his tent from the stage, on which this tragedy was being enacted.
When he found that there was an unexpected delay in the execution of
his scheme, he thrust out his head from the chamber of his tent, and
glared on the mutes with fierce and threatening eyes; at the same
time, with signs full of hideous meaning, he sternly rebuked their
slackness. Hereon the mutes, gaining fresh strength from the terror he
inspired, threw Mustapha down, got the bowstring round his neck, and
strangled him. Shortly afterwards they laid his body on a rug in front
of the tent, that the Janissaries might see the man they had desired as
their Sultan. When this was noised through the camp, the whole army was
filled with pity and grief; nor did one of them fail to come and gaze
on that sad sight. Foremost of all were the Janissaries, so astounded
and indignant that, had there been anyone to lead them, they would have
flinched from nothing. But they saw their chosen leader lying lifeless
on the ground. The only course left to them was to bear patiently that
which could not be cured. So, sadly and silently, with many a tear,
they retired to their tents, where they were at liberty to indulge
their grief at the unhappy end of their young favourite. First they
declared that Solyman was a dotard and a madman. They then expressed
their abhorrence of the cruel treachery of the stepmother (Roxolana),
and the wickedness of Roostem, who, between them, had extinguished
the brightest light of the house of Othman. Thus they passed that day
fasting, nor did they even touch water; indeed, there were some of them
who remained without food for a still longer time.
For several days there was a general mourning throughout the camp,
and there seemed no prospect of any abatement of the soldiers’
sorrow, unless Roostem were removed from office. This step Solyman
accordingly took, at the suggestion (as it is generally believed) of
Roostem himself. He dismissed him from office, and sent him back to
Constantinople in disgrace.
His post was filled by Achmet Pasha, who is more distinguished for
courage than for judgment. When Roostem had been chief Vizier he
had been second. This change soothed and calmed the spirits of the
soldiers. With the credulity natural to the lower orders, they were
easily induced to believe that Solyman had discovered Roostem’s
machinations and his wife’s sorceries, and was coming to his senses
now that it was all too late, and that this was the cause of Roostem’s
fall. Indeed, they were persuaded that he would not even spare his
wife, when he returned to Constantinople. Moreover, the men themselves
met Roostem at Constantinople, apparently overwhelmed with grief and
without the slightest hope of recovering his position.
Meanwhile, Roxolana, not contented with removing Mustapha from her
path, was compassing the death of the only son he had left, who was
still a child; for she did not consider that she and her children were
free from danger, so long as his offspring survived. Some pretext,
however, she thought necessary, in order to furnish a reason for the
murder, but this was not hard to find. Information is brought to
Solyman that, whenever his grandson appeared in public, the boys of
Ghemlik[115]—where he was being educated—shouted out, ‘God save the
Prince, and may he long survive his father;’ and that the meaning of
these cries was to point him out as his grandsire’s future successor,
and his father’s avenger. Moreover, he was bidden to remember that the
Janissaries would be sure to support the son of Mustapha, so that the
father’s death had in no way secured the peace of the throne and realm;
that nothing ought to be preferred to the interests of religion, not
even the lives of our children; that the whole Mussulman religion (as
they call it, meaning ‘the best religion’) depended on the safety of
the throne and the rule of the house of Othman; and that, if the family
were to fall, the foundations of the faith would be overthrown; that
nothing would so surely lead to the downfall of the house as disunion
among its members; for the sake, therefore, of the family, the empire,
and religion itself, a stop must be put to domestic feuds; no price
could be too great for the accomplishment of such an end, even though
a father’s hands had to be dipped in his children’s blood; nay, the
sacrifice of one’s children’s lives was not to be esteemed of any great
account, if the safety of the faith was thereby assured. There was
still less reason, they added, for compunction in this case, inasmuch
as the boy, as Mustapha’s son, was already a participator in his
father’s guilt, and there could be no doubt that he would shortly place
himself at the head of his father’s partisans.
Solyman was easily induced by these arguments to sign the death-warrant
of his grandson. He commissioned Ibrahim Pasha to go to Ghemlik with
all speed, and put the innocent child to death.
On arriving at Ghemlik, Ibrahim took special care to conceal his errand
from the lad’s mother, for that she should be allowed to know of her
son’s execution, and almost see it with her eyes, would have seemed
too barbarous. Besides, his object, if it got wind, might provoke an
insurrection, and so his plans be frustrated.
By the following artifice he threw her off her guard. He pretended
he was sent by Solyman to visit her and her son; he said his master
had found out, when too late, that he had made a terrible mistake in
putting Mustapha to death, and intended, by his affection for the son,
to atone for his injustice to the father.
Many stories of this kind he told, in order to gain credence with the
fond mother, whose fears had, at that time, been to a great extent
dispelled by the news of Roostem’s fall. After thus flattering her
hopes, he presented her with a few trifling gifts.
A couple of days later he threw in a word about the confined atmosphere
of the city, and the desirability of change of air, and so obtained her
consent to their setting out next day for a seat near the city. She
herself was to go in a carriage, and her son to ride in front of the
carriage on horseback. There was nothing in these arrangements that
could excite suspicion, and so she agreed. A carriage was got ready,
the axle-tree of which was so put together as to ensure its breaking
when they came to a certain rough place, which they needs must cross.
Accordingly, the mother entered the carriage, and set forth, poor
woman, on her journey into the country. The eunuch rode well in front
with the lad, as if to take the opportunity for a chat; the mother
followed with what speed she might. When they reached the rough ground
I told you of, the wheel struck violently against the stones, and
the axle broke. The mother, whom this accident filled with the worst
forebodings, was in the greatest alarm, and could not be kept from
leaving the carriage, and following her son on foot, attended only by a
few of her women. But the eunuch had already reached his destination.
As soon as he had crossed the threshold of the house which was to be
the scene of the murder, he uttered the sentence of death: ‘The order
of the Sultan is that you must die.’ The boy, they say, made answer
like a true Turk, that he received the decree, not as the order of the
Sultan, but the command of God; and, with these words on his lips,
suffered the fatal noose to be placed round his neck. And so—young,
innocent, and full of promise—the little fellow was strangled. When
the deed was done the eunuch slipped out by a back door, and fled for
his life. Presently came the mother. She had already guessed what had
taken place. She knocked at the door. When all was over, they let her
in. There lay her son before her eyes, his body still warm with life,
the pulses throbbing, the breath hardly departed from him. But we had
better draw a veil over the sad scene. What a mother’s feelings must
have been to see her son thus entrapped and murdered, it were easier to
imagine than describe.
She was then compelled to return to Ghemlik. She came into the city
with her hair dishevelled and her robe rent, filling the air with her
shrieks and moanings. The women of Ghemlik, high and low, gathered
round her; and when they heard of the fearful deed that had been
perpetrated, like frenzied Bacchantes they rushed out of the gates.
‘Where’s the eunuch? Where’s the eunuch?’ is their cry. And woe to
him had he fallen into their hands. But he, knowing what impended,
and fearing to be torn in pieces by the furious women, like a second
Orpheus,[116] lost no time in making his escape.
But I must now return to my subject. A messenger was despatched to
Solyman, with a letter announcing my arrival. During the interval,
while we were waiting for his answer, I had an opportunity of seeing
Constantinople at my leisure. My chief wish was to visit the Church of
St. Sophia; to which, however, I only obtained admission as a special
favour, as the Turks think that their temples are profaned by the
entrance of a Christian. It is a grand and massive building, well worth
visiting. There is a huge central cupola, or dome, lighted only from a
circular opening at the top. Almost all the Turkish mosques are built
after the pattern of St. Sophia. Some say it was formerly much bigger,
and that there were several buildings in connection with it, covering
a great extent of ground, which were pulled down many years ago, the
shrine in the middle of the church alone being left standing.
As regards the position of the city, it is one which nature herself
seems to have designed for the mistress of the world. It stands
in Europe, Asia is close in front, with Egypt and Africa on its
right; and though these last are not, in point of distance, close to
Constantinople, yet, practically, the communication by sea links them
to the city. On the left, are the Black Sea and the Sea of Azoff. Many
nations live all round the coasts of these seas, and many rivers pour
into them; so that, through the length and breadth of these countries,
which border on the Black Sea, there is nothing grown for man’s use,
which cannot, with the greatest ease, be brought to Constantinople
by water. On one side the city is washed by the Sea of Marmora, on
the other the creek forms a harbour which, from its shape, is called
by Strabo ‘the Golden Horn.’ On the third side it is united to the
mainland, so that its position may be described as a peninsula or
promontory formed by a ridge running out between the sea on one side,
and the frith on the other. Thus from the centre of Constantinople
there is a most exquisite view over the sea, and of Mount Olympus in
Asia, white with perpetual snow. The sea is perfectly crowded with
shoals of fish making their way, after the manner of their kind, from
the Sea of Azoff and the Black Sea through the Bosphorus and the Sea
of Marmora into the Ægean and Mediterranean, or again returning to the
Black Sea. The shoals are so big, and so closely packed, that sometimes
fish can be caught with the hand. Mackerel, tunnies, bigheads, bream,
and sword-fish are to be had in abundance. The fishermen are, for the
most part, Greeks, as they take to this occupation more readily than
the Turks, although the latter do not despise fish when brought to
table, provided they are of the kinds which they consider clean; as for
the rest, they would as lief take a dose of poison as touch them. I
should tell you, by the way, that a Turk would sooner have his tongue
or teeth torn out, than taste anything which he considers unclean, as,
for instance, a frog, a snail, or a tortoise. The Greeks are subject
to the same superstition. I had engaged a lad of the Greek Church as
purveyor for my people. His fellow-servants had never been able to
induce him to eat snails; at last they set a dish of them before him,
cooked and seasoned in such a way that he fancied it was some kind
of fish, and helped himself to it most liberally. But when the other
servants, laughing and giggling, produced the snail shells, and showed
him that he had been taken in, his distress was such as to baffle all
description. He rushed to his chamber, where there was no end to his
tears, misery, and sickness. He declared that it would cost him two
months’ wages, at the least, to obtain absolution for his sin; it being
the custom of Greek priests to charge those who come for confession a
price varying with the nature and extent of the offence, and to refuse
absolution to those who do not comply with their demand.
At the end of the promontory I mentioned, stands the palace of the
Turkish Sultan, which, as far as I can see—for I have not yet been
admitted within its walls—has no grandeur of design or architectural
details to make it worth a visit. Below the palace, on lower ground
near the shore, lie the Sultan’s gardens fringing the sea. This is
the quarter where people think that old Byzantium stood. You must not
expect here to have the story of why in former days the people of
Chalcedon were called blind,[117] who lived opposite Byzantium—the
very ruins of Chalcedon have now well nigh disappeared; neither must
you expect to hear of the peculiar nature of the sea, in that it flows
downwards with a current that never stops nor changes; nor about the
pickled condiments which are brought to Constantinople from the Sea
of Azoff, which the Italians call moronellas, botargas, and caviare.
Such matters would be out of place here; indeed, I think I have already
exceeded the limits of a letter; besides, they are facts which can be
read both in ancient and modern authors.
I now return to Constantinople. Nothing could exceed the beauty or the
commercial advantages of its situation. In Turkish cities it is, as I
told you before, useless to expect handsome buildings or fine streets;
the extreme narrowness of the latter renders a good effect impossible.
In many places are to be found interesting remains of ancient works of
art, and yet, as regards number, the only marvel is that more are not
in existence, when we remember how many Constantine brought from Rome.
I do not intend to describe each of them separately, but I will touch
on a few. On the site of the ancient hippodrome are a pair of bronze
serpents,[118] which people go to see, and also a remarkable obelisk.
There are besides two famous pillars at Constantinople, which are
considered among the sights. One of them is opposite the caravanserai
where we were entertained, and the other is in the market-place which
the Turks call ‘Avret Bazaar,’ i.e. the female slave market. It is
engraven from top to bottom with the history of the expedition of
Arcadius, who built it, and by whose statue it was long surmounted. It
would be more correct to call it a spiral staircase than a column, for
there is inside it a set of steps, by ascending which one can reach the
top. I have a picture of it. On the other hand, the column[119] which
stands opposite the inn where it is usual for the imperial Ambassadors
to be lodged, is formed, with the exception of its base and capital,
of eight solid blocks of porphyry, united in such a way as to present
the appearance of a single block. Indeed, the popular belief is that
it is made out of one piece; for each separate joining is covered by
a band running right round the column, on which laurels are carved.
By this means the joinings are concealed from the eyes of those who
look at it from the ground. Having been shaken by several earthquakes,
and scorched by a fire in the neighbourhood, the column is splitting
in many places, and is here and there belted with iron to prevent its
coming to pieces. They say that it was at one time surmounted by a
statue of Apollo, afterwards by one of Constantine, and lastly by that
of Theodosius the elder, all of which were successively thrown down by
a gale or an earthquake.
The Greeks tell the following story about the obelisk in the
hippodrome, which I mentioned above. They say that it was torn from its
base, and lay on the ground for many years, and that in the time of the
later Emperors, an architect was found who undertook to replace it on
its pedestal. The contract being concluded, he set up a huge machine,
which was chiefly worked by ropes and pulleys; by this means he got
the huge stone into an upright position, and raised it within three
inches of the blocks, on which it had to be placed. The spectators
forthwith concluded that all the architect’s trouble, and the labour
he had bestowed on his machine, had been to no purpose, and that the
work would have to be begun afresh, at the cost of great toil and great
expense. But the architect was not in the least alarmed, and, profiting
by one of nature’s secrets, he ordered large supplies of water to be
brought. With this for several hours the machine was drenched. As the
ropes, by which the obelisk was suspended, got wet, they gradually
contracted, and of course became shorter, so that the obelisk was
raised higher and placed on the blocks, amid the cheers and admiration
of the crowd.[120]
I saw at Constantinople wild beasts of different kinds—lynxes, wild
cats, panthers, leopards, and lions, so subdued and tame that one of
them, when I was looking on, suffered its keeper to pull out of its
mouth a sheep that had that moment been thrown to it. The creature
remained quite quiet, though its jaws were but just stained with blood.
I saw also a young elephant which could dance and play ball most
cleverly. When you read this, I am sure you will not be able to
suppress a smile. ‘An elephant,’ you will say, ‘dancing and playing
ball!’ Well, why not? Is it more wonderful than the elephant which,
Seneca tells us, walked on the tight rope, or that one which Pliny
describes as a Greek scholar?
But I must make myself clear, lest you should think I am romancing, or
misunderstand me. When the elephant was told to dance, it hopped and
shuffled, swaying itself to and fro, as if it fain would dance a jig.
It played ball after the following fashion:—On the ball being thrown to
it, the elephant caught it cleverly, driving it back with his trunk, as
we do with the palm of the hand. If this is not enough in your eyes to
warrant the assertion that the animal danced and played ball, you must
go to some one who can make up a story with less scruple and more wit
than your humble servant.
Just before I reached Constantinople there was a camelopard (giraffe)
in the menagerie; but at the time of my visit it was dead and buried.
However, I had its bones dug up for the purpose of examining them. The
creature is much taller in front than behind, and on that account unfit
for carrying burdens or being ridden. It is called a camelopard because
its head and neck are like a camel’s, while its skin is spotted like a
pard (panther).
If I had not visited the Black Sea, when I had an opportunity of
sailing thither, I should have deserved to be blamed for my laziness,
since the ancients held it to be quite as great an exploit to have
visited the Black Sea, as to have sailed to Corinth. Well, we had a
delightful voyage, and I was allowed to enter some of the royal kiosks.
On the folding doors of one of these palaces I saw a picture of the
famous battle[121] between Selim and Ismael, King of the Persians,
executed in masterly style, in tesselated work. I saw also a great many
pleasure-grounds belonging to the Sultan, situated in the most charming
valleys. Their loveliness was almost entirely the work of nature; to
art they owed little or nothing. What a fairyland! What a landscape for
waking a poet’s fancy! What a retreat for a scholar to retire to! I do
declare that, as I said just now, these spots seem to grieve and ask
for Christian help and Christian care once more; and still truer are
these words of Constantinople, or rather of the whole of Greece. That
land was once most prosperous; today it is subject to an unnatural
bondage. It seems as if the country, which in ancient times discovered
the fine arts and every liberal science, were demanding back that
civilisation which it gave to us, and were adjuring us, by the claim
of a common faith, to be its champion against savage barbarism. But
it is all in vain. The princes of Christendom have other objects in
view; and, after all, the Greeks are not under heavier bondage to the
Turks, than we are to our own vices—luxury, intemperance, sloth, lust,
pride, ambition, avarice, hatred, envy, malice. By these our souls
are so weighed down and buried, that they cannot look up to heaven,
or entertain one glorious thought, or contemplate one noble deed. The
ties of a common faith, and the duty we owe our brethren ought to have
drawn us to their assistance, even though glory and honour had no charm
for our dull hearts; at any rate, self-interest, which is the first
thing men think of nowadays, should have made us anxious to rescue
lands so fair, with all their great resources and advantages, from the
hand of the barbarian, that we might hold them in his stead. At present
we are seeking across the wide seas the Indies[122] and Antipodes. And
why? It is because in those lands there are simple, guileless creatures
from whom rich booty may be torn without the cost of a single wound.
_For these expeditions religion supplies the pretext and gold the
motive._
This was not the fashion with our ancestors. They scorned to place
themselves on the level of a trader by seeking those lands where gold
was most plentiful, but deemed that land most desirable which gave them
the best opportunity of proving their valour and performing their duty.
They, too, had their toil; they, too, had their dangers; they, too, had
their distant expeditions; but honour was the prize they sought, not
profit. When they came home from their wars, they came home not richer
in _wealth_, but richer in _renown_.[123]
These words are for your private ear, for perhaps some may hold it
foul wrong for a man to suggest that the moral tone of the present day
leaves aught to be desired. However that may be, I see that the arrows
are being sharpened for our destruction; and I fear it will turn out
that if we _will_ not fight for glory, we shall be _compelled_ to fight
for existence.
I will now take you back to the sea which the ancients call Pontus
and the Turks call Caradenis, or the Black Sea. It pours through
a narrow outlet into the Thracian Bosphorus, down which it rolls,
beating against the curving headlands with many an eddy till it reaches
Constantinople after the space of one day. At this point it rushes into
the Sea of Marmora by a passage almost as narrow as that by which it
enters the Bosphorus. In the middle of the mouth next the Black Sea
is a rock with a column, on the base of which a Roman name is written
in Latin characters (‘Octavian,’ if I remember rightly); then on the
European shore is a lofty tower, which serves as a lighthouse to ships
by night. They call it Pharos.[124] Not far from it a brook flows
into the sea, from whose bed we gathered some pebbles almost equal to
the onyx and sardonyx; at any rate, when they are polished they are
nearly as brilliant. A few miles from the entrance I mentioned are
shown the straits across which Darius led his army in his expedition
against the Scythians of Europe; then half-way between the northern and
southern entrances to the Bosphorus stand two castles opposite each
other, one in Europe and the other in Asia. The latter was held by
the Turks a long time before the attack on Constantinople; the former
was built by Mahomet, and fortified with strong towers, a few years
before he stormed Constantinople. At present the Turks use it for the
incarceration of prisoners of rank. Not long ago, Lazarus, an
Albanian chief, made his escape from it. He was recaptured with the
Spaniards at Castel Nuovo,[125] and brought back to Constantinople. For
this offence he suffered the fearful punishment of impalement, but bore
his sufferings with wonderful composure.
And now, perhaps, you will want me to tell you something about the
floating islands, called the Cyanean[126] islands, or Symplegades. I
honestly confess that during the few hours I was there I was unable
to discover any Cyanean islands, though possibly they had floated off
somewhere else! If you are disposed to be curious on this head you will
before long have a more accurate account from P. Gilles,[127] whose
researches into all subjects of this kind are most precise; from me you
must not expect to hear of more than meets the traveller’s eye.
One matter it would be unpardonable to pass by in silence, viz. that
Polybius is utterly wrong in the conclusion which he deduces from
various arguments, that in process of time the Black Sea would be
so choked by the alluvial soil brought into it by the Danube, the
Dneiper, and other rivers, as to become unnavigable. He is utterly
wrong, I say, for there is not one atom more difficulty in sailing over
the Black Sea now than there was in his days.
This is one of those numerous instances in which time and experience
upset conclusions, which in theory seemed impregnable.
In former days everyone subscribed to the opinion that the lands under
the torrid zone were uninhabitable, and yet the accounts of men who
have visited those regions prove that they are for the most part quite
as thickly populated as other countries; nay more, they tell us that
at the very time when the sun is at its highest, and its rays fall
perpendicularly on the earth, the heat[128] is tempered by continuous
rains shading and cooling those lands.
When the Sultan had received the despatches announcing my arrival,
orders were sent to the Governor of Constantinople to convey us over
to Asia, and send us on to Amasia (or Amazeia, as it is spelt on
ancient coins). Accordingly, we made our preparations, our guides
were appointed, and on March 9 we crossed into Anatolia, as the Turks
now call Asia. On that day we did not get further than Scutari. This
village lies on the Asiatic shore opposite ancient Byzantium, on the
very ground, or possibly a little below, where the site of the famous
city of Chalcedon is supposed to be.
The Turks thought it quite sufficient progress for one day to get
horses, carriages, luggage, and suite across the straits; their
special reason for not going further on that day was, that, if they
had forgotten anything necessary for the journey, (a very ordinary
circumstance), they would not have far to send for it. Leaving Scutari
on the next day, we passed through fields full of lavender, and other
fragrant plants. Here we saw a great many big tortoises crawling about.
They were not afraid of us, and we should have caught and eaten them
with the greatest pleasure, had we not shrunk from hurting the feelings
of the Turks who accompanied us; for had they touched them, or so much
as seen them brought to our table, they would have held themselves to
be defiled, and would have required endless washings to remove their
imaginary pollution. You will remember my telling you of the extent
to which both Greeks and Turks carry their superstition in avoiding
contact with animals of this kind. Since no one, therefore, would
snare as vermin a creature so harmless, and no one will eat it, the
consequence is that tortoises swarm in these parts. I kept one which
had two heads for several days, and it would have lived longer had I
not neglected it.
That day we came to a village called Cartali. By the way, I shall
from this point be glad to give you the names of our halting-places.
The journey to Constantinople has been taken by many, but the road
to Amasia has, to the best of my knowledge, been traversed by no
European before us. From Cartali we came to Gebise, a town of Bithynia,
which they think was formerly Libyssa, famous as the burial-place of
Hannibal. From it there is a most lovely view over the sea and bay of
Ismid; I observed also some cypresses of extraordinary height and girth.
Our fourth stage from Constantinople brought us to Nicomedia (Ismid).
It is an ancient city of great renown; but we saw nothing in it worth
looking at except its ruins and rubbish, which contained, in the
remnants of column and architrave, all that is left of its ancient
grandeur. The citadel, which stands on a hill, is in a better state
of preservation. Shortly before our arrival, a long wall of white
marble had been discovered under the earth by some people who had been
digging, which, I am inclined to think, formed part of the ancient
palace of the kings of Bithynia.
After leaving Nicomedia, we crossed the range of Mount Olympus, and
arrived at the village of Kasockli; thence to Nicæa (Isnik), which
we did not reach till late in the evening. I heard not far from the
city loud shouting, and what seemed to be cries of mockery and insult
issuing from human lips. I asked what it was, suggesting that it might
proceed from some boatmen on the Lake of Isnik, which was not far
off, and that they were chaffing us for being so late on the road. They
told me that it was the howlings of certain wild beasts, which the
Turks call jackals. They are a species of wolf, not so large as the
common wolf, but larger than foxes, and quite a match for the former in
greed and gluttony. They hunt in packs, doing no harm to human beings
or cattle, and obtaining their food by thievery and cunning rather
than by force. Hence the Turks call sharpers and swindlers, especially
if they come from Asia, jackals. They enter the tents, and even the
houses, of the Turks at night, and devour any eatables they find;
indeed, if they can get nothing else, they gnaw any leathern article
they may chance upon, such as boots, leggings, belts, scabbards,
&c. They are very clever in this manner of stealing, except in one
particular, for, absurdly enough, they sometimes give evidence against
themselves. When in the very act of stealing, if one of the pack
outside happens to set up a howl, they answer the cry, quite forgetting
where they are. The sound awakes the inmates; they catch up their arms
and visit the thieves, whom they have taken red-handed, with condign
punishment.
We remained the following day at Nicæa, and I am inclined to think
that the building I slept in was the very one in which the Nicene
Council was formerly held. Nicæa lies on the shores of the Lake of
Isnik. The walls and gates of the town are in fairly good condition.
There are four gateways in all, and they can be seen from the centre
of the market-place. On each of them is an ancient inscription in
Latin, stating that the town had been restored by Antoninus. I do not
remember which Antoninus it was, but I am quite certain that it was an
Antoninus, who was Emperor. He also built some baths, the remains of
which are still in existence.
Whilst we were at Nicæa, some Turks, who were digging up stone from
the ruins for the construction of public buildings at Constantinople,
came across a statue of an armed soldier, of excellent workmanship,
and almost perfect. But with their hammers they soon reduced it to a
shapeless mass. On our expressing vexation at this act of theirs, the
workmen jeered at us, and asked us if we wanted, in accordance with our
customs, to worship the statue and pray to it.
From Nicæa (Isnik) we came to Jenysar (Yeni Shehr), next to Ackbyuck,
and thence to Bazargyck (Bazarjik), from which place we came to
Bosovick, or Cassumbasa, which lies in the gorge of the pass over Mount
Olympus. From Nicæa our road lay almost entirely along the slopes of
Mount Olympus, until we reached Bosovick.
Here we lodged in a Turkish hostel. Opposite stood a rock somewhat
higher than the building, in which was cut a square cistern of
considerable size, and from the bottom of it a pipe ran down to the
highway road. The ancient inhabitants used in winter to fill the
cistern with snow; as it melted, the iced water, trickling down to the
road through the pipe, refreshed the thirsty wayfarer.
The Turks consider public works of this kind the noblest sort of
almsgiving, inasmuch as they help not only everyone, but everyone
equally. Not far from this spot Otmanlik was pointed out to us on our
right—the retreat, as I imagine, of the famous Othman, founder of the
family which bears his name.
From this pass we descended into wide plains, where we spent our
first night under tents, on account of the heat. The place was called
Chiausada. Here we saw a subterranean house, which was lighted only
by an opening in the roof. We saw also the famous goats[129] from
whose fleece—or hair, if you like the word better—is woven the watered
stuff known as mohair. The hair of these goats is extremely fine and
marvellously flossy, hanging down to the very ground; the goatherds do
not shear it, but comb it off, and it is almost as beautiful as silk.
The goats are frequently washed in running water. Their food is the
scanty dry grass peculiar to these plains, and it is to this that the
fineness of their coats is chiefly owing; for it is an ascertained
fact, that when the goats are removed elsewhere, their wool does not
retain its silky character, but changes with the pasturage; indeed, the
whole animal degenerates to such an extent that one would scarcely
recognise the breed. These fleeces, after being spun into thread by
the women of the country, are taken to Angora,[130] a city of Galatia,
and there woven and dyed; further on I will give you a description of
the process. In this locality is also to be found that curious breed
of sheep with great fat tails; indeed, their flocks consist of little
else. The tails weigh from three or four to as much as eight or ten
pounds;[131] so big are the tails of some of the older sheep, that it
is necessary to furnish them with a carriage for their support, which
consists of a little board running on a pair of small wheels, so that
the sheep may drag that which it cannot carry. This, perhaps, you
will hardly believe, and yet I am telling you the truth. Now, while I
fully admit that there is a certain advantage in these tails from the
supply of fat which they yield, I must say I found the rest of the meat
tough and wanting in flavour, as compared with ordinary mutton. The
shepherds, who manage these flocks, never leave the pasture grounds
by night or day, carrying their wives and children about with them in
waggons, which they use as houses, except on certain occasions when
they pitch small tents. These men wander to great distances, choosing
plain, hillside, or valley, according to the season of the year and the
state of the pasturage.
I flatter myself that I discovered in this district some species
of birds which our countrymen have never seen, nor even heard of.
Amongst these is a kind of duck, which may fairly be classed among
horn-blowers, since its cry is exactly like the sound of a postman’s
horn. This bird, in spite of its inability to defend itself, is bold
and saucy. The Turks believe that it can frighten evil spirits away.
However that may be, it is so fond of its liberty that after being
kept a good three years in a farm-yard, if it gets the opportunity, it
prefers freedom and hunger to captivity and plenty, and flies off to
its old haunts by the river.
From Chiausada we came to Karaly, thence to Hazdengri, and so to
Mazzotthoy. We then crossed the river Sangarius (Sakariyeh) which rises
in Phrygia and flows into the Black Sea, to Mahathli, thence to Zugli,
Chilancyck, Jalanchich, Potughin, and so to Angora (Ancyra)—which the
Turks call Angur.
We remained one day at Angora. As the weather was hot we made but
short stages. Moreover, our Turks assured us that there was no need
for hurry, as the Persian Ambassador was still lingering on the road,
and the authorities wished us both to arrive at Amasia as nearly as
possible at the same time.
In none of the villages mentioned above did we see anything worth
notice, save that, among the Turkish burial places we sometimes lighted
on ancient columns, or blocks of fine marble, on which traces still
remained of Greek and Roman inscriptions, but so mutilated that they
could not be read. It was my amusement, on reaching our lodgings for
the night, to inquire for ancient inscriptions, or coins of Greece or
Rome, and, if these were not forthcoming, for rare plants.
It is a practice of the Turks to cover in the tombs of their friends
with huge stones, which they bring from a great distance. No earth
is thrown upon the graves, and but for these stones they would lie
open. They are intended to furnish the dead man with a convenient
seat when he pleads his case, as he will have to do—according to
their notion—with his evil angel as his accuser and examiner, and his
good angel as counsel for the defence. The object of placing a heavy
stone on the grave is to protect the body from dogs, wolves, and other
beasts; the most pertinacious of which is the hyena, a creature often
met with in these parts. It burrows its way into the graves, pulls
out the bodies, and carries them off to its den, the mouth of which
is marked by a huge heap of bones of men, horses, and other animals.
The hyena is a creature not quite so tall as a wolf, but quite as long
in body. Its skin resembles that of a wolf, except that the hair is
rougher, and it is also marked with large black spots; the head is
firmly attached to the backbone, without any joint between, so that
when it wants to look back it must turn right round. They say that it
has, in the place of teeth, one continuous bone.
The Turks, like the ancients, think that the hyena has great efficacy
in love charms, and though there were two hyenas at Constantinople
when I was there, the owners refused to sell them to me; assigning as
a reason that they were keeping them for the Sultana, i.e. the wife
of the Sultan—the popular belief being that she retains her husband’s
affection by means of philtres and sorceries. Belon,[132] I must tell
you, is wrong in thinking that the civet cat is the same as the hyena.
Now for one of the best jokes you ever heard in your life. I will tell
you the story just as I had it from the lips of the natives. They say
that the hyena, which they call Zirtlan, understands the language of
men (the ancients, by the way, said that it also imitated it), and that
it is therefore captured in the following way. The hunters go to its
den, which is not hard to find, being marked by a heap of bones, as
I mentioned before. One of them enters with a rope, one end of which
he leaves in the hands of his friends outside the cave. He creeps in,
saying, ‘Joctur, joctur ucala,’ that is, ‘I cannot find it; it is not
here.’ Meantime, imagining from what he says that its hiding-place is
not discovered, the beast remains perfectly still, until the hunter
has succeeded in attaching the rope to its leg, shouting out all the
time ‘that the hyena is not there.’ Then, with the same words, he goes
back, and as soon as he has got out of the den he shouts out at the
top of his voice that the hyena is inside; the creature, understanding
what he says, makes a rush to escape, but all in vain, the hunters hold
him fast by the rope round his leg. After this fashion they say it
is killed; or, if pains be taken, it may be captured alive; but this
is a difficult matter, for it is a fierce brute, and makes a stout
resistance. So much for the hyena.
We found, in some places, ancient coins in great abundance, especially
those of the later emperors, Constantinus, Constans, Justinus, Valens,
Valentinianus, Numerianus, Probus, Tacitus, &c. In many places the
Turks used them for the drachm and half-drachm weights. They call them
‘giaur manguri,’ or, ‘the infidel’s money.’
There were, besides, many coins of the neighbouring cities of Asia,
Amysus, Sinope, Comana, Amastris, and lastly, some of Amasia, the city
to which we were going. Talking of coins, a coppersmith roused my anger
by telling me, when I inquired for coins, that a few days before he
had had a whole potful of them, and that, thinking they were worthless,
he had melted them down, and made several copper kettles out of the
metal. I was greatly vexed at the destruction of so many interesting
relics; but I had my revenge. I informed him that, if he had not
destroyed the coins, I would have given him a hundred gold pieces for
them. So I sent him away quite as unhappy at the loss of the windfall
which he had been so near getting, as I was at the sacrifice of these
records of antiquity.
We did not meet with many new botanical specimens on the road. The
plants were, for the most part, identical with those in our country;
the only difference being that they grew more or less luxuriantly,
according to the nature of the soil.
We sought unsuccessfully for the balsam tree, which Dioscorides tells
us is indigenous in Pontus, so that I cannot tell whether the stock has
died out, or migrated to another country.
Angora formed our nineteenth halting place from Constantinople. It
is a town of Galatia, and was, at one time, the head-quarters of the
Tectosages, a Gallic tribe. Pliny and Strabo both mention it, but it is
not improbable that the present city covers only a part of the ancient
town. The Kanûns[133] call it Anquira.
Here we saw a very beautiful inscription,[134] containing a copy of
the tablets in which Augustus gave a summary of his achievements. We
made our people copy out as much as was legible. It is engraven on the
marble walls of a building now ruinous and roofless, which formerly may
have formed the official residence of the governor. As you enter the
building one half of the inscription is on the right, and the other
on the left. The top lines are nearly perfect; in the middle the gaps
begin to present difficulties; the lowest lines are so mutilated with
blows of clubs and axes as to be illegible. This is indeed a great
literary loss, and one which scholars have much reason to regret; the
more so as it is an ascertained fact that Ancyra was dedicated[135] to
Augustus as the common gift of Asia.
Here we also saw how the famous watered stuff, or mohair, which is
woven of the hair of the goats I have already described, is dyed; and
how, when water has been poured on, it takes those waves from the
action of the press, from which it derives its name, and for which
it is prized. The stuff which bears the mark of a very large wave,
and keeps its pattern, is considered the best; but if, in any part,
smaller and uneven waves occur, although the colour and material be
precisely the same, it is worth less by several gold pieces on account
of the flaw. Elderly men among the Turks, when they are of high rank,
are generally distinguished by dresses made of this material. Solyman
prefers it to any other dress for state occasions, wearing that which
is of a green colour; a hue which, according to our notions, is hardly
becoming to a man of advanced years; but their religion, and the
example of their prophet Mahomet, who wore it constantly, even in his
old age, gives it favour in the eyes of the Turks. Among them black
is considered a mean and unlucky colour, and for any one in Turkey to
appear dressed in black is held to be ominous of disaster and evil.
On some occasions the Pashas would express their astonishment at our
going to them in black clothes, and make it a ground for serious
remonstrance. No one in Turkey goes abroad in black unless he be
completely ruined, or in great grief for some terrible disaster. Purple
is highly esteemed, but in time of war it is considered ominous of a
bloody death. The lucky colours are white, orange, light blue, violet,
mouse colour, &c. In this, and other matters, the Turks pay great
attention to auguries and omens. It is a well-known fact that a Pasha
has sometimes been dismissed from office because his horse stumbled,
under the idea that it portended some great misfortune, and that,
if the man were removed from his office, it would fall on a private
individual, and not on the state.
From Angora we came to the village of Balygazar, thence to Zarekuct,
next to Zermeczii, after which we arrived at the bank of the river
Halys (Kizil Irmak).
As we crossed the country towards the village of Algeos, we had a
distant view of the mountains near Sinope. They have a red appearance
from the red chalk which takes its name from Sinope.
Here is the famous Halys, once the boundary between the kingdoms of
Media and Lydia, about which the ancient prophecy said that ‘Crœsus,
if he crossed the Halys to make war on the Persians, would destroy a
mighty realm’—but he did not know that the realm he was to destroy was
his own. On the bank was a copse of trees, which at first excited our
attention, as we thought we had discovered a new kind of fruit tree;
but we soon became aware that it was the liquorice tree, and gorged
ourselves with the juice from its roots.
It happened that a country fellow was standing there, so we asked him
through an interpreter whether there were plenty of fish in the river,
and how they were caught. His answer was, that there were plenty of
fish, but that it was impossible to catch them. When we expressed our
surprise at this intelligence, the man explained the matter thus:
‘Well, if anyone tries to put his hand on one of these fish, they jump
away, and will not wait for him to catch them.’
On a former occasion, when we met with some birds of a species unknown
to us, and asked how they could be caught, another fellow declared that
‘it was impossible to catch them, because, when anyone tried to lay
hold of them, they flew away.’ One of my colleagues, Francis Zay, had
with him nets, which he ordered to be unpacked with a view to fishing.
Amongst other fish, we caught the common Danube shad. There are also
crabs in the Halys in large numbers, which, if they are not sea crabs,
are, at any rate, very like them.
The Turks, who stood by, were amazed at the great pains we Christians
took in fishing. ‘How so,’ you will say, ‘are there no fishermen in
Turkey?’ Well, there are some, but in those districts they are very
rare. I remember, in another place, we were greeted with roars of
laughter when we drew off the water of a stream and captured a quantity
of gudgeons. They were greatly amused at our fishing for anything so
small, and could not make out what gain or advantage we expected to
get from them. The foolish fellows did not understand that a large
supply of these little fishes enabled us to prepare big dishes of stew
sufficient to dine a great many people.
But these Turks live so sparingly, and care so little for the pleasures
of the table, that if they have bread and salt with an onion or leek,
or a kind of sour milk which Galen mentions by the name of oxygala,
and they call yoghoort, they are quite content. They mix this milk
with very cold water, and crumble bread into it, using it when the
heat is overpowering, to allay their thirst. We, too, often found this
drink most useful in hot weather, for not only is it very pleasant
and wholesome, but it also has, to a remarkable degree, the power of
quenching thirst.
At all the caravanserais (or Turkish inns, as I explained before) there
is plenty of it for sale, and other relishes are also to be bought.
For the Turks do not, when travelling, require hot dishes or meat;
their relishes are sour milk, cheese, dried prunes, pears, peaches,
quinces, figs, raisins, cornel berries. Dainties of this description
are set out for sale on great pans of earthenware, having been first
boiled in plain water. Each man buys what he fancies most, and eats
the fruit with his bread by way of a relish; when he has finished the
fruit he drinks the water. Thus these men’s food and drink costs them
very little, so little, indeed, that I would venture to say that one of
our people will spend more on his food in one day than a Turk does in
twelve. Moreover their yearly feasts generally consist only of cakes
and buns, and other confectionery, with several dishes of rice, to
which they add mutton and chickens—not capons,[136] for poultry of that
kind is unknown to the Turks. As to pheasants, thrushes, becaficos,
&c., they have never even heard them mentioned. If honey or sugar be
mixed with their draught of water, they would not envy Jove his nectar.
I must not, however, pass over one kind of drink, if I am to give you
a full account. They take raisins and have them ground; when ground
and pounded they throw them into a wooden vessel, and pour over them a
certain proportion of hot water and mix them up; they then cover the
vessel carefully, and leave the liquor to ferment for a couple of days;
if the fermentation is not sufficiently active they add the lees of
wine. If you taste it when first it begins to ferment, it seems insipid
and disagreeably sweet; afterwards it gets a kind of acid flavour; in
this stage it is extremely palatable when mixed with the sweet liquor.
For three or four days it forms a most pleasant drink, especially when
cooled with plenty of snow, of which there is an unfailing supply at
Constantinople. They call it ‘Arab sherbet,’ i.e. ‘the drink of the
Arabs.’ But after three or four days it is spoilt, and gets quite sour.
In this stage it affects the head, and makes people stagger quite as
much as wine, and on this account is condemned by the religious laws of
the Turks. I must confess that I thought sherbet a most pleasant drink.
I found also the grapes, which in many places they keep till the
summer, most refreshing at times. The following is their method of
preserving them, as I took it down from their lips:—They select a bunch
in which the grapes are of a good size and fully ripe, a condition
which is easily brought about by the sun in Turkey. This bunch they
put into a vessel of wood or earthenware, after first covering the
bottom with a good layer of ground mustard; on the top of this they
put the grapes; then they pour the mustard flour in gradually, so as
to pack the grapes in it; lastly, having filled the vessel with grapes
up to the top, they end by pouring in unfermented wine as fresh as
possible; this done, they shut up the vessel and keep it till the hot
summer weather sets in, when people are thirsty, and refreshment of
this kind is acceptable. They then unseal the vessel, and put out the
grapes for sale, together with the sauce, which last the Turks like
quite as well as the grapes themselves. But the flavour of mustard was
not at all to my taste, so I had my grapes carefully washed. I found
them very refreshing and wholesome during the great heats.
You must not be surprised at my gratefully recording in my letter to
you the things which proved beneficial to myself, for you will remember
that the Egyptians carried this feeling to such an absurd length, that
they worshipped as gods the vegetables of their own gardens from which
they had derived benefit.
But it is high time for me to return to my road. Leaving the bank
of the Halys (which the Turks, I think, call Aitoczu) we came to
Goukurthoy, and thence to Choron (Chorum), and after this to Theke
Thioi (Tekiyeh). Here there is a famous monastery of Turkish monks,
or dervishes, from whom we learned a great deal about a hero named
Chederle, a man of great prowess and courage, whom they try to identify
with our St. George, ascribing to him the same feats as we claim for
our saint—to wit, that he saved a maiden, who had been given up to a
fierce and terrible dragon, by slaying the monster; to this they add
many other stories of their own invention, telling how their hero was
wont to wander through distant lands, and at last came to a river whose
waters gave immortality to those that drank thereof.
They do not mention the geographical position of this river (methinks
it ought to be marked down in Dreamland); all they tell me is that it
is concealed beneath a covering of deep darkness and thick night, and
that no mortal since Chederle has had the luck to see it; but that
Chederle himself, being released from the laws of death, rides to and
fro on a gallant steed, which, like its master, has, by a draught of
this same water, purged itself of mortal dross. They represent him
as one who loves the battle shock, and helps in war those who are
in the right, and those who have invoked his aid, of whatever faith
they may be. These tales seem absurd, but I will tell you one still
more ridiculous. They declare that he was one of the companions and
friends of Alexander the Great. The Turks have not the slightest idea
of chronology, or of different epochs, and they mix up together in
a wonderful way all historical events. Should the thought occur to
them, they have no hesitation in stating that Job was king Solomon’s
seneschal, and Alexander the Great commander-in-chief of his armies.
Even these are not the greatest of their absurdities.
There is in the mosque (as the Turks call their temples) a fountain
of choice marble, fed by a spring of the purest water; and this they
believe to have been miraculously produced by Chederle’s steed. They
have many stories also about Chederle’s comrades, his groom and his
sister’s son, whose tombs they show in the neighbourhood. They tried
hard to persuade us that miracles daily took place for the benefit of
those who come to these tombs to ask for aid. They firmly believed,
moreover, that chips of stone and earth taken from the spot, where
Chederle stood waiting for the dragon, were, when mixed with water,
efficacious against fever, headache, and diseases of the eye. I must
tell you that the neighbourhood is full of snakes and vipers; they are
so numerous that some places in the hot hours positively swarm with the
venomous beasts, who are basking in the sun, to such an extent that men
dare not approach them. I must not forget to tell you that the Turks
shake with laughter when they see in the Greek churches pictures of St.
George, whom they declare to be their own Chederle, with a boy sitting
on the haunches of his master’s steed, mixing wine and water for
him—for this is the manner in which St. George is painted by the Greeks.
But our journey has been long and we must shortly rest. There was
now only one stage, namely Baglison (Baglijah), between us and our
destination, Amasia, which last we reached on April 7, thirty days
after our departure from Constantinople. As we drew near we were met by
some Turks, who came to congratulate us on our arrival, and to do us
the compliment of escorting us into the city.
Amasia is the chief town of Cappadocia, and there the governor of the
province is wont to hold his courts, and to keep the main body of his
troops. But even from the time of Bajazet the place seemed in some
mysterious fashion to be associated with misfortune, and that this
idea was not groundless is proved by the miserable end of Mustapha.
Strabo tells us that this was his native place. The town lies between
two ranges of hills, and the river Iris (Yeshil-Irmak) flows through
its centre; so that both banks are covered with houses, which rise
gradually up the sides of the hills, like the tiers of seats in a
theatre; every part of the town therefore commands a view of the river,
and those who live on one side of the town are completely exposed to
the eyes of those who live on the other. It is, indeed, so hemmed in
by hills that there is only one road by which carriages and beasts of
burden can enter or leave the city.
On the night of our arrival there was a great fire, which the
Janissaries extinguished after their own fashion by pulling down the
neighbouring buildings. How it arose I cannot say, but there is no
doubt that the soldiers have good reasons for wishing for fires, for,
inasmuch as they are employed to put them out, and in most cases this
is only effected by pulling down the neighbouring houses, as I told you
before, they pillage, not only the goods and chattels of the people
whose houses are on fire, but also those of their neighbours as well.
So the soldiers themselves are often guilty of incendiarism in order to
get an opportunity of plundering the houses.
I remember an instance of this when I was at Constantinople. There
had been a great many fires, and it was quite certain that they were
not accidental, yet the incendiaries were never caught. Most people
laid the blame on Persian spies; but at length, after a more careful
investigation, it was discovered that they were the work of marines
from ships lying in the harbour, who set fire to the houses in order to
cover a raid on the goods of the neighbourhood.
On the highest of the hills which overhang Amasia there is a citadel
of respectable strength, which is permanently occupied by the Turks,
either to overawe the tribes of Asia, who (as I shall explain later)
are not over well disposed towards their Turkish masters, or to hold
the Persians in check; for, great as the distance is, they have
sometimes extended their raids as far as Amasia.
On this hill are many traces of ancient monuments, possibly those of
the kings of Cappadocia themselves. But neither the houses nor streets
of Amasia have any beauty to attract one’s notice. The houses are built
of white clay, almost in the same fashion as those in Spain; even the
roofs are made of this material, being flat without any gable. They use
a fragment of some ancient pillar for a roller, and when any part of
the roof is damaged by rain or wind, they pull this roller backwards
and forwards until the roof is once more solid and smooth. In summer
time the inhabitants sleep on these roofs in the open air. In these
districts rain does not fall either often or heavily; but when it
does come down, the clothes of the people walking in the streets are
terribly soiled by the mud which drips everywhere from the roofs. On a
house top near our lodgings I saw a young Sanjak-bey eating his supper
on a couch after the fashion of the ancients.
On our arrival at Amasia we were taken to call on Achmet Pasha (the
chief Vizier) and the other pashas—for the Sultan himself was not
then in the town—and commenced our negotiations with them touching
the business entrusted to us by King Ferdinand. The Pashas, on their
part, apparently wishing to avoid any semblance of being prejudiced
with regard to these questions, did not offer any strong opposition to
the views we expressed, and told us that the whole matter depended on
the Sultan’s pleasure. On his arrival we were admitted to an audience;
but the manner and spirit in which he listened to our address, our
arguments, and our message, was by no means favourable.
The Sultan was seated on a very low ottoman, not more than a foot
from the ground, which was covered with a quantity of costly rugs and
cushions of exquisite workmanship; near him lay his bow and arrows.
His air, as I said, was by no means gracious, and his face wore a
stern, though dignified, expression.
On entering we were separately conducted into the royal presence by the
chamberlains, who grasped our arms. This has been the Turkish fashion
of admitting people to the Sovereign ever since a Croat,[137] in order
to avenge the death of his master, Marcus, Despot of Servia, asked
Amurath for an audience, and took advantage of it to slay him. After
having gone through a pretence of kissing his hand, we were conducted
backwards to the wall opposite his seat, care being taken that we
should never turn our backs on him. The Sultan then listened to what
I had to say; but the language I held was not at all to his taste,
for the demands of his Majesty breathed a spirit of independence and
dignity, which was by no means acceptable to one who deemed that his
wish was law; and so he made no answer beyond saying in a tetchy way,
‘Giusel, giusel,’ i.e. well, well. After this we were dismissed to our
quarters.
The Sultan’s hall was crowded with people, among whom were several
officers of high rank. Besides these there were all the troopers of
the Imperial guard,[138] Spahis, Ghourebas, Ouloufedgis, and a large
force of Janissaries; but there was not in all that great assembly
a single man who owed his position to aught save his valour and his
merit. No distinction is attached to birth among the Turks; the
deference to be paid to a man is measured by the position he holds in
the public service. There is no fighting for precedence; a man’s place
is marked out by the duties he discharges. In making his appointments
the Sultan pays no regard to any pretensions on the score of wealth
or rank, nor does he take into consideration recommendations or
popularity; he considers each case on its own merits, and examines
carefully into the character, ability, and disposition of the man
whose promotion is in question. It is by merit that men rise in the
service, a system which ensures that posts should only be assigned to
the competent. Each man in Turkey carries in his own hand his ancestry
and his position in life, which he may make or mar as he will. Those
who receive the highest offices from the Sultan are for the most part
the sons of shepherds or herdsmen, and so far from being ashamed of
their parentage, they actually glory in it, and consider it a matter
of boasting that they owe nothing to the accident of birth; for they
do not believe that high qualities are either natural or hereditary,
nor do they think that they can be handed down from father to son,
but that they are partly the gift of God, and partly the result of
good training, great industry, and unwearied zeal; arguing that high
qualities do not descend from a father to his son or heir, any more
than a talent for music, mathematics, or the like; and that the mind
does not derive its origin from the father, so that the son should
necessarily be like the father in character, but emanates from heaven,
and is thence infused into the human body. Among the Turks, therefore,
honours, high posts, and judgeships are the rewards of great ability
and good service. If a man be dishonest, or lazy, or careless, he
remains at the bottom of the ladder, an object of contempt; for such
qualities there are no honours in Turkey!
This is the reason that they are successful in their undertakings, that
they lord it over others, and are daily extending the bounds of their
empire. These are not our ideas, with us there is no opening left for
merit; birth is the standard for everything; the prestige of birth is
the sole key to advancement in the public service. But on this head I
shall perhaps have more to say to you in another place, and you must
consider what I have said as strictly private.
For the nonce, take your stand by my side, and look at the sea of
turbaned heads, each wrapped in twisted folds of the whitest silk; look
at those marvellously handsome dresses of every kind and every colour;
time would fail me to tell how all around is glittering with gold, with
silver, with purple, with silk, and with velvet; words cannot convey
an adequate idea of that strange and wondrous sight: it was the most
beautiful spectacle I ever saw.
With all this luxury great simplicity and economy are combined; every
man’s dress, whatever his position may be, is of the same pattern;
no fringes or useless points are sewn on, as is the case with us,
appendages which cost a great deal of money, and are worn out in three
days. In Turkey the tailor’s bill for a silk or velvet dress, even
though it be richly embroidered, as most of them are, is only a ducat.
They were quite as much surprised at our manner of dressing as we were
at theirs. They use long robes reaching down to the ankles, which have
a stately effect and add to the wearer’s height, while our dress is so
short and scanty that it leaves exposed to view more than is comely of
the human shape; besides, somehow or other, our fashion of dress seems
to take from the wearer’s height, and make him look shorter than he
really is.[139]
I was greatly struck with the silence and order that prevailed
in this great crowd. There were no cries, no hum of voices, the
usual accompaniments of a motley gathering, neither was there any
jostling; without the slightest disturbance each man took his proper
place according to his rank. The Agas, as they call their chiefs,
were seated, to wit, generals, colonels (bimbaschi), and captains
(soubaschi). Men of a lower position stood. The most interesting sight
in this assembly was a body of several thousand Janissaries, who were
drawn up in a long line apart from the rest; their array was so steady
and motionless that, being at a little distance, it was some time
before I could make up my mind as to whether they were human beings or
statues; at last I received a hint to salute them, and saw all their
heads bending at the same moment to return my bow. On leaving the
assembly we had a fresh treat in the sight of the household cavalry
returning to their quarters; the men were mounted on splendid horses,
excellently groomed, and gorgeously accoutred. And so we left the royal
presence, taking with us but little hope of a successful issue to our
embassy.
By May 10 the Persian Ambassador had arrived, bringing with him a
number of handsome presents, carpets from famous looms, Babylonian
tents, the inner sides of which were covered with coloured tapestries,
trappings and housings of exquisite workmanship, jewelled scimitars
from Damascus, and shields most tastefully designed; but the chief
present of all was a copy of the Koran, a gift highly prized among the
Turks; it is a book containing the laws and rites enacted by Mahomet,
which they suppose to be inspired.
Terms of peace were immediately granted to the Persian Ambassador with
the intention of putting greater pressure on us, who seemed likely to
be the more troublesome of the two; and in order to convince us of the
reality of the peace, honours were showered on the representative of
the Shah. In all cases, as I have already remarked, the Turks run to
extremes, whether it be in honouring a friend, or in pouring contempt
and insult on a foe. Ali Pasha, the second Vizier, gave the Persian
suite a dinner in his gardens, which were some way from our quarters,
with the river between, but still we could command a view of the place
where they dined, for, as I told you before, the city is so situated on
the hill sides that there is hardly a spot in it from which you cannot
see and be seen. Ali Pasha, I must tell you, is by birth a Dalmatian,
he is a thorough gentleman, and has (what you will be surprised to hear
of in a Turk) a kind and feeling heart.
The table at which the Pashas and the Ambassador were seated was
protected by an awning. A hundred pages all dressed alike acted as
waiters; their method of bringing the dishes to table was as follows.
First they advanced toward the table where the guests were seated,
following each other at equal distances. Their hands were empty, as
otherwise they would not have been able to make their obeisance, which
was performed by their putting them on their thighs, and bending their
heads to the earth. Their bows being made, the page who stood nearest
the kitchen began taking the dishes and handing them on to the next,
who delivered them to the page next him, and so down the row until they
reached the page who stood nearest the table, from whose hands the
chief butler received them and placed them on the board. After this
fashion a hundred dishes or more streamed (if I may use the expression)
on to the table without the slightest confusion. When the dinner was
served the pages again did reverence to the guests, and then returned
in the same order as they had come, the only difference being that
those who had been last as they came were the first as they retired,
and that those who were nearest the table now brought up the rear. All
the other courses were brought on to the table after the same fashion,
a circumstance showing how much regard the Turks pay to order even in
trifles, while we neglect it in matters of extreme importance. Not far
from the Ambassador’s table his retinue was feasting with some Turks.
Peace having been concluded with the Persian, as I have already told
you, it was impossible for us to obtain any decent terms from the Turk;
all we could accomplish was to arrange a six months’ truce to give time
for a reply to reach Vienna, and for the answer to come back.
I had come to fill the position of ambassador in ordinary; but inasmuch
as nothing had been as yet settled as to a peace, the Pashas determined
that I should return to my master with Solyman’s letter, and bring
back an answer, if it pleased the King to send one. Accordingly I had
another interview with the Sultan; two embroidered robes of ample size,
and reaching down to the ankles, were thrown over my shoulders (they
were as much as I could carry). All my people were likewise presented
with silk dresses of different colours, which they wore as they marched
in my train.
With this procession I advanced as if I was going to act the part
of Agamemnon[140] or some other monarch of ancient tragedy. Having
received the Sultan’s letter, which was sealed up in a wrapper of
cloth of gold, I took my leave; the gentlemen among my attendants were
also allowed to enter and make their bow to him. Then having paid my
respects in the same way to the Pashas I left Amasia with my colleagues
on June 2.
It is customary to give a breakfast in the Divan (as they call the
place where the Pashas hold their court), to ambassadors on the eve of
their departure, but this is only done when they represent friendly
governments, and no peace had as yet been arranged with us.
You will probably wish me to give you my impressions of Solyman.
His years are just beginning to tell on him, but his majestic bearing
and indeed his whole demeanour are such as beseem the lord of so vast
an empire. He has always had the character of being a careful and
temperate man; even in his early days, when, according to the Turkish
rule, sin would have been venial, his life was blameless; for not
even in youth did he either indulge in wine or commit those unnatural
crimes which are common among the Turks; nor could those who were
disposed to put the most unfavourable construction on his acts bring
anything worse against him than his excessive devotion to his wife,
and the precipitate way in which, by her influence, he was induced to
put Mustapha to death; for it is commonly believed that it was by her
philtres and witchcraft that he was led to commit this act. As regards
herself, it is a well-known fact that from the time he made her his
lawful wife he has been perfectly faithful to her, although there was
nothing in the laws to prevent his having mistresses as well. As an
upholder of his religion and its rites he is most strict, being quite
as anxious to extend his faith as to extend his empire. Considering
his years (for he is now getting on for sixty) he enjoys good health,
though it may be that his bad complexion arises from some lurking
malady. There is a notion current that he has an incurable ulcer or
cancer on his thigh. When he is anxious to impress an ambassador, who
is leaving, with a favourable idea of the state of his health, he
conceals the bad complexion of his face under a coat of rouge, his
notion being that foreign powers will fear him more if they think that
he is strong and well. I detected unmistakable signs of this practice
of his; for I observed his face when he gave me a farewell audience,
and found it was much altered from what it was when he received me on
my arrival.
June was at its hottest when we began our journey; the heat was too
much for me, and a fever was the consequence, accompanied by headache
and catarrh. The attack, though mild and of an intermittent kind,
was a lingering one, and I did not get rid of it till I reached
Constantinople.
On the day of our departure the Persian Ambassador also left Amasia,
setting out by the same road as ourselves; for, as I mentioned before,
there is only one road by which the city can be entered or left, since
the rugged character of the surrounding hills makes it difficult of
access on every other side; the road shortly branches off in two
directions, one leads eastward and the other westward; the Persians
took the former and we the latter.
As we left Amasia we could see everywhere throughout the broad plains
the lines of the Turkish camps crowded with tents.
There is no need for me to waste your time with a description of our
return journey, since we traversed almost the same ground, and made
nearly the same halts as we had done in coming, save that we travelled
somewhat quicker, and occasionally got over two of our former stages
in one day. Thus we reached Constantinople on June 24, and I will
leave you to picture to yourself the wear and tear of the journey to
one suffering like myself from a lingering fever. I returned worn to a
shadow; however, after a time, having had some rest and gone through a
course of warm baths, recommended by my physician Quacquelben, I soon
recovered strength. He also soused me with cold water on leaving the
bath; I cannot say it was pleasant, but it did me a great deal of good.
Whilst I was still at Constantinople a man who had come from the
Turkish camp told me an anecdote which I shall be glad to include in
my letter, as it illustrates the great dislike which the natives of
Asia entertain to the religion[141] and supremacy of the Ottomans. He
informed me that Solyman, as he was returning, was entertained by a
certain Asiatic and spent the night in his house. When the Sultan had
left, the man considering it to have been polluted and defiled by the
presence of such a guest, had it purified with holy water, fumigation,
and religious rites. When Solyman heard of this insult to himself he
ordered the man to be executed, and his house razed to the ground. So
he paid heavily for his dislike to the Turks and partiality for the
Persians.
After a delay of fourteen days at Constantinople, for the purpose of
recruiting my strength, I set out for Vienna. But the beginning of my
journey was marked by an evil chance. Just as I left Constantinople I
met some waggons of boys and girls who were being carried from Hungary
to the slave market at Constantinople; this is the commonest kind of
Turkish merchandise, and just as loads of different kinds of goods meet
the traveller’s eye, as he leaves Antwerp, so every now and then we
came across unhappy Christians of all ranks, ages, and sexes who were
being carried off to a horrible slavery; the men, young and old, were
either driven in gangs or bound to a chain and dragged over the road in
a long file, after the same fashion as we take a string of horses to a
fair. It was indeed a painful sight; and I could scarce check my tears,
so deeply did I feel the woes and humiliation of Christendom.
If this is not enough to make you think that my path was crossed with
evil, I have something more to tell. My colleagues had placed under my
care some members of their retinue who were tired of being in Turkey,
in order that I might take them back with me. Well, when I had been two
days on the road, I saw the head man of this party, whom they called
their Voivode, riding in a waggon. He was ill, and on his foot was the
plague ulcer, which he kept uncovered in order to relieve the pain.
This circumstance made us all very uncomfortable, since we were afraid
that, this disease being contagious, more of us would be attacked.
On reaching Adrianople, which was not far off, the poor fellow’s
struggles were terminated by death. Then, as if the peril were not
sufficiently great, the rest of the Hungarians seized the dead man’s
clothes; one took his boots, another his doublet, another, for fear
anything should be lost, snatches up his shirt, and another his linen;
though the risk was perfectly obvious, we could not stop them from
endangering the lives of the whole party. My physician flew from one to
another, imploring them for God’s sake not to touch articles, contact
with which would bring about certain death, but they were deaf to his
prophecies.
Well, on the second day after our departure from Adrianople, these
same fellows crowded round my physician, asking him for something to
cure their sickness, which they described as an attack of headache and
general languor, accompanied with a feeling of deep depression; on
hearing of these symptoms my physician began to suspect that this was
the first stage of the plague. He told them that ‘he had not warned
them without reason; they had done their best to catch the plague, and
they had caught it. In spite of their folly he would do what he could
for them; but what means had he of doctoring them in the middle of a
journey, where no medicines could be procured.’
On that very day, when, according to my custom on reaching our lodgings
for the night, we had set out for a walk in search of interesting
objects, I came across a herb in a meadow which I did not recognise. I
pulled off some leaves and putting them to my nose perceived a smell
like garlic; I then placed them in the hands of my physician to see if
he could recognise the plant. After a careful examination he pronounced
it to be scordium,[142] and raising his hands to heaven offered thanks
to God for placing in his path, in the hour of our need, a remedy
against the plague. He immediately collected a large supply, and
throwing it into a big pot he placed it on the fire to boil; he told
the Hungarians to cheer up, and divided the brew amongst them, bidding
them take it, when they went to bed, with Lemnian earth[143] and a
diascordium[144] electuary; he recommended them also not to go to sleep
until they had perspired profusely. They obeyed his directions and came
to him again on the following day, telling him that they felt better.
They asked for another dose of the same kind, and after drinking it
they became convalescent. Thus by God’s goodness we were delivered
from the fear of that dreadful malady. But as if all this were not
enough, we were not able to accomplish the rest of our journey without
further misfortune.
After passing through the lands of the Thracians and Bulgarians, which
extend as far as Nissa, we traversed the country of the Servians,
which reaches from Nissa to Semendria, where the Rascians begin, and
so arrived at Belgrade, the weather being intensely hot, as might be
expected in the dog-days.
Whilst at Belgrade we were offered one fast-day a plentiful supply
of excellent fish; among them were some fine fat carp caught in the
Danube, which are considered a dainty. My men stuffed themselves with
this fish, and in consequence many of them were attacked by fever,
which was caused more or less by their greediness. This great supply
of fish—enough to satisfy forty men—cost half a thaler, and almost
everything else at Belgrade is equally cheap. Hay fetches absolutely
nothing; everyone is allowed to take as much as he likes out of the
rich meadows; he is only charged for the cutting and the carrying. All
this, as we crossed the Save, made us admire still more the wisdom of
the ancient Hungarians in choosing Pannonia, and thus securing for
themselves a land of plenty, capable of producing every kind of crop.
We had travelled far, through many a land both in Europe and Asia,
and in all that long journey we had seen nothing but stunted crops of
grass, barley, oats, and wheat, with the very life scorched out of them
by the heat; but when we entered Hungary, the grass was so high that
those in the carriage behind could not see the carriage in front—a good
proof of the fertility of the soil.
After Semendria, as I told you, the Rascians begin, and occupy the land
as far as the river Drave. They are great drinkers, and are considered
treacherous. I cannot tell you how they got their name, or whence they
sprang, but, at any rate, they were most anxious to do what they could
for us.
After passing through some of their villages, which were of no
particular interest, we came to Essek, which is often inaccessible by
reason of the swamps in which it lies. This is the famous battle-field
which witnessed the rout of Katzianer and the destruction of a
Christian army.[145] Here, in consequence of the excessive heat to
which we were exposed whilst passing through the open plains of
Hungary, I was seized with an attack of tertian fever.
After leaving Essek, we crossed the Drave, and arrived at Laszko.
Whilst resting here, wearied with the journey and worn out by heat and
sickness, I was visited by the officials of the place, who came to
congratulate me on my arrival. They brought enormous melons, and pears
and plums of different kinds; they also furnished us with wine and
bread. Everything was most excellent, and I doubt whether the famous
Campania itself, highly as it is praised by past and present writers
for the fertility of its soil, could produce anything to surpass the
fruits they brought us. A long table standing in my bedroom was filled
with these gifts. My people kept the Hungarians to supper, and gave the
state of my health as the reason for not introducing them to my room.
On waking, my eyes fell on the table, and I could not tell whether I
was awake or dreaming, for there before my eyes appeared the veritable
Horn of Plenty! At last I asked my doctor, and he informed me that
he had had them set out on the table, that I might at least have
the pleasure of looking at them. I asked him if I might taste them.
He told me I might do so, but it must only be a ‘taste.’ Accordingly
all the fruits were cut, and I took a little morsel of each, to my
great refreshment. On the next day the Hungarians came and paid their
respects. After complaining of wrongs received from some of their
neighbours, they asked for the King’s protection.
From this place we came to Mohacz,[146] the fatal field on which Louis
of Hungary fell. I saw not far from the town a small stream flowing
between high precipitous banks, into which the unhappy young King was
thrown with his steed, and so died. He was unfortunate, but he also
showed great want of judgment in venturing, with a small force of raw
troops and unarmed peasants, to make a stand against the numerous and
highly disciplined forces of Solyman.
From Mohacz we came to Tolna, and from Tolna to Feldvar. Here I crossed
over to an island in the Danube of no great size, inhabited by the
Rascians, who call it Kevi. Crossing the Danube again at this point,
I arrived at Buda on August 4, twelve days after our departure from
Belgrade.
During this part of our journey we lost several horses from congestion,
brought on by their eating the new barley and drinking water when it
was too cold. I had also been in much danger from brigands, by whom
this part of the country is infested; they are for the most part
Heydons.[147]
I had evidence a little later of the risk I had run in the confession
of some fellows who were executed by the Pasha of Buda. They admitted
that they had hidden themselves in the gully of a broad watercourse,
over which ran a crazy bridge, with the intention of starting up from
this ambuscade and attacking us. It is the easiest thing in the world
for a few men to cut off a party greatly outnumbering their own on a
bridge of this kind. The bridges are in such bad condition, and so full
of cracks and holes, that even with the utmost care it is impossible to
traverse them without great danger of one’s horses falling; and so if
there are brigands to meet the party in front, and others press them in
the rear, while their flanks are galled by the fire of those who are in
the gully, lurking in the underwood and reeds, there would be little
chance of escape; and the whole party on the bridge being on horseback,
and therefore scarce able to move, would be in a worse case than ever
the Romans were in the Caudine forks, and at the mercy of the brigands,
to be slain or captured at their pleasure. What deterred them I know
not; possibly it was the number of our party. Again, it may have been
the sight of the Hungarians who accompanied me, or the circumstance
that we advanced in a long column, and were not all on the bridge at
the same time. Whatever the reason may have been, by God’s mercy we
came safe to Buda.
The Pasha was not in the city, having encamped opposite Buda, in the
plains near Pesth, called Rakos,[148] where, after the custom of the
Hungarians, he was holding a muster of Turkish feudal militia. Several
of the neighbouring Sanjak-beys were with him, but more were expected;
and so when I asked for an audience, he put me off for three days,
in order that he might have a greater assemblage of Sanjak-beys and
soldiers. On receiving a summons, I crossed the Danube and came to his
camp. He made many complaints of the outrages committed by certain
Hungarians. There is one point in which the Turks and Hungarians have
precisely the same way of proceeding, the latter being quite as bad
as the former. When they have committed some outrage, they complain
of their unfortunate victim as if he were the one in fault. The Pasha
also added threats of reprisals, thinking, probably, that I should be
intimidated by the presence of his army. I replied briefly that his
charge against the Hungarians might with much better reason be brought
against the Turks. I told him that, even on my way there, I had come
across soldiers of his who were engaged in plundering and harrying the
property of some unhappy Christian peasants who were _subjects of his
Royal Majesty_ (King Ferdinand), which was perfectly true. The Pasha
replied that he had handed over to the soldiers certain rebellious
Christians, who were _the Sultan’s subjects_, to be chastised and
pillaged. After rejoinders of this kind, he dismissed me, more dead
than alive, for this was the day on which my fever recurred.
On the next day we set out for Gran, under the escort of some Turkish
horsemen. My intention was to cross the Danube, and spend the night in
a village which lies on the opposite bank over against Gran, so that
the next day I might reach Komorn at an earlier hour, and in this way
lessen the effects of the fever, which I expected to recur on that day.
Accordingly I requested our conductor to send some one forward to bring
the ferry-bridge across to our bank, with a view to accelerating our
passage. Although there were several reasons which rendered this plan
scarcely feasible, still, partly from a wish to please me, and partly
because he was anxious to announce my coming to the Sanjak-bey, he
despatched a couple of men.
When the men had ridden forward for the space of one hour, they noticed
four horsemen under the shade of a tree, which stood at a little
distance from the road. As they were dressed in Turkish fashion, they
took them for Turks, and rode up. On coming nearer, they inquired
whether the country in that direction was fairly quiet. The four
horsemen made no reply, but charged on them with drawn swords, and
slashed one of the Turks over the face, cutting his nose nearly off,
so that the greater part of it hung down on his chin. One of the Turks
was leading his horse by the rein. This the horsemen seized, and one
of them mounted on its back, leaving his own scurvy jade in its place.
After this exchange of steeds they took to flight, while the Turks
fell back to our party—the man whose face had been damaged bellowing
lustily, and showing the horrid wound he had received. They told us
to make ready for fighting our way through an ambuscade they had
discovered. Even I got into the saddle, in the hope of encouraging my
men. But we came too late; the battle was all over. The fellows, who
were far more anxious to carry off their booty than to bandy blows,
were already galloping back to Raab, a town which our people hold, and
of the garrison of which they formed a part. The Turks pointed them out
to us, as they rode across the neighbouring hills on their way to Raab.
After this adventure we came to Gran, where next day the Sanjak-bey,
after giving me a hearty welcome, recommended me, amongst other things,
not to forget the proof I had just received of how insolent Hungarian
soldiers could be, and to remember that not even the respect due to
the presence of his Royal Majesty’s ambassador had kept them from
playing their old tricks. He requested me also to see that the horse
which had been taken away was returned. Meanwhile, my friend the Turk
who had been wounded was standing in a corner of the Sanjak-bey’s hall,
with his head covered with bandages and his nose freshly sewn up. As
he drew his breath there was a kind of hoarse, uncomfortable sound. He
kept asking me for something to comfort him under his misfortune. I
promised to give him that which should cure his wound, and presented
him with two gold ducats. He wanted more, but the Sanjak-bey cut him
short, and declared that it was enough, and more than enough, to cure
him, reminding him that his misfortune must have been predestined, and
therefore I could not justly be held responsible for it!
After this I was allowed to resume my journey, and on the same day
reached Komorn. Here I waited patiently for my fever to come on at its
regular time. At last I found that it had left me, and that the Turkish
fever had not ventured to cross into Christian territory! Hereupon I
gave thanks to God for delivering me, in one and the same day, both
from sickness and also from the toils and troubles of a long and
difficult journey.
Two days later I reached Vienna, but I did not find my most gracious
master Ferdinand, King of the Romans, in the city. At present his
place at Vienna is occupied by Maximilian, King of Bohemia, whose
kindness has made me well nigh forget the hardships I have undergone;
but I am still so reduced by loss of flesh and lack of care, and the
inconveniences arising from travelling whilst sick, that many imagine
I have been poisoned by the Turks. At any rate, the other day, when
the Archduke Ferdinand was here and I bowed to him, on his asking one
of his people who I was, the man replied, loud enough for me to hear,
that ‘my looks might tell from what country I had come;’ probably
intending to suggest that I had swallowed the same sort of mushroom as
Claudius[149] of old. But I am quite certain that I am suffering from
nothing of the kind, and that after a little rest I shall recover my
colour, my strength, and my general condition; indeed, I feel every day
that there is a gradual change for the better.
In the meantime I have sent news of my return to the King of the
Romans, informing him at the same time of the six months’ truce, and
giving him a short account of the negotiations in which I have been
engaged. When he returns from the Diet, in the affairs of which he is
now engaged, I shall be able to give him a full report.
Many, who from fear or some other reason, shrank from accompanying me
to Constantinople, would now give a handsome sum for the honour of
having returned with me. Their case reminds me of the famous line in
Plautus—
‘Let him who would eat the kernel crack the nut.’
A man has no right to ask for _part_ of the profit, if he has not taken
on himself _part_ of the work.
You have now got an account of my journey to Amasia as well as the
history of my journey to Constantinople; the yarn I have spun is rough
and ready, just as I should tell it if we were chatting together. You
will be bound to excuse the want of polish, inasmuch as I have complied
with your request, and despatched my letter at an early date. In mere
fairness you cannot expect fine writing from a man who is hurried and
overwhelmed with business. As to fine writing indeed, I do not believe
I am capable of it, even if I had time to think and leisure to compose.
But while I own my deficiencies in this respect, I have the
satisfaction of feeling that I can claim for my poor narrative one
merit, compared with which all other merits are as nothing. It is
written in a spirit of honesty and truth.
Vienna, September 1, 1555.[150]
LETTER II.
Reasons for returning to Constantinople—Roostem restored
to power—Negotiations—Busbecq’s nose and ears in
danger—Bajazet—Account of Solyman’s family—Story of
Prince Jehangir—Roxolana’s partiality for Bajazet—The
temper of Mustapha’s partisans—Bajazet suborns a man
to personate Mustapha—The impostor in Bulgaria—His
artful address—Solyman’s appreciation of the crisis—The
Sanjak-beys—Pertau Pasha—Seizure of the impostor—Tortured
by order of the Sultan—The impostor’s revelations—Drowned
at midnight—Danger of Bajazet—Roxolana’s intercession
for her son—Bajazet’s visit to his father—The cup of
sherbet—Bajazet more fortunate than Mustapha—Achmet
Pasha—Various reasons assigned for his execution—Strange
request to his executioner—Busbecq’s best friends.
I have received your letter, in which you tell me that you have heard
of my departure for Thrace, while you wonder at the infatuation which
has induced me to revisit a country destitute of civilisation, and
notorious for deeds of cruelty.
Well, you wish me to tell you of my journey, the position of affairs
when I arrived, my reception at Constantinople, etc.; in short, you
want to know how I am, whether I am enjoying myself, and whether I
have any immediate prospect of returning. You claim an answer to your
questions on the score of our ancient friendship.
Here is my reply to your inquiries. First, the report which you heard
of my return hither was quite correct, nor need you be surprised at my
taking this step. My word was pledged, and having once undertaken the
duty, I could not consistently draw back.
My position was this: I had been appointed by my most gracious master
Ferdinand, King of the Romans, ambassador in ordinary to Solyman for
several years. This appointment, however, and my acceptance of it,
appeared to rest on the assumption that peace had been concluded;
still, as the hope of an arrangement had not been altogether abandoned,
I did not, until the matter was finally settled, one way or the other,
feel justified in avoiding the toils and risks of my present position.
Accordingly though I was under no delusion as to the extent of the
danger I was incurring, and should have much preferred to hand over
the duty to another, still, since I could not find a substitute, I was
obliged to obey the wish of my most kind and considerate Sovereign—a
wish which to me was law. As soon as he had returned from the session
of the Imperial Diet,[151] and had given me an interview, in the course
of which I informed him of the state of our negotiations with Solyman,
he ordered me to hold myself in readiness to carry back his answer to
the Sultan.
It was winter, and the weather was bad, being wet, cold, and windy,
when I was ordered back to Constantinople with despatches which could
hardly be acceptable to those to whom I went. Here you will exclaim
at my infatuation in venturing a second time on such a risk. I cannot
look on it in this light. It seems to me that what was the right course
before must be the right course now. And surely the proper measure of
the credit to be attached to an honourable act, is the amount of toil
and danger involved in its accomplishment.
In the month of November I left Vienna to retrace my steps to the
shores of the Euxine. I have no intention of abusing your patience
by wearying you with a repetition of the trifling occurrences which
befell me on my way, for I think you must have been so bored with the
account of my former journey, as hardly yet to have recovered from its
effects. Repetition is all the more needless, because we took almost
identically the same route as before.
Early in January I reached Constantinople, after losing one of my
companions from an attack of acute fever, brought on by the hardships
of the road. I found my colleagues safe and sound, but a great change
had taken place in the Turkish Government. Bajazet, the younger son
of Solyman, had been delivered from a position of serious danger, and
forgiven by his father. Achmet Pasha,[152] the Chief Vizier, had been
strangled; and Roostem restored to his former honours.
Of these things more anon. I will now tell you of the unfavourable
reception I had from the Sultan, the Pashas, and the rest of the Turks.
In accordance with their usual practice before admitting an ambassador
to the presence of their Sovereign, the Pashas desired me to tell them
the purport of the answer with which I was entrusted; on learning
that his Majesty declined to make any concession, and insisted on his
right to the fulfilment of the treaty which he had fairly and honestly
negotiated with the widow and son of John the Voivode[153] (i.e.
Governor) of Transylvania, the wrath and indignation of the Pashas knew
no bounds. A long career of success has made the Turks so arrogant,
that they consider their pleasure to be the sole rule of what is right
and what is wrong.
At first they tried to frighten us, and enlarged on the danger of
entering the Sultan’s presence with such despatches. When we were not
to be intimidated, and again asked for an audience, they refused to
involve themselves in our dangers by presenting us to their Sovereign.
To use their own phrase, they asked us ‘how many spare heads we thought
they had got, that we expected them to introduce us to their master’s
presence with an answer of this kind? It was a downright insult on our
part, and one which their master was not the man to pocket. He was in
his capital, surrounded by his victorious troops; his successes against
the Persians had raised his spirit and swelled his pride, while the
son who had aspired to his throne had been put to death, from which
last circumstance we might learn a lesson as to how far his wrath could
go. What could possibly suit him better than a campaign in Hungary,
where his war-worn soldiers might forget their hardships, and enjoy the
plunder of a well-stocked country, while he annexed to his empire the
remainder of that province, which in good sooth was not much? In short
our wisest course was to keep quiet, and not arouse his anger; there
was no need for us to hasten on the evil day; it would come quite soon
enough without our interference.’ Such was the advice of the Pashas,
nor was more comfort to be derived from the opinions expressed by the
rest of the Turks; for the mildest punishment they threatened us with
was, that two of us would be thrust into a noisome dungeon, while the
third (your humble servant, to wit), would be sent back to his master,
after being first deprived of his nose and ears. Moreover, we noticed
that people, as they passed our lodging, scowled at us in a way that
boded no good. From this time we met with harsher treatment, our
confinement was closer, no one was suffered to visit us, our people
were not allowed to go abroad; in short, although we were ambassadors,
our lot was scarcely better than that of prisoners. This has been our
position for the last six months, and what will be the end of it God
only knows; we are in His hands, and whatever may befall us, whatever
we may have to bear, we shall have the great comfort of feeling that
there is nothing on our part of which we need be ashamed.
I will now proceed to answer your inquiries touching Bajazet, but
in order to make my explanation clearer, I must give you further
explanations about the Sultan’s family. Solyman has had five sons,
the eldest of whom was Mustapha, whose unhappy end I have already
described; he was the son of a woman who came from the Crimea; by a
Russian[154] woman, to whom he is legally married, he has had four
sons—Mahomet, Selim, Bajazet, and Jehangir. Mahomet, after marrying a
wife (for the Turks give the title of wife to concubines), died while
still young. The surviving sons are Selim and Bajazet.
Jehangir, the youngest, is dead, and of his death I shall now proceed
to give you an account. The news of Mustapha’s death, when it arrived
at Constantinople, overwhelmed the young prince with terror and dismay.
The poor lad, whose person was disfigured by a hump, had no strength
of mind or body to enable him to resist the shock. The death of his
brother reminded him of the fate in store for himself at no distant
day. His father’s death would seal his doom. The consignment of the
old Sultan to the tomb would mark at once the commencement of his
successor’s reign, and the termination of his own life. Whoever that
successor might be, it was certain he would regard all his brothers
as rivals to his throne, who must be got rid of without delay; and of
these brothers he was one. These sad thoughts took hold of him to
such an extent, that an order for his instant execution could not have
terrified him more. So great was his misery that it brought on an
illness which terminated in his death.
Two sons, as I said, survive; one of whom, Selim, being the elder, is
intended by his father to succeed him on the throne. Bajazet’s claims
are warmly supported by his mother, who is devoted to him. Possibly his
hopeless position may have excited her pity, or she may be influenced
by his dutiful bearing towards herself; but whatever the reason may
be, no one doubts that, if it depended on her, Bajazet would be placed
on the throne to the exclusion of Selim. She must, however, yield to
the father’s will, and he is thoroughly determined that, if the fates
permit, no one but Selim shall succeed him. Bajazet, being aware
how matters stand, is anxiously looking round for an opportunity of
escaping the fate marked out for him, and exchanging a pitiless doom
for a throne. Indeed the support of his mother and Roostem prevents his
altogether despairing of success; and to fall fighting for the chance
of empire seems to him a more honourable lot than to be butchered
like a sheep by his brother’s hangman. Such were Bajazet’s feelings,
and his difference with Selim was becoming more and more marked,
when he discerned in the odium excited by the execution of Mustapha
an opportunity of putting in motion the revolution he had long been
planning.
So intense was the sorrow for Mustapha, that many after his death grew
weary of life; all their prospects had been bound up in his fortunes,
and what they most longed for was an opportunity of avenging his wrongs
or sharing his fate. Some of his supporters were rendered so uneasy
by their own fears, that they thought there could be nothing worse
than their present position, and therefore were looking out for the
means of bringing about a general revolution; all that was wanted was a
leader; Mustapha indeed could not be recalled to life, but a pretender
could be set up. Bajazet was on the watch, and the idea struck him as
one admirably calculated for the furtherance of his design. At his
instigation, some of his followers induced a fellow of low origin,
but daring and resolute, to announce himself as Mustapha, and boldly
personate the dead prince. In height, features, and general appearance
he was not unlike that unhappy youth. Feigning to have escaped from the
Sultan by flight, the pretender began to show himself first northward
of Constantinople, on the slopes[155] of the Balkan leading down to the
Danube, not far from the provinces of Moldavia and Wallachia.
There were two reasons for choosing this locality; first, because the
proximity of the above-mentioned provinces afforded a good opening for
revolutionary schemes, and, secondly, because the whole country was
full of Spahis, a branch of the service which had provided Mustapha
with most of his followers. He landed there with a few attendants,
pretending to be a traveller, who desired to escape notice. When his
companions were questioned as to who he was, they made people think
it was Mustapha by timid hints, rather than by downright statements;
nor did their leader himself deny that such was the case. This
cunning device made people still more anxious to see him. Hereon the
pretender threw away all disguise; and after expressing his joy at
his safe arrival among them, and thanking God for his preservation,
proceeded to tell them the following story. He said that ‘when he was
summoned,[156] he had not ventured to enter into the presence of his
offended father or trust himself in his hands, but that by the advice
of his friends he had, by means of large promises, procured a man who
resembled him to go in his stead, that he might learn his father’s
disposition towards himself, at the risk of another man’s life: this
man, before he was admitted to his father, or given any opportunity
of pleading his case, had been cruelly strangled, and exposed in
front of the Sultan’s tent; at the time there were many who had a
sort of suspicion of the trick, but a still larger number, owing to
the features of the wretched man being rendered undistinguishable by
his agonising death, had been induced to believe that he himself had
suffered. On learning this, he had felt that he must without loss of
time fly for his life. Knowing that his safety depended on secresy, he
had only allowed a few of his companions to share his flight; he had
made his way along the north coast of the Black Sea through the tribes
of the Bosphorus,[157] and had come amongst them, because he felt that
in their loyal protection lay his best chance of safety. He implored
them not to fail him in the hour of trial, when he was suffering from
the persecution of his wicked stepmother, or hold him of less account
than they had been wont to do in the time of his prosperity; his object
was to avenge his wrongs, and draw the sword in self-defence. What else
remained to him? If he still lived, it was only because another had
died in his stead; proof enough had been given of his father’s feelings
towards him; to his parent’s mistake, not to his parent’s affection,
he owed his life; all this misery arose from the sorceries of his
mother-in-law; the poor old Sultan being hardly in his right mind, and
madly devoted to his wife, she was able to sway him at her pleasure,
and with Roostem’s assistance, to drive him to the commission of any
crime she chose; but, thank God, he had true friends to help him out
of his misfortunes, and inflict condign punishment on his enemies; he
still had devoted followers, on his side were the Janissaries and the
greater part of his father’s household, large forces would pour in
when they heard of his standard being raised, and hosts of friends,
who mourned his death, would rally round him when they found he still
lived. He only asked them to receive him kindly as a guest, and protect
him in the day of adversity, until such time as his supporters could be
assembled.’
At first he used this language privately, but afterwards he harangued
in a similar strain the inhabitants of the places he visited; the men
who were supposed to have been the companions of his flight supported
his assertions by similar narratives; while persons of considerable
position, who had been suborned by Bajazet, made statements to the
same effect. By this means a great number of people who had no
connection with Bajazet, were drawn into the mistake. For the affair
was so artfully managed that some who had known Mustapha during his
life, and had recognised his body when it lay before his father’s
tent, were nevertheless anxious to discredit their own senses, and
allowed themselves to be persuaded that this was the true Mustapha.
And though the intimate friends and dependants of Mustapha, on whose
memories his features were imprinted, were in no wise deceived by the
impostor, nevertheless, they were so blinded by fear and resentment,
that they were among the first to give in their allegiance. There was
nothing they were not willing to undergo sooner than live any longer
without a Mustapha. Their adhesion prevented the rest from having any
doubts as to his being the true Mustapha, and convinced them that the
story of his execution was founded on a mistake. Nor was the impostor
himself idle; for some he had fine words and promises, while on many
he bestowed money and presents, purporting to be a remnant saved from
the wreck of his former fortune (for Bajazet had taken care that there
should be no lack of funds), and so, by one means or another, he
managed to keep his followers together, and add to their number.
Accordingly, in a few days a large and daily increasing force had been
collected; the muster had already assumed the proportions of a regular
army, when Solyman was suddenly informed of the insurrection; letters
and messengers came in hot haste from the neighbouring Sanjak-beys to
tell him that the insurrection was rapidly gaining head, and the crisis
had become serious.
The Sultan, rightly surmising that one or other of his two sons was
privy to the conspiracy, considered it a most serious matter, and sent
despatches severely reprimanding the Sanjak-beys for their remissness
in allowing the insurrection to assume such formidable proportions,
instead of nipping it in the bud; moreover, he threatened to punish
them severely if they failed to send him the impostor in chains at the
very earliest date possible, and with him all the other ringleaders
in this monstrous treason. He told them that, in order to expedite
matters, he was sending one of his Vizierial Pashas to their assistance
(the name of this officer was Pertau, he is married to the widow of the
Mahomet of whom I told you), and that he was accompanied by a large
force of household troops; but if they desired to clear themselves,
they had better bring the matter to a conclusion with their own forces,
before the reinforcements arrived.
Pertau’s command was not numerous, but it was composed of the most
loyal of the Sultan’s troops; for Solyman had taken care to select his
most faithful colonels, captains, and cavalry officers. There was,
indeed, serious apprehension of Pertau’s forces being induced to go
over to the enemy in a body, as it was impossible to say how far they
had been tampered with, or to what length their party feeling might
carry them. The rank and file of the Janissaries, excited by the idea
of a revolution with Mustapha at its head, were well inclined towards
the insurgents, and eager for the rising to become general. There were,
therefore, serious reasons for anxiety.
On receiving Solyman’s commands, the Sanjak-beys felt the necessity of
vigorous action, and, with many mutual exhortations, set to work in all
haste to oppose and check the pretender’s plans, doing their utmost to
cut off the bands that were coming up, and to break up the force which
he had already collected, whilst they cowed the whole country side with
threats of the Sultan’s vengeance.
Meanwhile, the column of Pertau Pasha was advancing towards the
scene of insurrection. The effect produced by the approach of the
regular troops was such as might have been expected. The raw levies
of the pretender were panic-stricken when they saw that they were
out-generalled and attacked on every side. At first small parties
dropped away; after a while the whole army, throwing honour and
obligation to the winds, deserted their leader, and scattered in every
direction. The pretender, with his chief officers and advisers,
attempted to follow the example of his men, but was stopped by the
Sanjak-beys, and taken alive. They were all handed over to Pertau
Pasha, and sent off to Constantinople with a guard of picked troops.
On their arrival, Solyman had them carefully examined under torture.
Their confession established the guilt of Bajazet, and made his father
acquainted with his treasonable designs. He had intended, it appears,
as soon as the forces of the insurgents had reached a certain size,
to join them with a strong body of troops, and either to lead them
straight against Constantinople, or to fall with all his strength upon
his brother, according as circumstances might favour either attempt;
but whilst he hesitated, his designs were nipped in the bud by the
prompt action of his father. Solyman, having satisfied himself on these
points, ordered them all to be drowned in the sea at dead of night,
deeming it most inexpedient that any of these transactions should be
noised abroad, and his family misfortunes become the gazing-stock of
neighbouring princes. The Sultan, who was grievously displeased with
Bajazet for this audacious attempt, was debating in his mind how he
should punish him; but his wife being a clever woman, his intentions
were not long a secret to her.
Having allowed a few days to elapse, in order to give time for his
anger to cool, she alluded to the subject in Solyman’s presence, and
spoke of the thoughtlessness of young men, quoting similar acts which
had been done by his forefathers. She reminded the Sultan that ‘natural
instinct teaches everyone to protect himself and his family, and that
death is welcome to none; that the mind of a young man can easily
be seduced from the right path by the suggestions of unscrupulous
advisers. It was only fair,’ she said, ‘to pardon a first fault,
and if his son came to his senses he would have saved him to his own
great benefit as a father; but if Bajazet should go back to his former
ways, it would then be time to punish him, as he deserved, for both
his misdeeds. If he would not grant this mercy to his erring son, she
implored him to grant it to a mother’s prayers. She begged for the
life of the son she had borne, and entreated him to spare their common
child. What must be her feelings,’ she continued, ‘if, of the two sons
whom God had spared her, one should be reft away by his unrelenting
father. He ought to control his wrath, and lean to mercy rather than
severity, however just that severity might be; for the Deity, whose
power and justice were infinite, did not clothe himself always in
severity, but to a great extent allowed mercy to prevail, otherwise the
human race could not suffice to supply victims for his vengeance. To
whom ought a man to extend mercy, if not to his children? Henceforth
Bajazet would be a dutiful son, and, freed by this great act of grace
from his present fears, overflow with love and obedience towards his
father; there was no surer bond for noble souls than kind and generous
treatment; the recollection of the pardon he had received would prevent
Bajazet from repeating his offence. She pledged her word for him, and
undertook that he should henceforth be a good and dutiful son.’
By these words, accompanied as they were with tears and caresses,
Solyman was softened; and being at all times too much under his wife’s
influence, he changed his resolve, and determined to spare Bajazet,
on condition of his coming and receiving his commands in person. The
mother was equal to the occasion, and wrote secretly to Bajazet,
telling him not to be afraid to come when he was sent for, he would
be perfectly safe; she had obtained his restoration to his father’s
favour, from whose mind all displeasure had been removed. On receiving
this message his hopes rose, and he determined to trust himself in his
father’s hands; but he was not without fears, as he thought every now
and then of his brother Mustapha, whose fate testified pretty clearly
to the magnitude of the danger he was incurring. Accordingly, he came
to the place appointed for the conference, which was a public inn a few
miles from Constantinople, called Carestran. This was in accordance
with a rule of the Turkish Court, that no grown-up son of the Sultan
should during his father’s lifetime set foot within the walls of
Constantinople, lest he should tamper with the household troops, and
endeavour to seize the throne. On dismounting, he found his father’s
slaves waiting for him with an order to lay aside his sword and dagger.
Nor was there anything unusual in this, as it is the general rule
for those who are admitted to an audience with the Sultan; still it
was a precaution which was not calculated to allay the fears of his
conscience-stricken son. But his mother, foreseeing how frightened he
would be when entering his father’s presence, had stationed herself in
a chamber close to the entrance of the house, by which Bajazet must
pass. As he went by, he could hear his mother calling to him through a
little canvas-covered window, and saying, ‘Corcoma, oglan, corcoma’;
i.e., Do not fear, my son, do not fear. These words from his mother
gave Bajazet no little comfort. On entering, his father bade him
take a seat by his side, and proceeded to lecture him most seriously
on the rashness of his conduct in venturing to take up arms under
circumstances which made it not improbable that he himself was the
object of his attack; and granting that his attempt was directed only
against his brother, it was even then an outrageous crime.
‘He had done what he could towards destroying the very foundations
of the Moslem faith, by bringing to the verge of ruin through family
feuds that which was nowadays its only support—the imperial power of
the house of Othman; this consideration alone ought to prevent a true
believer from entertaining such a design.
‘On the wrong and insult to himself,’ continued the Sultan, ‘he would
not dwell, though he had attempted to seize the throne during his
lifetime, and thus committed an unpardonable offence, for which no
possible punishment could ever atone; in spite of all this, he had
determined to spare him, and deal with him rather as a kind father
than as a strict judge, in the hope that he would henceforward leave
the care of the future in the hands of God; none of these matters
depended on man’s pleasure, it was by God’s decree that kingdoms
went and kingdoms came. If fate ordained that after his death he
(Bajazet) should reign, the matter was settled, the realm would come
to him without any effort on his part; no human means could avail to
hinder that which was appointed from on high; but if God had decreed
otherwise, it was mere madness to toil and strive against His will,
and, as it were, to fight against God. In short, he must leave off
fomenting disorders, cease to attack a brother who did nothing to
provoke him, and refrain from troubling his aged father. But if he
returned to his old courses, and stirred up another storm, it should
break on his own head, and there should be no pardon for a second
offence; in that case he would not find in him a gentle father, but a
stern judge.’
When he had thus spoken, and Bajazet had made a short and judicious
reply, apologising for his fault rather than palliating it, and
promising submission for the future to his father’s will, Solyman
ordered the national beverage to be brought in, and handed to his
son—it was a compound of sugar and water, flavoured with the juice of
certain herbs. Bajazet, longing, but not daring, to refuse it, drank
as much as appearances required, with misgiving in his heart that this
might be the last cup he should ever taste. But presently his father
removed his anxiety by taking a draught from the same cup. Bajazet
therefore was more fortunate than Mustapha in his interview with his
father, and was allowed to return to his government.[158]
I have a few things to tell you about Achmet’s death. Some think he
was accused of a secret leaning towards Mustapha, or at any rate of
negligence in not detecting the conspiracy of the pretender and Bajazet
till it was almost too late. Others think that he had long before been
sentenced to death for robberies and depredations committed by him at
a time when he was without official rank, and fighting for his own
hand; and that this sentence, which, on account of his gallantry and
military skill, had been postponed, though never actually remitted,
was now to be put into execution. Others, again, think that the wish
to restore Roostem to his old position was the one and only reason for
putting Achmet to death. Solyman was believed to have promised Achmet
never to deprive him of the seal of office so long as he lived. When
circumstances necessitated the restoration of the seal to Roostem, he
was obliged, in order to keep his pledge and avoid a breach of faith,
to put Achmet to death, and hence the order for his execution. They
declare also that Solyman said, it was better for him to die once than
to die a thousand times, as would be the case, if he survived to be
perpetually tormented with vain regret for the power that had been
snatched from his hands and given to another. However that may be, one
morning when he had gone to the Divan (which I have already explained
to be the council chamber), without the slightest knowledge of what
was about to happen, a messenger came to sentence him to death in the
Sultan’s name. Achmet, being a man of marvellous courage, received the
announcement with almost as much composure as if it were no concern
of his. All he did was to repulse the hangman, who was preparing to
perform his office, deeming it unfitting that one who had but lately
held so exalted a position, should be touched by his polluted hands.
Glancing round on the bystanders, he begged as a favour of a gentleman,
with whom he was on friendly terms, to act as his executioner, telling
him that it was a kindness he should greatly value, and the last he
would ever be able to do to him; after many entreaties, his friend
acceded to his request. When this was settled, Achmet enjoined him,
after putting the bowstring round his neck, not to strangle him at the
first pull, but to slacken it and allow him to draw one breath; after
which he was to tighten the string until he was dead; this fancy of his
was duly complied with. A strange wish, methinks, to pry at such a time
into the mystery of death, and pay one visit to the threshold of the
king of terrors before passing his portals for ever!
After his death the badges of his former office and the post of Chief
Vizier were restored to Roostem. As to your inquiry about my return, I
may answer in the words of the famous quotation, ‘Facilis descensus
Averni.’ Well, He who guided me on my way hither will bring me back
in His own good time. In the meanwhile, I shall console myself in my
loneliness and troubles with my old friends, my books; friends who have
never failed me hitherto, but have done their master true and loyal
service by night and day. Farewell.
Constantinople, July 14, 1556.[159]
LETTER III.
Introduction—Departure of Busbecq’s colleagues and
preceding negotiations—Turkish hawking—Busbecq summoned
to Adrianople—Earthquake there—Account of earthquake at
Constantinople—Busbecq returns to Constantinople—Hires
a house there—Is forced to go back to his former
abode—Description of it—Anecdotes of animals in
it—Busbecq’s menagerie—How Busbecq’s friend availed
himself of the Turkish abhorrence of pigs—Stories of
a lynx, a crane, a stag—Turkish mendicants—Turkish
slaves—Busbecq’s kite-shooting—His tame partridges from
Chios—Mode of keeping them—Artificial egg-hatching in
Egypt—Turkish horses—Camels—Their use in war—Turkish
commissariat—Turkish and Christian soldiers
contrasted—Their clothing and equipment—Illustration
from Cæsar of Turkish tactics—Turkish kindness to
animals—Cats preferred to dogs—Mahomet and his
cat—Narrow escape of a Venetian who ill-treated a
bird—Turkish fondness for birds—Tame nightingales
and goldfinches—Turkish women and marriage
laws—Divorces—Baths for women—Extraordinary story of
an old woman—Busbecq’s letters intercepted—Pashas
puzzled by supposed cipher—Conversations with
Roostem—Hungarian affairs—Ali Pasha appointed commander
there—His character and appearance—Besieges Szigeth
unsuccessfully—Turkish army preserved by advice of a
Sanjak-bey—His subsequent treatment—Retreat and death
of Ali Pasha—Capture of Gran—Skirmishes and raids in
Croatia—Turkish and Persian dread of fire-arms—Story
of Roostem’s corps of musketeers—Turkish opinion of
duelling—Arslan bey—Account of the Mingrelians and
their king—Busbecq’s life and occupations—Turkish
archery—Turkish readiness to adopt foreign inventions
and customs—Lemnian earth—Why some Turks have their
children baptised—Parthian tactics of the Turks—Busbecq’s
acquaintances of various nations—Rudeness of a Cavasse
and Busbecq’s retaliation—Story of Roostem—Turkish
treatment of ambassadors—Story of a Venetian
ambassador—Emblematic present from Roostem—Beginning
of Bajazet’s rebellion—Removal of him and Selim to new
governments—Reluctance of Bajazet to obey—Selim marches
on Ghemlik—Bajazet’s remonstrances and his father’s
reply—Missions of Mehemet and Pertau Pashas to Selim
and Bajazet—Reluctance of Solyman’s troops—The Mufti
consulted—Message of Bajazet to Solyman—His preparations
at Angora—Characters of the rival brothers—Address of
Bajazet to his army—His defeat at Koniah and retreat
to Amasia—Reputation he gains by his conduct—Solyman
crosses to Asia—His motives—Busbecq a spectator of
his departure—Description of the procession—Busbecq
summoned to Solyman’s camp—Description of it—Turkish
observance of Ramazan—Impression made on a Turk by the
carnival—Why wine was forbidden by Mahomet—Turkish
military punishments—Quarrel of Busbecq’s servants
with some Janissaries—Light in which the Janissaries
are regarded by the Sultan—Albert de Wyss—Bajazet’s
proceedings at Amasia—Description of Persia—Characters
of Shah Tahmasp and his son—Solyman’s policy towards
Bajazet—Flight of Bajazet to Persia—Description of the
celebration of Bairam by the army—Return of Busbecq to
Constantinople—Incidents of Bajazet’s flight—Solyman
is dissuaded from marching against Persia—Disaffection
among his troops—Bajazet’s arrival in Persia—His
reception by the Shah—Duplicity of the Shah—His probable
motives—Bajazet’s troops separated and massacred in
detail—He and his family are thrown into prison—Opinions
as to his probable fate—Influence of these events on
Busbecq’s negotiations—His course of policy—Conclusion.
Of course you have heard of the last arrangements. Well, my colleagues
left me some time ago, and I am alone at Constantinople. A strange
fancy, I think I hear you say. What on earth can have induced him to
stay among savages, an exile from his dear native land? But while you
exclaim at my choice, you do not forget to ask for every scrap of
news I have to give, solemnly promising to accept it all—good, bad,
and indifferent—just as it comes. You have other questions which you
wish answered. What books am I reading? What am I doing? How do I get
through the day? Do I ever go out? Come, come, what you are plaguing
me for is, I see, not a letter but a diary. Again, you are specially
anxious for information about Bajazet’s fortunes, touching which, you
say, there are many rumours at home. You assert that I am under an
engagement to give you news of him, and you demand heavy damages for
breach of contract! I believe you intend dragging me into court, and
are already preparing your pleadings! Pray do not be so hard! Restrain
your passion, my friend; or if nothing else will serve, take the full
sum; I will pay interest as well, in fact do or pay anything sooner
than be brought into court, though indeed a demurrer would probably lie
to your claim, for surely after so long an interval I might set up the
Statute of Limitations.
When my colleagues, with whom my former letters have made you
acquainted, saw that we had already wasted three years here, and that
no progress had been made towards peace, or even towards an armistice
of any duration, and there appeared hardly any hope of gaining anything
if they stayed, they sought leave to return. Now I must tell you that
it is easy enough to get here; the difficult thing is to get away![160]
and they had much trouble before they could obtain Solyman’s consent.
After this we had to decide whether we should all three leave, or I
should remain behind, while my two colleagues, who had been longer at
Constantinople, returned home. For this point Solyman had left for our
decision, as he was afraid, if he kept one of us, that people would
think that he was anxious for peace. My colleagues considered it was
essential to the Emperor’s interest that one of us should remain. This
was tolerably obvious; but, while I shared their opinion, I thought
it politic to dissemble, and so, whenever the subject was mentioned
in the presence of Turks, I took care to express my dissatisfaction
with any arrangement which kept me at Constantinople. ‘Admitting that
I had come to discharge the duties of an ambassador in ordinary, yet
such a position implied that peace had been concluded. While this was
uncertain, I did not see how I could remain at the Sultan’s court
without disobeying my instructions, or at any rate going beyond them.
The proper course,’ I added, ‘would be for one and all of us to receive
our passports.’
I took this line in order to make them press me to stay, knowing that
it would make a material difference in my position whether I remained
at the request of the Turkish Government or of my own free will. I
was fully alive to the fact that if none of us remained to represent
his Majesty, there was a probability, or rather a certainty, of war;
whereas if I stayed, the prospects of a peaceful arrangement would not
be prejudiced. While communications were being exchanged between Vienna
and Constantinople, a long time would elapse, in which many things
might occur to improve our position. Finally, anything was better than
needlessly to plunge into the horrors of war. These considerations did
not blind me to the fact, that, as far as my own personal interest was
concerned, I was acting imprudently in remaining behind. I foresaw the
additional responsibility I must undertake, and the risks and dangers
of the position I was to occupy, which, great as they must be in any
case, would become extremely serious if the negotiations ended in war.
But men who take upon themselves the onerous office of ambassador must
not allow considerations of this kind to come between them and their
duty to the State.
Roostem, in his excessive anxiety to keep me, played as it were
into my hands. No doubt he understood how much the chances of peace
would be diminished by our departure in a body, and the rupture of
the negotiations which were pending. His chief reason for dreading
an outbreak of hostilities was the effect it would probably have on
Solyman’s sons, who would be sure to take up arms as soon as their
father marched for Hungary. However quiet Selim might be, he knew that
Bajazet would be certain to attack him; and the deep interest which
he, his wife, and his mother-in-law took in the younger prince, made
him anxious that nothing should occur to provoke a step on his part
which he foresaw would be his destruction. Therefore, having summoned
us to his house, he communicated at great length to my colleagues the
considerations he wished to be brought before his Majesty to induce him
to agree to the terms the Sultan offered. But he urged me to stay at my
post, and to persevere in my efforts for the re-establishment of peace.
There was no doubt, he said, that the course he recommended would meet
with the Emperor’s approval, as he had never shown himself averse to
peace. I, on the other hand, expressed annoyance at his proposals,
and made objections to them, as far as I could do so with decency and
safety. On this Roostem grew eager, and begged me not to take a step
which must necessarily put an end to all prospect of peace, saying that
his Emperor[161] was eager to lead his army into Hungary, and would
have done so long ago, if he himself had not through the influence of
certain ladies[162] (meaning his wife and mother-in-law) prevented him.
To use his own expression, they had detained him by seizing the hem of
his garment. He implored us not to go on teasing and provoking against
ourselves the rage of a sleeping lion. I began to be less decided in
my refusals, and to say that I would stay, did I not fear that the
Pashas would be unreasonable in their treatment of me. I felt sure, I
added, that if anything occurred to displease them they would hold me
responsible for it, and make me the scapegoat, even for matters totally
out of my power to prevent. Roostem told me not to be afraid, saying
that whatever turn things might take, nothing should be laid to my
charge; if I would only remain he would undertake to protect me, and,
to use his own expression, would regard me as his brother. I replied
that I would think it over, and so we departed.
The next day we were summoned to the Divan,[163] or Council of State,
where almost the same scene was enacted, except that Roostem, on
account of the presence of the other Pashas was more guarded in his
language. Before I finally agreed to remain, I deposited a protest
with the Pashas, in which I put on record that I was remaining without
knowing what my master’s wishes might be, and therefore reserved all
questions for his decision without prejudice. I undertook nothing,
and did not engage to be responsible for the result which God had
foreordained. This protest was afterwards of great service to me
when affairs looked gloomy, and the Pashas were inclined to treat me
harshly. I have now given you my reasons for remaining.
The departure of my colleagues took place towards the end of August
1557. In the following winter the Sultan, according to his usual
custom, removed to Adrianople, with the double object of making a
demonstration against Hungary and of enjoying the good hawking and the
bracing climate, which he thought were beneficial to his health. At
the junction of the rivers near Adrianople are wide tracts of flooded
lands, on which there are great quantities of wild ducks, geese,
herons, eagles, cranes, and buzzards. To capture these he generally
uses a small species of eagle; these birds are trained to seek their
quarry in the clouds, and bring it down, or to seize it as it flies
beneath them, and with one swoop dash it to the ground.[164] I hear he
has falcons so well trained that they can bring down a crane, striking
it under the wing in such a way as to keep clear of its beak, on which
they would otherwise be impaled. Their boldness, however, is not always
successful, for if they make the least mistake, they immediately suffer
for it; the crane’s beak goes through them like an arrow, and they
tumble lifeless to the ground.
For the reasons I have mentioned, the Sultan makes a practice every
year of repairing to Adrianople at the beginning of the winter, and
of not returning to Constantinople till the frogs drive him away with
their croaking.
Shortly after the departure of the Court, I received a letter from
Roostem ordering me to follow. Some horsemen were attached to me as an
escort, and also sixteen Janissaries, either as a mark of honour or to
prevent my escaping. As I was directed to come with all speed, at first
we travelled by long stages, but we had scarcely commenced our third
day’s journey when the Janissaries began to grumble. It was winter, and
they had to trudge along muddy roads, so our long marches were not at
all to their liking; they declared that when they were campaigning with
the Sultan they did not march more than half the distance, and said
they could not stand it. This troubled me, as I did not wish to be hard
on them. At last, while I was considering with my attendants what to
do for them, one of them suggested that they were very fond of a sort
of omelette, which my cook compounded of wine and eggs with plenty of
sugar and spices. ‘Possibly,’ said he, ‘if they were served with this
for breakfast every day, they would make fewer complaints of fatigue
and be more obliging.’ Queer as the suggestion was, I determined to
try it, and the result was a most complete success, for they were so
charmed with the omelette, and so merry with the wine with which I
plied them, that they were ready to start before the order came, and
volunteered to follow me to Buda if I would always treat them so.
Travelling thus, I arrived at Adrianople, where I was obliged to listen
to the complaints, not to say abuse, of Roostem about the raids and
robberies of the Hungarians. To these, however, the answer was not far
to seek, for I was able to tell him of the numerous wrongs which our
people daily received from Turkish soldiers. He could not be surprised,
I added, if the Christians retaliated.
I was enabled to answer him thus by the arrival of a courier with
despatches from the Emperor, in which he narrated the outrages
perpetrated every day by the Turks in our territory, in violation of
the armistice which we had made for a fixed period on the departure
of my colleagues; how they harried the miserable peasantry with their
ceaseless raids, plundered their property, and carried off into
captivity themselves, their wives, and their children.
I must not omit to mention that on the day of the courier’s arrival at
Adrianople there was a great earthquake, _à propos_ of which he related,
that he had felt an earthquake, which he considered to be the same, at
Nisch and Sofia, and many other places through which he had journeyed,
so that the air enclosed in the caverns of the earth seemed to have
run a race with him and to have travelled almost as fast as he had
ridden. In confirmation of this theory, I must tell you that a similar
earthquake was felt four days later at Constantinople; here are the
data and you can make your own deductions.
I may remark that Constantinople is very subject to earthquakes, and I
remember that once, a little after midnight, our lodging began to shake
so violently that we thought the house would fall. I had been sound
asleep, but when it woke me and I could see by my night-light books and
cups tumbling about, laths and stones falling from the wall, and the
whole room shaking violently, for a moment I was dumbfoundered and knew
not what to make of it. At last, when it occurred to me that it was an
earthquake, I jumped up and ran out, for fear the house should tumble
in upon me. The same earthquake continued for some days, though the
shocks were not so violent. All through the city, and especially in our
lodging and in St. Sophia, even where the walls are most solid, may be
seen huge cracks caused by settlements from earthquakes.
I stayed at Adrianople about three months, and then, after concluding a
seven months’ armistice, I was taken back to Constantinople in March.
As I was tired of being confined in the same lodging, I had recourse to
the cavasse who acted as my keeper (for among the various duties which,
as I have already told you, are assigned to men of this profession
amongst the Turks, is the custody of ambassadors), and asked him to
allow me, like other ambassadors, to hire a house with a little bit
of garden or pleasure-ground, at my own expense. The cavasse made no
objection, as it would be a saving for his master of 400 gold ducats
a year if I took a house for myself, this being the price which the
Sultan paid for my present lodgings; so I hired a house, or rather
block of buildings, with some land about it, where I intended to lay
out a garden, hoping by this means to divert my mind from the cares and
anxieties of my position.
When, however, my cavasse found it was impossible to watch me in a
house, which was furnished with several means of egress and lay in
its own ample grounds, as strictly as in a caravanserai (a word with
which I think my former letters have made you familiar), where all the
windows were closely barred, and to which there was only one entrance,
he changed his mind, and induced the Pashas, who had now returned
from Adrianople, to shut me up once more within the walls of our old
lodging. Thankful, indeed, was I that I did not get worse treatment,
for some of the Pashas held that, now that I was alone, it was a
needless extravagance to give me such a roomy lodging. The majority,
however, of the council were more considerate, and I was allowed to
return to my old prison-house.
I will take the opportunity of giving you a description of my abode.
The house is situated on high ground in the most populous quarter of
Constantinople. From the back windows there is a lovely view of the
sea; though we are at some distance from the shore we can distinguish
the gambols of the dolphins in the water, while the prospect is
bounded by Mount Olympus in Asia, white with perpetual snow. On every
side it is open to the breezes, and is on this account considered a
peculiarly healthy residence. So airy a situation the Turks appear to
think too good for foreigners, as they have not only put iron bars on
our windows, to the discomfort of our eyes, but have built up parapets
which prevent our getting fresh air or a good view. This was done to
meet the complaints of our neighbours, who declared that their houses,
which stood on lower ground, were completely exposed to the gaze of
the Christians. In the centre there is a large open space or court in
which is a well. No one lives on the ground-floor, but on the upper
storey there is a verandah running round the court, out of which open
the chambers which form the outer part of the building, and which
consist of a great number of small rooms, all built after the same
pattern, like the cells of a monastery. The front windows open on the
public street leading to the palace; and from them the ambassadors
have an opportunity, nearly every Friday (which answers to our Sunday)
of seeing the Sultan on his way to his devotions. As he passes, the
cavasse and Janissaries make their bow, or rather return his, for among
the Turks it is the custom for the man of higher rank to bow first. In
conformity with this rule, the Sultan himself does not wait for the
people in the street to bow to him, but first bows himself, and they
return his salute amid loyal shouts and blessings. The ground-floor
of the edifice is intended for a stable. The vaulted roofs, which are
universal throughout the building, render it safe from fire on the
inside; while on the outside it is protected by a covering of lead.
While the house has many advantages, it must be allowed that it has
corresponding inconveniences. Everything in it is constructed for use,
and nothing for ornament or comfort; it has no beauty or novelty of
design to render it attractive. It has no garden to take a walk in;
not so much as a tree, or shrub, or patch of grass to refresh the
eye, while it swarms with different kinds of vermin, such as weasels,
snakes, lizards, and scorpions. Sometimes when a man goes to fetch his
hat in the morning, he has the unpleasant surprise of finding a snake
coiled round it. However, to let you into the secret of our diversions,
we contrive to extract some amusement from these creatures. Sometimes
a weasel has a battle-royal with a snake, with my whole household
standing round, and in spite of its struggles drags it off in triumph
to its hole; sometimes again a weasel changes its abode, and moves
its young elsewhere. For instance, the other day, when my friends and
I were still at dinner, one of them jumped down on the middle of the
table from her nest in the roof with a young one in her mouth. On our
pulling her away, she left it there, and stationed herself at the door
to see what would happen to the cub. After amusing ourselves with the
ugly little beast we placed it on the floor, whereupon the mother
darted in, caught it up, and carried it off to its new home.
We also had an opportunity of inspecting a strange, reptile from the
stables, which had been trodden on by the horses and killed; it was
either a snake or a python. Its stomach appeared to be very much
swollen, so I ordered my people to cut it open, and there we found
three good-sized mice. I could not make out how an animal that crawled
so slowly could catch such nimble creatures; nor could I understand
how it contrived to swallow them whole, when its jaws were, as it
seemed, so narrow. But my difficulty was solved by my finding another
snake in the act of swallowing a toad or poisonous frog. It had seized
it by the hind legs, and had already sucked them and a good part of its
body down its throat. The toad was still alive, and kept endeavouring
to get away from its enemy, struggling as hard as it could with its
front feet. When I first saw it I was thoroughly puzzled. I thought
the creature was some strange abortion, for it appeared to me to be
a two-footed beast, with an enormous tail. When I saw what it was, I
began beating it with a stick, and tried to make it release its victim.
It was frightened, and did its best to disgorge its prey in order to
escape; but it was some time before it could succeed in getting rid of
the toad, for it had sucked it in so far that the creature stuck in its
throat. At last, after much difficulty, it managed to disgorge; but
then it could not shut its mouth, and gaped hideously with its open
jaws until we killed it. My stick, if Pliny is to be believed, would be
serviceable to women in childbirth.
Besides the creatures that breed in the building, I keep a good many
animals, which furnish my people with employment and amusement. I am
heartily glad to have something for them to do, as otherwise they would
get terribly homesick. For what better resource is left us in our
isolation than seeking to forget our cares in the society of animals?
There is not much amusement to be had, I warrant you, in a great
stone prison-house like ours. The chief favourites are the monkeys,
on account of their strange tricks, which are very amusing. You may
generally see round their cage a group of admiring bystanders, who
watch their mischievous pranks with the keenest interest. I have also
wolves, bears, broad-horned stags—which are frequently but incorrectly
called fallow deer—and common deer, likewise gazelles, lynxes,
ichneumons, and of the weasel kind the varieties called martens and
sables; also, if you care to know, a pig as well, whose companionship
I am told by my grooms is wholesome for horses. I certainly ought to
have given him a place in my catalogue, as he attracts numbers of
Asiatics to my lodging. They come to see this unclean animal, which
the laws of their religion forbid their tasting. The beast is all the
more interesting to them, because pigs are never kept, or even seen,
in their country. Indeed, a Turk would as lief touch one of them as I
would touch a man with the plague.
I will tell you a capital story of a friend of mine, who took advantage
of this prejudice. He wished to send me a private parcel, so he got a
little pig, and put it with the parcel in a sack, which he then told
his servant to take to me. When he came to the door my cavasse met
him, and asked him what he had got in the sack. The servant whispered
in his ear, ‘It is a little pig, a present from a friend.’ The cavasse
gave the sack a poke with his stick, on which the little pig began to
squeak. The moment he heard it he made a hasty retreat, crying out,
‘Well, take your nasty dirty present in, if you must, and be hanged to
you.’ Then, with a look of intense disgust, he turned to his fellow
Mussulmans, and said, ‘How extraordinarily fond the Christians are of
the flesh of that filthiest of animals; they positively cannot live
without it.’ Thus the servant was admitted, and brought in the secret
parcel.
I have also many kinds of birds, such as eagles, ravens, jackdaws,
foreign kinds of ducks, Balearic cranes, and partridges. From this you
will see that my house is full of animals, ‘A Noah’s ark, in short,’
as one of my friends observed.
Not only is the menagerie a great resource for my people by keeping
them from fretting, but I also derive advantage from it myself, as I am
able to verify the wonderful stories I have read in various authors of
the great affection beasts are capable of entertaining towards human
beings. I never ventured to accept these statements for facts, until I
saw an Assyrian lynx so attach himself to one of my people after only
a few days’ acquaintance, that one could only explain it by the theory
that he had fallen in love with him. When he was present the lynx would
give him many caresses that plainly showed his affection, hugging and
all but kissing him. When he wished to go, the animal would try to
detain him by placing its claws gently on the hem of his garment, and
would cast wistful looks after him as he went away. During his absence
the lynx was in a state of the deepest melancholy, constantly gazing
at the door till the man returned; on which the creature, strange to
say, recovered his spirits and welcomed his friend. When I took the man
away with me to the Turkish camp across the water, the poor beast was
inconsolable, refused its food, and after a few days pined away. I was
much annoyed at this, for I had intended to make him, with a very tame
ichneumon I had, a present to the Emperor, on account of the remarkable
beauty of his coat; it was indeed so handsome, that if a common lynx
were set by his side you would hardly think that they both belonged
to the same species. It is in Assyria that the handsomest lynxes are
found, and their skins are worth fifteen or sixteen golden crowns. I
have no doubt that they are the same as the Babylonian skins considered
so valuable in former days, which are mentioned in the Digest in the
chapter on Farmers of the Revenue.[165]
Here is another story, which relates to a bird. Among other cranes I
have a Balearic one. This species is distinguished from the common
kinds by a white tuft of feathers hanging down from either ear, and
also by the black feathers which cover the front of its neck. These
last the Turks are wont to stick in their caps. It also differs in
size from common cranes. This Balearic crane I speak of showed most
distinct signs of affection for a Spanish soldier, whom I ransomed from
captivity, being so attached to him that it used to march beside him
for many hours as he walked, to halt when he stopped, and to stay by
him when he sat down; and it allowed itself to be stroked and patted
by him, though it could not bear to be touched by any one else. When
he was away, it used to go to his room and knock at the door with its
beak. If it was opened, it pried about to see if it could find him.
When it found itself disappointed, it used to go all over the house
and disturb us all with cries so loud and shrill that we were obliged
in self-defence to shut it up; but when he returned, it would run to
meet him with outspread wings and queer comical gestures, as if it
were practising some outlandish jig, or preparing to do battle with a
pygmy.[166] To be short, at last it made a custom of sleeping under his
bed; and one day actually presented him with an egg.[167]
You have heard the marks of affection for men displayed by two
animals. I will now give you an instance of an ungrateful beast, which
proved itself both savage and treacherous. I had a tame stag which
lived with us for many months and seemed quite domesticated. When
the rutting season arrived, however, he suddenly became so frantic,
that, forgetful of the ties of hospitality and kindness, he as it were
declared war on us and treated us all like enemies, attacking with
his horns everyone he met, so that we were obliged to shut him up.
One night he broke out in spite of bars and bolts, and frightened the
horses, which, after the Turkish fashion, were passing the night in
the open air in the courtyard. When the grooms ran out to quiet the
disturbance, and tried to drive the stag back to his prison, he not
only refused to go in, but turned on the men and wounded several of
them. Excited by this they drove the foe into the stable, which, as I
said, was very spacious, and there with my permission attacked him with
lances, hunting spears, and every weapon that came to hand. At first
he made a gallant defence, but at last, overcome by numbers, he fell
pierced with wounds in every limb; for more than forty men were arrayed
against him, and he was all alone. Thus he atoned for his bad conduct
to his hosts. All the ambassadors at Constantinople had a share of the
fruits of that night’s chase, for I had the stag cut up and sent them
each a present of venison.
The stag was one of very large size, like those that are in the habit
of going up from Hungary to Austria at the beginning of autumn for the
purpose of mating with their kind. I got him from beggars who made a
profit of him. They went about collecting alms, and before asking for
money they repeated a prayer, in which there was frequent mention of
the name of God. As often as it occurred they bowed their heads, and
they had trained the stag to do the same. By this the lower orders were
led to imagine that the animal recognised the name of God, and gave
many a penny to its owners. As the stag was an unusually fine specimen
of its kind, I had intended bringing him to the Emperor.
Now that we are talking of Turkish beggars, I may as well give you some
account of their ways. They are not so numerous as with us, and for
the most part consist of religious impostors of one kind or another,
wandering from place to place. Some feign madness or idiocy as an
excuse for their begging, for lunatics and crazy folk are considered
sure of salvation by the Turks, and therefore regarded as saints
whilst still on earth. There are Arabs too among them, who carry about
with them banners, under which they declare their ancestors fought
to extend the Moslem religion. They do not beg indiscriminately or
from everybody, but force upon the passers-by in the evening a tallow
candle, a lemon, or a pomegranate, for which they expect double or
treble its value, that so by a pretence of selling they may avoid the
disgrace of asking.
But the people who among us are beggars among them are slaves, for when
a slave has lost the use of his limbs his master is still bound to
maintain him; besides, however feeble a slave may be, they manage to
get some service from him. I remember ransoming a Spanish gentleman,
who had been an officer in his own army. Though he was completely
crippled by his wounds, yet the Turk who had bought him managed to make
some profit of him. He took him over to Asia, where flocks of geese
are kept, and hired him out as goose-herd, by which he turned a nice
little penny.
I have my doubts as to whether the man who first abolished slavery
is to be regarded as a public benefactor. I know that slavery brings
with it various disadvantages, but these are counterbalanced by
corresponding advantages. If a just and mild form of slavery, such as
the Roman laws ordained, especially with the State for master, had
continued, perhaps fewer gallows and gibbets would be needed to keep
those in order who, having nothing but life and liberty, are driven by
want into every conceivable crime. Freedom when combined with extreme
poverty has made many a man a rascal; it causes temptation such as few
can resist. Nature has denied to many the power of self-control, and
the knowledge which is indispensable for acting aright; they need the
support and guidance of a superior as the only means of stopping them
in their career of vice. They are like savage animals, and require
chains to prevent their becoming dangerous.
In Turkey the class which is likely to go astray is controlled by
a master’s authority, while the master is supported by the slave’s
labour. Both publicly and privately the Turks derive great advantages
from this institution. Slave labour enables them to live both
comfortably and economically; indeed they have a proverb to the effect
that no one can be considered poor as long as he is master of a single
slave. So also in the department of public works, if there is any
building, removing, clearing, or breaking up to be done, there is a
constant supply of slave labour to execute the work. We never attain
the grandeur of the works of antiquity. What is the reason? Hands are
wanting, or, in other words, slave labour. I need not mention what
means of acquiring every kind of knowledge the ancients possessed in
learned and educated slaves. Well, well, you must not put down all this
as my serious opinion; it is a mere fancy which I should be sorry you
should take in sober earnest.[168]
Slave-hunting is the chief source of profit to the Turkish soldier. If
he brings back from a campaign nothing except one or two slaves, he
may consider himself well repaid for his exertions, as the price of an
ordinary slave is from forty to fifty crowns, and twice this sum may be
obtained for a slave who is young or handsome or a skilful craftsman.
This will give you a notion of the gain they make, when they carry off
some five or six thousand prisoners from a town, and will show you how
profitable their raids must be. I observe that the Romans also did not
despise gains of this kind; nay, their own writers tell us how they
sold by public auction the populations of entire cities, numbering
25,000 or 30,000 souls. The Turks would make of such a booty fifteen
hundred thousand crowns more or less. They abstain, however, from
exercising the rights of war over men of their own religion, and allow
them to retain the status of freemen unimpaired.
But to return from this digression. As I have already spoken of my
hunting, I must now tell you about my fowling. Kind as the Turks are
to all animals, they are especially so to birds, and most of all to the
kites, whom they regard as useful scavengers of their city. Accordingly
these creatures, having neither snares nor missiles to fear, are to be
found in numbers at Constantinople, and are wonderfully tame. They come
at one’s whistle, and pounce on pieces of food which are thrown into
the air. My plan is to order a sheep to be killed; the kites are then
whistled for, and fragments of the offal are thrown into the air. In a
moment some ten, twelve, or twenty appear, and presently they gather
so thick as almost to overshadow the house. Some are so bold that
they will snatch the meat from my people’s hands as they hold it out.
Meanwhile I post myself behind a pillar with my crossbow,[169] pick
out a kite, and make my clay bullets rattle on its wings or tail, till
I have brought down one or two. I am obliged to bolt my gates before
indulging in this sport for fear of irritating the Turks.
Talking of birds, I must tell you about my partridges, so that you may
have a full account of all my amusements, and may perhaps feel the
same surprise about the habits of these birds that I did. I had some
partridges from Chios with red beaks and red legs, so tame that they
became quite tiresome. They were continually at my feet, beating the
dust from my velvet slippers with their beaks to dust themselves with.
They got so troublesome that I ordered them to be shut up in a room,
where they grew so fat that they died after a few days’ confinement. At
least this is the account my servants give, and the question is whether
to believe them or Pliny, for the latter has a passage to the effect
that hares and partridges never grow fat. So far you have no ground for
surprise, but listen to the rest of the story. Chios abounds in birds
of this kind, which live there in the houses. Almost every peasant
keeps more or less of them, according to his means or inclination. At
dawn the public herd summons them by a whistle, and they run out in
crowds, and gather on the road. Then following their keeper, like sheep
do with us, they go into the fields, where they feed and sun themselves
all day long. Towards evening they are recalled by the same signal,
and return home in a body to their several roosts. This habit is said
to be formed by the peasants putting the birds, as soon as they are
hatched, into their bosom inside their shirt, and so carrying them
about and nursing them for a day or two, lifting them from time to time
to their mouth and feeding them with spittle. They become attached to
their masters by such kind treatment (for indeed almost every animal
has a more lasting feeling of gratitude than man), and do not forget
those who nursed them. One precaution only must be taken; they must not
be allowed to pass the night in the fields, for if this should occur
once or twice they readily return to their natural habits, and prefer
a free life to the company of man. I am doing my best to secure one of
these partridge-tamers for the Emperor, so as to introduce the art into
our country. Although I have not seen with my own eyes this system in
practice, yet its existence is established by witnesses so numerous
and credible, that I place the same reliance on my ears that I should
on my eyes. The same may be said of the following anecdote, which is
here so commonly reported and so universally admitted, that any one,
who ventures to throw doubt upon it, is thought an ignoramus. Those
who come hither from Egypt, as many do every day, uniformly declare,
that in that country eggs are not put under hens to be hatched in our
fashion, but that in spring a sort of vast oven is made out of a big
dunghill by certain men who carry on the trade. To this the whole
neighbourhood far and wide bring their eggs, which are put in and
quickened by the heat of the sun and the rotting dung. In due time the
eggs produce chickens, which are distributed by the managers of the
business to the people who brought the eggs, not by counting, for that
would be too long a process, but by measure. I have less hesitation in
telling you this, as there is a passage in Vopiscus quoting a letter of
Adrian’s, in which he vents his wrath on the Egyptians in the following
words:—‘I wish them nothing worse than to be fed on their own chickens,
which are bred in a way too foul to speak of.’[170] I have no doubt
this was an old custom among the Egyptians, and I suspect it was on
that account that Adrian reproached them with the foulness of their
food, inasmuch as they lived on chickens hatched in dunghills. I may,
however, be mistaken, and I leave the point for your decision.
I will now complete the catalogue of my amusements. I keep several
thoroughbred horses, both Syrian, Cilician, Arabian, and Cappadocian,
and also baggage camels, so as always to have cattle ready for my
return journey. I do this, because I wish the Turks to believe that,
having fulfilled all my master’s instructions, I am only waiting for
the Sultan’s permission to depart; for this I have now been pressing
for a long time past in very urgent terms, the truth being that,
in consequence of their present discords and the civil war between
the brothers, I do not despair of negotiating a peace on fair and
reasonable terms.
I am particularly fond of watching my horses, when in the summer
evenings they are led out from their stable one by one, and picketed
in the courtyard to enjoy the night air, and take their repose in
cooler quarters. They come prancing from their stalls with their necks
arched, tossing their manes as if they appreciated the interest we take
in them. Their fore-feet are hobbled, and one of their hind-feet is
fastened by a rope to a peg. The Turkish horse is the gentlest creature
in the world, and also the most capable of attachment to its master
or groom. These qualities are the results of the kind treatment they
receive from the Turks during their early training. I saw, when I was
travelling to Cappadocia through Pontus or the part of Bithynia which
is deservedly called Axylos[171] (woodless), what care the peasants
take of the foals while they are still quite young and tender, how
they pet them, how they bring them into their rooms and almost to
their tables, and how they handle them and stroke them. They seemed to
regard them almost as their children. Round their neck all have a band
like a necklace full of amulets against the evil eye, which is greatly
dreaded. The grooms in whose care they are placed treat them with equal
kindness, making them fond of them by continually stroking them, and
never beating them cruelly with a stick unless they are absolutely
compelled to do so. Being thus used they become extremely attached to
men, and yet you will not find one which this treatment has made a
kicker or a biter or refractory. Such vices are seldom met with in this
country. But, good heavens, how different our system is from theirs!
According to our method grooms think it essential to use the roughest
words and loudest tones in talking to their horses, and to be for ever
thrashing them. The consequence is that the horses quiver all over with
terror on their entering the stable, and regard them with equal hatred
and fear.[172]
The Turks like to have them trained to kneel down at command and so
take up their rider, and to pick up from the ground in their teeth
a stick, a mace, or a sword, and to give it to their master in the
saddle. When they have learned to do these things, as an honour and a
mark of their proficiency, they fit silver rings in their nostrils,
to show that they have been thoroughly trained. I saw a horse who,
when his master was thrown from the saddle, would stand by him without
moving a step, and others who would go round their groom, as he stood
at a distance, and halt at his bidding. I also saw some who, when
their master was dining with me in a room upstairs, kept their ears
pricked up to catch his voice, and neighed when they heard it. It is
a peculiarity of these horses that they always come in at the end of
their work with stiff and outstretched necks. Again, they cannot be
pulled up or turned sharply, which I think
I may say is the fault of the bit, which is of the same kind and shape
throughout Turkey, and is not, as among us, made more or less severe
to suit the horse’s mouth. Their horses’ shoes are not so wide open
in the middle as with us, but are almost solid and unbroken, so as to
protect the feet more thoroughly.[173] Turkish horses live much longer
than ours, for you may see some twenty years old with as much spirit
and strength as eight-year-olds have with us, and some, which for their
great services were pensioned for life in the Sultan’s stables, are
said to have lasted to their fiftieth year, and even longer. During the
hot summer nights the Turks do not keep their horses under cover, but
expose them, as I said, to the night air with horse-cloths over them,
their litter being composed of dry dung. For this purpose all through
the year they gather the horses’ droppings, and after drying them in
the sun break them up into powder. This forms their horses’ bedding,
and is the only kind of litter they have. They use no straw, not even
for food, but diet their horses on a moderate portion of hay and a
little barley. They prefer having them too thin to too fat, considering
that in this condition they are fitter for travelling and work of every
kind. They cover their horses with the rugs I mentioned, in summer just
the same as in winter, but change them according to the season. They
consider these coverings useful for producing a sleek coat, and also
necessary as a protection against cold, for their horses are chilly and
cannot stand exposure.
As I said, I enjoy looking at my horses when, towards sunset, they are
being picketed out in the court. When I call them by their names of
Arab or Caramanian, or whatever else it may be, they neigh in reply,
and give me a look. I have taught them to know me by sometimes going
down and giving them each a pumpkin skin. In truth I am glad of any
employment to divert my thoughts from my troubles.
I have six she camels procured, nominally for the purpose of carrying
baggage, but in reality that I may bring them to the royal family, as
I think it not impossible that they may like to keep a stud of these
useful animals. There are two things from which, in my opinion, the
Turks derive the greatest advantage, namely, rice among grains and the
camel among beasts of burden, both of which are exceedingly well suited
for the distant campaigns they make. The first keeps well, affords a
wholesome food for men, and a little of it goes a long way. Camels
carry the heaviest weights, endure hunger and thirst, and require very
little care. One driver can attend to six camels. They are, I may say,
the most obedient creatures in the world, and they need no currycomb or
scraper, but are groomed with brushes as clothes are with us. They lie,
or, more correctly speaking, kneel on the bare ground to receive their
loads. But if the load should be excessive, they give a grunt by way of
protest and refuse to rise. If the weight be unduly heavy, it does not
take much to rupture them, especially if the road be muddy or slippery.
It is a pretty sight to see them kneeling in a circle with their heads
together, and taking their food and drink out of the same bucket or
manger without any quarrelling or discontent, though their fare be
scanty. On an emergency, if food is scarce, they browse on brambles
and thorns, and the more these make their mouths bleed the more they
enjoy them. The Scythians supply some camels, but more are produced
by Syria and Assyria, where they are kept in very large herds and are
bred in great numbers. They are so cheap there, that sometimes a mare
of good pedigree is bartered for a hundred camels. Yet in this perhaps
it is not the cheapness of the camels that is so wonderful as the price
asked and given for the mares, for such mares are valued so highly
that the owner of one considers himself a rich man. The test of their
excellence consists in their being ridden down the side of a steep and
high mountain, and those that do not stumble in the descent are highly
prized.
The Turkish monarch going to war takes with him over 40,000 camels
and nearly as many baggage mules, of which a great part, when he is
invading Persia, are loaded with rice and other kinds of grain. These
mules and camels also serve to carry tents and armour, and likewise
tools and munitions for the campaign. The territories, which bear the
name of Persia, and are ruled by the Sophi, or Kizilbash as the Turks
call him,[174] are less fertile than our country, and even such crops
as they bear are laid waste by the inhabitants in time of invasion in
hopes of starving out the enemy, so that it is very dangerous for an
army to invade Persia, if it be not furnished with abundant supplies.
The invading army carefully abstains from encroaching on its magazines
at the outset; as they are well aware that, when the season for
campaigning draws to a close, they will have to retreat over districts
wasted by the enemy, or scraped as bare by countless hordes of men and
droves of baggage animals, as if they had been devastated by locusts;
accordingly they reserve their stores as much as possible for this
emergency. Then the Sultan’s magazines are opened, and a ration just
sufficient to sustain life is daily weighed out to the Janissaries
and other troops of the royal household.[175] The rest of the army
are badly off, unless they have provided some supplies at their own
expense. And this is generally the case, for the greater number, and
especially the cavalry, having from their long experience in war
already felt such inconveniences, lead with them a sumpter horse by a
halter, on which they carry many of the necessaries of life; namely, a
small piece of canvas which they use as a tent, for protection against
sun and rain, with the addition of some clothes and bedding; and as
provisions for their private use, a leathern bag or two of the finest
flour, with a small pot of butter, and some spices and salt, on which
they sustain life when they are hard pressed. On such occasions they
take out a few spoonfuls of flour and put them into water, adding some
butter, and seasoning the mess with salt and spices; these ingredients
are boiled, and a large bowl of gruel is thus obtained. Of this they
eat once or twice a day, according to the quantity they have, without
any bread, unless they have brought some biscuit with them. In this
way they are able to support themselves from their own supplies for a
month, or if necessary longer. Some fill a bladder with beef, dried
and reduced to powder, which forms a highly nutritious food and
expands greatly in the cooking, like the flour of which I spoke above.
Sometimes too they have recourse to horseflesh; dead horses are of
course plentiful in their great hosts, and such beasts as are in good
condition when they die furnish a meal not to be despised by famished
soldiers. I must not forget to tell you of the men who have lost their
horses. When the Sultan moves his camp they stand in a long line by the
side of the road with their saddles on their heads, as a sign that they
have lost their steeds and need assistance for the purchase of others.
An allowance is then made to them by the Sultan at his discretion.
From this you will see that it is the patience, self-denial, and
thrift of the Turkish soldier that enable him to face the most trying
circumstances, and come safely out of the dangers that surround him.
What a contrast to our men! Christian soldiers on a campaign refuse to
put up with their ordinary food, and call for thrushes, becaficos, and
such like dainty dishes! If these are not supplied they grow mutinous
and work their own ruin; and, if they are supplied, they are ruined
all the same. For each man is his own worst enemy, and has no foe more
deadly than his own intemperance, which is sure to kill him, if the
enemy be not quick. It makes me shudder to think of what the result
of a struggle between such different systems must be; one of us must
prevail and the other be destroyed, at any rate we cannot both exist in
safety. On their side is the vast wealth of their empire, unimpaired
resources, experience and practice in arms, a veteran soldiery, an
uninterrupted series of victories, readiness to endure hardships,
union, order, discipline, thrift, and watchfulness. On ours are found
an empty exchequer, luxurious habits, exhausted resources, broken
spirits, a raw and insubordinate soldiery, and greedy generals; there
is no regard for discipline, license runs riot, the men indulge in
drunkenness and debauchery, and, worst of all, the enemy are accustomed
to victory, we, to defeat. Can we doubt what the result must be? The
only obstacle is Persia, whose position on his rear forces the invader
to take precautions. The fear of Persia gives us a respite, but it is
only for a time. When he has secured himself in that quarter, he will
fall upon us with all the resources of the East. How ill prepared we
are to meet such an attack it is not for me to say.
I now return to the point from which I made this digression. I
mentioned that baggage animals are used in a campaign for carrying
armour and tents. These for the most part belong to the Janissaries.
The Turks take great care to have their soldiers in good health and
protected against the inclemency of the weather. They must defend
themselves from the enemy, for their health the State will undertake to
provide. Therefore you may see a Turk better clad than armed. They are
especially afraid of cold, and even in summer time wear three garments,
of which the innermost one, or shirt, is woven of coarse thread and
gives a great deal of warmth. For protection against cold and rain they
are furnished with tents, in which each man is given just room enough
for his body, so that one tent holds twenty-five or thirty Janissaries.
The cloth for the clothes I referred to is supplied by the State, and
is distributed after the following fashion. The soldiers at nightfall
are summoned by companies to the office for the distribution of such
stores, where parcels of cloth are ready in separate packets according
to the number of men in each company. They march in, and take their
chance in the dark, so that if any soldier’s cloth is of inferior
quality to that of his comrades, he has nought to grumble at save his
own bad luck. For the same reason their pay is not given them by tale,
but by weight, to prevent anyone accusing the paymaster of giving him
light or clipped coins. Moreover, their pay is always given them the
day before it is actually due.
The convoy of armour, of which I spoke, is intended chiefly for the use
of the royal horse-guards, as the Janissaries are lightly equipped,
and generally do not fight at close quarters, but at a distance with
muskets. Well, when the enemy is near, and a battle is expected, the
stock of armour is produced, consisting for the most part of antiquated
pieces picked up on the fields which have been the scene of Turkish
victories; they are distributed to the royal horse guards, who at other
times have only their light shield to protect them. Where so little
pains is taken to provide each man with a suit that fits him, I need
hardly tell you that they are but clumsily equipped. One man’s cuirass
is too tight, another’s helmet too big; a third gets a coat of mail too
heavy for him to bear; one way or another no one is properly accoutred.
Yet they never grumble, holding that a man who quarrels with his armour
must needs be a cowardly fellow, and are confident that they will make
a stout fight of it themselves whatever their equipment may be. This
feeling is the result of their great successes and military experience.
In the same spirit they do not hesitate to turn their veteran infantry,
who never have fought on horseback, into cavalry, for they are firmly
convinced that a man who has courage and military experience will do
brave service in whatever kind of fighting he may be engaged.
I think the Romans were of the same opinion, especially Julius Cæsar,
who they relate was wont to say, ‘his soldiers even when perfumed
would fight well.’[176] For what should we consider to have been his
intention, when, before he went to his conference with Ariovistus, he
mounted the tenth legion? In my opinion it was that they might fight
on horseback if necessary, a kind of fighting to which they were by
no means accustomed. For we know that among the Romans the drill of
the infantry was quite different from that of the cavalry. But if, in
your opinion, Cæsar’s design was to transport the legion on horses
and employ them on foot, we are driven to the conclusion that Cæsar
involved his troops in a most hazardous operation. For the highly
trained cavalry of Ariovistus were so close that they could annoy
the Romans with stones; consequently, if they had suddenly charged,
the legion would have had no time to dismount, send their horses to
the rear, and form line of battle. According to our notions, such an
arrangement would have been the height of folly. But, whichever of
these explanations is the correct one, it was by confidence in their
experience of arms, though with a training quite different from our
system, that the Romans in ancient times brought their wars to a
triumphant conclusion, and the same reason will account for the uniform
successes of the Turks in modern days. But enough of this.
I now return to what I mentioned, namely, that the Turks behave kindly
to every sort of animal. The dog among them is considered a foul and
unclean animal, and therefore they keep it out of their houses; its
place is taken by the cat, a creature endowed, as they think, with far
more correct notions of propriety than the dog. For this preference
they quote the example of Mahomet their lawgiver, who was so fond
of his cat, that when she had fallen asleep on his sleeve as he sat
at table, and the hour summoned him to the mosque to his devotions,
he preferred to cut off his sleeve rather than disturb her sleep.
Notwithstanding that such is their feeling about dogs, and though they
are public property, not having masters, and watching special streets
and wards rather than particular houses, and though they live on the
refuse which is thrown out into the highways, yet if there should be
in the neighbourhood a bitch with young, they go to her and pile round
her bones and scraps of cakes and porridge, and this they think a
charitable action. If, in conversation on this topic, I accused them
of giving to a brute what they probably would not give to a rational
being of their own nation, or at any rate would refuse to a Christian,
they replied, that inasmuch as God has endowed man with reason, a noble
organ for every purpose, so that no misfortune befalls him, which he
has not brought on himself by his own misconduct, he therefore deserves
less compassion; but that nothing has been granted to brutes by God
except certain natural instincts and appetites, which they cannot help
following, and, therefore, they have a claim upon us for sympathy and
assistance. For this reason they are indignant if any beast be put
to death by torture, or pleasure be sought in its slaughter, as a
Venetian goldsmith lately found to his cost. He was amusing himself
with bird-catching, and had taken among others a bird the size of
a cuckoo, and almost the same colour; its beak was not large, but
its throat could be expanded by force so as to receive the fist of a
full-grown man. As he was naturally fond of a joke, and was struck by
the strangeness of the phenomenon, he fastened the bird to the lintel
of his door with its wings outspread and with its throat forced open by
a peg, so as to show a huge orifice. The Turks who were passing by in
crowds kept stopping and looking up, but when they perceived the bird
was alive and moving, struck with compassion they exclaimed, it was a
shame that a harmless bird should be so tortured, called the goldsmith
out, seized him by the neck, and dragged him before the judge who tries
capital charges, and he was near being bastinadoed, when a messenger
came from the gentleman, who administers the law to the Venetians at
Constantinople, and is called the Venetian Baily,[177] to demand his
release; the application was favourably received by the judge, and the
goldsmith was dismissed, to the great indignation of the Turks who were
present. Thus was he preserved. This goldsmith was a frequent visitor
at my house, and I had a hearty laugh when he told me the whole story,
and what a fright he had had. Moreover he brought the bird for my
inspection. I have described its appearance, and it is said to fly at
night and suck cows’ udders. I fancy it is the same as the goat-sucker
of the ancients. This story will show you how merciful the Turks are
to all kinds of animals, and especially to birds.[178]
Opposite our lodging there is a lofty plane tree remarkable for the
extent of ground its branches cover, and the thickness of its foliage;
here bird-catchers sometimes station themselves with a great number
of small birds. Many people go to them and ransom their prisoners for
a trifle, and then release them from their hands one by one. They
generally fly up into the plane tree, where they clean themselves
from the dirt of their cages, chirping all the while. Then the Turks
who ransomed them say to each other: ‘Do you hear how yon bird
congratulates himself on his freedom, and is thanking me for it?’
You will ask then, are the Turks such Pythagoreans that every animal
is considered sacred among them, and that they eat no flesh? Far from
it; on the contrary they usually abstain from nothing that may be set
before them, whether boiled or roast. Indeed they say that sheep were
born for slaughter, but they think it atrocious that people should seek
to find pleasure in their agonies and torments. As for the smaller
birds, who make the country places and fields resound with their song,
some of the Turks cannot be induced to kill them, or even to keep them
shut up in cages, thinking it a shame to rob them of their liberty.
There are different opinions, however, among them on this subject.
Some at any rate keep in their houses nightingales, that sing very
sweetly, and make a profit by hiring them out in the spring-time. I
have seen people carrying about goldfinches so well trained, that, when
a coin was shown them from a window above, they would fly to almost any
distance to get it; and, if the holder did not let it be pulled away,
they would perch on his hand and go with him from room to room, trying
all the time to wrest the coin out of his hand; the moment they got it,
they would fly back by the way they had come to their master, who was
standing in the street and calling them back by ringing a bell, and
would give him the coin, receiving some hemp-seed as a reward. But I
must stop, or you will think that I wish to imitate Pliny or Ælian, and
compose a history of animals.
Passing on to other topics, I will tell you about Turkish women and the
manner in which they are guarded. The Turks are the most careful people
in the world of the modesty of their wives, and therefore keep them
shut up at home and hide them away, so that they scarce see the light
of day.[179] But if they have to go into the streets, they are sent out
so covered and wrapt up in veils that they seem to those who meet them
mere gliding ghosts. They have the means of seeing men through their
linen or silken veils, while no part of their own body is exposed to
men’s view. For it is a received opinion among them, that no woman who
is distinguished in the very smallest degree by her figure or youth,
can be seen by a man without his desiring her, and therefore without
her receiving some contamination; and so it is the universal practice
to confine the women to the harem. Their brothers are allowed to see
them, but not their brothers-in-law. Men of the richer classes, or of
higher rank, make it a condition when they marry, that their wives
shall never set foot outside the threshold, and that no man or woman
shall be admitted to see them for any reason whatever, not even their
nearest relations, except their fathers and mothers, who are allowed to
pay a visit to their daughters at the Turkish Easter.[180]
On the other hand, if the wife has a father of high rank, or has
brought a larger dowry than usual, the husband promises on his part
that he will take no concubine, but will keep to her alone. Otherwise,
the Turks are not forbidden by any law to have as many concubines as
they please in addition to their lawful wives. Between the children of
wives and those of concubines there is no distinction, and they are
considered to have equal rights. As for concubines they either buy them
for themselves or win them in war; when they are tired of them there
is nothing to prevent their bringing them to market and selling them;
but they are entitled to their freedom if they have borne children to
their master. This privilege Roxolana, Solyman’s wife, turned to her
own advantage, when she had borne him a son while still a slave. Having
thus obtained her freedom, and become her own mistress, she refused to
submit any longer to his will, unless, contrary to the custom of the
Ottoman Sultans, she was made his lawful wife. The only distinction
between the lawful wife and the concubine is, that the former has a
dowry, while the slaves have none. A wife who has a portion settled on
her is mistress of her husband’s house, and all the other women have to
obey her orders. The husband, however, may choose which of them shall
spend the night with him. He makes known his wishes to the wife, and
she sends to him the slave he has selected. Hardly a pleasant task, one
would fancy, for a wife, whatever the feelings of the other might be!
Only Friday night, which is their Sabbath, is supposed to belong to the
wife; and she grumbles if her husband deprives her of it. On all the
other nights he may do as he pleases.
Divorces are granted among them for many reasons which it is easy for
the husbands to invent. The divorced wife receives back her dowry,
unless the divorce has been caused by some fault on her part. There is
more difficulty in a woman’s getting a divorce from her husband. Among
the reasons which are considered sufficient for granting a divorce are
the deprivation of the necessaries of life by the husband, and certain
kinds of ill treatment. In the latter case the woman goes before the
judge, and makes a declaration that she is unable to remain any longer
with her husband; when the judge asks the reason, she gives no answer,
but takes off one of her shoes and turns it upside down. This the
judge accepts as sufficient evidence that her husband has treated her
improperly.
People of consideration with large harems appoint eunuchs to guard
them. They also have baths at home, in which they and their women
perform their ablutions, while people of smaller means patronise the
public baths. They consider cleanliness of the body as even of more
importance in a religious point of view than purity of the soul,
which is the reason of their frequent ablutions. The great mass of
women use the public baths for females, and assemble there in large
numbers. Among them are found many girls of exquisite beauty, who have
been brought together from different quarters of the globe by various
chances of fortune; so cases occur of women falling in love with one
another at these baths, in much the same fashion as young men fall in
love with maidens in our own country. Thus you see a Turk’s precautions
are sometimes of no avail, and when he has succeeded in keeping his
wives from a male lover, he is still in danger from a female rival! The
women become deeply attached to each other, and the baths supply them
with opportunities of meeting. Some therefore keep their women away
from them as much as possible, but they cannot do so altogether, as the
law allows them to go there. This evil affects only the common people;
the richer classes bathe at home, as I mentioned.
It happened that in a gathering of this kind, an elderly woman fell in
love with a girl, the daughter of an inhabitant of Constantinople, a
man of small means. When her courtship and flatteries were not attended
with the success her mad passion demanded, she ventured on a course,
which to our notions appears almost incredible. Changing her dress,
she pretended she was a man, and hired a house near where the girl’s
father lived, representing herself as one of the slaves of the Sultan,
belonging to the class of cavasses; and it was not long before she
took advantage of her position as a neighbour, cultivated the father’s
acquaintance, and asked for his daughter in marriage. Need I say more?
The proposal appearing to be satisfactory, the father readily consents,
and promises a dowry proportionate to his means. The wedding-day was
fixed, and then this charming bridegroom enters the chamber of the
bride, takes off her veil,[181] and begins to chat with her. She
recognises at once her old acquaintance, screams out, and calls back
her father and mother, who discover that they have given their daughter
in marriage to a woman instead of a man. The next day they bring her
before the Aga of the Janissaries, who was governing the city in the
Sultan’s absence. He tells her that an old woman like her ought to know
better than to attempt so mad a freak, and asks, if she is not ashamed
of herself? She replies, ‘Tush! you know not the might of love, and God
grant that you may never experience its power.’ At this the Aga could
not restrain his laughter; and ordered her to be carried off at once,
and drowned in the sea. Thus the strange passion of this old woman
brought her to a bad end.
The Turks do not inquire very closely into secret vices, that they may
not give an opportunity for false charges, but they punish severely
open profligacy and crimes that are detected.
I am afraid your ears have been offended by my account of such an
instance of wickedness; but, if I can, I will remove by a pleasanter
story any disagreeable impressions the former may have left, for I am
quite sure you will have a good laugh over what I am going to tell you.
There came lately during the disturbances in Hungary a courier from
the Emperor. The Pashas desired that he should not as usual be brought
directly to me, but first be taken to the Divan, their object being to
know the contents of the Emperor’s letters before they were delivered
to me, as they suspected that many things were suppressed, and that I
did not give them a faithful account of the tenor of despatches. The
courier, however, foreseeing what was coming, concealed the Emperor’s
packet, and delivered only my private letters. The Pashas had been
previously informed by their interpreter Ibrahim, who is by birth a
Pole, that despatches which contained confidential instructions were
not written in the usual characters, but in a new sort of letters;
namely, in what we call cipher. As they were examining all the letters,
they chanced to come upon one from a friend of mine, the Burgundian
Secretary, which Ibrahim perceived was written on unusually thin
paper, through which the letters could be seen when held to the light.
He exclaimed, ‘I have found it,’ and told them to let the others be,
saying this was the one that contained important matter. The Pashas,
telling him to break the seal, read it, and translate it, assumed an
attitude of attention and expectation. Ibrahim, however, declared that
he could not make out a single letter. At this the Pashas were amazed,
and asked him if he had never learnt, or had forgotten, Christian
characters? to which Ibrahim replied, that this kind of writing was
known only to the confidential secretaries of Sovereigns. As they did
not clearly understand his answer, they said: ‘But if so, why do you
delay? why don’t you hurry off at once to the Secretary of the Venetian
or the Florentine Baily?’ Off flew Ibrahim in hot haste. Now the letter
was written in such characters that a boy ten years old could have read
it, but both the Secretaries, seeing it was addressed to me, after one
glance returned it, declaring that without a knowledge of the private
key it was impossible for anyone to decipher the writing. Ibrahim
returned with this reply, and the Pashas then deliberated what was to
be done. Then some one made the following suggestion: ‘There is in the
city the Patriarch, who is acquainted with many kinds of characters;
if he, being an old man and a Christian, cannot read them no one else
can.’ They agreed to the proposal, but the Patriarch declared that
he could not make out a single jot of them, for the characters were
neither Greek, nor Latin, nor Hebrew, nor Chaldee. So they brought
the letter back having had their trouble for nothing. Then, Ali
Pasha, though on other occasions he showed that he was by no means a
fool, turned to Roostem and said, ‘Cardassi (which means ‘brother’ in
Turkish), I remember I had a slave, by birth an Italian, who knew all
languages and characters. Were he still alive I feel no doubt that he
could have read and interpreted these characters; but he died some time
ago.’ Not knowing what further plan to adopt, they decided to send
me the letters as they could make no use of them. When I had heard
the whole story from Ibrahim (for it was impossible to conceal it), I
made vehement complaints, and was very indignant at their having thus
intercepted my letters, without paying any regard to international law,
or to the Emperor from whom they had come; and I also told him to wait
and hear some passages translated from them, that he might communicate
them to the Pashas the next day.
On the morrow, when he appeared in the Divan, the Pashas asked him,
‘could I read those characters?’ ‘As easily,’ said Ibrahim, ‘as his
own name;’ and at the same time proceeded to lay before them certain
statements which I had desired him to communicate. Then Roostem
remarked: ‘The Ambassador is a young man, and yet he understands what
the old Patriarch cannot so much as read; he will certainly turn out a
great man, if he attains old age.’
I do not know if it was in consequence of this occurrence, or of
something else, that this same Roostem, in the course of a conversation
I had with him some days afterwards on public business, began to throw
off his usual reserve, and finally went so far as to ask me, ‘Whether
I had any objection to be initiated into their religion, and to become
a worshipper of the true God? If I should do so, Solyman, through his
influence, was ready to confer on me great honours and great rewards.’
I replied that I was determined to remain in the religion in which
I was born, and which was professed by my master. ‘Very well,’ said
Roostem; ‘but what is to become of your soul?’ ‘For my soul too,’ I
replied, ‘I have good hopes.’ Then, after a moment’s reflection, he
said, ‘You are right; and I myself do not dissent from the doctrine
that men who have passed this life in holiness and innocence will be
partakers of eternal bliss, whatever religion they may have followed.’
Such views are entertained by some Turks, but they are thought
heretical, and Roostem himself is not considered altogether orthodox.
The Turks deem it their duty and an act of charity, to make one offer
to a Christian of whom they have a good opinion, of partaking in their
rites and religion, in the hope of saving, if they can, a man otherwise
destined to eternal perdition, and think such an offer is to be
considered the greatest possible honour and mark of kindness they can
show.
I will now give you another conversation with Roostem, that you may
understand how widely the Persians are separated from the Turks by
religion.[182] He once asked me if war was still going on between the
Kings of Spain and France. On my replying that it was, ‘What right have
they,’ said he, ‘to wage war on each other, when they are united by
the ties of religion?’ ‘The same,’ said I, ‘as you have to fight with
the Persians. There are cities, provinces, and kingdoms about which
they are at variance.’ ‘It is quite a different case,’ said Roostem,
‘for we, you must know, hate the Persians worse, and consider them more
impious than we do you Christians.’
I will now give you some news of events in Hungary, where, since my
return, each side has met with chequered fortune in its enterprises.
To write a full and particular account would be tedious and out of
place.[183] Isabella, the wife of King John, returned to Transylvania
with her son, after repudiating the agreement and the treaties she
had made with the Emperor Ferdinand, and from fear of the Turkish
arms, the people of Transylvania again submitted to the old yoke.
Even these successes did not satisfy the Turks, who appeared to be
aiming at the acquisition of the whole of Hungary. Accordingly, among
other operations they resolved to besiege the very strong position
of Szigeth,[184] which derives its name from the Hungarian word for
island. For this enterprise they selected as general a man, whose
successful career was calculated to inspire his troops with confidence
and his enemies with fear. This was Ali Pasha, an Albanian, who had
distinguished himself whilst governor of Hungary by his successes, the
chief of which was his decisive victory over Sforzia Palavicini and the
Bishop of Fünfkirchen. He was summoned from his distant command on the
Persian frontier, and the greatest hopes were excited by his appearance
in Constantinople. My colleagues were then still here, pressing for
leave to return. The Pashas thought it well that we should see the man
who, they considered, would be regarded by us as a very thunderbolt of
war. He received us courteously, and addressed us at length, telling
us that we ought to endeavour to make peace, and save Hungary from
being wasted with fire and sword, by acceding to the terms which _his_
Emperor[185] proposed. We answered that peace was our first object,
provided it was granted on such terms as were consistent with the
honour of _our_ Emperor; but that we were forbidden to agree to such a
peace as would be contrary to the interests and dignity of his Majesty.
So we departed, having been first entertained by him with _eau sucrée_.
Ali was a eunuch, but his spirit seemed to have gained what his body
had lost. He was of short stature, bloated person, and yellowish
complexion; the expression of his face was morose, his eyes had a
fierce look, and his shoulders were high and broad. Between them his
head was sunk and concealed. From his mouth projected two teeth like a
boar’s tusks; his voice was discordant. To describe him in a word, he
was a regular devil.
He set out the next day with a great train, and having reached Hungary,
he spent some time in preparations; then, marching on Szigeth, he drove
away the men who were rebuilding Babocsa—a fortress belonging to the
Emperor. But his Majesty, who had already been informed of Ali Pasha’s
designs, determined to send one of his three sons to encounter his
onslaught, and do battle for Hungary. The young Archduke Ferdinand, on
whom his choice fell, is equal in courage to any of the famous generals
of ancient times. He took up a position against Ali’s army with a small
body of picked cavalry. Turks who were there told me that it was a
goodly sight to behold the splendour, discipline, and steadiness of
our troops. The Pasha, whose army was much the largest, and who was
naturally a man of fierce and haughty temper, could not brook that
Christians should dare to face him. Some marshy ground, which could not
be crossed without danger, lay between the two armies. Ferdinand, whose
object was to relieve Szigeth and to raise the siege, had no need to
cross; but Ali Pasha, on the contrary, was obliged to risk everything,
as he had no choice between advancing and committing himself to an
ignominious and hazardous retreat. He, therefore, seeing to what a
strait he was reduced, decided to risk everything on the success of
his movement, and was on the point of plunging with his steed into the
marsh, when a Sanjak-bey who was among the bystanders, whose name I
have forgotten, perceiving the greatness of the danger, leaped down
from his horse, and, laying his hand on the Pasha’s rein, said, ‘My
Sultan’ (for this is the title given by the Turks to men of high rank),
‘do you not see the peril into which you are wilfully bringing yourself
and us? You do not sufficiently take into account the difficulty of
crossing this quagmire. The Christians are waiting for us on the other
side with stout hearts and strong lances, and their serried squadrons
will charge down on our straggling column as soon as the vanguard has
got clear of the marsh, while the rest are still struggling in the mud.
They will take advantage of our rashness, and fight with the certainty
of defeating us. Restrain your wrath, and recollect yourself. Preserve
the lives of your gallant soldiers and your own for our Emperor’s[186]
service and for better days. God will be sure to give us an opportunity
of mending this day’s work.’ At these words Ali recovered his senses,
and restrained himself. Every Turk on the field admitted that the army
had been saved by the advice of the Sanjak-bey. However, when news of
the affair reached Constantinople, although not even the Vizierial
(that is the chief) Pashas could deny that Ali’s army owed its safety
to the prompt interference of the Sanjak-bey, and though they praised
his loyalty and generalship in private, yet they were unwilling that
such a breach of discipline should go unpunished, and thus become a
precedent for the future. Accordingly, they removed him from office,
recalled him to Constantinople, and they placed him on the list of
those who had been dismissed the service, until, when they thought his
fault had been sufficiently atoned for, they promoted him to a much
better government than the one he had lost, which made it quite plain
that he had been thus punished rather to preserve discipline than
because he had done wrong.
Ali not long afterwards returned to Buda. During his retreat his troops
were so harassed by the Hungarians that he lost a large part of his
army. He arrived at the capital of Hungary a broken and dishonoured
man, where he died shortly afterwards of grief and shame.
On the other hand, the Archduke Ferdinand returned to his father
with well-earned laurels. His success will not only be of immediate
advantage, but it will enhance for the future the prestige of our arms.
The Turks have now had ample proof that, if they trouble the Emperor,
he is one who has both soldiers and generals wherewith to chastise
their insolence. This check has made the Turks on the borders a great
deal quieter.
While Ali was still encamped before Szigeth, our soldiers took by
escalade the city of Gran, with the adjoining citadel of the same name.
They carried off some plunder, and also the inhabitants, who were
mostly women and children. The messenger who brought the news to the
Pasha came trembling, with dismay painted on his face. ‘Is all well?’
quoth the Pasha. ‘Why are you thus cast down?’ Thereon the man told
him of the great disaster the Turks had sustained in the loss of Gran.
‘Disaster! loss!’ cried the Pasha. ‘Well, I know what disaster and loss
mean; I can tell you it was a disastrous loss when they made me what
I am.’ The Pasha was a eunuch, and he intended by this coarse joke on
himself to divert the attention of the people round him from the loss
which he was unable to repair.
In Croatia, too, and in the neighbouring regions, various forays went
on upon both sides, and people, whether Turks or Christians, who were
too venturesome and careless, were punished for their presumption.
I will tell you an instance, and as it gave me reason to rejoice, I
trust you also will find the story agreeable. True, it occurred a
little before the affair of Szigeth which I have just related; but as
it is a letter I am writing, I feel that the order of time need not
be very strictly regarded. From those districts news was brought to
Roostem of a feat performed by a certain Turk, for whom he professed
great admiration and spoke of as his kinsman. He had swept down on
a large party of Christians, who were celebrating a wedding without
the slightest notion that there were any Turks in the neighbourhood.
You may imagine what an unwelcome guest he was. His troops scattered
the people, killing several, and carrying off many more as prisoners;
amongst the latter was the unfortunate bridegroom, with her who was
about to become his wife. Roostem was greatly elated, and kept boring
everybody with his boasts of the wonderful success of his kinsman’s
raid. So far, the story is one on which we must exchange condolences
rather than congratulations. Well, it is the fortune of war. But
retribution was close at hand to change Roostem’s merriment into tears
and lamentation. There came not long afterwards from the same districts
in hot haste a Dalmatian horseman with news of a great defeat. (The man
belonged to a class whom the Turks call Delli, i.e. madmen, on account
of their blind and reckless daring.) He said that several Sanjak-beys
and other commanders of garrisons had united their forces and invaded
the enemy’s territory; they had scoured the country for many miles,
and had carried off much booty, but at last, advancing too far, they
fell in with a Christian force, composed of musketeers on horseback,
by whom they were put to flight and utterly routed with the loss of
many men, among whom was that Achilles, Roostem’s kinsman, of whom he
had just been speaking in such high terms. Roostem was overwhelmed on
hearing the disastrous intelligence, and burst into tears. Richly did
he deserve this misfortune in retribution for his former boastfulness.
Now listen to the rest of the story, which affords still greater reason
for rejoicing. When the Dalmatian horseman, who brought the news
of the defeat I mentioned, was immediately afterwards asked by the
Pashas in the Divan, ‘How many of you then were engaged?’ he replied,
‘Above 2,500.’ The Pashas proceeded, ‘Pray, what was the number of the
Christians?’ to which he said, ‘he thought they were not above 500 that
he could see, though there might have been some more lying in ambush,
and for his part he thought there were, but he could take his oath that
there was not more than that number of Christians actually engaged.’
Thereupon the Pashas got angry with him for not being more ashamed at
the defeat of a regular army of Mussulmans by a handful of Christians.
They thought it foul scorn that picked warriors, who had been deemed
worthy of being numbered amongst Solyman’s household and of eating his
bread, should thus disgrace themselves. The messenger most unblushingly
replied, ‘You do not take a right view of the matter. Did you not hear
that we were overcome by the force of fire-arms? it was fire that
routed us, not the enemy’s valour. Far different, by heaven, would have
been the result of the fight, had they met us like brave men. They
called fire to their aid; by the violence of fire we were conquered; we
are not ashamed; it is one of the elements and the fiercest of them,
and what mortal man has such strength as to be able to resist the fury
of the elements?’[187] When he delivered this speech bombastically with
Dalmatian magniloquence, the bystanders, notwithstanding the melancholy
tidings, could with difficulty check their laughter.
This news cheered me not a little, coming as it did when I was still
depressed by the recollection of the previous disaster. I could thereby
learn that the Turks are much afraid of carbines and pistols, such as
are used on horseback. The same, I hear, is the case with the Persians,
on which account some one advised Roostem, when he was setting out with
the Sultan on a campaign against them, to raise from his household
servants a troop of 200 horse and arm them with fire-arms, as they
would cause much alarm and do great execution in the ranks of the
enemy. Roostem, in accordance with this advice, raised a troop of
dragoons, furnished them with fire-arms, and had them drilled. But
they had not completed half the journey when their guns began to get
out of order. Every day some essential part of their weapons was
lost or broken, and it was not often that armourers could be found
capable of repairing them. So, a large part of the fire-arms having
been rendered unserviceable, the men took a dislike to the weapon; and
this prejudice was increased by the dirt which its use entailed, the
Turks being a very cleanly people; for the dragoons had their hands
and clothes begrimed with gunpowder, and moreover presented such a
sorry appearance, with their ugly boxes and pouches hanging about them,
that their comrades laughed at them, and called them apothecaries. So,
since with this equipment they pleased neither themselves nor others,
they gathered round Roostem, and showing him their broken and useless
fire-arms, asked what advantage he hoped to gain from them when they
met the enemy, and demanded that he should relieve them of them, and
give them their old arms again. Roostem, after considering their
request carefully, thought there was no reason for refusing to comply
with it, and so they got leave to resume their bows and arrows.
The fighting on the Hungarian borders, which I mentioned above, reminds
me to tell you what the Turks think of the practice of duelling,
which we are accustomed to regard as the greatest proof of personal
courage. There was in a part of Hungary which adjoins our frontier, a
Sanjak-bey, famous for bodily strength, named Arslan Bey. None drew the
bow with greater strength, no one’s sword pierced deeper, or was more
formidable to the foe. Veli Bey, the governor of the next Sanjak,[188]
who coveted the same reputation, put himself forward as his rival. From
this rivalry, and possibly other differences, there arose a deadly
feud between the Sanjak-beys; they laid plots against one another, and
bloodshed was the consequence. Whether it was for this or some other
reason that Veli Bey was summoned to Constantinople is unknown to me;
at any rate he came. The Pashas in the Divan, after putting many other
questions to him, finally wished to hear about his feud with Arslan
Bey. (Arslan in Turkish means Lion.) Then he narrated at great length
the whole story of their quarrel, and to improve his case, he told
them how it ended in Arslan Bey’s lying in wait for him and wounding
him; there would have been no need, he continued, for Arslan Bey to
act thus, had he chosen to show himself worthy of his name; since for
his part he had never declined a fight with him, and indeed had many
times challenged him to a duel. The Pashas,[189] in indignation at this
speech, exclaimed, ‘Did you dare to challenge your comrade to a duel?
Were there no Christians for you to fight? Both of you live on the
bread of our Emperor, but yet you were preparing to engage in mortal
combat. By what law or precedent can you justify such conduct? Did you
not know that whichever of you fell the Emperor would lose a soldier by
his death?’ With these words they ordered him to be taken to prison,
where he was made to do penance for several months, and then having
with great difficulty obtained his discharge, was at last released
with his reputation much impaired. Among us many who have never seen a
public enemy are considered to be famous and distinguished characters,
because they have drawn their swords on a fellow-citizen or
fellow-soldier. What can you do when the sense of right is so perverted
that vices usurp the place of virtues, and what deserves punishment is
accounted a glory and an honour?
As you are eager for information of every kind, I must not deprive you
of an account of the arrival here of the king of the Colchians.[190]
He reigns on the banks of the Phasis at the corner of the Euxine, not
far from Mount Caucasus. His name is Dadian. He is a man of dignified
appearance and commanding person, but at heart they say he is a mere
savage. He was attended by a large but ragged retinue in poor and
threadbare attire.
The Colchians are now called Mingrelians by the Italians. They are one
of the tribes settled between the Caspian Gates, called by the Turks
‘Demit Capi,’ i.e., ‘Iron Gates,’ and the Black and Caspian Seas, which
are now called Georgians, either from the sect of Christianity to which
they belong, or because it is their ancient name, which last seems the
more probable theory, among whom are also included the Albanians and
Iberians (Imeritians).
The reason of Dadian’s coming is uncertain. Some suspect that he has
been summoned by the Turks; for when the Turks are at war with the
Persians, the Mingrelians and the other tribes of that region would,
if friendly, be able to render important assistance. But the general
and more probable version of the story is, that he has come to ask for
the assistance of some galleys to help him against his neighbours the
Imeritians; and that he is prepared to pay tribute to the Sultan in
return for this favour. His father was killed by the Imeritians, with
whom the Mingrelians have an ancient feud of long standing.
There is, however, an amusing story that, when on a certain occasion a
conference to effect a union and a reconciliation had been arranged,
and the Mingrelians on the one part and the Imeritians on the other had
assembled in large numbers, they had a match to see who should have the
honour of drinking the most; in which the Mingrelians were worsted,
and fell dead drunk under the table. But the Imeritians behaved
dishonourably, and putting the doughty Dadian, while he was sound
asleep and snoring, into a carriage, carried him off as if they had
taken him prisoner in fair fight, and shut him up in a lofty tower. To
avenge this wrong and to recover their king, the Mingrelians collected
men to the number of 30,000, commanded by the wife of the captive
prince, a woman of high spirit, who could ride a horse and wield a
sword. The chiefs of the army were equipped in cumbrous coats of mail,
and carried swords and lances tipped with iron. There was also, you
will be surprised to hear, a body of musketeers. The rest were without
any armour, and fought with arrows, or stakes hardened in the fire, and
great clubs of wood, and rode barebacked, nor was there any attempt at
order among them. When this raw and undisciplined army drew near to
the place where the king was confined, the enemy fired some cannon, at
which they took to their heels, and ran away a full mile. Then they
again plucked up courage and returned to the attack: the cannons were
again discharged; off went the Mingrelians once more, and this scene
was repeated over and over again. Dadian, however, seeing help near at
hand, cut the sheets of his bed into strips, and letting himself down
at night through a window, reached his troops in safety; an exploit,
which has made him famous in those parts.
All the country of the Mingrelians is exceedingly rich in every kind of
grain, except wheat and barley. The crops receive but little attention,
and it is supposed that if a little care were taken, wheat and barley
might also be grown. The people are incorrigibly lazy. Panic[191] is
sown in a slovenly way, but it grows with the greatest luxuriance, and
produces such a crop that one harvest is sufficient for two years’
consumption. They have got accustomed to this grain, which they eat in
large quantities, and do not wish for any better kind of corn. From
vines planted at the foot of the tallest trees, they make a great
deal of fair wine. These vines climb among the branches of the trees
to which they are trained, and last for many years. Abundance of wax
and honey may be obtained from the wild bees that work in the forests
by anyone who will take the trouble to look for their hives. The
woods also supply plenty of game, indeed the whole country is full of
pheasants and partridges. The very pumpkins show the fertility of the
soil, as they not only are of a delicious flavour, but are often quite
three feet long.
They have very little money. Few among them are acquainted with silver
coins, and still fewer with gold; hardly anyone possesses them. I am
not sure that they ought not to be called fortunate on this account.
The absence of money is the absence of that which is the chief
incentive to crime; and yet, for my part, I have my doubts whether many
of our friends at home would care for this blessing, which renders
it impossible for anyone to grow rich! Yet silver is to some extent
esteemed by them, for when any comes into the country in the course of
trade—as is necessarily the case—they dedicate it to their churches,
and it is recast into crosses, chalices, or other church ornaments. All
these the king, when he thinks proper, melts down, and converts the
bullion to his own uses. In dealing with each other, barter is their
only form of trade. Everyone brings to market the commodity of which
he has plenty, to exchange it for what he is in need of. Thus they do
not feel the want of money, since its place is supplied by barter; nay,
even the king’s tribute is paid to him in the produce of the soil.
He receives an abundant supply of what is needful in the way of food
and clothing. He has enough to eat, enough to drink, enough to clothe
himself with, and also has the means of maintaining his household and
rewarding his supporters. He has an inexhaustible store of provisions,
both from tithes and other royalties and from the presents which he
is continually receiving; yet he is no miser, and gives as freely and
readily as he takes. His palace resembles a public storehouse, being
crammed with supplies of every kind. From these stores rations are
issued to all his subjects who need them. Any who are in want, or have
fallen into poverty through the failure of their crops, are fed from
the royal granary.
It is the custom for merchants on landing to make some present to the
king; its value is unimportant, as he will accept whatever is offered,
and they are then invited to a banquet. There is a vast hall with
stables at each end, in which the king’s table is laid. It is a very
long one; he sits at the head himself, and the others at a little
distance from him. The table is loaded with game and other dishes, and
wine is liberally supplied; indeed, the hardest drinkers are considered
the most welcome guests. In the same banqueting-hall the queen likewise
dines with her train of women, but at a separate table. I am afraid I
cannot say much for the manners of the ladies. They behave quite as
badly as the men, drinking, gesticulating, tittering, nodding, and
winking, to such an extent as to make it plain that any of them would
play the Medea if a Jason[192] appeared. After the banquet the king
with his guests goes off to the chase.
In this country you may see in the forests parties of the common people
lying under the shade of spreading trees, and keeping holiday with wine
and dances and songs. They stretch strings to a long pole, and strike
them with a small stick in regular time. To the accompaniment of these
rude harps they sing their love-songs and ballads in praise of heroes,
among whom, if the stories that are told are true, the name of Roland
frequently occurs.[193] How it was conveyed there I cannot conjecture,
unless it came across the sea with Godfrey de Bouillon. About this
Roland they tell many marvellous tales, even more absurd than those of
our own romances.
Where life is so easy and food so plentiful, morality suffers. A
respectable woman is not often to be met with. A man who wishes to
amuse his visitor and make his stay agreeable, introduces him to his
wife or sister, and does not trouble himself as to how far their
intimacy may go. On the contrary, they think that if their wives prove
attractive it is a compliment to themselves. Unmarried women are
allowed the same liberties, and behave just as badly as their married
sisters. Cases are often pointed out of girls of ten years old who have
got babies. When you express your surprise, and refuse to believe that
such diminutive creatures can be mothers, they produce a baby not much
bigger than a large frog, which is the more surprising, as the men and
women are generally tall, and remarkable for the symmetry of their
limbs. But they are so completely devoid of refinement and good manners
that, among other customs, they think it a compliment to make a curious
noise in the throat, something like a hiccough.
For one thing they certainly have talents, and that is stealing.
Amongst them this art is held in high esteem, and a successful pilferer
is a great man. He who is ignorant of the noble science of thieving is
despised as a mere blockhead; indeed, they hardly think him worthy of
life. So strong is this feeling, that if a man has a brother or son who
cannot steal, he considers him a hopeless case and a disgrace to his
family, and gives him away or sells him for a trifle to foreign traders
to carry him to some distant land. An Italian merchant, who had been in
that country, told me that one of their priests robbed him of his knife
in church. He perceived the theft, but pretended not to do so, and,
to show the priest he had been discovered, made him a present of the
sheath as well, that he might have something to put the knife in!
When they enter a church they do not care much for the images of the
Virgin, St. Peter, St. Paul, or other saints, but look about for
a picture of St. George on horseback. Before this they prostrate
themselves in adoration, and then kiss it all over, not omitting even
the horse’s shoes. They say that St. George was a brave soldier of
great renown, who fought several battles with the Evil Spirit on equal
terms, and always beat him, or at the worst was able to hold his own.
I will now tell you something that will surprise you. Kings in the
East expect presents from their visitors. Dadian brought Solyman a
dish hollowed out of a ruby of such brilliancy that it would make the
road by night as clear as if it were noonday. You will say, ‘I do not
believe it.’ For the matter of that, I do not either, and what is more,
I do not ask you to believe it. I only tell you there are plenty who
do. More knowing people say it is a paten of garnet, and that it was
stolen from a son of the King of Persia, who was wrecked on that coast
as he was trying to escape to Constantinople. He likewise brought
twenty white falcons, or hawks, which are said to be found in great
numbers in Mingrelia. So much for my news about the Mingrelians and
their manners.
You ask about my pursuits, and the general routine of my life, and
whether I ever go out of my house. Well, I am not in the habit of
going out, unless when despatches are received from the Emperor for me
to present to the Sultan, or instructions come to remonstrate about
the raids made and mischief done by the Turkish garrisons, and this
happens only two or three times a year. Were I to express a wish to
take a ride occasionally through the city with my keeper, it would
in all probability be granted; but I do not care to have this made a
favour of, as I want to make them think that my rigorous confinement is
no punishment to me. Besides, what pleasure would it give me to ride
about with Turks all round me, making their remarks or perhaps venting
their abuse on me? The country and the fields are what I enjoy, and
not a town; least of all one that is tumbling to pieces, and in which,
with the exception of its magnificent site, no relic of its original
splendour is left. The former rival of Rome is now crushed beneath
the yoke of the most cruel slavery. Who could see this proud city and
not pity her fall, while musing over the changes and chances of this
fleeting world? Besides, who knows how soon her fate may be ours?
I keep at home, where I hold converse with my old friends, my books.
They are at once my companions and my solace. For the sake of my health
I have built a tennis-court, where I play before dinner. After dinner
I practise the Turkish bow, in the use of which weapon people here
are marvellously expert. From the eighth, or even the seventh, year of
their age they begin to shoot at a mark, and practise archery ten or
twelve years. This constant exercise strengthens the muscles of their
arms, and gives them such skill that they can hit the smallest marks
with their arrows. The bows they use are much stronger than ours, and
being shorter, are also much more handy; they are made not of a single
piece of wood, but of the sinews and horns of oxen fastened together
with a quantity of glue and tow. A Turk in good practice can easily
draw the string of the very stiffest of them to his ear. Without
training, however, the strongest man could do nothing with a Turkish
bow. Indeed, if a coin be set between the string and the bow close to
the notch, none but an adept could pull the string so far as would
suffice to liberate the coin. So sure is their aim, that in battle they
can hit a man in the eye or in any other exposed part they choose. At
the range where they are taught, you may see them shooting with so sure
an aim that they surround the white on the target, which is generally
smaller than a thaler, with five or six arrows, so that every arrow
touches the margin of the white, but does not break it. They seldom
use a range of more than thirty feet. On the thumb of the right hand
they wear bone rings, on which the bowstring lies when they draw it,
and the arrow is kept in its place by holding the left thumb in an
upright position and joining it to the forefinger; so that their way of
shooting is quite different from ours. The butt they use as a target
is raised four feet more or less from the ground, and consists of a
wooden frame filled with sand. Pashas and men with large households
exercise their servants in this sort of practice at home, the more
skilful being told off to act as teachers. Some of them at the feast
of Easter[194]—for the Turks have an Easter (the feast of Bairam) like
ourselves—assemble in the great plain beyond Pera, where, squatting on
the ground in a line, with their legs crossed in the Turkish manner
like tailors, they try who can shoot the furthest. I must mention that
the contest, after the usual Turkish fashion, is prefaced by prayer.
Great order and silence prevail throughout, however large the number of
spectators. On these occasions they use special bows and arrows; the
former are very short and stiff, and cannot be bent except by a man who
has had a great deal of practice. An embroidered handkerchief, such as
we use for wiping our faces, is the winner’s prize. The chief reward,
however, is the reputation which the successful archer acquires. The
range they attain with their arrows is almost incredible. The point
reached by the arrow of the longest shot in the year is marked by a
stone. Many such stones set up in former days are still standing,
several paces beyond those which are now erected. These they firmly
believe are the marks of their ancestors’ shots, to whose strength and
skill, by their own admission, they cannot aspire. Moreover, in various
streets and piazzas of Constantinople there are ranges of this sort, at
which there assemble not merely boys and young men, but also those of
more advanced age. A target-keeper is appointed, who has the charge of
keeping it in order and watering the butt every day, which otherwise
would get so dry that the blunt arrows which they use in practice would
not stick in it. It is also the keeper’s business to stand by the
target and draw out the arrows, and throw them back to the shooters
after cleaning them. In return everyone gives him a fixed fee, which
forms his salary. The front of the target is like a small door, from
which, perhaps, originated a proverb the Greeks have; when a man has
wholly missed the mark, they say ‘he is shooting against a door.’ For
I think the Greeks formerly used this sort of target, and the Turks
adopted it from them. I am well aware, of course, that the use of the
bow is very ancient among the Turks; but that does not seem to me any
reason why they should not have gone on using the sort of target and
butt which they found in the Greek cities when they took them. For
no nation in the world has shown greater readiness than the Turks to
avail themselves of the useful inventions of foreigners, as is proved
by their employment of cannons and mortars, and many other things
invented by Christians. They cannot, however, be induced as yet to use
printing, or to establish public clocks, because they think that the
scriptures—that is, their sacred books—would no longer be _scriptures_
if they were _printed_, and that, if public clocks were introduced, the
authority of their muezzins and their ancient rites would be thereby
impaired.
Even in the case of other nations, it is their habit to pay great
respect to ancient usages. This principle they carry so far as almost
to infringe the precepts of their own religion. Remember, in saying
this, I am speaking of the practice of the ordinary Turk. As an
example, of course everyone knows that they have not the slightest
sympathy with Christian worship, but notwithstanding, as the Greek
priests have a custom of opening, as it were, the closed sea at a
fixed time in spring by blessing the waters, before which the Greeks
are afraid to trust themselves to the waves, even the Turks have some
superstitious regard for this ceremony. Accordingly, as soon as they
have made their preparations for a voyage, they go to the Greeks, and
inquire if the waters have yet been blessed. It they say no, they put
off their voyage; if they are answered in the affirmative, they embark
and set sail.
It was also a custom among the Greeks that the cave in Lemnos from
which is extracted the earth they call ‘goat’s seal,’[195] should not
be opened except on August 6, the feast of the Transfiguration of our
Lord. This custom the Turks observe to this very day; and they think it
proper that a service should even now be performed there by a priest of
the Greek Church in the same manner as it used to be, while they remain
at a distance as spectators of the sacred rites in which they cannot
join. But if one should ask why they do so, they reply that there exist
many customs ordained of yore, the advantage of which is proved by long
experience, though the reasons for them are unknown. The ancients, they
say, knew more and saw further than they do, and what they had approved
of ought not to be abolished. They prefer to keep such customs rather
than run the risk of changing them. Some carry this way of thinking
so far, that I have known instances of Turks who had their children
secretly baptised; their notion being that there must be some advantage
in this rite, or otherwise it would never have been instituted.
But, by the way, I must not fail, when speaking of Turkish drill,
to mention a very ancient manœuvre which has been handed down from
the time of the Parthians; namely, for the cavalry to pretend to
fly, and to shoot down their unwary enemies when they attempt to
pursue. The following is the method by which they acquire the art of
rapidly executing this manœuvre. They put a brass ball on the top
of a very high pole, erected on level ground, and galloping past it
at full speed, they then turn suddenly, and bending back shoot an
arrow at the ball, without drawing bridle; and by practising this
exercise constantly they acquire such skill, that they can without any
difficulty shoot behind them, and send an arrow into their enemy when
he least expects it.
But it is time for me to return to our lodging, or my keeper will be
angry with me! Whatever time I have left unoccupied by the exercises
I mentioned, is spent in reading, or talking with the citizens of
Pera, who are Genoese by origin, or with other friends; but for this
the cavasses’ leave is necessary. Their temper is indeed somewhat
uncertain, but they occasionally have lucid intervals, during which
they prove more reasonable. Accordingly, when they are in a good
humour, Ragusans, Florentines, Venetians, and sometimes also Greeks,
and men of other nations come in numbers, either to pay a visit or on
some business. Hither flock also men from yet more distant lands, whose
conversation has great attractions for me. A few months ago there came
an amber merchant of Dantzic, who had bought up the whole supply of
amber. As a great quantity of this article is sent to Turkey, he was
very curious to know what it was used for here, or if exported, to
what country it was taken. At last he ascertained that it is conveyed
into Persia, where it is highly prized, and where they ornament their
rooms, cabinets, and shrines with it. He gave me a barrel of the beer
they call Juppenbier (sprucebeer), which is certainly capital stuff.
But I had a hearty laugh at my Greek and Italian guests, who, having
never met with such a beverage, could not find a name for it. At last,
as they heard from me that it was good for one’s health, they thought
it a kind of medicine, and called it Sirup; and as they kept on asking
for ‘a little more of the same mixture,’ by repeated tastings, like the
lady in Terence,[196] they finally finished my barrel at one sitting.
My cavasses are changed from time to time, and sometimes I have the
good fortune to have men who are so considerate that they not only
would not object to my going out, were I to desire it, but they
actually invite me to take a ride. But, as I said, I make a point of
refusing to leave my quarters to prevent their thinking that they have
it in their power either to gratify or to annoy me. I excuse myself
on the plea, that by such a long stay in the house I have grown a
piece of the building, so that I can’t be torn away without risk of
its falling! I tell them I will go out once for all, when permission
shall be granted me to return home! I am glad my household are allowed
their liberty, as it may help them to bear their long exile more
patiently. In this, however, there is again the inconvenience that
quarrels often occur when they meet with drunken Turks, especially
if they are unattended by Janissaries; but even if they are at hand,
they cannot always prevent blows being exchanged. All this causes me
much annoyance, as I am obliged to answer the accusations which are
continually trumped up against my people, though I must say that my
cavasses in most cases save me the trouble, they are so particular
about keeping the gates shut. Of this we had lately an instance, which
I must tell you. There had been sent to me by the Emperor one Philip
Baldi, an Italian, a man of about sixty, who had travelled too fast
for a person of that age, and had consequently fallen ill.[197] When
the apothecary brought the clyster the doctor had ordered, the cavasse
refused him admittance, and would not allow him to take it to the
patient, treating him most uncivilly.
This cavasse had for a long while behaved kindly and courteously
towards us, but he suddenly turned savage, and even threatened to beat
my visitors with his stick. As I was much annoyed by his conduct,
I determined to show him he was wasting his trouble in trying to
intimidate us, as if we were a set of children. I ordered one of my
servants to keep the door bolted, and to undo it for no one except by
my orders. The cavasse came as usual in the morning to open the gates,
but, as the key proved useless, he perceived they were bolted inside,
and called out to my servant, whom he could see through the chinks
between the folding-doors, to let him in. My servant refused, and the
cavasse thereupon got angry, and began to abuse him and swear at him.
My servant replied, ‘Bluster to your heart’s content; but neither
you, nor any of your people shall get in here. Why should I open the
door for you any more than you do for us? As you keep us shut in, we
will keep you shut out. You may lock the door on the outside as tight
as you please; I will take care to bolt it on the inside.’ Then the
cavasse asked, ‘Is this done by the Ambassador’s orders?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘But
let me at least put my horse in the stable.’ ‘I won’t.’ ‘At any rate
give me hay and fodder for him.’ ‘There is plenty to be had in the
neighbourhood, if you are willing to pay for it.’ I used to invite this
cavasse to dine with me, or send him something from my table; this day,
however, his luck was changed, and he was obliged to stay before the
gate without breaking his fast, and tie up his horse to the plane-tree
which stands opposite. The Pashas and most of the court officials pass
this way on their return home from the palace, and when they saw the
cavasse’s horse, which they knew well enough by its trappings, munching
hay at the foot of the plane-tree, they asked him why he kept it there
instead of in the stable, as he usually did? He then told them the
whole story; viz., that because he had shut us in, we had shut him out,
and not only himself but his horse, and that he got no food and his
steed no forage. The story reached the ears of the other Pashas, and
caused much laughter. From that time they could no longer doubt how
utterly useless it was to lock me up, and with what contempt I treated
such petty means of annoyance. Shortly afterwards the cavasse was
removed, and the rigour of our confinement was somewhat relaxed.
This occurrence was noticed by Roostem a few days afterwards in a
way that deserves to be recorded. A man of reverend years and great
reputation for sanctity was paying him a visit, and asked him in
the course of their conversation, why, when the discord between the
Sultan’s sons was so apparent, and serious disturbances were expected
to arise from it, nay were imminent, he did not make a regular peace
with the Emperor, and so relieve Solyman of all anxiety in that
quarter? Roostem replied, there was nothing he desired better, but how
could he do it? The demands I made he could not concede; and, on the
other hand, I refused to accept what he offered. ‘Nor does he yield,’
said he, ‘to compulsion. Have I not tried everything to make him agree
to my terms? I have now for several years been keeping him immured,
and annoying him in many ways, and treating him roughly. But what good
am I doing? He is proof against everything. We do our best to keep him
in the closest confinement, but not content with our locking him up,
he actually bolts himself in. Thus all my labour is in vain; any other
man, I believe, sooner than endure these annoyances would ere now have
gone over to our religion; but he cares nothing for them.’ This was
related to me by people who were present at the conversation.
The Turks are a suspicious nation, and have got it into their heads,
that the Ambassadors of Christian princes have different instructions,
to be produced or suppressed according to circumstances, and that they
first attempt to get the most favourable terms they can, and, if they
fail, gradually come down and accede to harder conditions. Consequently
they think it is necessary to intimidate them, to flaunt war in their
faces, to keep them shut up like prisoners, and to torment them in
every way, as the best means of breaking their spirit and making them
sooner produce the set of instructions, which specify the minimum they
are empowered to accept.
Some think that this notion was much encouraged by the conduct of a
Venetian Ambassador, when there was a dispute between the Venetians
and Turks about restoring Napoli di Romania to the Sultan.[198] The
instructions he had received from the Venetian Senate directed him to
do his best to make peace without giving up Napoli, but, if he failed,
at last to agree to surrender the town, if he found war to be the only
alternative. Now it happened that these instructions were betrayed
to the Turks by certain citizens of Venice. The Ambassador, in total
ignorance of this, intended to open negotiations by suggesting easier
terms, and thus to sound the minds of the Pashas. When they pressed
him to disclose all his instructions, he declared that his powers went
no further; till at last the Pashas grew furious, and told him to
take care what he was about, as their master was not accustomed to be
trifled with, and also that he knew right well what his instructions
were. Then they repeated accurately in detail the orders he had
received from the authorities of Venice, and told him, that ‘If he did
not at once produce them all, he would find himself in no small danger
as a liar and impostor, while inevitable destruction would await the
republic he represented, if his deceit should provoke Solyman’s wrath
beyond all appeasing, and cause him to destroy them with fire and
sword.’ They warned him that ‘he had not much time for deliberation; if
he produced all his instructions, well and good; but if he persevered
in his attempt to trifle with them, it would be too late afterwards to
talk of peace and express his regret.’ They concluded by saying, that
‘Solyman was no man’s suppliant; since by God’s blessing he had the
power to compel.’ The Ambassador knew not what to do, and thinking it
useless to attempt to conceal what was perfectly well known, made a
clean breast of it, and frankly confessed that what they stated as to
his instructions was correct. This misadventure, however, made him very
unpopular at home. From that time the Turks seem to have become much
more suspicious, thinking it impolitic to enter into negotiations with
an ambassador until his spirit is broken by long confinement. It was on
this account that Veltwick,[199] the ambassador of the Emperor Charles,
was detained by them for eighteen months, and my colleagues for more
than three years, and then dismissed without having accomplished
anything. On me they have been putting pressure for a long time, as you
know, and as yet I can see no prospect of my release.
But when Baldi, whom I was speaking of, arrived, the age of the
messenger made them suspect that he brought fresh instructions,
allowing us to accept harder conditions of peace, and these they were
afraid of my misrepresenting on account of my knowledge of their
domestic troubles. They thought it therefore politic to treat me with
greater rigour, as the best means of making me produce forthwith the
real instructions I had last received. For the same reason Roostem
tried to intimidate me with threats of war, which he hinted at by the
following pleasantry. What does he do but send me a very large pumpkin
of the kind we call ‘Anguries,’ and the Germans ‘Wasser Blutzer’
(water-melons). Those grown at Constantinople are of excellent
flavour, and have red seeds inside; they are called Rhodian melons
because they come from Rhodes. They are good for allaying thirst when
the weather is very hot. A great round one was sent me by Roostem
through my interpreter, one very hot day, with the following message:
‘He hoped I should like a fruit which suited the season; there was no
better antidote for the heat; but he wished me also to know that at
Buda and Belgrade they had great store of such fruit, and indeed some
larger specimens of it,’ by which he meant cannon balls. I sent back
word that I was much obliged for his present and should enjoy it, but
that I was not surprised at what he said about Buda and Belgrade, as
there were at Vienna plenty of specimens of the fruit quite as big as
the one he sent me. I made this answer because I wished Roostem to
understand that I had noticed the point of his jest.
Now it is time I should relate the story of Bajazet, about which
you especially beg for information.[200] Doubtless you remember the
circumstances under which Bajazet parted from his father a few years
ago. He was pardoned on condition that he should not again make any
movement against his brother or excite fresh disturbances, but should
remain at peace and on friendly terms with him, as a brother ought to
do.[201] ‘Let him,’ said the Sultan, ‘remember the pledges he has given
me, nor further disquiet my declining years. Another time I will not
let him go unpunished.’ These warnings influenced Bajazet for a time,
but only as long as his mother survived; indeed, he placed but little
confidence on his brother’s affection or his father’s feelings towards
him, and relied entirely on the love his mother bore him, and being
anxious not to alienate her, he remained quiet during her lifetime.
But, when she died two years afterwards, thinking that his case was
desperate, and that he was no longer bound by any tie of filial duty,
he began to resume his former designs, and to prosecute his old quarrel
against his brother with more bitterness than ever. At one time he
plotted secretly against his life, at another used open violence, and
often sent his troops to make forays into his brother’s government,
which bordered on his own, and if he could catch any of his servants he
sentenced them to heavy punishments, intending thereby to insult their
master; in short, as he could not strike at his brother’s life, he left
nothing undone which he thought would impair his prestige.
At Constantinople he had some devoted partisans, and through them
he tried to tamper with the Sultan’s bodyguard by every means in
his power, and on some occasions he even ventured to cross over to
Constantinople himself,[202] concealing himself there among his
accomplices and the men of his party.
The progress of the conspiracy was no secret to Solyman, who, besides
his other channels of information, received accurate intelligence from
Selim, who wrote despatches from time to time, warning his father to be
on his guard against attack. ‘The Sultan was mistaken,’ said Selim, ‘if
he thought that the impious designs which Bajazet was now rehearsing
were not ultimately aimed at his own person. Bajazet cared neither
for God nor man, provided he could reach the throne. His father was as
great a barrier as his brother to the accomplishment of his ambitious
hopes. Attacks on himself were aimed at Solyman’s life, a crime which
Bajazet had planned long ago, and had lately been trying to carry into
execution. He begged the Sultan to take care he did not fall a victim
to these plots, and find himself a prisoner before news of his danger
could be received or help sent to him. As to the personal wrongs he
received from Bajazet, he could afford to disregard them, but he was
troubled at the greatness of his father’s peril.’
By such insinuations fresh fuel was continually added to Solyman’s
wrath against Bajazet. Accordingly he wrote letters reminding him of
his duty, of the clemency with which he had treated him, and of his
promises to himself, and bade him remember what he had said on a former
occasion, viz., that he would not always find pardon, that he ought
to turn over a new leaf, and not persist in provoking his brother and
annoying his father.[203] He added that he had but a short span of life
left himself, and when he was dead Providence would determine what
their several lots should be. In the meantime they should keep quiet,
if they had any regard for the peace of their father and their country.
But such arguments were all thrown away upon Bajazet, who had made up
his mind to hazard everything rather than take the other alternative,
and tamely wait till the time came for him to be butchered like a
sheep, which would most assuredly be his fate, if Selim ascended the
throne.
He replied, however, to his father’s commands in becoming terms, but
his deeds did not correspond to his words, nor did he swerve in the
least from the line of conduct he had resolved on.
When Solyman saw this, he felt that other measures were necessary,
and that he must not allow his sons to remain so near each other.
Accordingly he issued orders that before a certain day each should
leave his government (Bajazet was Governor of Kutaiah, Selim of
Magnesia), and that Bajazet should go to Amasia and Selim to Koniah.
No fault could be found with Selim, and his favour with his father was
unimpaired, but to prevent Bajazet from being hurried into rebellion,
Solyman wished to make it appear that they were both being treated
alike. In giving these orders he observed that the further apart they
were in actual distance the closer they would be in spirit. Vicinity,
he added, was often prejudicial to union, many faults being committed
on both sides by mischievous officers and servants, the effect of which
was to cause great irritation on the part of their masters. Let both of
them be obedient to his commands. If either should hesitate to obey, he
would expose himself to a charge of treason.
Selim made no delay, inasmuch as he knew that these orders were given
chiefly in his interest. Bajazet kept making excuses, and halted after
proceeding a short distance. He complained that he had been given the
government of Amasia, that town of evil omen, which was still reeking
with his brother’s blood,[204] and said that he would be contented with
any other government whatever, in place of that, in which the miserable
end of his kinsfolk would ever be forcing itself on his eyes, and
wounding his heart with its sad recollections. He asked that he might
at least be permitted to pass the winter where he was, or at any rate
in the place which his brother had left. To these remonstrances Solyman
paid no attention; and Selim had already proceeded some days’ march
with the troops, which his father had given him as an escort to protect
him against any attack on the part of his brother, while Bajazet was
still delaying and hesitating, when he suddenly turned and retraced
his steps, and then making a circuit appeared in his brother’s rear,
moving on Ghemlik, a Bithynian town, on the Asiatic coast opposite
Constantinople. For this step he had the sanction of his father, who
did not like Bajazet’s procrastination, for both father and son were
alarmed at the thought of what might be the consequence both to the
empire and themselves, if Bajazet should win over the Imperial guards
and march on Ghemlik or even on Constantinople. As they were both
threatened, the safest course seemed to be for Selim to take up such a
position as would enable them to support each other. Selim had not as
yet sufficient strength to make him certain of defeating his brother,
who was now ready for any desperate step.
When Bajazet saw Selim in his rear, he felt that the only result of his
own delay had been to ensure his brother’s succession to the throne,
whenever his father should be carried off, an event which might be
expected any day, as the Sultan’s health, which was generally bad,
was at that time worse than usual. Accordingly he sent letters to his
father, in which he accused his brother; he told him that Selim could
have given no stronger proof of his undutiful and disloyal intentions
than his march to Ghemlik; to which no other object could be assigned
than an attempt on the throne, as it was a place from which he would
have but a short passage to Constantinople, if he received the news he
wished for, informing him of his father’s death. But if his father’s
life should be prolonged, and the fulfilment of his wishes thus
deferred, he would not hesitate to employ his tools for the attainment
of his object, and would ascend the throne over his father’s murdered
body. In spite of all this he could not help seeing that Selim,
villain as he was, was his father’s darling, and was treated as if he
were a pattern son; while he on the other hand, though he had always
been a good son, and had never dreamt of such undutiful conduct, nay,
more, had always strictly observed every indication of his father’s
wishes, was nevertheless scorned and rejected. All that he requested
was permission to decline a government, the traditions of which boded
ill to its possessor. Next he had recourse to entreaties, and again
implored his father to consent to his being appointed to a different
government, whether it were the one his brother had left, or any other,
provided it had not the dark history of Amasia. He concluded by saying
he would wait for an answer to his petition at the place where he had
halted, that he might not have further to return should his wish be
granted, but if he should not obtain what he asked, he would then go
wherever his father might order.
The complaints Bajazet made about Amasia were not altogether
unreasonable, for the Turks are in the habit of forecasting important
matters from trifling incidents. But this was not the view that Solyman
took, for he knew what value to attach to his son’s bemoanings, and was
convinced that his object was to obtain a situation more convenient
for making a revolution, Amasia being too far from Constantinople.
Thus Bajazet, pleading one excuse after another for delay, put off the
hour for obeying his father’s wishes as long as he could, and went on
increasing his forces by enlisting recruits, arming them, and raising
money—in short, he made every preparation for defending himself and
attacking his brother. These preparations were regarded by Solyman as
directed against himself, but, nevertheless, he passed them over for
the most part in silence. The cautious old man did not wish to render
Bajazet desperate and thus drive him into open rebellion. He was well
aware that the eyes of the world were fixed on the quarrel between
his sons, and he was therefore anxious that these troubles should be
left to the influence of time, and be allowed to die out as quietly as
possible. He therefore replied to Bajazet in gentle language, saying,
‘He could make no change about the government, his decision on that
point was final. They ought both to obey his commands and repair to
their respective posts. As to the future he bade them be of good hope,
as he would take care that everything should be so regulated as to
prevent either of them having any ground for just complaints.’
Pertau, the fourth of the Vizierial Pashas, was selected to
convey these commands to Bajazet, and to keep up an appearance
of impartiality, Mehemet, the third of the Vizierial Pashas, was
despatched to Selim with the same orders. Both were instructed not to
leave the Princes before they reached their respective governments, as
Solyman prudently intended to attach these important officers to his
sons in order that they might be kept in mind of their duties. This
Selim was ready to allow, but Bajazet refused, for, as his intention
was to bring about a general revolution, he thought there could be
no greater obstacle to his designs than to have one of his father’s
counsellors ever at his side to criticise his words and actions. He
therefore addressed Pertau courteously, and having given him such
presents as he could, compelled him to return, in spite of his
remonstrances, saying, that he wished to employ him as his defender
and advocate with his father, as he had no one else to plead for him.
He told him that he would not prove an ungrateful or a discreditable
client. Further, he bade him tell his father that he would always
regard his commands as law, if Selim would let him, but that he could
not bear any longer the outrages of his brother, and his attacks upon
his life.
The dismissal of Pertau in this manner made Solyman sure of his son’s
intentions. Though Bajazet, to prevent the mission to him appearing
to have been wholly ineffectual, kept pretending that he was on his
way to Amasia, Solyman was not deceived, and continued to make his
preparations for war with undiminished activity. He ordered the
Beyler-bey of Greece, although he was suffering from an attack of gout,
to hurry with his cavalry to Selim’s assistance, and on Mehemet Pasha’s
return from his mission he despatched him into Asia with the most
trusty of the Imperial guard on the same service. He also made his own
preparations, and wished to make it appear that he was about to take
the field in person, but the Imperial guard gathered to their standards
with hesitation and reluctance, loathing a war between brothers as an
accursed thing. ‘Against whom were they to draw their swords?’ they
asked; ‘Was it not against the heir of the empire himself?’ ‘Surely,’
they argued, ‘some alternative might be found instead of plunging into
war; it could not be necessary to compel them to dip their hands in the
blood of their comrades, and to incur the guilt of slaughtering their
fellow-soldiers. As to Bajazet’s attempts, they were, in their opinion,
justified by the emergency.’
When these speeches reached Solyman’s ears he submitted the following
questions to his Mufti, who, as you doubtless remember, is the chief
authority among the Turks in religious matters, and like the oak of
Dodona[205] is consulted in cases of difficulty. ‘First, how ought he
to treat a man who in his own lifetime raised men and money, attacked
and captured towns, and troubled the peace of the empire? Secondly,
what was his opinion of those who joined his standard, and assisted
him in such an enterprise? Finally, what he thought of those who
refused to take up arms against him, and justified his acts?’ The
Mufti replied, ‘That such a man and his partisans, in his judgment,
merited the severest punishment; and that those who refused to bear
arms against him were wicked men, who failed to support their religion,
and therefore deserved to be branded as infamous.’ This reply was made
public, and transmitted through the chief of the cavasses to Bajazet.
A few days afterwards there returned to Constantinople a cavasse, who
had been sent to Selim by Solyman, and had been captured on the way by
Bajazet. By him he sent word to his father, that he had violated no
obligation demanded by filial duty, he had never taken up arms against
him, and was ready to obey his commands in everything. The quarrel was
one between his brother and himself, and life and death depended on the
issue of the struggle, as either he must fall by his brother’s sword
or his brother by his. That both should survive was an impossibility.
He had determined to bring matters to a conclusion, one way or the
other, in his father’s lifetime; therefore he called on Solyman not
to interfere in their contest, and to remain neutral. But if, as was
rumoured, he should cross the sea to go to Selim’s assistance, he
warned him not to hope that he would find it an easy task to get him
into his power, as he had secured for himself a refuge in case of
defeat. The moment Solyman set foot on the soil of Asia, he would lay
the country waste with fire and sword as mercilessly as Tamerlane.
Such a message caused Solyman no small anxiety. At the same time news
arrived that the town of Akschehr, which was governed by Selim’s son as
Sanjak-bey, had been taken by Bajazet, and, after a large sum of money
had been exacted, had been ruthlessly sacked.
But when Selim, who had been afraid of his brother’s lying in wait
for him on the road, heard that he was on his way to Amasia, and had
already reached Angora, his suspicions were relieved, and he rapidly
marched on Koniah,[206] which was held for him by a garrison which had
been thrown into it. For not the least of the anxieties which racked
Solyman’s mind was, lest Bajazet should seize Koniah, and so make his
way into Syria, and thence invade Egypt, a province which was open to
attack and of doubtful loyalty, and which, having not yet forgotten
the ancient empire of the Circassians or Mamelukes, was eager for a
revolution.[207] Should Bajazet once establish himself there it would
not be an easy task to dislodge him, especially as the neighbouring
Arabs would readily adopt any cause which held out prospects of booty.
From Egypt too if he were hard pressed, all the coasts of Christendom
were within easy reach. For this reason Solyman took the utmost pains
to bar the road which might be expected to be Bajazet’s last resource,
orders having already been given to several of the governors in Asia
Minor to hold themselves in readiness to take the field when Selim
should give the signal. At the time of which I am now speaking, Selim
had called them out and had encamped before the walls of Koniah,
anxiously watching his brother’s movements. He determined to wait there
for his fathers reinforcements, and not by a premature engagement to
expose his life to the hazard of a battle.
Bajazet, on the other hand, was keenly alive to the magnitude of the
enterprise he had undertaken. He had hired a body of Kurdish horsemen,
who are, probably, descendants of the ancient Gordiæans.[208] They
have a great reputation for valour, and Bajazet felt confident that
their assistance would ensure the success of his arms. The day they
arrived at his camp they went through a sham fight on horseback, which
was so like reality that several of them were slain, and more were
wounded. He pitched his camp in the open country, near Angora, so as
to have at his command the ample resources of that important town. In
the citadel he placed his concubines with their children. From the
wealthier of the merchants he raised a loan, on the terms of repaying
them with interest if Providence should crown his hopes with success.
From the same source he obtained the means of equipping and arming
his forces. He had, after the fashion of Turkish nobles, a numerous
retinue of servants; these were reinforced by the Kurds I mentioned,
and by men whose interests had been advanced by his mother, his sister,
or Roostem. To them were added many of the surviving retainers of
Mustapha and Achmet, brave and experienced soldiers, who burned to risk
their lives in avenging the cruel murders of their masters. Nor was
there wanting a motley following of men, who were discontented with
their actual condition, and were eager for a change. The motive of
some was compassion for the unfortunate Bajazet, whose only remaining
hope lay in an appeal to arms. They were attracted to the young man by
his looks, which strongly resembled his father’s; while, on the other
hand, Selim was totally unlike the Sultan, and inherited the face and
manner of his unpopular mother. In gait he was pompous, in person he
was corpulent, his cheeks were unnaturally red and bloated; amongst
the soldiers he was nick-named ‘The stalled ox.’ He lived a lazy life,
at the same time a sluggard and a sot. In the smaller courtesies of
life he was singularly ungracious; he never did a kindness and he
never gained a friend. He did not wish, he said, to win the favour of
the people at the expense of his father’s feelings. The only man that
loved him was his father. Everyone else hated him, and none so much
as those whose prospects depended on the accession of a generous and
warlike Sultan. The soldiers had been wont to call Bajazet Softi, which
means a studious and quiet person, but when they saw him take up arms
and prepare to fight to the uttermost for his own and his children’s
preservation, they respected his courage and admired his conduct. ‘Why
had the father,’ they murmured, ‘disowned a son who was the living
image of himself? Why had he preferred to him that corpulent drone,
who showed not a trace of his father’s character? To take up arms was
no crime, when nothing else would serve the turn. ‘Twas nothing worse
than what Selim, their grandfather, had done.[209] That precedent would
cover everything, as he had not only taken up arms against his brother,
but also had been compelled by the force of circumstances to hasten his
father’s end. Dreadful as the crime was to which he had been driven,
still, by it he had won the empire for his son and grandsons. But if
Solyman stood rightfully possessed of an empire, which had been won
by such means, why should his son be debarred from adopting the same
course? Why should that be so heavily punished in his case which Heaven
itself had sanctioned in his grandfather’s? Nay, the conduct of Selim
was far worse than that of his grandson Bajazet; the latter had taken
up arms, but not to hurt his father; he had no desire for his death;
he would not harm even his brother, if he would but let him live, and
cease from injuring him. It had ever been held lawful to repel force by
force. What fault could be found with a man for endeavouring to save
himself from ruin when it stared him in the face?’
Such were the sentiments that made men daily flock to the standard of
Bajazet. When his forces had well nigh attained the size of a regular
army, Bajazet felt that he must forthwith attack his brother, and stake
life and empire on the issue of the contest. That he might be defeated
he was well aware, but even in defeat he felt that honour might be
gained. Accordingly, he marched directly against Selim. His object
was to effect a passage into Syria; if this should prove successful,
the rest, he was confident, would be easy. Selim, having, with the
assistance of his father, completed his armaments, awaited his brother
under the walls of Koniah. He had large forces, and a numerous staff of
experienced officers, who had been sent by the Sultan, and his position
was strengthened by well-placed batteries of artillery.
By all this Bajazet was not one whit dismayed; when he came in sight of
the enemy he addressed a few words of encouragement to his men, telling
them to fight bravely. ‘This,’ he declared, ‘was the hour they had
longed for, this was the opportunity for them to prove their valour.
Courage on that day should secure a fortune at his hands. It rested
with them to win or forfeit everything. Everyone who was discontented
with his lot had now an opening for exchanging his former poverty for
wealth and honour. They might expect from him, if they conquered,
dignities, riches, promotion, and all the rewards that valiant men
deserve. However extravagant their hopes, let them win this one
victory, and those hopes should be satisfied. They had abundant means
of gaining it in their gallant hearts and stout arms. Before them stood
only his brother’s following, cowards more debased than their cowardly
leader; it was through the ranks of these poltroons his men must cleave
their way. As for his father’s troops, though _in body_ they stood with
his brother, _in heart_ they were on his side. If Selim were out of the
way, his safety was assured, and their fortunes were made; let them
go and avenge themselves on the common enemy. Let them not fear,’ he
repeated, ‘the multitude of their foe. Victory was won not by numbers
but by valour. Heaven was on the side, not of the larger, but the
braver army. If they bore in mind how cruel and how eager for their
blood was the enemy they were to encounter, victory would not be hard
to gain. Last of all’ said he, ‘I wish you to regard not my words but
my deeds. Take my word for it, the day is yours, if you fight for my
life, as you see me fighting for your profit.’
Having addressed his troops in such terms, he boldly ordered them to
attack the enemy. He led the charge in person, and on that day proved
himself alike a gallant soldier and a skilful leader, winning, by the
courage he displayed, as much admiration from foes as from friends.
The battle was fierce and bloody; for a long time neither party could
gain any decisive advantage; at last victory inclined to the side which
was stronger in arms, stronger in right, and stronger in generalship.
Selim’s troops also received supernatural assistance, if one may
believe the Turkish story, for they aver that a great blast came from
the shrine of one of their ancient heroes, which stood hard by,[210]
and carried the dust into the faces of Bajazet’s soldiers, darkening
the atmosphere and blinding their eyes. After great losses on both
sides, Bajazet was obliged to give the signal for retreat, but he
retired slowly and without disorder, as if he had won a victory instead
of having sustained a defeat. Selim made no attempt to pursue. He was
perfectly satisfied with the success he had gained in repelling his
brother’s troops, and remained in his position as a quiet spectator of
the retreating enemy.[211]
Bajazet had now committed an act of direct disobedience to his father’s
orders, he had given the rein to his own inclinations, and he had been
unsuccessful. He abandoned his project of marching into Syria, and set
out for Amasia in good earnest.
About this time Solyman crossed into Asia, having, it is asserted,
received news of the result of the battle in a marvellously short
space of time. The Pashas held it to be impolitic for the Sultan to
cross until intelligence of Bajazet’s defeat should be received, but
at the same time were of opinion, that when news of it arrived no time
ought to be lost, lest Bajazet’s misfortunes should provoke his secret
partisans to declare themselves, and thus greater troubles ensue. They
argued that nothing would be more effectual than the report of his
crossing for cowing Bajazet and terrifying his friends. The victory,
they urged, should be improved, and no opportunity be given to the
prince of rallying from the blow he had received, lest he should follow
in the steps of Selim, Solyman’s father, who became more formidable
after defeat than ever he was before, and owed his final victory, in no
small measure, to his previous failure.
The Pashas were perfectly correct in their view of the situation. For
though Bajazet had been defeated, his conduct in the field marvellously
increased his popularity and reputation. People spoke of how he had
ventured with a handful of men to encounter the superior forces of his
brother, supported as they were by all the resources of the Sultan.
The strength of his brother’s position, and his formidable array of
artillery, had failed to daunt him, while in this, his first field, his
conduct would not have shamed a veteran general. Though fortune had not
favoured him, yet he was the hero of the battle. Selim might go to his
father, and vaunt his triumph, but what then? True, he had _won_ it,
but Bajazet had _deserved_ it. To whatever cause Selim’s victory was
due, it was certainly not to his valour that he was indebted for his
success.
Such was the common talk, the effect of which was to increase Bajazet’s
popularity, and at the same time to make his father more anxious
than ever. His hatred was inflamed, and he began to long for his
destruction. His determination remained unaltered. Selim was the elder,
and had ever been a dutiful and obedient son, and he and no one else
should be his heir; while Bajazet, who had been a disobedient son
and had endeavoured to supplant him on the throne, was the object of
his aversion. He was well aware that the peril of the situation was
increased by the reputation Bajazet had gained, and the open support
which he himself had given to Selim. For these reasons he had crossed
the sea: his object was to give moral support to Selim by his presence
in Asia, but he had no intention of marching up the country. He could
not trust his troops, and if he ventured to lead them to the scene of
action, they might at any moment declare for Bajazet.
He left Constantinople June 5, 1559, on which occasion, in spite of
my cavasse, I managed to be among the spectators. But why should I
not tell you of my two skirmishes after the fashion of the _Miles
Gloriosus_ of Plautus? At any rate, I have nothing better to do, unless
worry counts for work. Under such circumstances letter-writing is a
relief.
When it became generally known that the Sultan was about to cross the
sea, and the day was fixed, I intimated to the cavasse my wish to see
the Sultan’s departure. It was his habit to take charge of the keys
every evening, so, when the time came, I bade him attend me early in
the morning and let me out. To this he readily agreed. My Janissaries
and interpreters, by my orders, hired for me a room commanding a view
of the street by which the Sultan was to pass. When the day came I was
awake before daybreak, and waited for the cavasse to open the gates.
Time passed and he did not come. So I availed myself of the services
of the Janissaries who slept at my gate and the interpreters who were
waiting to obtain admittance, and despatched messenger after messenger
to fetch the cavasse. I had, by the way, to give my orders through
the chinks of the crazy old gates. The cavasse kept putting me off
with excuses, at one time saying he was just coming, and at another
that he had business which hindered him. Meanwhile it was getting
late, and we knew, by the salutes fired by the Janissaries, that the
Sultan had mounted his steed. Hereupon I lost patience, for I saw that
I was being humbugged. Even the Janissaries on guard were sorry for
my disappointment, and thought that I had been treated scurvily; so
they told me that, if my people would push from the inside while they
pulled from the outside, it would be possible to burst the locks of the
gate, which was old and weak. I approved of the plan; my people pushed
with a will, and the gate gave way. Out we rushed, and made for the
house where I had hired a room. The cavasse had intended to disappoint
me, not that he was a bad sort of fellow, but when he had informed
the Pashas of my wishes they had refused consent, not liking that a
Christian should be among the spectators on such an occasion. They did
not wish me to see their Sovereign on his march against his son and at
the head of a mere handful of troops, so they recommended him to put
me off by courteous promises till the Sultan had embarked, and then to
invent some excuse, but the trick recoiled on its author.
When we arrived at the house we found it barred and bolted, so that we
had as much difficulty in getting in, as we had just had in getting
out! When no one answered our knocks, the Janissaries came to me again,
and promised, if I would undertake the responsibility, either to break
open the doors or climb in through a window and let us in. I told them
not to break in, but did not object to their entering by a window. In
less time than I can tell it they were through the window, and had
unbarred the doors. When I went upstairs, I found the house full of
Jews, in fact, a regular synagogue. At first they were dumbfoundered,
and could not make out how I had passed through bolts and bars! When
the matter was explained, a well-dressed elderly lady, who talked
Spanish, came up and took me roundly to task for breaking into the
house. I rejoined that I was the aggrieved party, and told her that the
landlady ought to have kept her bargain, and not tried to fool me in
this way. Well, she would have none of my excuses, and I had no time to
waste on words.
I was accommodated with a window at the back of the house, commanding a
view of the street by which the Sultan was to pass. From this I had the
pleasure of seeing the magnificent column which was marching out. The
Ghourebas and Ouloufedgis rode in double, and the Silihdars and Spahis
in single file. The cavalry of the Imperial guard consists of these
four regiments, each of which forms a distinct body, and has separate
quarters.[212] They are believed to amount to about 6,000 men, more or
less. Besides these, I saw a large force, consisting of the household
slaves belonging to the Sultan himself, the Pashas, and the other court
dignitaries. The spectacle presented by a Turkish horseman is indeed
magnificent.[213] His high-bred steed generally comes from Cappadocia
or Syria, and its trappings and saddle sparkle with gold and jewels in
silver settings. The rider himself is resplendent in a dress of cloth
of gold or silver, or else of silk or velvet. The very lowest of them
is clothed in scarlet, violet, or blue robes of the finest cloth.
Right and left hang two handsome cases, one of which holds his bow, and
the other is full of painted arrows. Both of these cases are curiously
wrought, and come from Babylon, as does also the targe, which is
fitted to the left arm, and is proof only against arrows or the blows
of a mace or sword. In the right hand, unless he prefers to keep it
disengaged, is a light spear, which is generally painted green. Round
his waist is girt a jewelled scimitar, while a mace of steel hangs from
his saddle-bow. ‘What are so many weapons for?’ you will ask. I reply
for your information, that he is trained by long practice to use them
all. You will ask again, ‘How can a man use both bow and spear? will
he seize the bow after he has cast or broken his spear?’ Not so; he
keeps the spear in his grasp as long as he can, but when circumstances
require that it should be exchanged for the bow, he thrusts the spear,
which is light and handy, between the saddle and his thigh, so that
the point sticks out behind, and by the pressure of his knee keeps it
in this position for any length of time he chooses. But when he has
need of the spear, he puts the bow into its case, or slings it on his
left arm across his shield. It is not, however, my object to explain
at length their skill in arms, which is the result of long service
and constant drilling. The covering they wear on the head is made of
the whitest and lightest cotton-cloth, in the middle of which rises a
fluted peak of fine purple silk. It is a favourite fashion to ornament
this head-dress with black plumes.
When the cavalry had ridden past, they were followed by a long
procession of Janissaries,[214] but few of whom carried any arms except
their regular weapon, the musket. They were dressed in uniforms of
almost the same shape and colour, so that you might recognise them to
be the slaves, and as it were the household, of the same master. Among
them no extraordinary or startling dress was to be seen, and nothing
slashed or pierced.[215] They say their clothes wear out quite fast
enough without their tearing them themselves. There is only one thing
in which they are extravagant, viz., plumes, head-dresses, &c., and
the veterans who formed the rear guard were specially distinguished by
ornaments of this kind. The plumes which they insert in their frontlets
might well be mistaken for a walking forest. Then followed on horseback
their captains and colonels, distinguished by the badges of their
rank. Last of all, rode their Aga by himself. Then succeeded the chief
dignitaries of the Court, and among them the Pashas, and then the royal
body-guard, consisting of infantry, who wore a special uniform and
carried bows ready strung, all of them being archers. Next came the
Sultan’s grooms leading a number of fine horses with handsome trappings
for their master’s use. He was mounted himself on a noble steed; his
look was stern, and there was a frown on his brow; it was easy to see
that his anger had been aroused. Behind him came three pages, one
of whom carried a flask of water, another a cloak, and the third a
box. These were followed by some eunuchs of the bed-chamber, and the
procession was closed by a squadron of horse about two hundred strong.
Having had a capital view of the whole spectacle, which I thoroughly
enjoyed, my only anxiety was to appease my hostess. For I heard that
the lady, who had addressed me in Spanish at my entrance, was on very
intimate terms with Roostem’s wife, and I was afraid that she might
tell tales about me in his family, and create an impression that I
had not behaved as I ought. I invited my hostess to an interview, and
reminded her of her breach of contract in bolting the door in my face,
when she had for a fixed sum agreed to leave it open; but told her
that, however little she might have deserved it, I intended to keep my
part of the engagement, though she had neglected hers, and not only to
pay her in full, but to give her a little extra douceur as well. I had
promised seven pieces of gold, and she should receive ten, to prevent
her regretting my having forced my way into her house. When she saw
her hand filled with more gold than she had hoped for, she suddenly
altered her tone, and overwhelmed me with thanks and civilities, while
the rest of her Hebrew friends followed suit. The lady also, whom I
mentioned as being intimate with Roostem’s family, echoing the praises
of my hostess, thanked me profusely in her name. Some Cretan wine and
sweetmeats were then produced for my refreshment. These I declined, and
hurried home as fast I could, followed by the good wishes of the party,
planning as I went a fresh battle with my cavasse, to whom I should
have to answer for having broken open the doors in his absence.
I found him sitting disconsolately in the vestibule, and he at once
assailed me with a long complaint, saying, I ought not to have gone
out without his consent or have broken the doors. He declared that it
was a breach of the law of nations, &c. I answered shortly that had
he chosen to come in time, as he had promised, there would have been
no need for me to burst the doors; and I made him understand that it
was all his fault for not keeping his word, and for trifling with me.
I concluded by asking whether they considered me an ambassador or a
prisoner? ‘An ambassador,’ he answered. ‘If a prisoner,’ I rejoined,
‘it is useless employing me to make peace, as a prisoner is not a free
agent; but if you consider me an ambassador, why am I not at liberty?
Why am I prevented leaving my house when I please? It is usual,’ I
repeated, ‘for prisoners to be kept shut up, but not for ambassadors.
Indeed the freedom of ambassadors is a right recognised by the law of
nations.’ I told him also to remember that he had been attached to me,
not as a jailor or policeman, but, as he was always saying himself, to
assist me by his services, and to take care that no injury was done to
myself or my servants. He then turned to the Janissaries, and began
quarrelling with them for giving me advice, and helping my men to open
the doors. They said that I had not needed their advice, I had ordered
them to open the doors and they had obeyed. They told him, with perfect
truth, that in doing this but little exertion had been required, as the
bars had given way under very slight pressure, and that nothing had
been broken or injured. Thus the cavasse’s remonstrances were stopped
whether he would or no, and nothing more was heard of the matter.
A few days later I was summoned across the sea myself. They considered
it politic that I should pass some time in their camp, and be treated
courteously as the ambassador of a friendly prince. Accordingly, a very
comfortable lodging was assigned me in a village adjoining the camp.
The Turks were encamped in the neighbouring fields. As I stayed there
three months, I had opportunities of visiting their camp, and making
myself acquainted with their discipline. You will hardly be satisfied
if I do not give you a few particulars on the subject. Having put
on the dress usually worn by Christians in those parts, I used to
sally out incognito with one or two companions. The first thing that
struck me was, that each corps had its proper quarters, from which
the soldiers composing it were not allowed to move. Everywhere order
prevailed, there was perfect silence, no disturbances, no quarrels,
no bullying; a state of things which must seem well nigh incredible
to those, whose experience is limited to Christian camps. You could
not hear so much as a coarse word, or a syllable of drunken abuse.
Besides, there was the greatest cleanliness, no dunghills, no heaps of
refuse, nothing to offend the eyes or nose. Everything of the kind is
either buried or removed out of sight. Holes are dug in the ground, as
occasion requires, for the use of the men, which are again filled in
with earth. Thus the whole camp is free from dirt. Again, no drinking
parties or banquets, and no sort of gambling, which is the great fault
of our soldiers, are to be seen. The Turks are unacquainted with the
art of losing their money at cards and dice.
A little while ago I came across some soldiers from the borders of
Hungary, amongst whom was a rough fellow, who, with a woe-begone face,
sang or rather howled, to the accompaniment of a melancholy lyre, a
lugubrious ditty, purporting to be the last words of a comrade dying of
his wounds in a grassy meadow by the bank of the Danube. He called upon
the Danube, as he flowed to the country of his kinsfolk, to remember to
tell his friends and clansmen that he, while fighting for the extension
of his religion and the honour of his tribe, had met with a death
neither inglorious nor unavenged. Groaning over this his companions
kept repeating, ‘O man, thrice happy and thrice blessed, how gladly
would we exchange our lot for thine!’ The Turks firmly believe that no
souls ascend to heaven so quickly as those of brave heroes who have
fallen in war, and that for their safety the Houris daily make prayers
and vows to God.
I had a fancy also to be conducted through the shambles where the
sheep were slaughtered, that I might see what meat there was for sale.
I saw but four or five sheep at most, which had been flayed and hung
up, although it was the slaughter-house of the Janissaries, of whom I
think there were no fewer than four thousand in the camp. I expressed
my astonishment that so little meat was sufficient for such a number
of men, and was told in reply that few used it, for a great part of
them had their victuals brought over from Constantinople. When I asked
what they were, they pointed out to me a Janissary, who was engaged
in eating his dinner; he was devouring, off a wooden or earthen
trencher, a mess of turnips, onions, garlic, parsnips, and cucumbers,
seasoned with salt and vinegar, though, for the matter of that, I fancy
that hunger was the chief sauce that seasoned his dish, for, to all
appearance, he enjoyed his vegetables as much as if he had been dining
off pheasants and partridges. Water, that common beverage of men and
animals, is their only drink. This abstemious diet is good both for
their health and their pockets.
I was at the camp just before their fast, or Lent[216] as we should
call it, and thus was still more struck with the behaviour of the men.
In Christian lands at this season, not only camps, but even orderly
cities, ring with games and dances, songs and shouts; everywhere are
heard the sounds of revelling, drunkenness, and delirium. In short, the
world runs mad. It is not improbable that there is some foundation
for the story, that a Turk, who happened to come to us on a diplomatic
mission at one of these seasons, related on his return home, that the
Christians, on certain days, go raving mad, and are restored to their
senses and their health by a kind of ashes, which are sprinkled on them
in their temples. He told his friends that it was quite remarkable to
see the beneficial effects of this remedy; the change was so great
that one would hardly imagine them to be the same people. He referred
of course to Ash Wednesday and Shrove Tuesday. His hearers were the
more astonished, because the Turks are acquainted with several drugs
which have the power of rendering people insane, while they know of few
capable of speedily restoring the reason.
During the days which immediately precede the season of abstinence,
they do not alter their former mode of life, or allow themselves any
extra indulgence in the way of food and drink. Nay rather, on the
contrary, by diminishing their usual allowance they prepare themselves
for the fast, for fear they should not be able to bear the sudden
change. Their fast recurs every twelve months; and, as twelve lunar
months do not make up a year, it annually comes some fifteen days
earlier. Hence it follows that, if the fast is at the beginning of
Spring, six years later it will be kept at the commencement of Summer.
The Turks limit their fast to the period of one lunar month, and the
most severe fasts are those which fall in summer, on account of the
length of the days. Inasmuch as they keep it so strictly as to touch
nothing, not even water—nay, they hold it unlawful even to wash out
the mouth—till the stars appear at even, it follows of course that a
fast which occurs when the days are longest, hottest, and most dusty,
is extremely trying, especially to those who are obliged to earn their
livelihood by manual labour. However, they are allowed to eat what they
please before sunrise, or to speak accurately, before the stars are
dimmed by the light of that luminary, the idea being that the Sun ought
to see no one eating during the whole of the fast. On this account the
fast, when it falls in winter, is not so hard to bear.
On a cloudy day of course some mistake might be made about sunset. To
meet this difficulty the priests, who act as sacristans, put lighted
paper lanterns on the pinnacles of the minarets. (It is from these
minarets that they utter the loud cry which summons the people to
prayer, and they therefore answer to our belfries.[217]) These lights
are intended to remove all doubt as to the time being come when food
may be taken. Then at last, after first entering a mosque and reciting
their customary prayers, they return to supper. On summer days I
remember seeing them making in crowds from the mosque to a tavern,
opposite our abode, where snow was kept for sale (of which, by the
way, there is an unfailing supply from Mount Olympus, in Asia), and
asking for iced water, which they drank, sitting cross-legged, for
the Turks have a scruple about eating or drinking standing, if they
can help it. But as the evening was too far gone for me to be able to
see what they were squatting down for, I got some of my acquaintance,
who understood Turkish customs, to enlighten me, and found that each
took a great draught of cold water to open a passage for their food,
which otherwise would stick in their throats, parched as they were by
heat and fasting, and also that their appetite was stimulated by the
cold drink. No special kinds of food are appointed to be eaten during
the fast; nor does their religion prescribe abstinence during that
season from anything which they are allowed to eat at other times.
Should they happen to have any illness which prevents their observing
the fast, they may disregard it, on condition, however, of making up,
when they get well, the number of fasting days which their health has
compelled them to miss. Likewise, when they are in an enemy’s country
and an engagement is apprehended, they are ordered to postpone their
fast to some other time, lest they should be hungry and faint on the
day of battle. If they hesitate to do so, the Sultan himself takes
food publicly at midday before the eyes of the army, that all may be
encouraged by his example to do the same. But as at other times of
the year they are forbidden, by their religion, to drink wine, and
cannot taste it without committing a sin, so they are most scrupulous
in observing this rule all the days of the fast, and even the most
careless and profligate people not only abstain from wine, but shun the
very smell of it.
I remember that, after I had made many enquiries as to the reason why
Mahomet had so strictly forbidden his followers to drink wine, I was
one day told this story. Mahomet happened to be travelling to a friend,
and halted on his way at midday at a man’s house, where a wedding feast
was being celebrated. At his host’s invitation he sat down with them,
and greatly admired the exceeding gaiety of the banqueters and their
earnest demonstrations of affection—such as shaking of hands, embraces,
and kisses. He asked his host the reason, and was informed that such
feelings were the consequence of wine. Accordingly on his departure
he blessed that beverage as being the cause of such affection among
mankind. But on his return the day after, when he entered the same
house, a far different sight was presented to his eyes; on all sides
were the traces of a cruel fight, the ground was stained with gore and
strewn with human limbs; here lay an arm and there a foot; and other
fragments were scattered all about. On his asking what had been the
cause of so much mischief, he heard that the banqueters he had seen
the day before had got maddened with wine and quarrelled, and that a
fearful butchery had been the consequence. On this account, Mahomet
changed his opinion and cursed the use of wine, making a decree for all
time that his followers should not touch it.
So, drinking being prohibited, peace and silence reign in a Turkish
camp, and this is more especially the case during their Lent. Such
is the result produced by military discipline, and the stern laws
bequeathed them by their ancestors. The Turks allow no crime and
no disgraceful act to go unpunished. The penalties are degradation
from office, loss of rank, confiscation of property, the bastinado,
and death. The most usual is the bastinado, from which not even the
Janissaries themselves are exempt, though they are not subject to
capital punishment. Their lighter faults are punished with the stick,
their graver with dismissal from the service or removal to a different
corps, a penalty they consider worse than death, by which indeed such
a sentence is almost always followed. For when the Janissaries are
stripped of their uniform, they are banished to distant garrisons
on the furthest frontiers, where their life is one of ignominy and
disgrace; or if the crime is so atrocious as to render it necessary to
make an example of the culprit, an excuse is found for putting him to
death in the place to which he has been banished. But the punishment
of death is inflicted on him not as a Janissary, but as a common
soldier.
The endurance of the Turks in undergoing punishment is truly
marvellous. They often receive more than a hundred blows on their
soles, ankles, and buttocks, so that sometimes several sticks of
dogwood are broken on them, and the executioner has to say repeatedly,
‘Give me the other stick.’[218] Although remedies are at hand, yet
it sometimes happens that many pounds of gangrened flesh have to be
cut off from the places which have been beaten. They are obliged
notwithstanding to go to the officer by whose orders they have been
punished, and to kiss his hand and thank him, and also to pay the
executioner a fixed fee for every stroke. As to the stick with which
they are beaten, they consider it a sacred thing, and are quite
convinced that the first bastinado stick fell down from the same place
from which the Romans believed their sacred shields descended, I mean
from heaven. That they may have some consolation for such pain, they
also believe that the parts, which have been touched by the stick, will
after this life be safe from the fires of purgatory.
In saying that the camp was free from quarrels and tumults, it is
necessary to make one exception, for some trouble was caused by my
people. A few of them had gone out of the camp to stroll along the
shore without Janissaries, having only taken with them some Italian
renegadoes. Among the various advantages which such renegadoes enjoy,
the greatest perhaps is the power of ransoming prisoners. They go
to the people who have possession of the captives, and pretend
that they are their relations or connections, or at any rate their
fellow-countrymen. After speaking of the great pain it gives them
to see their friends in such a position, they ask the masters to
take their value and emancipate them, or else to make them over to
themselves. To such a request the masters make no difficulty in
agreeing; whereas, if a Christian were to ask the same favour, they
would either refuse it or demand a much higher price. To return to my
subject, when my men had gone out they came upon some Janissaries,
who, by way of performing their ablutions, had taken a swim in the
sea. They had left their turbans behind, and their only head-dress was
a piece of linen roughly folded. The Janissaries seeing my men were
Christians began to abuse them. For the Turks not only consider it
lawful to call Christians by insulting names and otherwise abuse them,
but even think it meritorious, on the ground that they may possibly be
shamed into changing their religion for the faith of the Turks, when
they see what insults they are exposed to on its account. My men, when
thus assailed, abused them in return, and at last from words they came
to blows, the Italians I mentioned taking the side of my men. The end
of it was, that the head-wrapper of one of the Janissaries was lost
in the scuffle, how or where I cannot say. The Janissaries, having
traced my people to my quarters, went to their commanding officer and
charged them with having caused this loss. The officer ordered them
to summon my interpreter, who had been present at the skirmish. They
seized him, as he was sitting at the door, while I was looking down
from the verandah above. I felt that this was a very gross insult;
here was one of my people being carried off without my permission, and
not only so, but carried off, as I knew right well, having heard of
the affair from my servants, to receive a flogging. This was certain
to be his fate, for he was a Turkish subject. I went down and laying
my hand on him told them to let him go, which they did; but they went
off to their commander more savage than ever. He directed them to take
some more men, and bring before him the renegade Italians I mentioned,
charging them at the same time to be careful not to use violence to me
or the house where I was staying. Accordingly they came again making a
great uproar, and standing on the road demanded the surrender of the
men with loud cries and threats. But the Italians foreseeing what would
happen, had already crossed the Bosphorus to Constantinople. This went
on for a long time with much bad language on both sides, till at last
the cavasse I was then employing, an old man on the brink of the grave,
becoming nervous at the uproar, thrust into their hands, without my
knowledge, some pieces of gold as the price of the lost head-wrapper,
and thus our peace was made.
One reason for telling you this adventure is, that it gave me an
opportunity of learning from Roostem himself the light in which the
Janissaries are regarded by the Sultan. For when he heard of this
disturbance he sent a man warning me, to use his own words, ‘to remove
every cause of offence which might occasion a quarrel with those
atrocious scoundrels. Was I not aware, that it was war time, when
they were masters, so that not even Solyman himself had control over
them, and was actually himself afraid of receiving violence at their
hands?’ These were no random words of Roostem’s; he knew what he was
talking about, for his master’s anxieties were no secret to him. What
the Sultan dreaded most in the world was secret disaffection among
the Janissaries; disaffection which would lie hidden for a time, and
then break out at a critical moment when he had no power to counteract
it. His alarm is certainly not without foundation; for while there
are great advantages to a Sovereign in the possession of a standing
army, there are on the other hand, if proper precautions be not taken,
considerable disadvantages. The greatest of all is, that the soldiers
have it in their power to depose their Sovereign and place another on
the throne; and the fear of a revolution of this kind must be ever
present to the minds of the masters. Striking instances might be quoted
of Sovereigns who were dethroned by their own troops; but it is by no
means impossible to guard against such occurrences.
During my stay at the camp, Albert de Wyss,[219] a gentleman and a good
scholar, arrived. If I am not mistaken, he is a native of Amersfort.
He brought as presents from the Emperor to the Sultan some gilded cups
and a clock of skilful workmanship, which was mounted like a tower on
the back of an elephant, and also some money for distribution among
the Pashas. Solyman desired me to present these gifts to him in the
camp, in the sight of the army, as a fresh proof to his subjects that
he and the Emperor were firm friends. He was anxious that such an idea
should prevail, and also that an impression should be produced, that no
warlike movement on the part of the Christians was likely to take place.
I now return to the point from which I began this digression, namely to
Bajazet, who had retreated from the battle field of Koniah to Amasia,
his own government, apparently with the resolution of remaining quiet
there, if his father should allow him to do so. He had obeyed the
dictates of his passion and his youthful ambition; now he seemed to
intend for the future to play the part of a dutiful son. He continually
endeavoured to ascertain his father’s disposition by letters and
agents. Solyman did not show himself averse to a reconciliation. At
first he made no difficulty in giving the messengers audience, read the
letters and did not answer them harshly, so that a report was prevalent
throughout the camp that the father would be reconciled to the son,
and pardon his youthful indiscretion, on his promising to be loyal for
the future. But in reality the crafty old man was playing a very deep
game suggested to him by the Pashas, he was deluding Bajazet with hopes
of forgiveness until the toils should be prepared, and he should be
ready to seize his prisoner alive. For it was apprehended that, if he
was driven to despair, he would make his escape to the territory of
the King of Persia, which was his only refuge, before the governors
of the intervening country had time to guard and watch the roads.
Solyman kept sending messenger after messenger to them, urging them not
to leave any loophole however small for Bajazet to escape to Persia.
Meanwhile anyone suspected of a leaning towards Bajazet who fell into
the Sultan’s hands was secretly executed, after being questioned by
torture. Among them were some whom Bajazet had sent to clear his
character.
The kingdom of Persia, though Solyman has torn away from it much
territory by war, namely Babylonia itself, Mesopotamia, and part of
Media, includes at the present time all the tribes that dwell between
the Caspian Sea and the Persian Gulf, with some portion of Greater
Armenia. The Sovereign of this country is Shah Tahmasp, who, besides
the territory I mentioned, reigns over regions still more remote, as
far as the dominions of the Prince who is called by the Turks Humayoum
Padischah.[220] The father of the present Shah was defeated many years
ago by Selim in a great battle on the plains of Tschaldiran,[221] and
from that time the fortunes of Persia have been declining, under the
powerful attacks of the Emperor Solyman, for Tahmasp has defended
himself with but little vigour and in no way displayed the spirit of
his father. At the present time he is said to be leading the life of
a mere voluptuary; he never leaves his harem, where he divides his
time between dallying with his favourites and forecasting the future
by means of lots. Meanwhile he neglects to enforce the laws or to
administer justice, and consequently, brigandage and outrages of
every kind prevail throughout the different tribes that are subject
to his sway, and so the poor and helpless throughout Persia are
suffering every kind of oppression at the hands of the strong, and it
is useless for innocence to resort to the King for protection. This
culpable neglect of his duty as a ruler has so little impaired either
his influence or the superstitious veneration with which his person
is regarded, that they think that a blessing falls on those who have
kissed the doorposts of his palace, and they keep the water in which he
has washed his hands as a sovereign cure for divers diseases. Of his
numerous offspring one son is called Ismael after his grandfather, and
on him has also descended his grandfather’s spirit. He is extremely
handsome, and is a deadly enemy of the house of Othman. They say that
when he first entered the world his baby hand was found to be full of
blood, and this was commonly regarded by his countrymen as a sign that
he would be a man of war. Nor did he belie the prediction, for hardly
had he grown up to manhood when he inflicted a bloody defeat on his
Turkish enemies. One of the articles of the treaty between his father
and Solyman was, that he should not be allowed to attack the Turks,
and in accordance with this stipulation he was sent to a distance from
the frontier and there confined in prison. He is, however, the person
marked out by the aspirations of the nation as successor to the throne
on his father’s decease.
Accordingly Solyman was afraid that the Shah, who, by the way, is
better known to us as the Sophi, would have a keener recollection of
their ancient quarrels than of the peace which he had been recently
compelled to make, and that consequently, if his son should escape into
Persia, he would not allow him to be taken away without a great deal
of trouble, and that possibly a long and harassing war would be the
result. He therefore took the utmost pains to apprehend Bajazet, before
he should escape thither. He remembered that the support, which, a few
years before, he himself had given to Elkass, the brother of Tahmasp,
who had taken refuge with him,[222] had been the cause of many years of
annoyance and anxiety to Tahmasp, and his conscience told him that this
would be an opportunity for the latter to retaliate, and perhaps to
make an attempt to recover the territory which he had lost in war.
Although the designs of Solyman were kept very secret, they were not
unobserved by Bajazet’s friends, who repeatedly warned him not to trust
his father, to be on his guard against plots, and to take betimes the
best measures in his power for his safety. A little matter is often the
immediate cause of a very serious step, and so it was in this case.
What drove him to take his friends’ advice was, as I have heard, the
circumstance that one of his spies, who was arrested in the camp, was
by Solyman’s orders publicly executed by impalement, on the pretext
that he had been enlisted by Bajazet after he had been strictly
forbidden to enroll any more soldiers. When informed of his follower’s
execution, Bajazet immediately felt that his only chance was to fly for
his life. Solyman, on the other hand, thinking he had now made certain
of his not escaping, or perhaps to deceive him the more, ordered his
army to return to Constantinople the day after the festival of Bairam.
At Amasia, on the very day of the feast, as soon as the usual
ceremonies were finished, Bajazet ordered his baggage to be packed up
and began his ill-starred journey to Persia; he knew right well that he
was going to the ancient enemy of the house of Othman, but he was fully
resolved to throw himself on any one’s mercy rather than fall into his
father’s hands. Every man marched out who was capable of bearing arms;
none but women and children unequal to the fatigues of a long journey
were left behind. Among the latter was a newly born son of Bajazet,
with his mother; his father preferred to leave the innocent babe to
his grand-father’s mercy, rather than take him as a companion of his
anxious and miserable flight. This child Solyman ordered to be taken
care of at Broussa, feeling as yet uncertain what his father’s fate
might be.
I should have returned to Constantinople on the day before the
Bairam,[223] had I not been detained by my wish to see that day’s
ceremonies. The Turks were about to celebrate the rites of the festival
on an open and level plain before the tents of Solyman; and I could
hardly hope that such an occasion of seeing them would ever present
itself again. I gave my servants orders to promise a soldier some
money and so get me a place in his tent, on a mound which commanded
a good view of Solyman’s pavilions. Thither I repaired at sunrise.
I saw assembled on the plain a mighty multitude of turbaned heads,
attentively following, in the most profound silence, the words of
the priest who was leading their devotions. They kept their ranks,
each in his proper position; the lines of troops looked like so many
hedges or walls parting out the wide plain, on which they were drawn
up. According to its rank in the service each corps was posted nearer
to, or farther from, the place where the Sultan stood. The troops were
dressed in brilliant uniforms, their head-dresses rivalling snow in
whiteness. The scene which met my eyes was charming, the different
colours having a most pleasing effect. The men were so motionless that
they seemed rooted to the ground on which they stood. There was no
coughing, no clearing the throat, and no voice to be heard, and no one
looked behind him or moved his head. When the priest pronounced the
name of Mahomet all alike bowed their heads to their knees at the same
moment, and when he uttered the name of God they fell on their faces
in worship and kissed the ground. The Turks join in their devotions
with great ceremony and attention, for if they even raise a finger to
scratch their head, their prayer, they think, will not be accepted.
‘For,’ say they, ‘if you had to converse with Pashas would you not
do so with your body in a respectful attitude? how much more are we
bounden to observe the same reverence towards God, who is so far above
the highest earthly eminence?’ Such is their logic. When prayers were
finished, the serried ranks broke up, and the whole plain was gradually
covered with their surging masses. Presently the Sultan’s servants
appeared bringing their master’s dinner, when, lo and behold! the
Janissaries laid their hands on the dishes, seized their contents
and devoured them, amid much merriment. This licence is allowed by
ancient custom as part of that day’s festivity, and the Sultan’s wants
are otherwise provided for. I returned to Constantinople full of the
brilliant spectacle, which I had thoroughly enjoyed.
I have a little more news to give you about Bajazet and then I will
release you, as you are probably as tired of reading as I am of
writing. Bajazet, as you have heard, having started from Amasia with
his escort in light marching order, travelled with such speed that his
arrival almost everywhere anticipated the tidings of his approach, and
many who had been ordered to look out for his passage were taken by
surprise, before their preparations were completed. He gave the Pasha
of Siwas the slip by the following stratagem. There were two roads,
of which the Pasha had occupied the one which was of importance to
Bajazet; the latter, however, sent some pretended deserters to tell
the Pasha that he had already passed by the other road. As the Pasha
thought this not improbable, he left his position on the road he had
occupied, and hastily led his forces across to the other road, by which
he believed Bajazet to be going, and so left him a free passage.
He likewise imposed on the Pasha of Erzeroum by a somewhat similar
stratagem. When he was not far off and knew there was much danger
awaiting him in his passage through that Pashalik, he had recourse
to the following device; he sent messengers to salute him, and told
them to relate his misfortunes in the most pathetic manner, in hopes
of exciting his sympathy. They were to conclude their appeal by
asking permission to get shoes for the horses, telling the Pasha, the
Prince’s troops were quite worn out by the hardships of the march,
and that he intended remaining a day or two where there was plenty of
fodder, in order to rest his horses, and to put new shoes on them. The
Pasha courteously replied that he did not forbid him to take what he
wanted; whether he was influenced by pity for Bajazet’s misfortunes,
or by inclination to his party, as some people thought, I cannot say;
perhaps, after all, his design was to throw Bajazet off his guard and
so take him prisoner, or time may have been needed to concentrate his
troops, who had been surprised by Bajazet’s rapid march. He also sent
him some small presents as a compliment, and congratulated him on his
safe arrival; but Bajazet, instead of making any halt, pressed on,
allowing his troops no rest by day and only a short one by night.
When the Pasha of Erzeroum became aware that Bajazet was hurrying
on, he quickened his movements and joined the other Pashas who were
following in pursuit, for, as soon as it was known that Bajazet had
left Amasia, Solyman sent several Sanjak-beys and Pashas after him,
threatening them with the loss of their heads if they did not bring him
back, alive or dead. But this was all in vain on account of Bajazet’s
hasty departure, and also because the fugitive’s speed was greater than
that of his pursuers. But after all, Bajazet’s flight cost none more
dear than the above-mentioned Pasha of Erzeroum, who was removed from
his Pashalik by Solyman, and put to death by Selim, with his two young
sons, after they had first been horribly ill-treated. Meanwhile, both
Selim and Mehemet Pasha and the Beyler-bey of Greece, although a long
way behind, continued their pursuit of Bajazet.
His departure came upon Solyman as a very heavy blow, for he surmised
correctly that Bajazet was making for Persia; he could scarcely be kept
from marching, with the whole Imperial guard, both foot and horse,
and making a demonstration against the King of Persia. But his rash
impetuosity was moderated by his counsellors, who pointed out what
danger might arise from the disaffection of the soldiery. There was
also the risk of Bajazet’s marching round by the North of the Black
Sea and the Sea of Azoff, and suddenly making a desperate attack on
Constantinople; it would then be in his power to create an army by
offering their freedom to the slaves and the recruits whom they call
_Agiamoglans_,[224] and to penetrate into the deserted capital. By such
warnings they induced Solyman to abandon his design. Moreover, Bajazet
left notices on the doorposts of the mosques, wherever he passed,
promising to give double pay to any soldiers who went over to his
side. These proclamations made the officers anxious, as they felt they
could not trust their men, and this feeling was increased by the fact
that remarks were constantly heard in the ranks, which showed a strong
tendency in Bajazet’s favour.
At last Bajazet reached the river Araxes, which divides the Turkish
territory from Persia. Even after he had passed it he did not feel
secure, and, to prevent the Sanjak-beys, who were in pursuit, from
crossing, he placed on the bank of the river, as guards, some of his
men who had volunteered for that duty. They were, however, easily
routed by the Sanjak-beys, who penetrated a considerable distance
beyond the Persian frontiers, till they met Persian officers with a
large body of cavalry, who demanded what they meant and what they
wanted in foreign territory. The Turks replied that they were trying
to recover the runaway son of their Sovereign. The Persians retorted
that the Turks were violating the treaty by crossing the frontier with
arms in their hands. There was peace and friendship, they said, between
Shah Tahmasp and their master, and this state of things ought to be
respected. The Shah’s decision about Bajazet would be one worthy of
himself, and he would loyally fulfil his obligations. Meanwhile they
would do well if they departed from a country in which they had no
right to be. By these arguments the Turks were induced to return.
Soon afterwards there came to Bajazet envoys sent by the Persian
King to salute him and enquire the reason of his coming, and also to
ascertain what forces he brought with him.[225] Bajazet told them that
he had been driven from his country by his brother’s wrongful acts and
his father’s partiality, and had fled to the protection of the King
of Persia, as the only sanctuary he had left, and expressed his hope
that the Shah, remembering the uncertainties of human fortune, would
not refuse the prayers of a suppliant who had no one else to help him.
In reply to this appeal he received a message from the Shah, saying
that he had acted but inconsiderately in coming to him, as he knew that
there was peace and friendship between himself and his father, and also
that they had agreed to hold each other’s friends and foes as their
own, which terms he felt bound to observe. However, as circumstances
had taken this course, he bade him come in God’s name, give him his
hand and become his guest; he promised that he would leave nothing
undone to restore him to favour with his father.
Accordingly Bajazet paid a visit to the Shah,—a visit which was
destined to be his ruin. At first everything presented an aspect
of welcome, the Shah’s countenance wore a cheerful and friendly
expression, gifts were exchanged as between host and guest, and they
had frequent interviews and feasted at the same table, but these
courtesies only served as screens for their secret intentions. A
marriage alliance was also spoken of, one of the daughters of the
Persian King being betrothed to Orchan, Bajazet’s son, and Bajazet’s
hopes were confirmed that the Shah would not rest till Solyman had
given him the Pashalik of Mesopotamia, Babylonia, or Erzeroum. The
Shah represented the advantages of these governments in glowing terms,
telling him that he could live there without any fear, since he
would be at a distance from his brother and father, while, if he was
threatened with any danger, his retreat was secured, as he could depend
on the protection of his son’s father-in-law, who would defend him and
keep him safe from every possible peril.
The object of such language on the part of the Shah was, in all
probability, to prevent Bajazet’s perceiving the danger he was
incurring. Indeed he believed himself so sure of Tahmasp’s goodwill,
that, when the latter was sending an ambassador to Solyman at
Constantinople for the purpose, as was generally believed, of effecting
a reconciliation between him and his son, he desired the envoy to tell
Solyman, that though he had lost one father in Turkey he had found
another in Persia. Whether, however, the Persian King was sincere in
his efforts to restore Bajazet to his father’s favour by means of the
numerous ambassadors he sent, may be reasonably doubted. For my own
part, I consider it more probable that in all this the Shah’s concern
for Bajazet’s welfare was pretended rather than genuine, and that his
real object was to sound Solyman’s intentions; for in the meantime
there was no pause in making all the preparations for his destruction.
When they were sufficiently advanced, it was artfully suggested that
his present quarters were too small for such a number of men, that
provisions were getting scarce, and that it was advisable to distribute
them among the neighbouring villages; this arrangement, it was urged,
would be a more convenient one in many ways, and especially with regard
to the supply of provisions. Shah Tahmasp, who had not his father’s
courage, was indeed dreadfully alarmed, fancying that he was cherishing
a serpent in his bosom. This is my own opinion, though there are people
who maintain that it was not the Shah’s original intention to destroy
Bajazet, but that he was forced to do so by the monstrous wickedness
of some of the latter’s friends, who, forgetful of the benefits they
had received and the ties of hospitality, urged Bajazet to rob him of
his kingdom; that unmistakable proofs of such intentions were detected,
nay, that an atrocious speech made by one of Bajazet’s chief officers
was brought to the King’s ears; namely, ‘What are we about, and why
do we hesitate to kill this heretic and seize his throne? Can any one
doubt that through his treacherous plots we are in imminent danger of
destruction?’ This it was, they say, that induced Shah Tahmasp to stoop
to an expedient dictated by necessity rather than by honour.
Though the forces Bajazet had were not large, yet they were warlike,
and among them were many brave men who were ready for any adventure;
the Persian King was afraid of them, and not without reason either.
He knew that his dynasty was one of recent origin, and that it had
obtained the throne under the pretence of religion.[226] Who could
guarantee that among the numerous nations which owed him allegiance
there would not be many persons who were dissatisfied, and consequently
ripe for revolution? For them nothing more opportune could occur than
Bajazet’s arrival, as he was a bold and vigorous man in the flower of
youth, and had the most important qualification for a leader; namely,
that his position was desperate. Hitherto, the Shah reflected, he
seemed to be more in Bajazet’s power than Bajazet in his. A change must
be made, and he must no longer treat him as a guest, but chain him like
a wild beast. Nor would this be difficult to accomplish, if his troops
were first dispersed, and he were then surprised and seized himself,
when none of his men could help him. It was obvious that he could not
be captured in open fight without much bloodshed. The Persian troops
were enervated by a long peace, and were not concentrated; Bajazet’s,
on the other hand, were on the spot, ready for action, and well drilled.
Accordingly it was suggested to Bajazet that he should separate his
troops, and all the arguments in favour of such a course were pressed
upon him. He felt that the appeal was unanswerable, though some
gallant men in his service had the sagacity to see that the proposed
arrangement wore a most suspicious appearance. But how could he refuse
in his helpless position, when he had no other hope left, when his
life was at the mercy of the Shah,—indeed he might deem himself lucky
to be alive at all,—and when to doubt his host’s honour might be taken
as a sign of the most treacherous intentions? So the poor fellows, who
were never to meet again, were conducted to different villages and
quartered where the Persians thought fit. After waiting a few days
for a favourable opportunity, these scattered detachments were each
surrounded by greatly superior forces, and butchered. Their horses,
arms, clothes, and all their other effects became the booty of their
murderers. At the same time Bajazet was seized while at the Shah’s
table, and was thrown into chains. Some people think this violation of
the laws of hospitality greatly aggravated the baseness of the act. His
children likewise were placed in confinement.
You wished to have the latest news of Bajazet, so here it is for you.
As to what is in store for him in the future, I think no one would
find it easy to predict. Opinions vary; some people think he will
be made a Sanjak-bey, and as such will be given Babylonia or some
similar province, on the most distant frontiers of the dominions of
the two monarchs. Others place no hope either in Tahmasp or Solyman,
considering it all over with Bajazet, who, they think, will either be
sent back here for execution, or perish miserably in prison. They argue
that the Persian King, when he used force against Bajazet, did not do
so without much consideration, fearing no doubt that if that active
and high-spirited young man, who was a far better soldier than his
brother, should succeed his father on the throne, much mischief would
be thereby caused to his kingdom and himself. It would be much more
to his advantage, if Selim, who is naturally inclined to gluttony and
sloth, should become Sultan, since in that case there is good hope of
peace and quiet for many a year. They are of opinion that for these
reasons the Shah will never let Bajazet escape alive out of his hands,
but will prefer to kill him in his prison; giving out a story, which no
one could consider improbable, that the young man’s spirit had given
way under confinement, and that he had died from mental depression.
However that may be, it is in my judgment impossible for him to hope
that one, whom he has so deeply injured, will ever be his friend.
You see different people have different opinions; I consider myself,
that, whatever the end of the business may be, it will be a complicated
one, as indeed I wish it may, for the success of our negotiations
is closely connected with the fortunes of Bajazet. They will not
be inclined to turn their arms against us till they see their way
out of this difficulty. Even now they are trying to force on me
for transmission to the Emperor despatches, and I know not what
proposals for peace, which, they want me to believe, are very nearly
in accordance with his wishes, but they do not give me any copy of
them according to the usual practice, and this omission makes me
suspect that they are not sincere. On this account I make a rule of
resolutely refusing to forward despatches to the Emperor, without the
purport of them being previously communicated to me. But, if after
presenting me with a copy they should still deceive me, then I should
be in possession of a document, which would at once free me from
all responsibility, and convict them of dishonesty. In this course
I am determined to persevere, and so to relieve my master from the
difficulty of replying to their quibbling despatches, for he will
accept no terms of peace that are not honourable. But you will say
that by refusing proposals of peace, whatever their nature may be, a
step towards war seems to be taken. Well, for my part, I consider it
better policy to wait and see what will happen, without committing
ourselves to any engagements. Meanwhile I will take the blame of not
forwarding the despatches upon myself, and if the Turkish negotiators
are disappointed in their hopes with regard to Bajazet’s speedy death,
I do not think I shall find much trouble in clearing myself of it. In
the other alternative, I shall have somewhat greater difficulties to
overcome, but I consider that I shall have very good explanations to
offer, and shall be able to assign adequate reasons for all I have
done. The Turks are not in the habit of showing resentment towards
those who they see are taking pains to manage their master’s affairs to
the best of their ability. Besides, the Sultan is getting old, which is
another point in my favour, as in the opinion of the Pashas he requires
rest, and ought not to be exposed unnecessarily to the hardships of
war. As regards myself, the policy I have sketched out must of course
involve me in further trouble and vexation; but I feel that I am right,
and if matters turn out as I hope, I shall have no reason to regret the
sacrifice I am making.
Now you have got a book, not a letter. If I am to blame for this, you
are equally so; you imposed the task; the labour bestowed on this
despatch was taken at your desire. Complaisance is the only thing I
can be blamed for, and yet this between friends is often considered
a ground for commendation. I have some hopes however that you will
find pleasure in reading what I found pleasure in writing. After I
had once commenced my letter I was tempted to spin it out. For whilst
writing to you I found that I felt free once more, and fancied myself
to be enjoying your society in a far-distant land; you must therefore
consider any trifling passages in my letter as the casual chit chat
of a crony by your side. A letter has always been thought entitled
to the same allowances as conversation. Neither ought to be closely
criticised. Amongst friends you may say what first comes uppermost, and
the same rule holds good when one is writing to intimate friends; to
weigh one’s expressions would be to abandon one’s privileges. Just as
public buildings require the perfection of workmanship, while nothing
of the sort is expected in domestic offices, so this letter of mine
does not pretend to be a work of general public interest, but simply
some unpretentious jottings for the benefit of yourself and the friends
to whom you may care to show it. If it only pleases you, I for my part
am content. My Latin, some one might say, would bear improvement, and
also my style. Well, I never said they would not. But what more can you
expect of a man than his best? It is my ability, not my will, that is
in fault. Besides it is absurd to expect scholarship from this land of
barbarism. In fine, you must agree, if you do not despise my present
letter, to receive an account of my remaining adventures till I return
to Vienna, if, indeed, I ever do return; but whether I shall or not, I
will now end and trouble you no further. Farewell.
Constantinople, June 1, 1560.
LETTER IV.
Introduction—Great disaster of the Christians at
Djerbé—Their fleet surprised by Pialé Pasha—Flight of
the Duke of Medina to Sicily—Arrival of the news at
Constantinople—Exultation of the Turks—Unsuccessful
attempt of Don Alvaro de Sandé to cut his way out,
followed by the surrender of the garrison—Their hardships
during the siege—Triumphal return of the victorious
fleet to Constantinople—Solyman’s demeanour—Treatment
of the prisoners—Busbecq rescues the royal standard
of Naples—Fate of the Duke of Medina’s son—De Sandé
brought before the Divan and then imprisoned in the
Castle of the Black Sea—Busbecq’s efforts to relieve
the prisoners—Complaints of the ingratitude of some
of them—Charity of Italian merchants—One notable
exception—Religious scruples of the Sultan—He prohibits
the importation of wine to Constantinople—Exemption
of Busbecq and his household—Story of some
Greeks—Busbecq’s request to leave his house on account
of the plague refused by Roostem, but granted by Ali,
his successor—Death of Roostem—Busbecq’s physician
dies of the plague—Description of the Princes’
Islands—Fishing there—Pinnas—Franciscan Friar—Death
rate from the plague at Constantinople—Turkish notions
of Destiny—The Metropolitan Metrophanes—Return to
Constantinople—Characters of Ali Pasha and Roostem
contrasted—Anecdote of Roostem—The Emperor presents
Busbecq with the money intended for Roostem—Busbecq’s
interview with Ali—Accident of the latter—Incursion of
John Basilicus into Moldavia—Conversation with Ali on the
subject—Imprisoned pilgrims released by the intervention
of Lavigne, the French ambassador—His character—Story
of him and Roostem—Account of the Goths and Tartars of
the Crimea—Gothic vocabulary—Turkish pilgrim’s account
of China and of his journey thither—Extraordinary feats
of Dervishes—Strictness of Busbecq’s imprisonment
relaxed—His troubles in consequence of the quarrels
between his servants and the Turks—Story given as
an example—Annoyance of the Porte at the Treaty of
Cateau Cambrésis—Ibrahim, the first dragoman of the
Porte, degraded from office through Lavigne’s, and
restored to it through Busbecq’s, influence—Failure of
Salviati’s attempt to procure the release of the Spanish
prisoners—By Ibrahim’s advice Busbecq intervenes and
obtains their release—The Mufti’s opinion—Continuation
of the story of Bajazet—Persian ambassadors—Open
house kept by Pashas before Ramazan—Story of a
Khodja at a Pasha’s table—Solyman’s negotiations for
Bajazet’s surrender—Strong feeling of the army in his
favour—Hassan Aga and the Pasha of Marasch sent to the
Shah, who gives leave for Bajazet’s execution—He and
his sons are executed in prison—Touching account of
the death of the youngest at Broussa—Argument between
Busbecq and his cavasse about predestination—Peace
negotiations unfavourably affected by Bajazet’s
death—Further difficulties apprehended on account
of the defection of some Hungarian nobles from John
Sigismund to Ferdinand—Terms of peace previously
settled adhered to notwithstanding the remonstrances
of John Sigismund’s ambassadors—The dragoman Ibrahim
selected to return with Busbecq—Ali’s presents to
Busbecq—Busbecq’s farewell audience of Solyman—He starts
on his return—At Sophia Leyva and Requesens part company
and go to Ragusa—Pleasant journey home of Busbecq
and de Sandé—Quarrel at Tolna between the Janissary
stationed there and one of Busbecq’s servants—Arrival
at Buda after meeting Turkish fanatics—Arrival at
Gran, Komorn, Vienna—Busbecq learns that the Emperor
is at the Diet at Frankfort—He proceeds thither with
Ibrahim and is graciously received—Coronation of
Maximilian—Peace ratified—Busbecq longs for home—His
bad opinion of courts—His preference for a quiet
country life—Panegyric of Ferdinand—His Fabian tactics
against the Turks justified—His private life—Animals
and curiosities brought back by Busbecq—Balsam—Lemnian
earth—Coins—MSS.—Dioscorides—Conclusion.
I must first acknowledge the kind and cordial manner in which you
congratulate me on my return. Next, as regards your request for a
narrative of my experiences during the latter part of my embassy,
and for any pleasant stories I may have heard, I beg to assure
your Excellency that I am fully sensible of the obligation I have
undertaken. I have not forgotten it, and have no intention of
defrauding so obliging a creditor as yourself. So here at your service
are the events that followed my last letter, whether trifling, amusing,
or serious. I intend, as in my other letters, to jot things down as
they occur to me, though in this case I shall have to begin with a most
disheartening tale.
I had scarcely recovered from the bad news of Bajazet’s misfortunes
and imprisonment, when we were overwhelmed by a piece of intelligence,
which was equally unfavourable. Tidings were then expected at
Constantinople of the result of the expedition of the Turkish fleet,
which had been summoned to Meninx by the reports of the Spanish
successes on that island, which is now called Djerbé.[227] Solyman was
deeply hurt at hearing that this island had been taken by the
Christians, new outworks added to the citadel, and a garrison thrown
into the place; as master of a great empire in the full tide of
prosperity, he felt that he must avenge the insult. For this reason
he determined to assist a nation which was attached to him by the
ties of a common faith, and despatched an army and fleet to their
assistance under the command of the Admiral Pialé Pasha, who had manned
his ships with a numerous body of picked soldiers. The men, however,
were anxious, dreading the length of the voyage, and being cowed by
the prestige which the enemy had acquired. The great successes gained
by the Spanish arms both in ancient and modern times, had made a deep
impression on the minds of the Turks. They remembered the Emperor
Charles, and heard every day of his son King Philip, who had inherited
both the valour and the realms of his father. Hence great anxiety
prevailed, and many, under the idea they were bound on a desperate
service, made their wills before leaving Constantinople, like men
convinced they were fated to return no more. Thus the whole city was
distracted by various apprehensions, and everyone, whether he embarked
or not, suffered keenly from the strain caused by the uncertainty of
the result of the war.
But the winds were favourable to the Turkish fleet; our men were taken
by surprise, and such a panic ensued, that they had neither the courage
to fight nor the sense to fly; some galleys that were ready for action
sought safety in flight; the remainder ran aground, and were either
miserably wrecked on the shoals, or surrounded and taken by the enemy.
The Duke of Medina, the commander of the expedition, retreated into the
citadel with John Andrew Doria, the admiral. Favoured by the darkness,
they embarked early in the night in a small boat, and boldly steering
through the enemy’s blockading squadron, reached Sicily in safety.
Pialé sent a galley here with news of this victory, and, to proclaim
more openly the tidings she brought, she trailed in the water from her
stern a large flag, on which, according to the account the Turks gave,
was embroidered a representation of our Saviour Christ on the Cross.
When she entered the harbour, the report of the Christian defeat ran
through the whole city, and the Turks began congratulating each other
on their great success. They gathered in crowds at my door, and asked
my men in mockery, had they any brother, kinsman, or relation in the
Spanish fleet? ‘If so,’ said they, ‘you will soon have the pleasure of
seeing them.’ They were loud moreover in extolling the valour of their
people, and expressing their scorn at the cowardice of the Christians.
‘What power,’ they asked, ‘had we left that could resist them, now that
the Spaniard was vanquished?’
My men were obliged to listen to these speeches to their great sorrow,
but they had to bear them, as God had so ordered it, and it could
not be changed. One thought alone sustained us, the hope that the
defence of the citadel, which the Spaniards still held with a strong
garrison, could be made good, till winter or some accident should
compel the enemy to raise the siege. We had not much hope, however, as
we knew that success was far more likely to attend the victors than
the vanquished, and so indeed it proved, for the besieged being hard
pressed and in great want of everything, especially water, at last
surrendered the citadel and themselves.
Don Alvaro de Sandé, who commanded the troops, a man of great courage
and reputation, when he saw they could hold out no longer, attempted to
sally out of the citadel with a few attendants, and seize a small ship,
and so cross to Sicily; hoping thus to save the high character he had
earned as a soldier from the disgrace which accompanies a surrender,
however unavoidable; for he was determined that, whoever might have to
bear the responsibility, it should not rest on his shoulders.
The result of his attempt was that the citadel fell into the hands
of the enemy, for the soldiers opened the gates, which they could
no longer defend, in the hope of appeasing the enemy by a voluntary
surrender. Don Juan de Castella refused to leave the outwork entrusted
to his charge, but fought against the enemy with his brother at his
side, till he was wounded at last, and taken prisoner.
The citadel had been defended by the Spaniards with great resolution
for more than three months, though almost every necessary, and—worst of
all—even the hope of relief, had failed them. In that burning climate
nothing was more trying to the troops than the want of water. There
was only one reservoir, and though it was large and well supplied with
water, it was not sufficient for such a number. Accordingly a fixed
allowance was distributed to each man, just sufficient to sustain life.
Many eked out their ration by adding sea-water, which had been purified
of most of its salt by distillation. This expedient had been imparted
to them, when they had sore need of it, by a skilful alchemist;
however, it was not everyone that had the necessary apparatus, so that
many were to be seen stretched on the ground at the point of death with
their mouths gaping, and continually repeating the one word ‘water.’
If anyone had compassion on them and poured a little water into their
mouths, they would get up and raise themselves to a sitting posture,
till, when the good effect of the draught was exhausted, they would
fall back on the same spot, and at last expire of thirst. Accordingly,
besides those who were slain, and those who died from sickness and the
want of medical attendance on that desolate spot, numbers perished in
the manner I have described from want of water.
In the month of September the victorious fleet returned to
Constantinople, bringing with it the prisoners, the spoils, and the
galleys they had taken from our people, a sight as joyful for the eyes
of the Turks, as it was grievous and lamentable for us.
That night the fleet anchored off some rocks near Constantinople,
as they did not wish to enter the harbour till morning, when the
spectacle would be more striking, and there would be a greater crowd of
spectators. Solyman had gone down to the colonnade close to the mouth
of the harbour, which forms part of his gardens, that he might have
a nearer view of his fleet as it entered, and also of the Christian
officers who were exhibited on the deck. On the poop of the admiral’s
galley were Don Alvaro de Sandé and the commanders of the Sicilian and
Neapolitan galleys, Don Berenguer de Requesens and Don Sancho de Leyva.
The captured galleys had been stripped of their oars and upper works
and reduced to mere hulks, in which condition they were towed along;
and thus made to appear small, ugly, and contemptible compared with
those of the Turks.
Those who saw Solyman’s face in this hour of triumph failed to detect
in it the slightest trace of undue elation. I can myself positively
declare, that when I saw him two days later on his way to the mosque,
the expression of his countenance was unchanged: his stern features
had lost nothing of their habitual gloom; one would have thought that
the victory concerned him not, and that this startling success of his
arms had caused him no surprise. So self-contained was the heart of
that grand old man, so schooled to meet each change of Fortune however
great, that all the applause and triumph of that day wrung from him no
sign of satisfaction.
A few days afterwards the prisoners were conducted to the Palace. The
poor fellows were half dead from the privations they had undergone. The
greater part could scarcely stand on their feet; many fell down from
weakness and fainted; some were actually dying. They were insulted and
hustled on the way, and compelled to wear their armour with the front
turned to the back like so many scarecrows.
Around them were heard the voices of the Turks, who taunted them,
and promised themselves the dominion of the world. For now that the
Spaniard had been conquered, they said, what enemy was left that could
be feared?
There was in that expedition a Turkish officer of the highest rank,
with whom I was acquainted. The first or royal standard of the
Neapolitan galleys, bearing the arms of all the provinces of the Kings
of Spain quartered with the Imperial Eagle, had fallen into his hands.
When I heard that he meant to present it to Solyman, I determined to
make an effort to anticipate him and get possession of it. The matter
was easily arranged by my sending him a present of two silk dresses.
Thus I prevented the glorious coat-of-arms of Charles V. from remaining
with the enemy as a perpetual memorial of that defeat.
Besides the officers I have mentioned, there were among the prisoners
two gentlemen of high birth, namely, Don Juan de Cardona, the
son-in-law of Don Berenguer, and Don Gaston, the son of the Duke of
Medina; the latter, though hardly yet arrived at manhood, had held
a high post in his father’s army. Don Juan had cleverly managed, by
promising a large sum, to get himself left at Chios, which is still
occupied by its ancient Genoese inhabitants.[228] Pialé had concealed
Gaston in hopes of getting a great price for his ransom. But this
trick proved well nigh fatal to its contriver. For Solyman, having by
some means or other got wind of it, was extremely displeased, and at
Roostem’s instigation made diligent search for Gaston’s hiding-place,
intending to produce him in evidence of Pialé’s guilt, and thereby
justify the execution of the latter.[229] But the plan failed through
Gaston’s death. Some believe he died of the plague, but it is more
probable that Pialé had him murdered, for fear of anything transpiring
against himself. At any rate, he could not be traced, though the agents
of his father, the Duke of Medina, spared no pains to find him. One may
well suspect that Pialé had no scruple in securing his own safety by
the murder of Gaston. Notwithstanding, he lived a long time in great
fear, and avoiding Constantinople, on various pretexts kept coasting
about the islands of the Ægean with a few galleys. He was afraid to
come into the presence of his offended master, feeling sure that he
would be forthwith manacled, tried, and condemned. At last Solyman
was softened by the entreaties of the chief of the eunuchs of his
bedchamber, and of his son Selim, and gave him his royal pardon, the
very words of which I am glad to be able to repeat. ‘As far as I am
concerned let him enjoy pardon and impunity for his terrible crime; but
after this life may God, that most just avenger of evil deeds, inflict
on him the punishment he deserves.’ So rooted is his conviction, that
no evil deed ought to go unpunished.
Fortune was more favourable to Don Juan de Cardona. Luckily for him his
amiable sister is the wife of a distinguished Austrian Baron, Adam von
Dietrichstein,[230] who, after a great deal of trouble, got him sent
back to Spain, on my becoming surety for his ransom.
When de Sandé was brought into the Divan, or Assembly of the Pashas,
and Roostem asked him, ‘What had put it into his master’s head to
attack the territories of others when he could not defend his own?’
he replied, ‘This was no matter for him to decide; his duty was to be
faithful in executing his master’s orders to the utmost of his ability.
He had done his best and had been unfortunate.’ Then kneeling down he
entreated the Pashas to intercede with Solyman for his life, saying,
that he had a wife and a young family at home, and he entreated them to
spare his life for their sake. Roostem replied, ‘His Emperor was of a
clement disposition, and he had good hopes of obtaining mercy for him.’
So de Sandé was ordered to be taken to the fortress they call
Caradenis, which means ‘of the Black Sea,’ but he had not gone far when
he was recalled. The only reason for his being sent for again was, that
the chief of the bedchamber eunuchs, whom I mentioned before, and who
has great influence with the Sultan, had not yet seen him, and wished
to do so. It was noticed that as he came back his nerves, usually so
strong, appeared to be shaken, and he seemed to be afraid that the
Pashas had altered their decision, and were bringing him back for
execution.
The other prisoners of importance were confined in the Tower of Pera,
or Galata, as it is sometimes called. Among them were Don Sancho de
Leyva, with his two bastard sons, and also Don Berenguer.
After I had been informed of their condition and the great privations
they were undergoing, I felt it my duty to come to their relief. I
therefore sent visitors to express my sympathy, and assure them of my
readiness to give them such assistance as lay in my power. From that
time my house was the general rendezvous of all the prisoners, nor was
I ever backward in giving them help as far as my means allowed.
The Turks consider they have made ample provision for their prisoners,
if they have bread and water enough. As to what the age of each
prisoner, his habits and state of health, or the season of the year may
demand, they take no account, and treat all in the same way, whether
they are sick or well or just recovering from illness, strong or
delicate, old or young. I had, therefore, a wide field for the exercise
of my charity, inasmuch as each case required special treatment. A
great multitude of the sick were lying in a mosque in Pera, the town
situated opposite Byzantium, immediately across the bay. About them
the Turks did not think it worth while to take any more trouble,
indeed they considered them as good as dead. Many of them died from
want of proper nourishment, either during the illness itself or during
convalescence; for they had no bowl of soup or dainty dish to tempt
their feeble appetite, and thus enable them gradually to regain their
strength. Being informed of this, I commissioned a citizen of Pera, who
was a friend of mine, to buy some sheep every day, boil them at home,
and divide them among the prisoners, giving meat to some and broth to
others, as each man’s case happened to require, and this was of service
to not a few. This I did for the sick; those who were well required
help of another kind.
My house from early morning till evening was filled with a crowd of
those who sought assistance for their different troubles. Some, who
had been accustomed to sumptuous tables, could not digest their daily
ration of dry black bread, and required the means of procuring some
relish to eat with it. There were others whose stomachs could not
endure perpetual water-drinking, and wanted a little wine to mix with
it. Some needed blankets, as they had nothing but the bare ground to
sleep on, and therefore suffered from cold at night; one was in want
of a cloak, another of shoes. The most numerous requests were for
the means wherewith to fee their jailers, and thus render them more
merciful.
To cure all these troubles money was the only remedy, so that a day
never passed without several pieces of gold being thus expended.
But this evil was endurable and not fatal; another and a more ruinous
one was impending from the persons who demanded that larger sums
should be lent them, or wanted me to be surety for the amount of
their ransom. None of them lacked some plausible pretext for puffing
himself off, and maintaining that his own case had the best claim on
my bounty. One put forward his high rank and his powerful relations or
connections, another his long service and his captain’s commission,
a third his great wealth at home and his ability to pay the debt
without delay. Some too boasted of their own valour, and their glorious
exploits in war. All, in a word, thought they had a fair claim for
assistance on some ground or other. If a question was asked as to their
credit and whether they would remember to pay, they told me to make
myself perfectly easy; for what, said they, could be more unjust than
to involve the man who had done them this great service in pecuniary
difficulties and losses, when they owed to him their freedom and their
lives, and had been rescued by him as it were from the very jaws of
death?
And indeed it was most grievous for me to hear, ‘Unless I have this
moment in ready money two hundred pieces of gold, it is all over with
me; I shall be taken over into Asia, or sent I know not whither as
a galley-slave,[231] without any hope of ever recovering my freedom
or seeing my home again. There is a merchant, who will not refuse
to supply goods sufficient to raise the sum, if you will only go
security.’ Such statements were the only warranty they generally gave
me; but I could not help being influenced by them when I reflected that
what they said was true. Unless they were assisted, a large part of
them must inevitably perish by various calamities, and there was no one
on the spot, who had greater means of helping them than myself, or on
whom they had a stronger claim.
But you will say against me, I know, ‘No one is to be trusted;’ but
who in the world could suppose that anyone would be such a monster
of ingratitude as not to repay the money, which had been advanced to
save his life? Suppose one or two lacked, not the will, but the means.
Well, I must risk it, and after all what is spent in doing a good turn
to a good man is never really lost. The majority at any rate will act
honestly.
I was induced by such considerations to pledge my credit for many
thousand crowns, and to plunge myself into such a deep abyss, that I do
not know how I am to get out of it; indeed I am afraid that in getting
them out of prison I have got myself into it. I have been explicit on
this subject, as I wish to clear myself of blame for want of judgment
in being too ready to lend. I must admit that the neglect to repay
in certain cases has made me suspect that I shall not get out of the
business without heavy loss. Nay, I have been already obliged to pay
the money for which I went security for some of them, and I remember
that remarks of certain among them came to my ears, who, though they
had been saved by my good offices, yet made a joke of my extreme
readiness in complying with their requests, and dubbed me for my pains
a scatter-brained fool. From this I can gather how some of them will
treat their obligations. But all this is in God’s hands. However it may
turn out, I do not see why I should regret having done a kindness to
many.
Ipsa sibi virtus semper pulcherrima merces.
I look for no extraordinary recompense for myself, and wish no
honours, no statue voted me. All I ask is, that they should carry
their gratitude so far as to repay honestly what I have spent to save
their lives. I do not despair of this from so gallant a nation as the
Spaniards.
I am glad to say that I not only did my part in contributing, but also
by my example was the means of inducing many others to come forward and
give valuable assistance. There are among the citizens and residents of
Pera many Italian merchants, and these displayed extraordinary zeal in
assisting the prisoners. There was, however, one exception, and I shall
never forget his reasoning on the matter, it was so absurd. He was an
Italian Greek, _i.e._, both in birth and manners half Greek and half
Italian. When all his countrymen were doing their utmost to forward
the good work, he never could be induced to spend a farthing on any of
the prisoners. When he was accused on that score, he defended himself
thus, in broken and barbarous Italian, for Greek was more familiar to
him. ‘I do not know what sort of people these are, but I can easily
guess they have not been brought into this misery except by the just
judgment of God. I will not run counter to the Divine Will; as far as I
am concerned, let them stay in the place where God has chosen them to
be. I shall not be surprised if you, who so daringly come between them
and the decrees of Providence, have reason to repent of it hereafter.
No one shall persuade me to lay out on them as much as a single
penny.’ Such was his view of the matter. So much for this foolish
prognosticator.
This naval defeat of the Christians, coupled with Bajazet’s disaster,
caused me great anxiety; I was afraid that I should find the Turks
elated by success, and consequently more exacting in my negotiations
for peace. Besides the public misfortunes, I also sustained a personal
loss; the plague invaded my house, carrying off one of my most
faithful servants, and causing a panic among the other members of my
household.
Of this I will speak a little later, when I have mentioned another
trouble that befell us, which, though less than the former, caused me
considerable anxiety. The Sultan is becoming every day more scrupulous
in religious matters, or in other words, more superstitious. He used
to enjoy hearing a choir of boys, who sang to the accompaniment of
stringed instruments. But all this has been done away with by the
interposition of some old hag, renowned for her profession of sanctity,
who threatened him with heavy punishments hereafter if he did not give
up this amusement. Alarmed by her denunciations, he broke up all his
musical instruments and threw them into the fire, though they were of
excellent workmanship, and adorned with gold and jewels.
Some one found such fault with him for eating off silver plate, that he
has used nothing but earthenware ever since.
Then some one appeared who blamed the Sultan for allowing wine to
be used so freely in the city, and so made him feel conscientious
scruples at neglecting Mahomet’s directions on this head. Therefore
proclamation was made that thenceforth no wine should be imported
into Constantinople, not even for the Christians or the Jews. This
proclamation concerned me and mine not a little, as we were by no
means accustomed to drinking water. For where could we get wine, if
it was not allowed to enter the walls of the city? Long home-sickness
and the continued uncertainty about the result of our negotiations
had already told upon our strength, and this compulsory change in
our diet was, in consequence, likely to be very prejudicial to our
health. I commissioned my interpreters to make strong representations
to the Pashas in the Divan, and to maintain our ancient privileges.
There opinions were divided. Some thought we ought to be content with
drinking water, for what would the neighbourhood say, demurred they, if
they saw we had wine brought into our house? Why, that while they were
strictly forbidden its use, Christians in the midst of Constantinople
were swilling away to their hearts’ content, and polluting the city
far and wide with the fumes of their liquor. Nay, even Mussulmans who
came to me went away reeking with wine. These considerations proved
well nigh fatal to our suit. However, the opinion of the Pashas who
took special charge of our interests, finally prevailed. They declared
that we were not able to stand such a change of diet, and warned the
Divan that sickness and death would in many cases be the consequence.
The end of it was, that we were allowed the choice of one night, on
which we might have as much wine as we wished conveyed to the sea-gate,
this being the most convenient point for us. There we had carts and
horses to meet it, and bring it into the house with as little noise as
possible, and so we retained our rights.
Some members of the Greek nation did not fail to put the Sultan to the
test in the following fashion. Having ascertained that he was about
to pass through a district which was planted with numerous vineyards,
they assembled in great numbers, and began tearing up the vines by the
roots. Some of them commenced to block the road with the vine stocks,
and others to load carts with them. When the Sultan came to the place,
he stopped, wondering what the matter could be, and calling to him the
nearest of the men, inquired what they were about. They answered, that
as by his proclamation they were forbidden to drink wine, they were
rooting up the vines for firewood, as they would be useless for the
future. Then Solyman replied, ‘You are wrong, and have not understood
my intentions, as you ought to have done. If I enjoined abstinence
from wine, I did not therefore prevent anyone’s eating grapes. Grapes
are to be reckoned among the most excellent of the fruits which God
has granted to man. There is nothing to hinder you from enjoying their
juice while fresh, so long as you do not put it up in casks, and turn
it to a wrong use by your pernicious art. Do you think pear-trees
and apple-trees ought to be rooted up because they do not produce
wine? Leave off, you fools, and spare the vines, which will bear you
excellent fruit.’ Thus the Greeks took nothing by their scheme.
I now return to the plague, which, as I told you, had attacked our
house. When it broke out, I sent to Roostem to ask for permission
to remove to some place that was free from infection. I did so with
hesitation, as I was acquainted with his character; still I could
not incur the imputation of neglecting my own health and that of my
servants. Roostem answered, he would lay my request before the Sultan,
and the next day sent me back word that his master had made this reply:
‘What did I mean, or where did I think of flying? did I not know that
pestilence is God’s arrow which never misses its mark? where in the
world could I hide myself, so as to be shielded from the stroke of His
weapons? If He ordained that the pestilence should strike me, neither
flight nor concealment would be of any avail. To try to escape from
the inevitable was a vain attempt. His own palace was not at that very
moment free from the plague, but nevertheless he stayed there, and it
was likewise my duty to remain where I was.’ Thus I was obliged to
await my doom in that plague-stricken house.
But not long afterwards it came to pass that Roostem was carried off
by an attack of dropsy.[232] He was succeeded by Ali, who was then
the second of the Vizieral Pashas, the most courteous and sagacious
statesman I ever met among the Turks.[233] When I sent him a valuable
silken robe with my congratulations on his promotion, I received a
gracious reply, for he asked me to treat him as a friend on every
occasion, and not to hesitate to apply to him if necessary, and indeed
he was as good as his word.
The first occasion on which I experienced his kindness was, when the
plague broke out afresh in my house, and, besides attacking other
members of my household, carried off the excellent gentleman, who,
under God, had been our chief support in time of sickness. I sent to
Ali Pasha to ask the same permission I had formerly asked of Roostem.
He replied that he could give me leave to go where I pleased, but it
would be more prudent to ask that of the Sultan as well, for fear that
if he should happen to fall in with my men going about at large, he
should be angry at my being outside my lodgings without his knowledge.
Everything, he said, depended on the way in which a matter was brought
to the Sultan’s notice, and that he would lay the subject before him in
such a manner as to leave no doubt of his assent. Soon afterwards he
informed me that I had permission to go wherever I thought proper.
The island they call Prinkipo[234] appeared to be the most convenient
place for my retirement. It is four hours’ sail from the city, and
is the most agreeable of the numerous little islands which are in the
neighbourhood of Constantinople, for the others have only one village
or none at all, but this has two.
As to what I said, that the person on whose skill we had chiefly relied
had been taken away from us by death, this was none other than my most
excellent and faithful companion during my long sojourn abroad, our
doctor, William Quacquelben.
I had ransomed a man, who (though I did not know it at the time),
proved to be stricken with the plague. While William was endeavouring
to treat him for the disease, being not sufficiently careful of
himself, he got infected with the plague poison. On this point he
did not agree with the rest of his profession, but declared that,
when the plague was rife there was more panic than real danger; his
opinion being that, at such times there is about the average amount of
different kinds of illness, and that people are then so nervous, that
they think most of them are the plague, and that consequently every
sort of ulcer or pimple is then regarded as a plague boil, and treated
accordingly. And so, although he was already sickening of the plague,
he never suspected what was the matter with him, until the sickness,
which had been increased by his concealing it, broke out with violent
paroxysms. He all but died in the hands of those who ran to support
him, and not even then could he be induced to believe it was an attack
of the plague. When I sent, the day before he died, to make inquiries,
he replied he was better, and asked me to come to him, if I could spare
the time. I sat with him a long time, and he told me how very ill he
had been. All his senses, he said, and especially his sight, had been
so impaired that he could recognise no one. He was now better in this
respect and had the command of all of them; the phlegm only continued,
which interfered with his breathing, and if this were relieved he would
be well at once. As I was leaving him, I said, I heard he had some
sort of abscess on his breast. He admitted that such was the case, and
throwing back the bed-clothes showed it me, saying, there was nothing
bad about it, he had got it from the knots of a new doublet he had put
on, which was too tight.
In the evening, according to the rules of my house, two of my servants
went to attend him for the night, and were preparing to change his
shirt. When he was stripped, he noticed on his body a purple spot
which they said was a flea-bite, and then he saw more and bigger ones.
‘These are no flea-bites,’ said he, ‘but messengers to tell me my death
is near. Let us therefore profit by this warning.’ From that moment
he devoted the whole of the night to prayer, pious meditation, and
listening to the Scriptures being read, until as morning broke, he
departed this life with full assurance of God’s mercy.[235]
Thus I lost a very dear friend and excellent fellow-worker, while the
loss to the literary world was not less than mine. He had seen, learnt,
and taken note of many things, and intended sooner or later to publish
the results of his observations, but death cut short the work he had
so admirably planned. So highly did I appreciate his loyalty and his
tact, that, if the state of my negotiations had permitted, and I had
been granted permission to return, I should not have hesitated to leave
him as my deputy at Constantinople. From that time it appeared as if
my labours were doubled, and now that I have returned home, I seem
to have left a portion of myself behind in my dear friend’s grave at
Constantinople. May peace be with his blessed spirit! His virtues are
recorded on the monument, which I erected to his memory.
But to return to my islands,[236] on which I lived very pleasantly for
three months. I enjoyed the greatest privacy, there was neither crowd
nor noise. There were a few Greeks on the island in whose houses we
lodged, but there was no Turk to act the jailer and dog my footsteps
when I wanted to amuse myself; for the Turkish servants, to whom I
had grown accustomed, did not interfere with me, and I was allowed to
wander freely where I would, and to coast about the numerous islands as
I pleased.
Every place there is full of plants of different sorts, cottonweed,
narrow-leaved myrtle, knapweed, and many others. The sea abounds with
fish of every kind, which I caught sometimes with a hook and sometimes
with a net. Boats were to be had with Greek fishermen, whom we employed
to help us.
I used to cross to any spot that presented an agreeable view, or held
out good hopes of sport. Sometimes, where the water was clear and
shallow, I took a fancy to carry on open warfare by spearing with a
trident a crab or a lobster as he scuttled along, and so pulling him
into the boat. But the mode of fishing, which was at once the most
pleasant and the most profitable, was that with a seine or drag-net.
I had a place, which the fishermen thought likely, surrounded with a
drag-net, and, by making use not only of the net itself but also of the
long ropes with which its two ends were dragged ashore, we managed to
enclose a very considerable space. Round these ropes the sailors twined
a quantity of green boughs to scare the fish and prevent their escaping
into deep water. So, when the ends of the net on either side were drawn
to land, the fish were driven into a narrow space; they then began to
get frightened and did their best to escape, each following its natural
instinct. Some tried to avoid the danger by a bold leap over the net.
Others, on the contrary, by burrowing in the sand endeavoured to save
themselves from being entangled. Some tried to gnaw through the meshes,
though they were made of very coarse twine; these were mostly of the
shark tribe, which are armed with powerful teeth. These creatures have
such instinct that when they have bitten away twine enough to open a
passage for one, the whole shoal follows where the first has got out,
and leaves not one for the fisherman. As I was afraid of this trick, of
which I had been warned beforehand, I stood in the bows holding a pole
with which I kept striking their noses as they gnawed at the net, much
to the amusement of my attendants. My efforts were rewarded with only
partial success; a few were caught, but a great many got away. So you
see that even a fish, when hard put to it, can turn cunning. However,
we took plenty of other fish to console us for the loss of some of the
sharks—such as sea bream, sea scorpions, weavers, char, rock-fish, and
ruffs. Their variety made them a pretty sight, and I greatly enjoyed
making out their names and habits. So at night I returned to my camp
with my bark wreathed with laurels, and laden with booty and prisoners.
The next day I shared my spoils with Ali Pasha and his major-domo,
who returned me their grateful thanks, and said the present was very
acceptable.
I sometimes took a fancy to capture _pinnas_, for which I used a pole
and iron contrivance made for the purpose, with which I pulled them
up from the bottom. They are very plentiful in that sea, so much so
that they seem to have been artificially laid down. I found in them
the pinna-guards, celebrated by Cicero, Pliny, and Athenæus, which
were usually in pairs, a male and a female, but sometimes in larger
numbers. I am afraid, however, that the other statements made about
them by the above authors are not altogether to be trusted. That they
are interesting, I admit; the question is, are they based on fact.
They relate that the pinna with its shells wide open lies in wait for
tiny fishes, but that, as it is a blind and senseless lump of flesh,
it would not know when they are inside its fortalice, if it were not
warned by a bite from the pinna-guard; then it closes its shells, and
shares with the pinna-guard the fishes that are shut in. For the shape
of the pinna, you may consult Belon.[237] It fixes the sharper of its
two ends into the bottom of the sea, and fastens itself by a tuft of
hair or thread, so firmly, that one might think it was planted there.
By these threads it sucks up its nutriment, which is clearly proved
from the fact that, if torn up from its place, it dies from want of
nourishment, like vegetables and plants when severed from their roots.
But it is probable the pinna-guard chooses this home in order to have
a strong defence against the violence of ravenous fishes and a quiet
haven when the sea is boisterous, from which it can sally out when
it likes, and retreat again in safety. I should not, however, wish in
saying this to be suspected of intending to detract at all from the
authority of such great men; my object is simply to draw the attention
of others to the subject in the hope of its being investigated more
thoroughly.[238] We used to have no difficulty in filling our boat
with pinnas; they are not good eating, and you would soon get tired of
them, being coarse and tasting like mussels. But the fisherman told us
to pick out the pinna-guards, of which a dish was made, that was alike
agreeable to the palate and wholesome for the stomach.
Among the rest there is a small island, which is uninhabited. Close to
it I recollect capturing monstrous and extraordinary creatures, such
as starfishes, razorshells, clusters of cuttlefish eggs, sea-horses,
enormous snails, and some yellow balls like oranges, but no fishes,
except one skate or sting-ray, which is capable of inflicting a serious
wound with its sting. It tried to strike us, and in so doing impaled
itself and was caught.
When the weather kept us from the sea, I amused myself on shore in
looking for rare and new plants. Sometimes by way of exercise, I walked
round the island, dragging with me a Franciscan friar, a capital young
fellow, but, though young, very fat and unaccustomed to exertion. He
had gone with me as a companion from the monastery at Pera. One day,
as I was walking fast to warm myself, he followed me with difficulty,
puffing and blowing, ‘What need is there,’ he would cry, ‘for such a
hurry? We are not running for our lives or chasing anybody! Are we
postmen charged with letters of importance?’ This went on till the
sweat broke out in his back through his clothes in a great round
patch. When we returned to our lodging, he made the house echo with his
groans and lamentations, and threw himself on his bed, crying out he
was done for. ‘What harm,’ he exclaimed, ‘have I ever done you that you
should try to kill me before my time?’ And it was only by dint of much
pressing that we could induce him to come to supper.
Occasionally friends from Constantinople and Pera and some Germans of
Ali’s household paid us a visit. When I asked them ‘Whether the plague
was abating?’ one of them replied, ‘Yes, in a marked degree.’ ‘What is
the daily death-rate then?’ quoth I, ‘About five hundred,’ said he.
‘Good God,’ I exclaimed, ‘do you call this the plague abating? How many
used to die when it was at its height?’ ‘About a thousand or twelve
hundred,’ he answered.
The Turks imagine that the time and manner of each man’s death is
inscribed by God on his forehead, and that therefore they have no
power of avoiding the fatal hour, and that till that time there is no
need for fear. This belief renders them indifferent to the dangers
of the plague, but does not secure them against its attacks. And so
they handle the clothes and sheets in which plague-stricken people
have expired, while they are still reeking with their death-sweat, and
even rub their faces with them. ‘If God,’ say they, ‘has decreed that
I shall die thus, it must happen; if not, it cannot injure me.’ This
of course is just the way to spread contagion, and sometimes whole
households perish to a man.
While I lived in the islands I made friends with the Metropolitan[239]
Metrophanes, who was abbot of a monastery in Chalcis, one of the
islands, a polite and well-educated man, who was very anxious for a
union of the Latin and Greek Churches. In this he differed from the
views entertained by Greeks generally, for they will hold no communion
with members of the Latin Church, which they consider an impure and
profane sect. This shows how strong is each man’s conviction of the
truth of his own faith.
When I had spent about two months in the island, some of the Pashas
became suspicious of my long stay, sought an interview with Ali,
and told him that they considered it would be more convenient if I
were recalled to the city. For what if I should escape? I had ships
at my command, and everything that was needful to facilitate my
flight, should I be so inclined. Ali told them to set their minds at
ease, saying, he had the most perfect confidence in me. He sent me,
notwithstanding, a cavasse to tell me of this. The man, after examining
everything, without appearing to do so, and finding nothing to indicate
an intention of running away, returned with a message from me to Ali
Pasha not to be afraid; I would do nothing which would give him cause
to repent of his confidence in me. I took care, by the way, to give the
cavasse a douceur. So my holiday was prolonged into the third month,
and I returned to the city, at my own time, without being recalled.
From that time forward Ali Pasha and I became firm friends, and were
for ever interchanging views with the object of re-establishing
peace. He is a Dalmatian by birth, and the only polished gentleman I
came across among the Turkish savages. He is of a quiet and gentle
disposition, courteous, and extremely intelligent, possesses great
capacity for business, and has had much experience both as general in
the field and statesman in the cabinet. For he is now advanced in
life, and the posts he has held have always been important ones. He is
above the average height, and, while his habitual expression is grave
and serious, it has about it an ineffable charm. To his master he is
deeply attached, and he shows it by his anxiety to arrange a peace,
for he feels that the Sultan’s health and years require rest. The end
which Roostem had sought to bring about by rudeness and intimidation
he endeavoured to compass by courtesy and moderation;—in short, Ali
treated me like a friend.
Roostem was always sour, always overbearing, and meant his word to be
law. It was not that he was ignorant of how matters stood. He knew
right well what the condition of the times and the Sultan’s advancing
years required, but he was afraid that, if any word or act of his
should betoken a milder mood, he would be suspected of hankering after
a bribe, for his master had no confidence in his integrity in this
respect. For this reason he did not desist from his usual rudeness,
although he was desirous of patching up a peace. Accordingly, when
anything was said that did not please him, he refused to listen to me,
and showed me the door, so that every conference I had with him ended
in his losing his temper; though I cannot be sure that his anger was
not sometimes assumed.
On one occasion, I remember, when I had been treating with him on
matters concerning the peace, and he had rejected my propositions as
inadmissible, and had told me to be off, if I had no other proposals
to make, I immediately rose and went home, having first said that it
was not in my power to go beyond my instructions. As he thought I had
done this with unusual warmth, he called back my interpreter and asked
him if I was displeased. When the interpreter replied in the negative,
‘I want your opinion,’ said Roostem; ‘if I were to obtain from my
master the terms he has mentioned to me, do you think he would be as
good as his word and pay me down the present he has promised me?’ When
the interpreter said he felt no doubt that I would most faithfully
perform whatever I had promised, Roostem replied, ‘Go home and ask
him.’ I had by me in ready money 5,000 ducats, which are equivalent to
6,000 crowns. With these I loaded my interpreter, and ordered him to
tell Roostem to keep them as a proof of my good faith and as a first
instalment, saying, that the rest would follow when the business was
concluded (for I had promised him a still larger sum), I was not in
the habit of breaking my word. Roostem was delighted to see the money,
fingered it, and then gave it back to the interpreter, saying, ‘I do
not doubt his good faith; but as to the peace there are difficulties of
no ordinary kind in the way; I cannot give him any positive assurance
about it, indeed I do not yet know my master’s intentions. Go, take the
money back to the Ambassador that he may keep it for me, till it is
certain what turn the business will take. In the mean time he must be
my banker.’
So I saved my money after all, Roostem himself being carried off by
death some months afterwards.
I must now tell you of the goodness of our most gracious Emperor. When
there seemed no object in keeping this sum any longer, after giving
due notice to the Emperor, I applied it to meet a year’s expenditure
(for our annual outlay amounted to 6,000 crowns). I afterwards repented
of this, when I began to reflect on the number of years and the great
labours and dangers this embassy had cost me already; I thought I had
not done myself justice, inasmuch as though I knew the money was but
my due, and I had a most excellent and generous master, a most just
judge of everyone’s deserts, I had forgotten to avail myself of the
opportunity, and had made no effort to secure for myself the money
which had been saved, beyond all hope, like a lamb snatched from the
very jaws of the wolf. There are many at court who have obtained far
greater rewards for far smaller services. I determined to call the
Emperor’s attention to the case, admit my error, and ask him to restore
the entire sum, and to set right with his usual princely generosity the
mistake I had committed through my carelessness. I had no difficulty in
making out my case before so considerate a judge; he ordered the six
thousand pieces of gold to be repaid me out of his treasury. If I shall
ever allow my master’s great generosity to fade from my memory, I shall
account myself unworthy to live.
But to return to my subject; there was a striking contrast between the
characters of the Pashas Ali and Roostem. The career of the former
had been such as to place his integrity in money matters above all
suspicion. Consequently he was under no apprehension that courtesy or
kindness on his part would injure him with his master. But Roostem,
on the contrary, was always grasping, always mean, and one who made
self-interest and money his first consideration.[240] Roostem used to
have very short interviews with me, but Ali would purposely keep me
for several hours, and make my visit pleasant by his great civility.
Meanwhile the Turks, who had come either to call or on business,
kept murmuring because they were detained so long waiting for their
audience, while the Pasha was closeted with me. I confess I got very
hungry at these interviews, for he used to summon me to him in the
afternoon, and I did not care to eat before I went, as I wished to
have my brain as clear as possible for my conference with this able
statesman. In these conversations he strenuously urged, that we should
each advise our own master to take the course we considered most for
his interests. ‘He was well aware,’ he said, ‘that his master required
nothing more urgently than repose, as his course was nearly run, and
he had had his fill of military glory; on the other hand, he felt
that there was no need to prove to me that peace and quiet would be
likewise to my master’s interests. If he desired to consult the safety
and tranquillity of his subjects, he ought not to rouse the sleeping
lion, and provoke him once more to enter the lists. Just as mirrors,
which are naturally empty, take the reflections of whatever objects may
be placed before them, even so the minds of Sovereigns,’ he argued,
‘are blanks, which receive what may be called impressions of what is
presented to them, and therefore we ought to put before our masters’
minds what would be most conducive to their advantage. Also we ought,’
said he, ‘to imitate good cooks, who do not season their dishes to suit
the palate of this person or that, but consult the general taste; in
like manner we, in settling the terms of peace, ought to regulate them
so as to attain results which would be agreeable and honourable to both
parties alike.’
He used very sensibly to repeat these and many similar arguments, and
whenever an opportunity presented itself, displayed his good will
towards me, and if in turn I showed him any sign of attention, he
received it with marked gratitude.
About this time he met with an accident. He was returning home from the
Divan, and had arrived at the turn of the road, where it was his habit
to bid his colleagues farewell. There he chanced to wheel his horse
round too sharply, and, while engaged in giving them a parting salute,
bowed low with his whole weight on his steed’s neck. The horse, which
had not yet got its foothold, being unequal to the weight, fell with
its rider to the ground.
When I heard of this, I ordered my servants to visit him and inquire
if he had received any harm from the accident. He was gratified by the
attention, and after thanking me replied, ‘he was nowhere injured, and
it was not strange if an old worn-out soldier was liable to fall.’
Then turning to the bystanders, he said, ‘I cannot tell you how much
kindness that Christian always shows me.’
Sometimes he used to tell me that riches, honour, and dignities had
fallen in abundance to his lot, and that now his only object in life
was to show kindness to every one, and thus to hand down to posterity a
grateful recollection of his name.
When we had been already engaged for some time in peace negotiations,
and I was in great hopes of obtaining the result I desired, an accident
occurred, which might have upset and ruined everything.
A Greek by birth, whom they honoured with the title of Despot,[241]
invaded Moldavia, under the protection of the Emperor’s troops who
were guarding the Hungarian frontier, and occupied it, after driving
out the Voivode, who was then in possession of that country. The
Turks were greatly disturbed by this event, which was serious enough
in itself, and might, they feared, be only the first step to further
enterprises, but they deemed it wise to conceal their anxiety, and not
to make bad worse by unseemly alarm. But Ali thought he ought not to
let it pass without communicating with me, and ascertaining my views. I
received information from one of his domestics that in the course of a
few hours I should be summoned to him about this affair. I must confess
I was seriously alarmed by this message. Our negotiations were well
nigh completed, in fact we were like players who are about to conclude
their piece, of which only the last act remains. I was in great fear
that this new event would disturb everything, and carry us away again
from the harbour which was just in sight. I was summoned to Ali Pasha,
as I had been warned. He received me with his usual politeness, and
conversed with me on various topics, especially those relating to the
conclusion of peace, without showing either in his words or expression
any change from his usual demeanour, till I was just preparing to go,
and had risen to bid him farewell. Then, as if he had just recollected
the subject of Moldavia, he told me to sit down again and said, just
as one does when some trifle has come into one’s head, ‘Indeed I had
almost forgotten one thing I wanted to tell you. Have you heard that
your Germans have come into Moldavia?’ ‘Into Moldavia!’ said I; ‘no,
indeed I have not, and what is more, it seems to me most improbable.
For what could Germans have to do with so distant a country as
Moldavia?’ ‘Yet it is true,’ said he, ‘and you will find it to be so.’
He then began to repeat at greater length what he had told me, and to
assure me that the news which had arrived was certain. ‘To conclude,’
said he, ‘to prevent your having any doubt about it, we will catch a
German and send him to you that you may find out the truth from him.’
I then took the line of saying, that in any case I felt quite certain
that nothing had been done by the Emperor’s orders or authority. The
Germans were a free nation, and in the habit of taking foreign service.
Perhaps some of those who had served under the Emperor’s generals
had after their discharge enlisted as mercenaries under some one who
required such troops, and in my judgment he would not be far wrong in
attributing the cause of this disturbance to the neighbouring Hungarian
magnates, who, wearied of the wrongs which were heaped on them every
day by the Turks, had planned to pay them back in their own coin, and
if I might express what I felt, ‘I do not see,’ said I, ‘on what ground
they can be blamed, if, when harassed so often and goaded on by their
wrongs, they remembered they were men and ventured to retaliate. Is
there anything that your soldiers have not for many years past thought
they might not perpetrate in Hungary? What species of outrage or what
acts of hostility are there that they have abstained from inflicting
on the Emperor’s subjects? Here indeed hopes of peace are put forward,
but there war in all its worst forms is to be found. I have now been
detained here as a prisoner for many years, and no one at home knows
for certain whether I am alive or dead. The men who have borne your
insults so long deserve, in my opinion, praise, not blame, if they
avail themselves of any opportunity of revenge that presents itself.’
‘Be it so,’ said Ali; ‘let them do their worst, provided they keep
within the borders of Hungary itself or the adjoining districts; but
that they should invade Moldavia, which is only a few days’ journey
from Adrianople, that indeed is more than we can put up with.’
I replied, ‘Men accustomed to war, and more experienced in wielding
arms than in law, should not be expected to make nice or fine-drawn
distinctions. They seized the first opportunity that offered, and
thought it was not for them to consider where or how far they had leave
to go.’ Thus I left him without his being at all angry, as far as I
could judge; and in fact he did not show himself on the following days
a bit more hard to deal with in the peace negotiations.
While we were in the midst of this business, I received a great
kindness, for so I interpret it, from the Ambassador of the most
Christian King (the King of France). There were in the Sultan’s prisons
at Constantinople thirteen men, most of them young, including some of
noble birth, partly Germans and partly Netherlanders, who had been
reduced to that state by a curious accident. They had embarked at
Venice in the ship, by which pilgrims to the holy city of Jerusalem
are conveyed every year to Syria with passports from the Republic of
Venice. Some were making the pilgrimage from religious motives, and
others were travelling for pleasure; the journey, however, was destined
to be disastrous to all. They landed at a most unfortunate time, as
the knights of Malta had just made a descent upon that part of the
coast of Palestine, and had carried off many prisoners. The Syrians,
whose parents, children, and relations had been kidnapped, finding that
they had no other means of revenging themselves and recovering their
friends, laid hands on the travellers who were under the protection
of Venetian passports, and accused them of belonging to the pirates,
saying, ‘You must either get our kinsfolk restored to us, or like them
be reduced to the condition of slaves.’ They showed their passports
from the Venetian government, they appealed to the treaties and
engagements of the Porte. It was all of no use; might proved stronger
than right, and they were carried off to Constantinople in chains.
Their youth also was much against them, as it prevented even the Pashas
thinking it likely that they were _bonâ fide_ pilgrims, because, as a
general rule, it is only the older Turks who make religious pilgrimages.
When I obtained information of these events, I left no stone unturned
to deliver them from their miserable condition; but my endeavours were
wholly unsuccessful. The Venetian Baily[242] was appealed to, because
they were under the protection of his Republic when they had fallen
into misfortune. He frankly admitted their claim to his assistance,
but pointed out the difficulty of his doing them any service when he
had to deal with such insolent barbarians as the Turks. Meanwhile I
did what I could to lighten their misfortunes. However, to my great
surprise and joy they one day came to me in a body and told me they
were sent home, thanks to the Ambassador of the most Christian King;
through his good offices they had obtained their freedom. I was indeed
delighted at this unhoped-for event, and had my warmest thanks conveyed
to the Ambassador. The said Ambassador, Lavigne, being about to leave,
had managed, when he was having a farewell audience of Solyman and was
kissing his hand according to the established etiquette, to thrust
into it a paper, in which he asked that those men, whose calamity had
been caused by their undertaking a pilgrimage, should be granted their
liberty as a favour to his King. Solyman complied with his request and
ordered them to be instantly released.[243] I provided them with means
for their journey, and having put them on board ship, sent them to
Venice, and thence to their own country.
This Lavigne had at first made himself troublesome to me in many ways,
and, whenever he could, tried to impede my negotiations, and did his
best, without any fault of mine, to prejudice the Pashas against me.
He used to say I was a subject of the King of Spain, as I was born in
the Netherlands, and was as much that King’s servant as the Emperor’s.
He told them King Philip was informed through me of everything that
went on at Constantinople; that I had suborned men for that purpose,
who disclosed to me all the greatest secrets, among whom Ibrahim, the
first dragoman of the Sultan, about whom I shall speak later on, played
the principal part. All this had happened before peace had been made
between the Kings of Spain and France; and when peace was concluded he
seems to have sought an opportunity to make amends for what he had done.
Lavigne was a man of a rude and brutal frankness; he always said what
was uppermost in his mind, quite regardless of the feelings of his
hearer. The consequence was that Roostem himself shrank from meeting
him, although other people were afraid of conversing with Roostem
on account of the rudeness of his language. Lavigne would send his
dragomans to demand an audience for himself; Roostem would make
excuses, and tell him to communicate what he wanted through them, and
spare himself the trouble, assuring him that it could be done just
as well without his coming. But this used to be all in vain, for he
would presently come and say such things as seldom failed to give
offence to Roostem. To take an instance, he one day complained that
they did not have as much regard for his master as they ought to have.
‘For what is your opinion?’ said he; ‘perhaps you think Buda, Gran,
Stuhlweissenburg, and the other towns of Hungary were taken by your
valour, but you are quite mistaken. It is through us you hold them.
For had it not been for the quarrels and perpetual wars, which have
existed between our Kings and those of Spain, you would have been so
far from being able to get possession of those towns, that scarcely at
Constantinople itself would you have been safe from Charles V.’ Roostem
bore this no longer, but burst into a violent passion, and exclaimed,
‘Why do you talk to me of your Kings and those of Spain? Such is the
power of my master that, if all your Christian princes were to unite
their forces and make war on him at once, he would not care a straw for
it, and would win an easy victory over them all.’ With these words he
retreated to his chamber in a rage, after ordering the Ambassador to
leave.
I cannot here omit what I learnt about a tribe[244] which still dwells
in the Crimea, which I had often heard showed traces of a German origin
in their language, customs, and lastly in their face and habit of body.
Hence I had long been eager to see one of that tribe, and, if possible,
to procure from them something written in that language; but in this
I was unsuccessful. However, at last an accident in some measure
satisfied my wishes, as two men had been sent to Constantinople from
those parts, to lay before the Sultan some complaints or other in the
name of that tribe. My dragomans fell in with them, and recollecting
my orders on the subject, they brought them to me to dinner.
One of them was about the middle height, and had an air of superior
breeding—you might have taken him for a Fleming or Batavian; the other
was shorter, more strongly built, and of a dark complexion, being
by birth and language a Greek, but by having traded there for some
time he had acquired a fair acquaintance with their tongue; while the
other man had lived and associated so much with the Greeks that he
had picked up their language and forgotten his own. When questioned
about the nature and customs of these people he answered my inquiries
in a straightforward manner. He said the tribe was warlike, and even
now inhabited numerous villages, from which the chief of the Tartars
raised, when expedient, 800 infantry, armed with fire-arms, the
mainstay of his army. Their chief towns are called Mancup and Scivarin.
He told me also much about the Tartars and their barbarism, among whom,
however, he said a good many men of remarkable ability might be found.
For when asked about matters of importance they answered shortly and to
the purpose. On this account the Turks, not without reason, say that
all other nations have their wisdom written in books, but the Tartars
have devoured their books, and so have it stored up in their breasts,
and consequently are able to bring it out when needful, and talk like
men inspired. They are very dirty in their habits; if any broth is
served at table they require no spoons, but use instead the palm of
the hand. They devour the flesh of slaughtered horses without cooking
it in any way; all they do is to spread the pieces under their horses’
saddles, this warms them slightly, and they then proceed to eat the
meat, as if it had been dressed after the most dainty fashion. The
chief of the nation eats off a silver table. The first and also the
last dish served is a horse’s head, as among us butter is honoured with
the first and last place.
Now I will write down a few of the many German words, which he
repeated, for the form of quite as many was totally different from
ours, whether because this is due to the genius of that language, or
because his memory failed him, and he substituted foreign for the
native words. To all words he prefixed the article ‘_tho_’ or ‘_the_.’
The words which were the same as ours, or only a little different, were
these:[245]
Gothic. English. Flemish.
Broe Bread Brood
Plut Blood Bloed
Stul Stool Stoel
Hus House Huys
Wingart Vine Wijngaert
Reghen Rain Regen
Bruder Brother Broeder
Schwester Sister Zuster
Alt Old Oud
Wintch Wind Wind
Silvir Silver Zilver
Goltz Gold Goud
Kor Corn Koren
Salt Salt Zout
Fisct Fish Visch
Hoef Head Hoofd
Thurn Door Deure
Stern Star Star
Sune Sun Zon
Mine Moon Maen
Tag Day Dag
Oeghene Eyes Oogen
Bars Beard Baert
Handa Hand Hand
Boga Bow Bogen
Miera Ant Mier
Rinck or Ringo Ring Ring
Brunna Spring Bron
Waghen Waggon Wagen
Apel Apple Appel
Schieten To shoot Schieten
Schlipen To sleep Slapen
Kommen To come Komen
Singhen To sing Zingen
Lachen To laugh Lachen
Criten To cry Kryten
Geen To go Gaen
Breen To roast Braên
Schwalch Death
Knauen Tag meant good day. Knauen signified good, and he used many
other words which did not agree with our tongue, for example:
Iel, life or health │ Stap, a goat
Ieltsch, alive or well │ Gadeltha, beautiful
Iel uburt, be it well │ Atochta, bad
Marzus, marriage │ Wichtgata, white
Schuos, a bride │ Mycha, a sword
Baar, a boy │ Lista, too little
Ael, a stone │ Schedit, light
Menus, flesh │ Borrotsch, a wish
Rintsch, a mountain │ Cadariou, a soldier
Fers, a man │ Kilemschkop, drink up your cup
Statz, the earth │ Tzo warthata, thou didst
Ada, an egg │ Ies varthata, he did
Ano, a hen │ Ich malthata, I say
Telich, foolish │
Being told to count he did so thus: _Ita_, _tua_, _tria_, _fyder_,
_fyuf_, _seis_, _sevene_, precisely as we Flemings do. For you men of
Brabant, who pretend you talk German, are, on this point, in the habit
of lauding yourselves to the skies, and ridiculing us on account of
what you are pleased to call our abominable pronunciation of that word,
which you pronounce _seven_. He went on thus: _athe_, _nyne_, _thiine_,
_thiinita_, _thunetua_, _thunetria_. Twenty he called _stega_, thirty
_treithyen_, forty _furderthien_, a hundred _sada_, a thousand
_hazer_. He also repeated a song in that language, which began as
follows,
Wara, wara ingdolou;
Scu te gira Galizu
Hæmisclep dorbiza ea.
Whether they are Goths or Saxons I cannot decide. If Saxons, I think
they were transported thither in the time of Charlemagne, who dispersed
that nation through various regions of the world, as the cities in
Transylvania,[246] which are to this day inhabited by Saxons, bear
witness. And perhaps it was decided that the bravest of them should be
removed yet further, as far as the Tauric Chersonese, where, though in
the midst of enemies, they still retain the Christian religion. But
if they are Goths, I am of opinion that even in ancient times they
occupied those tracts, which adjoin the Getæ. And perhaps one would not
be wrong in thinking that the greatest part of the country which lies
between the island of Gothland and what is now called Perekop was at
one time inhabited by Goths.
Hence came the various clans named Visigoths and Ostrogoths; hence they
started on their career of victory, all over the world; this was the
vast hive of that barbarian swarm. Now you have heard what I learnt
about the Tauric Chersonese from these men of Perekop.
Now listen to what I heard from a Turkish pilgrim about the city and
country of Cathay (China). He belonged to the sect who hold it a
religious duty to wander through distant regions, and to worship God on
the highest mountains and in wild and desert places. He had traversed
almost the whole of the East, where he had made acquaintance with the
Portuguese; and then, excited by the desire of visiting the city and
kingdom of Cathay, he had joined some merchants who were setting out
thither, for they are accustomed to assemble in large numbers, and
so journey in a body to the frontiers of that realm. Few reach their
destination safely, as the risk is great. There are many intervening
tribes who are treacherous to travellers, and whose attacks are to be
feared every moment.
When they had travelled some distance from the Persian frontier, they
came to the cities of Samarcand, Bokhara, and Tashkend, and to other
places inhabited by Tamerlane’s successors. To these there succeeded
vast deserts or tracts of country, sometimes inhabited by savage
and inhospitable clans, and sometimes by tribes of a more civilised
description; but everywhere the country is so poor that there is
great difficulty in getting provisions. On this account every man had
provided himself with food and the other necessaries of life, and great
numbers of camels were loaded with these supplies. A large party of
this kind is called a caravan.
After many months of toil they arrived at the passes, which may be
termed the keys of the kingdom of Cathay (for a great part of the
dominions of the King of Cathay is inland, and surrounded by wild
mountains and precipitous rocks, nor can it be entered except by
certain passes which are held by the King’s forces). At this point the
merchants were asked, what they brought, where they came from, and how
many of them there were? This information the King’s garrison troops
transmit by smoke in the day time, and by fire at night, to the next
beacon, and that in turn to the next, and so on, till news of the
merchants’ arrival is forwarded to the King of Cathay, which otherwise
could not be done for the space of several days. In the same manner
and with equal speed he sends back word what his pleasure is, saying
whether he chooses them all to be admitted, or part of them to be
excluded, or their entrance delayed. If admitted, they are conducted by
appointed guides by halting-places established at proper stages, where
the necessaries of food and clothing are supplied at a fair price, till
they reach Cathay itself. Here they first declare what each of them has
brought, and then, as a mark of respect, present the King with whatever
gift they think proper. In addition to receiving the gift, he has
also the right of purchasing at a fair valuation whatever articles he
pleases.
The rest they sell or barter as they choose, a day for their return
being fixed, up to which they have the power of carrying on business,
for the Cathayans do not approve of foreigners sojourning too long, for
fear their national customs should be corrupted by foreign manners.
They are then courteously sent back by the same stages by which they
came.
The same pilgrim described that nation as very ingenious, and said they
were civilised and well governed. They have a religion of their own,
distinct from Christianity, Judaism, or Mahomedanism, but more like
Judaism without its ceremonies. For many centuries back the art of
printing has been in use among them, as is sufficiently proved by the
books printed in that country. For this purpose they use paper made of
silkworms’ cocoons, so thin, that it will only bear the impression of
the type on one side; the other is left blank.
There are numerous shops in that city which sell the scent they call
musk. It is the secretion of a beast the size of a kid.
No article of merchandise is more prized among them than a lion; this
beast being uncommon in those countries is exceedingly admired, and
nothing fetches a higher price.
These statements about the kingdom of Cathay I learned from the mouth
of this wanderer, for which their author must be responsible. For
indeed it is quite possible, that, when I was asking him about Cathay,
he might have been answering me about some other neighbouring country,
and according to the proverb, when I was asking for a sickle, have
answered me about a spade.
When I heard this story from him, I thought it well to ask, whether
he had brought from any place he had visited any rare root, or fruit,
or stone. ‘Nothing at all,’ said he, ‘except that I carry about this
root for my own use, and if I chew and swallow the least particle of
it, when I am suffering from languor or cold, I am stimulated and get
warm.’ As he spoke he gave it me to taste, warning me at the same time
that it must be used very sparingly. My physician, William Quacquelben,
who was at that time still alive, tasted it, and from the heat with
which it inflamed his mouth, pronounced it to be true Napellus or
Aconite.[247]
This, I think, is the proper place to tell you of the miracle wrought
by another Turkish pilgrim and monk. He went about in a shirt and white
mantle reaching down to the feet, and let his hair grow long, so that
he resembled the apostles as they are usually depicted by our painters.
Under an engaging appearance was concealed the mind of an impostor; but
the Turks venerated him as a man famous for his miracles. They urged
my dragomans to bring him to me that I might see him. He dined with me,
behaving soberly and modestly, and then went down into the courtyard of
the house, and returned soon afterwards carrying a stone of enormous
weight, with which he struck himself on his bare breast several blows
that had well nigh felled an ox. Then he laid his hand on an iron which
had been made white hot in a fire lighted for the purpose. He put this
into his mouth, and turned it about in every direction so that his
saliva hissed. The iron he took into his mouth was oblong, but thicker
at either end and rectangular, and so heated by the fire that it was
just like a glowing coal. When he had done this, he put the iron back
in the fire and departed, after bidding me farewell, and receiving a
present.
My servants, who were standing around, were astonished, except one who
thought himself cleverer than the rest. ‘And why,’ said he, ‘you stupid
fellows, do you wonder at this? Do you believe these things are done
in reality; they are mere feats of legerdemain and optical delusions?’
Without more ado he seized the iron by the part that stood a good way
out of the fire, to prove it could be handled without injury. But no
sooner had he closed his hand, than he drew it back, with the palm
and fingers so burnt that it was several days before he was well; an
accident which was followed by great laughter from his fellow-servants,
who asked him, ‘Whether he now believed it was hot, or was still
incredulous?’ and invited him to touch it again.
The same Turk told me at dinner, that his abbot, a man renowned for the
sanctity of his life and for his miracles, was accustomed to spread his
cloak on the lake which adjoined his monastery, sit down on it, and so
take a pleasant sail wherever he liked.[248] He also was in the habit
of being tied to a sheep, which had been flayed and dressed, with his
arms fastened to its fore, and his legs to its hind quarters, and being
thrown in this condition into a heated oven, where he stayed till he
gave orders for himself and the sheep to be taken out, when it was well
roasted and fit to eat, and he none the worse.[249]
I don’t believe it, you will say; for the matter of that, neither do I!
I only tell you what I heard; but as to the white hot iron, I saw it
with my own eyes. Yet this feat is not so astonishing after all, as no
doubt while he pretended to be looking for a stone in the court yard,
he fortified his mouth against the fierceness of the fire by some
medicament, such as you know have been discovered.[250] For I remember
seeing a mountebank in the Piazza at Venice handle molten lead, and as
it were wash his hands in it without injury.
I mentioned already that a few days before Roostem’s death the severity
of my prison rules was relaxed. This was exceedingly agreeable to
me, on account of the liberty of access to me which was thus granted
to men of foreign and distant nations, from whom I received much
information that amused me; but this pleasure was counterbalanced by
an equal inconvenience, because my servants abused the privilege given
them of going abroad, and often wandered about the city unescorted by
Janissaries. The consequences were quarrels and disturbances with the
Turks, which gave me a great deal of trouble; and, out of the many that
happened, I will relate one as a specimen, from which you can imagine
the others, that you may know everything about us.
Two of my servants crossed over to Pera without Janissaries, either
because they were all out, or because they did not think they required
their escort. One of them was my apothecary and the other my butler.
Having finished their business in Pera, they hired a boat to return
to Constantinople; but scarcely had they taken their seats in it,
when there came a boy from the judge, or cadi, of that place, who
ordered them to get out, and give up the boat to his master. My
servants refused, and pointed out there were boats enough about for
the cadi to cross in, and told him this one had already been engaged
by them. However, he persevered, and tried to get them out by force.
My men resisted, and that right stoutly, so that they soon came to
blows. As all this was going on before the eyes of the judge, who was
approaching, he could not restrain himself from running down to help
the boy, who was a great favourite with him for reasons that need
not be explained. But while he was carelessly rushing down the steps
leading to the sea, which were slippery with ice (for it was winter),
he missed his footing and would have tumbled into the sea—his feet were
already wet with the water—had not his companions assisted him. The
Turks gathered from all Pera, and an outcry was raised that Christians
had laid violent hands on the judge, and all but drowned him in the
sea. They seized my servants, and with great tumult dragged them before
the voivode, or judge who tries capital charges. The sticks were got
ready and their feet were inserted in the posts, for the purpose of
administering the bastinado. One of my men, who was an Italian, being
in a furious passion, never stopped shouting the whole time ‘_Vour,
chiopecklar, vour_. Strike us, you dogs, strike us! ‘Tis _we_ who have
been wronged, and _we_ have deserved no punishment. We are servants of
the Emperor’s Ambassador. You will be punished by your Sultan when he
knows of this.’ All this, in spite of his speaking in broken Turkish,
his hearers could quite understand. One of the Turks among the rioters
was amazed at his boldness and exclaimed, ‘Do you think this one-eyed
fellow a human being?’ (for he had lost one eye), ‘believe me, he is no
such thing, but belongs to the race of oneeyed Genies.’ The voivode
however, who was himself struck by such courage, that he might not do
more or less than was right, decided on sending them to Roostem unhurt.
They went to him, accompanied by a great crowd of false witnesses,
who had been procured to crush by their evidence those innocent men.
The Turks think it an act of great piety to bear witness against
a Christian; they do not wait to be asked but come unbidden, and
obtrude themselves of their own accord, as happened on this occasion.
Therefore they all exclaimed with one voice, ‘These robbers have dared
to commit a most atrocious crime, and have knocked the judge down with
their fists, and if they had not been stopped, they would have thrown
him into the sea.’ My men denied these charges, and said they were
accused unjustly, and then declared they were my servants. Roostem
soon perceived that it was a case of false accusation; but to divert
the anger of the excited multitude, he assumed a stern expression, and
saying that he would punish them himself, ordered them to be taken
to prison. The prison served as a fortress to my servants against
the violence of the raging mob. Roostem then heard the evidence of
those whom he considered worthy of credit, and found my servants were
innocent, and that it was the judge that was to blame.
Through my dragomans I demanded the surrender of my servants. Roostem
thought the matter important enough to be laid before the Council,
saying he was afraid, that, if the Sultan should hear of it, he would
suspect it was through the influence of money that the wrong the judge
had sustained had been passed over. Already there existed some intimacy
between me and Ali Pasha; and I expostulated with him in strong terms,
through the same dragomans, and demanded that an end should be put to
the persecution of my servants. Ali undertook the case and told me to
set my mind at ease, as this trouble would soon be at an end. Roostem,
however, was still shilly-shallying; he was always afraid to do me a
kindness for fear of being suspected of receiving a bribe; on that
account he would have preferred having the business settled on such
terms, that the judge should be left no cause for complaint. He sent me
word that it seemed to him to be the wisest plan to appease the judge
by giving him some pieces of gold as a sop, and that five and twenty
ducats would be enough for the purpose. I replied that I was obliged
to him for his advice. If he told me, as a personal favour to himself,
to throw fifty ducats into the sea, I would do so at once; but here it
was not a question of money but of precedent, that was at stake. For if
it were laid down as a rule, that whoever had injured my men, should,
instead of being punished, be actually paid for doing so, I should soon
come to the end of my purse. Whenever anyone’s dress began to get worn
or torn, he would resolve to do my servants some harm, inasmuch as he
would feel sure of getting paid for his trouble, and thus obtaining a
new dress at my expense. Nothing could be more disgraceful than this or
more injurious to my interests. Accordingly my servants were sent back,
thanks, in a great measure, to the advocacy of Ali Pasha. But when the
Venetian Baily[251] heard of it he sent for one of my dragomans, and
begged him to tell him how much I had paid to settle the affair. ‘Not
a penny,’ he replied. Then the Baily said, ‘If we had been concerned,
I warrant you we should hardly have got out of it for 200 ducats.’ The
man whom it cost most dear was this model of a judge, who was removed
from office, because, according to their notion, a man is disgraced
who has received a thrashing from a Christian, and this, by his own
admission, had been the case with him.
You ask for news about the Spanish generals, telling me that there is
a report in your neighbourhood that they owe their liberty to me. They
were the following, viz., de Sandé, the commander of the land forces,
and Leyva and Requesens, the admirals of the Neapolitan and Sicilian
fleets. I will give you a short account of how I managed it.
The Turks were much annoyed at the conclusion of peace between the
Kings of Spain and France, which was by no means favourable to their
interests;[252] especially as they found the treaty was not such as
they had believed it to be at first, for they had been convinced that
they would have been high in the list of those entitled to enjoy the
benefits of the same peace. Accordingly, when they found themselves
passed over, thinking that a bad return had been made them, though
they dissembled their vexation, they sought an opportunity to give
some hint that their feelings were no longer so friendly as they had
been. Solyman had written to the King of France to say he approved of
the peace, but at the same time desired the King to remember that old
friends do not easily become foes, or old foes friends.
The offence the Turks felt on these grounds was not a little favourable
to my negotiations, and I was aided in addition by Ali Pasha’s kindly
feeling towards me, and Ibrahim’s great desire of proving his gratitude.
You remember I mentioned previously that when Lavigne was calumniating
me, he at the same time used to accuse Ibrahim, implying that he
betrayed to me all the designs of the Turks.
This Ibrahim, the Sultan’s first dragoman (the Turkish word for
interpreter), was a Pole by birth; he was hated by Lavigne, because
he thought that Ibrahim, in a deadly quarrel between himself and de
Codignac, his predecessor in the embassy, had taken de Codignac’s
part too strongly. I need not trouble you with the whole story, as it
has not much to do with our subject. Lavigne, recollecting this, was
always Ibrahim’s bitter enemy; and whenever he had an opportunity of
addressing the Pashas, every other word he spoke was abuse of Ibrahim.
At last he got him degraded from office and reduced to a private
position.
This concerned me but little, as there had never been any friendship
between Ibrahim and myself, but on the contrary a somewhat hostile
feeling, as I had often found him on the side against us. I was sorry
however that the story should get abroad that it was for my sake
he had been removed from office. While Ibrahim was living in this
condition, deeply humiliated by the loss of his post, as indeed is
usually the case with men who have ceased to be what they were, I
tried to lighten his misfortunes by any attentions in my power, and on
several occasions, when there was a press of business in the course
of the peace negotiations, I employed him as an extra dragoman, and
made him a medium of communication with the Pashas. This was readily
allowed by Ali from his good feeling towards me, and because he was
well aware that Ibrahim had been wrongfully degraded. At last I
effected his restoration to his former position and dignity. From these
circumstances he became much attached to me, so that his great desire
was to find some means of proving his gratitude for my services. Most
loyally did he plead my cause in every question; and did his best to
obtain for me the favour of all whom he could influence. This was an
easier task for him from their disgust at the recent peace, on account
of which, as I said, the Turks were secretly angry with the French, so
that, when a gentleman named Salviati came to Constantinople to obtain
de Sandé’s freedom in the name of the King of France, his errand was
a complete failure. De Sandé had for some time been eagerly looking
forward to this embassy, hoping thereby to procure his liberty, and,
feeling certain that this was the only chance of recovering his
freedom, had gone to great expense in providing presents to do honour
to the Pashas and the Sultan himself, according to the usual custom.
And now, to make a long story short, all was over, Salviati had taken
his departure, and his embassy had proved a failure.
The servants whom de Sandé had employed as his agents, terrified by
this, came to me, and confessed they did not venture to inform him of
such a disappointment; he had entirely depended on his hopes from this
mission, and now they were afraid he would become desperate, and not
only lose his health, but also his life; they therefore asked me to
give them my assistance and to write to him myself.
I was inclined to refuse, as I had neither arguments nor language to
console a man who had received such a cruel blow. De Sandé was a man
of great spirit and exceedingly sanguine temperament, and did not
know what fear was. But when men, whose temper inclines them to hope
that everything they wish will come about, find everything taking an
adverse turn and going against their wishes, there is generally a great
reaction, and their spirits become so depressed that it is no easy
matter to raise them to a proper level.
While our business was at a standstill from this difficulty, the
dragoman Ibrahim most fortunately called on me, and when in the course
of conversation mention was made of the Spanish prisoners, he told me
in so many words, that, if I were to request their release, it would
not be refused. He knew what he was saying and had it on good authority.
He had indeed been previously in the habit of throwing out rather
obscure hints, calculated to make me hope they might be liberated if I
were to intercede; but I did not take much heed of what he said, for
how could I venture to make such an attempt when I was not yet sure
of peace? I was also restrained by the fear that I should do no good
myself, if I interfered at an unfavourable moment, and might perhaps
also hinder Salviati’s negotiations. But when, after his departure, I
heard Ibrahim, who was closely attached to me, make such a declaration,
there seemed to be something in it, and I began to pay more attention
to his words, cautioning him, however, at the same time not to place
me in a false position, and expose his friend to ridicule. This would
certainly be my fate if I were to undertake unsuccessfully a task
which was generally supposed to be hopeless, and in which there had
already been an adverse decision. He persevered notwithstanding, and
told me that I might rely on what he said; and that he would absolutely
guarantee my success.
Relying on his assurances I wrote to de Sandé, and informed him of the
result of Salviati’s negotiations, but told him not to despair, for,
unless all Turks were liars, there was hope in store for him, and then
I related what I had heard from Ibrahim. Having taken this step, I next
consulted certain friends of mine who had great experience in Turkish
affairs. They replied that they wished me success in my undertaking,
but they did not see how I could obtain what had just been denied
to the Ambassador of a King who was an old friend, especially while
the result of our negotiations for peace was still doubtful; and they
pointed out that all precedents showed how difficult it was to prevail
on the Turks to liberate important prisoners. However, I wrote to the
Emperor, and acquainted him with the hopes that had been held out to
me, at the same time earnestly entreating him to ask Solyman to release
the prisoners.
To make a long story short, after large presents had been promised the
Pashas, if they should show themselves gracious and favourable to their
liberation, on the eve of St. Laurence’s day (August 9), they were all
taken out of prison and conducted to my lodging.
De Sandé and Leyva hated each other worse than if they had been
brothers! for which reason it was necessary to have a table laid
separately for the latter, with whom Requesens dined. De Sandé sat at
the same table with myself. At dinner there came in a steward from the
chargé d’affaires of the King of France, bringing me some notes which
had come into his hands. De Sandé asked him if he knew him. ‘I think,’
said he, ‘you are Don Alvaro.’ ‘I am indeed,’ said he, ‘and you will
convey my best compliments to your master, and tell him how you saw
me here a free man, thanks to the Ambassador before you.’ ‘I see it
indeed,’ he replied, ‘but yet I can hardly believe my own eyes.’ This
was done by de Sandé because the chargé d’affaires, though in other
respects an excellent fellow, was one of the persons who could not be
convinced that Solyman would liberate the prisoners as a favour to the
Emperor Ferdinand.[253]
But before they were released from prison, the Mufti, the head of the
Turkish religion, was consulted on the question, if it were lawful to
exchange a few Christians for a larger number of captive Turks? for I
had promised that not fewer than forty Turkish prisoners, who, however,
might be common people of no rank, should be given in exchange. The
Mufti replied that there were two authorities on the point, and that
they held different opinions, one approving of the exchange and the
other not. The Pashas, however, adopted the more liberal opinion.[254]
I have still to tell you of Bajazet’s final catastrophe, for I know
you are expecting to hear the rest of his story. You will remember
that he was thrown into prison by Shah Tahmasp. From that time many
messengers went backwards and forwards from the King of Persia to the
Sultan, some of whom held the title of Ambassador, bringing presents
of the usual kind, such as tents of exquisite workmanship, Assyrian
and Persian carpets, and a Koran, the book which contains their holy
mysteries;[255] amongst other gifts, rare animals were sometimes sent,
for example there was an Indian ant,[256] as large as a fair-sized dog,
and extremely fierce and snappish, which, I remember, they were said to
have brought.
The ostensible reason for their arrival was to reconcile Bajazet and
his father; great honours were paid them, and they were entertained
magnificently by the Pashas. Ali made me a partaker in one of these
banquets by sending me eight large porcelain dishes of sweetmeats. The
Romans used to send something from their table to their friends, a
custom which the Spaniards retain to this day. The Turks, on the other
hand, carry off dainties from the banquet for themselves, but generally
only intimate friends do so, who have wives and children at home. They
usually carried home from my table handkerchiefs full of fragments of
eatables, and were not afraid of soiling their silk robes with drops of
gravy, although they consider cleanliness of the highest importance.
When I mention this, it recalls to my memory an amusing incident, which
I shall not be sorry to tell you. You will have a hearty laugh over it,
I am sure, as I had myself; and is not laughter worth cultivating? Is
it not man’s peculiar attribute, and the best recipe in the world for
tempering human misfortunes? Besides, we are no Catos.
The Pashas observe the custom of giving dinner for a few days before
their fast, which answers to our Lent, to all who choose to come,
and no one is excluded. However, the people who come are generally
neighbours, friends, or recognised dependants. A leather tablecloth,
which is loaded with a crowd of dishes, is laid on the ground over an
oblong mat. Such a table will hold a large company. The Pasha himself
sits in the chief place, and about him those of higher rank, and then
in a long row the guests who belong to inferior families, till no more
room remains for anyone, and many are left standing, for the table
cannot hold all at once. However, as they eat with great moderation and
do not talk, it is not long before the first party have appeased their
hunger, they then conclude their meal with a draught of water sweetened
with honey or sugar, and, after bidding the master of the feast
farewell, make room for others who have not yet sat down; these again
are succeeded by another set, till in a short space many are satisfied
off the same table, the attendants in the meantime washing the plates
and dishes, and supplying fresh ones as fast as they are emptied.
A Pasha who was giving one of these entertainments at his house had
invited a Sanjak-bey, who happened to have come there, to sit by him.
The second place from him was occupied by an old man of the class the
Turks call Khodjas, which means Scholars. As he saw before him a great
mass of various eatables, and wished, having had his fill, to take
something away for his wife, he began looking for his handkerchief to
put it in; but found he had left it at home. He was, however, equal to
the emergency, and like a good general was able to extemporise a plan
on the field of battle. He seized the bag of a turban which was hanging
down behind him[257] (which, however, was not his own as he thought,
but the Sanjak-bey’s). This he crammed as full as he could, finishing
with a good slice of bread by way of a stopper to prevent anything
slipping out. When he was bidding his host farewell, in accordance with
the Turkish fashion, he had to salute his superiors by placing his
hands on his breast or thighs. Having paid his respects he gathered
up the bag again, but this time took his own, and when he left the
dining-room, he felt it carefully all over and, to his utter amazement,
found it empty. But what was he to do? He went home in disgust.
Not long afterwards the Sanjak-bey also rose, and after saluting the
Pasha was going away, in happy ignorance of the load that was hanging
behind him. But soon the bag began to deliver itself of its contents;
every step the Sanjak-bey took, something fell out, and his progress
was marked by a long line of fragments. Every one began to laugh;
he then looked back, and his face grew crimson, when he saw his bag
disgorging pieces of food.
Then the Pasha, who had guessed the truth, called him back, told him
to sit down, and ordered the Khodja to be summoned; and turning to him
said, ‘As you are a neighbour and old friend of mine, and have a wife
and children at home, I wonder why you did not carry away something for
them from my table, where there was enough and to spare.’ The Khodja
replied, ‘This happened, sir, from no fault of mine, but from the anger
of my guardian angel. For, as I had carelessly left my handkerchief at
home, I stuffed the remains of my dinner into the bag of my turban, but
lo and behold, when I left the dining room, it proved to be empty, but
how this came to pass is more than I can tell.’ So the Sanjak-bey’s
character as a gentleman was re-established, and the disappointment
of the old Khodja, and the oddness of the accident, furnished the
bystanders with food for another merry laugh.
But I will return to my subject. Bajazet’s hopes were at a low ebb, for
his merciless father was demanding that he should be given up alive for
execution; to this the King of Persia refused to agree and pretended to
act as his protector, while all the time he intended to betray him.
Solyman at one time tried persuasion on the Shah, reminding him of the
treaty, by which he had agreed they should both have the same friends
and enemies, and at another, endeavoured to frighten him with menacing
language and threatened him with war, if Bajazet were not surrendered.
He had placed strong garrisons in all his towns on the Persian
frontier, and filled Mesopotamia and the bank of the Euphrates with
soldiers, who were taken for the most part from the Imperial guard,
and the troops he had employed against Bajazet. These forces were
commanded by Mehemet Pasha, the third of the Vizierial Pashas, and the
Beyler bey of Greece, for Selim had soon returned home. He also sent
frequent messages to the tribes they call Georgians, who dwell between
the Caspian and the Black Sea, and border on Media, urging them to
take up arms against the King of Persia. They sagaciously replied that
‘they had not sufficient confidence in their own strength to venture to
attack Shah Tahmasp by themselves; let Solyman only come with his army
and they would know, when they saw him on the spot, what they ought
to do. In that case they would be wanting neither in counsel nor in
courage.’
In another direction are still to be found five Turkoman chiefs
descended from Tamerlane; and these also were invited to join their
arms against the common foe.
Solyman wished it to be believed that he himself was going to Aleppo, a
city of Syria on the banks of the Euphrates,[258] and that he intended
from that base to make war on the King of Persia. Nor was the latter
free from apprehension, as he had too often experienced the might of
Solyman’s arm. But the angry Sultan was completely checked by the
opposition of the soldiers and the reluctance they felt to engaging
in such a war. They shrank from an unnatural contest, and began to
desert. A great number of them, especially of the cavalry, returned to
Constantinople, without orders from their commanders, and when bidden
to return to the camp without delay, though they obeyed, they did so in
such a way as to leave it evident how little they could be relied on,
if any accident or change should occur.
For this reason, when it became sufficiently clear to Solyman that the
King of Persia would not surrender Bajazet, pleading that he was afraid
of delivering him up alive, lest by any chance he should escape, and
live to take vengeance for the wrongs he had received, he decided,
as the next best course, to get him executed in Persia. He had great
hopes of prevailing thus far on the Shah; for in the last letter he
had received from that monarch, the latter had expressed his surprise
at his careless method of managing such an important affair; observing
that he had several times sent ambassadors to him, but he, on the
contrary, had sent him nothing but letters and messengers, conduct,
which made him doubt if he were really in earnest. ‘Let him,’ said
the Shah, ‘send noblemen of high authority and name, with whom the
negotiations might be carried on and concluded in a way that befitted
their importance. The Sultan was much in his debt; Bajazet’s coming had
been a great injury to him, and he had incurred great expense before he
had got him into his power. It was just that these circumstances should
be taken into account.’
Solyman saw that money was his object, and so, rather than involve
himself in an unnecessary war, for which he was unfitted by his years,
he determined to follow the Pashas’ advice, and to fight the King of
Persia with money, instead of arms.
Hassan Aga, one of the chiefs of the eunuchs of the bed-chamber, was
first selected as ambassador to Persia, and the Pasha of Marasch, a man
of venerable years, was ordered to accompany him. About the middle of
winter they started with the fullest powers; they travelled, in spite
of the difficulties of the road, with the utmost speed, and at last,
after losing many of their suite, arrived at Casbin, where the King of
Persia was.
They first asked leave to see Bajazet, and found him so disfigured
by the dirt and filth of his prison, and with his hair and beard so
long that they could not recognise him. They were obliged to have
him shaved, and it was only then that Hassan was able to identify
the features of the prince. He had been brought up with him from his
earliest years, and it was especially for that reason that Solyman had
committed this office to him.
It was agreed that the King of Persia should be indemnified for the
loss he said he had sustained, and should receive in addition a present
commensurate with the importance of the business, and that then Solyman
should be allowed to put Bajazet to death.
Hassan hurried back and told his master of the arrangement he had
concluded. The present was prepared, along with the sums demanded as
expenses, and was conveyed, under the protection of a Turkish guard, to
the frontiers of the Persian dominions. Hassan, too, came again as the
unfortunate Bajazet’s appointed executioner, for Solyman had specially
ordered that he should put him to death with his own hands. Accordingly
the bow-string was put round Bajazet’s neck, and he was strangled to
death. He is said to have asked one boon before his death, namely, to
be allowed to see his children and share his kisses among them as a
last token of affection; but this he asked in vain, being told ‘There
was other business which required his immediate attention.’[259]
Such was the end of Bajazet’s ill-starred designs, whose ruin was
precipitated by the very efforts he made to avoid it. His four sons
shared their father’s fate.
I mentioned that one, who had been lately born, had been left at Amasia
when his father fled, and that he had been removed by his grandfather
to Broussa, where he was being brought up; but, when the Sultan knew
it was all over with Bajazet, he sent a eunuch, whom he trusted, to
Broussa to kill him. As the eunuch’s own disposition was too tender,
he took with him one of the doorkeepers, a hard-hearted ruffian who
was capable of any atrocity, to be the child’s murderer. When the
doorkeeper entered the room, and was fitting the cord to the child’s
neck, it smiled at him, and, raising itself as much as it could, threw
up its little arms to give him a hug and a kiss. This so moved the
cruel fellow that he could not bear it, and fell down in a swoon. The
eunuch, who was waiting outside, wondered that he was so long, and
at last going in himself, found the doorkeeper lying senseless on
the ground. He could not afford to let his mission be a failure, and
so with his own hands he stopped for ever the feeble breath of that
innocent child.
From this it was clear enough that the grandson had been spared till
then, not from the mercy of his grandfather, but from the Turkish
superstition of referring all successful enterprises, whatever may have
been the motive from which they were undertaken, to the instigation
of God. On this account, as long as the issue of Bajazet’s attempts
remained doubtful, Solyman determined to do no violence to the child,
for fear that if afterwards Bajazet’s fortunes should take a turn for
the better, he should be found to have been striving against the will
of God. But now that he had perished, and thus had, as it were, been
condemned by the sentence of God, he thought there was no reason for
sparing Bajazet’s son any longer, that according to the proverb, not an
egg of that mischievous crow might be left.
I once had a long argument with my cavasse on this subject, when I was
in the islands I told you about. As I was returning from one of my more
distant excursions, it happened that I could not double a projecting
point, the wind being contrary. After striving for some time in vain,
we were obliged to disembark and dine there, for in case of such an
accident I used always to take about with us in the boat some cooked
provisions. Several Turks, who had been forced to land there from the
same cause, followed my example. My table was laid in a green meadow.
The cavasse and dragomans sat down along with me. Bajazet happening to
be mentioned, the cavasse began to inveigh against him without mercy
for taking up arms against his brother. I on the other hand said, I
thought he was to be pitied, because he had no choice except to take up
arms or submit to certain death. But when the cavasse went on abusing
him in as strong terms as before, I said, ‘You are making out Bajazet
guilty of a monstrous atrocity, but you do not charge Selim, the father
of the present Sultan, with any crime, though he took up arms not
merely to resist his father’s will, but against his very person.’[260]
‘And with good reason,’ replied the cavasse, ‘for the issue of his
enterprise showed clearly enough that he did what he did by prompting
from above, and that it had been predestinated by Heaven.’ I answered,
‘On this principle you will interpret whatever has been undertaken,
although from the most wicked motives, if it proves successful, to be
done rightly, and will ascribe it to God’s will; and will thus make out
God to be the author of evil, nor will you reckon anything to have been
done well or the contrary, except by the result.’
We continued our argument for some time, each of us defending his
position with great spirit and in a high tone of voice. Many texts of
Scripture were cited on either side, ‘Can the vessel say to the potter,
why hast thou formed me thus?’ ‘I will harden Pharaoh’s heart,’ ‘Jacob
have I loved, but Esau have I hated,’ and others, as they came into our
heads.
The Turks, who were a little way off, wondered what we were arguing
about; so, after we had risen and the table had been removed, the
cavasse went straight to his countrymen. They all came round him, and
he appeared to be haranguing them, while they listened with the utmost
attention. Then, as it was just noon, they kept silence and worshipped
God after their manner with foreheads bowed to the ground. The time
seemed long to me till the cavasse came back, as I was anxious to
know what had been the subject of his earnest conversation with his
countrymen. I felt a little afraid that he had repeated something I had
said, and given it an unfavourable turn, although I had had sufficient
proofs of his honesty.
At last, when the wind had gone down, and it was time to embark, we
went on board again, and set out once more. Then the first thing I did
was to ask the cavasse what he had been talking about so earnestly
with his countrymen. He replied with a smile, ‘I will honestly confess
to you what it was. They wanted to know from me what the subject was,
on which we had been arguing so hotly. I said, “Predestination,” and
repeated to them the texts, both those which you had cited on your side
and those which you had recognised when quoted by me. Hence I argued
that it was certain you had read our books, and were well acquainted
with Holy Scripture, and that you wanted nothing to secure eternal
happiness, except being initiated into our religion. Accordingly we
exhorted each other to pray that God would bring you to the true faith;
and these were the prayers you saw us making.’
When the news of Bajazet’s death was brought to Constantinople, I was
seized with great alarm for the issue of our negotiations. We were
indeed in a good position and there seemed to be a prospect of the end
we desired; but our anxiety was renewed by Bajazet’s misfortune, for
fear the Turks should become more haughty, undo what had been done,
and call on us to accept less favourable terms. We had successfully
got past numerous rocks, among them the defeat at Djerbé, Bajazet’s
imprisonment, and the unlucky accident of the expulsion of the Voivode
from Moldavia, yet two formidable ones remained, namely, Bajazet’s
death, of which I have spoken, and another besides, of which I shall
speak presently.
Ali had been the first to communicate the news to me, by a domestic
slave, in these words, ‘Know for certain that Bajazet is dead. You
cannot now go on trifling with us any longer in reliance on his making
a diversion in your favour. Remember that an old friendship can be
restored between two princes who share the same faith more easily
than a new one can be cemented between two Sovereigns of different
religions. Take my word for it, it is not safe for you to go on
shuffling any longer and raising unreal difficulties.’
Such a message made a deep impression on my mind. But, as the news came
from a suspicious quarter, I sent round to my friends to enquire if
any certain intelligence of Bajazet’s death had arrived, and all to a
man replied, that there remained no doubt about it. I then understood
I must shorten sail. There was no possibility of aspiring to better
terms; I ought to be contented if I could maintain the position I
had gained, and if no change for the worse should be made in the
conditions. They had now been before the Sultan for some time, and he
had not been averse to them, subject to a few additions or omissions,
among which however there were some things I was sorry to lose.
Certain points were expressed too obscurely, so as to leave room for
controversy hereafter, if any one were to place an unfair construction
on them. I used my utmost efforts to get these either removed or
altered to our advantage. The conditions had been once or twice sent
to my Emperor for his perusal, and he had graciously approved of them;
but I felt dissatisfied myself, and was always wishing to obtain some
further concession, when, in the midst of my negotiations, the news I
mentioned came upon me like a thunderbolt.
But previously also a serious difficulty had arisen in consequence of
the revolt of certain Hungarian nobles from the Voivode of Transylvania
to the Emperor, or, to speak correctly, in consequence of their return
from error to the path of duty. They brought over with them the forts
and castles which they held.[261]
This startling event was calculated to upset all the steps towards
peace that had been taken. For the Turks were thus supplied with
a plausible argument: ‘No change ought to have been made while
negotiations about the terms of peace were going on. If you are really
anxious for peace you ought to restore the advantage which you have
unfairly gained. The deserters are at liberty to do as they please,
but let the places they hold remain in the hands of the Voivode, our
dependant and vassal.’
However, not only was no such claim asserted by Ali, but when I
expressly put down in the articles of peace that these matters should
remain as they were, he willingly approved of their ratification.
But the ambassadors, who had then recently arrived from the Voivode,
did their utmost to chafe that sore, and filled the court with their
outcries, exclaiming that their unfortunate young master was being
betrayed, the rights of friendship profaned, and enemies preferred to
old friends. These remonstrances had indeed some effect upon the other
Pashas, but not on Ali. So at last it was agreed to adhere to the terms
of peace, as they had been already settled.
Although there could be no doubt about the wishes of my master, yet,
as I remembered that among the attendants of princes there never is
any lack of people ready to blacken the good deeds of others, however
worthy they may be, especially if they are foreigners, I decided that
everything, as far as it could be managed, should be left as open as
possible for his decision. Therefore I negotiated with Ali in such a
way as to point out that, although the proposed conditions did not
altogether answer my Sovereign’s expectations, yet I was confident he
would agree to them, provided that some one was sent with me who could
explain the points that were obscure, or which might in any way be made
a subject of dispute, saying that Ibrahim seemed the best person for
the service, as he could report to them the Emperor’s desire for peace.
He readily agreed to this proposal, so the last touch was thus put to
these protracted peace negotiations.
It is the custom for the Pashas to invite to their table in the Divan
an ambassador who is in favour when he leaves. But as I wished to make
it appear that everything remained undecided and uncertain till a reply
was brought back from my master, this honour was not paid me, the want
of which however did not trouble my peace of mind.[262]
I was anxious to take with me some well-bred horses, and therefore
had charged my servants to go about the market frequently on the
chance of being able to find any to suit. When Ali heard of this, he
had a capital thorough-bred of his own brought out as if for sale.
My men hurried up to bid for him, 120 ducats was named as the price,
and they offered eighty, without knowing who was the owner. The
people who had charge of the horse refused to let him go for such
a low price. But a day or two afterwards, the same horse, with two
others every bit as good, was sent as a present by Ali Pasha, one of
them being a beautifully shaped palfrey. When I thanked him for his
present, he asked me if I did not think the horse, which my men had
wanted to buy in the market for eighty ducats, was not worth more.
I replied, ‘Much more, but they had a commission from me not to go
beyond that price, that I might not incur too great a loss, if they
should, without knowing it, purchase some likely looking animal, which
should afterwards prove unsound. Such things do sometimes happen in
the horse-market.’ He then told me how Turkish horses are fed at the
beginning of a journey, namely, with a very small allowance of food,
and advised me to travel by very short stages, till the horses had got
accustomed to the work, and to divide the journey to Adrianople into
nine or ten days, which usually took only five. He presented me also
with an exceedingly elegant robe interwoven with gold thread, and a
casket full of the finest theriac of Alexandria,[263] and lastly added
a glass bottle of balsam, which he highly commended, saying, ‘The other
presents he had given me he did not think much of, as money could buy
them, but this was a rare gift and his master could give no greater
present to a friendly or allied prince. He had been governor of Egypt
for some years, and thus had an opportunity of procuring it.’ The plant
produces two sorts of juice; there is the cheap black extract made
from the oil of the boiled leaves, while the other kind flows from
an incision in the bark. This last, which is yellow and is the true
balsam, was the one he gave me.[264]
He wished some things sent him in return, namely, a coat of mail large
enough to fit him, as he is very tall and stout, and a powerful horse,
to which he could trust himself without being afraid of a fall, for
being a heavy man he has great difficulty in finding a horse equal
to his weight, and lastly a piece of curled maple or some other wood
similarly marked, with which our countrymen veneer tables.
No presents were given me by Solyman, except the ordinary ones of the
kind usually given to every ambassador on taking leave, such as I had
generally received in former years.
At my farewell audience he curtly inveighed against the insolence of
the Heydons and the soldiers of the garrison of Szigeth. ‘What use,’
said he, ‘has it been for us to make peace here, if the garrison of
Szigeth will break it and continue the war?’ I replied, ‘I would
lay the matter before the Emperor, and I hoped he would do what was
needful.’
Thus auspiciously, towards the end of the month of August, I commenced
my wished-for journey, bringing with me as the fruit of eight years’
exertions a truce for eight years, which however it will be easy to get
extended for as long as we wish, unless some remarkable change should
occur.
When we arrived at Sophia, from which there is a road not only to
Belgrade but to Ragusa, whence it is only a few days’ passage to
Venice, Leyva and Requesens asked my leave to go by Ragusa, which was
their shortest way to Italy, for the purpose of discharging at the
earliest possible date their obligations to the Pashas, and paying off
the debts they had incurred at Constantinople for various purposes.
They said they would give me letters to the Emperor to thank him for
the recovery of their freedom, which they would have preferred to do
in person, if they had not been hindered by the considerations I have
mentioned. I complied with their wishes without hesitation, and the
death of Requesens, which happened soon after, gave me less cause to
regret having done so, for before he reached Ragusa he died, being a
very old man. I am glad I granted him the favour, as a refusal might
have been thought to have been partly the cause of his illness.
De Sandé and I accomplished the rest of the journey very merrily,
without meeting with any serious inconvenience. De Sandé was a
pleasant fellow, and always making jokes, being quite capable, when it
was necessary, of concealing his anxiety and assuming a cheerfulness he
did not feel. The daily occurrences of our journey furnished us with
many a merry jest. Sometimes we had a fancy to leave our carriages,
and try which of us could walk the longest. In this, as I was thin
and had no load of corpulence to carry, I easily beat my friend, who
was stout and too fat for walking, not to mention that the effects of
his confinement still made him incapable of much exertion. Whenever
our road lay through a village, it was amusing to see Ibrahim, who
followed us very gravely on horseback with his Turks, riding up and
entreating us by all we held most dear to get into our carriages again,
and not to disgrace ourselves utterly by allowing the villagers to see
us travelling on foot, for among the Turks this is considered a great
dishonour. With these words he sometimes prevailed on us to re-enter
our carriages, and sometimes we laughed at him and disobeyed.
Now listen to one of de Sandé’s many witty sayings. When we left
Constantinople, not only was the heat still overpowering, but I was in
a languid state from the late hot weather, so that I had hardly any
appetite for food, or at any rate, was satisfied with very little.
But de Sandé, being a strong man and accustomed to a great deal of
food, of which he always partook with me, used to devour rather than
eat his meals, exhorting me from time to time to follow his example,
and eat like a man. In this however he was unsuccessful, until, about
the beginning of October, we were approaching the borders of Austria.
There, partly from the nature of the country, and partly from the
time of year, I was refreshed by the cooler climate, and began to be
better in health and also to eat more freely than before. When this
was observed by de Sandé, he exclaimed, ‘He was amply rewarded for
his trouble, the pains and training he had spent on me had not been
thrown away, inasmuch as, thanks to his teaching and instruction, I had
learnt at last how to eat, though I had lived so many years without
acquiring any knowledge of, or practice in, this most needful art. Let
me consider him as much in my debt as I pleased for delivering him from
a Turkish prison; I was no less indebted to him, as it was from him I
had learnt how to eat!’
Amusing ourselves in this manner we arrived at Tolna, where we came
in for a certain amount of annoyance. De Sandé used to stay under
the same roof with me, where my quarters consisted of several rooms;
but where there was only one he used to lodge at an adjoining house,
that he might not inconvenience me. Accordingly at Tolna he ordered
the Janissary, whom I took with me from Constantinople to Buda as my
attendant, to look out for quarters for him. One of my servants and a
Spanish doctor of medicine, who had been ransomed at de Sandé’s expense
at Constantinople, accompanied the Janissary. They happened to go into
a house near us, which belonged to a Janissary who had been entrusted
with the charge of the town. For it is the custom of the Turks, in
order to protect the Christians from the outrages of travellers, to
appoint in each of the wealthier villages or small towns one or two
Janissaries,[265] who take advantage of the position in which they
are thus placed, and turn it to their own profit in many ways. This
Janissary had committed some fault for which he had deserved to lose
his office; and the fear of such a punishment hanging over his head had
made him crusty, and completely soured his temper. Our people inspected
his house without opposition, went all over it, and began to retreat,
as they did not like it. My Janissary was going first, the servant
was following, and the doctor was last. Meanwhile, the Janissary who
lived there, and who was then in his garden, was told that Christians
were looking for a lodging in his house. Mad with rage he hurried up
with a stick that might have served Hercules for a club, and without
a word brought it down with all his might on the doctor’s shoulders,
who flew out of the house for fear of a repetition of the blow. My
servant looked back, and saw behind him the Janissary on the point of
giving him a similar greeting, his stick being already raised for the
blow; but this servant of mine, who was carrying a small hatchet in his
hand, as people generally do in that country, seized the blade of it
with one hand, and the end of the handle with the other, and holding
it cross-wise over his head parried several blows without injury. As
the other, however, did not stop striking, the handle of the hatchet
began to give way, so my servant was obliged to alter his tactics, and
closing with the Janissary aimed a blow at his head, but the latter did
not like this change in the mode of fighting, and forthwith took to his
heels. As my servant could not reach him, he flung the hatchet at his
back as he ran away. The Janissary was wounded by the blow and fell;
and so our people escaped.
In the meantime the doctor was rousing the neighbourhood with his
cries, exclaiming that it was all over with him, he was as good as
dead, and all his bones were broken.
De Sandé, when he heard the story, was both vexed and amused. He
was unaffected by the doctor’s exclamations, thinking he was more
frightened than hurt. But he was tormented by a terrible anxiety,
fearing that he would be recalled to Constantinople, and could not
be persuaded that there was not some treachery at the bottom of the
affair. The Pashas, he thought, had sought an opportunity of pretending
to do me a favour, and would soon show their real intentions, and find
an excuse for dragging him back to Constantinople, where he must lie
rotting in a filthy jail to the end of his days. He was therefore much
vexed at the behaviour of my servant, who, instead of expressing any
sorrow at the severe wound he had inflicted on the Janissary, swore
that he was exceedingly sorry to hear he was still alive. Accordingly,
he addressed him as follows, ‘My good Henry (for that was his name),
I beg you to control your anger. This is no place for displaying your
courage or avenging your wrongs; in our present situation it is no mark
of cowardice to pocket an affront. Whether we will or no, we are in
their power. Pray, remember how much mischief this ill-timed passion
of yours may bring on us; we may in consequence be all brought back to
Constantinople, and everything that has been done may be undone, or
at any rate, unsettled, the result of which will be fresh worries and
endless trouble. I beg you another time, if you have no regard for your
own safety, for my sake at any rate, to control yourself more.’
But his remonstrances fell on deaf ears. Henry was a man of obstinate
disposition, and when angered, most unreasonable. ‘What would it have
mattered to me,’ he answered, ‘even if I had killed him? Had he not
resolved to murder me? if but one of all the blows he aimed at my
head had reached me, he had butchered me like a sheep. The idea of my
being guilty for slaying a man, who was endeavouring to kill me! I am
desperately sorry for one thing, and that is, that I do not feel quite
sure that he will not recover from my blow.’ Then he swore he would
spare no Turk, who wanted to wound him, but would, at all hazards, do
his best to kill him. De Sandé did not approve of these sentiments.
The Janissary, having received the wound I mentioned, made it out to
be worse than it was. Two Jews, who were acquainted with the Spanish
tongue, came to me, saying that the Janissary was in great danger; I
must give him some compensation, or else I should hear more of it; much
trouble was in store for me on this account. I replied as I thought
politic.
But as I knew the Turkish habit of bringing false accusations, I
considered it better to be beforehand with them. I immediately asked
Ibrahim, through a servant, to lend me one of his suite, to escort one
of my men to Constantinople, saying that the case was urgent. Ibrahim
wondered what the reason could be, and came to me at once. I said that
I must ask Ali Pasha to have more trustworthy precautions taken for my
safety on the journey, otherwise I could not feel confident of reaching
the borders of my country uninjured, as two of my suite had been
within an inch of being murdered. I then told him what had happened.
Ibrahim understood how closely the affair concerned himself, and
asked me to have the patience to wait a few moments, and immediately
went across the road to the Janissary, whom he found in bed. He rated
him soundly for behaving in such a way to my people; saying ‘we were
returning, after peace had been concluded, in high favour with Solyman
and all the Pashas. None of my requests had been denied me, and many
concessions had been made unasked; he himself had been attached to me
as my companion on the journey to take care that proper respect was
paid to me everywhere. The Janissary had been the first person found
to do us any injury, and that I wished to send to Constantinople to
complain about it. If this were done, the Janissary well knew what the
consequences would be.’
By this speech not only was the Janissary’s comb cut, but it was now
his turn to be frightened.
On the following day we pursued our journey towards Buda, the doctor
being as nimble as before in spite of his terrible bruises. When we
were just in sight of Buda, by order of the Pasha some of his household
came to meet us, along with several cavasses; a crowd of young men on
horseback formed the most remarkable part of our escort on account of
the strangeness of their attire, which was as follows. They had cut
a long line in the skin of their bare heads, which were for the most
part shaved, and inserted in the wound an assortment of feathers;
though dripping with blood they concealed the pain and assumed a gay
and cheerful bearing, as if they felt it not. Close before me were some
of them on foot, one of whom walked with his bare arms a-kimbo, both
of which he had pierced above the elbow with a Prague knife. Another,
who went naked to the waist, had stuck a bludgeon in two slits he had
made in his skin above and below his loins, whence it hung as if from
a girdle. A third had fixed a horse’s hoof with several nails on the
top of his head. But that was old, as the nails had so grown into the
flesh, that they were quite immovable.
With this escort we entered Buda, and were conducted to the Pasha, who
conversed with me for some time about the observance of the truce,
with de Sandé standing by. The company of young men, who showed such
strange proofs of their indifference to pain, took up a position
inside the threshold of the court-yard, and when I happened to look in
that direction, the Pasha asked me what I thought of them. ‘Capital
fellows,’ I replied, ‘save that they treat their skin in a way that I
should not like to treat my clothes!’ The Pasha laughed and dismissed
us.
On the next day we came to Gran, and proceeded from there to Komorn,
which is the first fortress of his Imperial Majesty, and stands on the
river Waag. On either bank of the river the garrison of the place with
the naval auxiliaries, who are there called Nassadistas, was awaiting
us. Before I crossed, de Sandé embraced me and thanked me once more for
the recovery of his freedom, disclosing at the same time the anxiety he
had so long kept a secret. He told me frankly, that up to this time he
had been under the belief that the Turks could not be acting in good
faith in the business, and therefore had been in perpetual fear that he
would have to go back to Constantinople, and end his days in a dungeon.
Now at last he felt that he was not to be cheated of the liberty he
owed me, for which he would be under the deepest obligations to me to
his last breath.[266]
A few days afterwards we reached Vienna. At that time the Emperor
Ferdinand was at the Diet of the Empire with his son Maximilian, whose
election as King of the Romans was then proceeding. I informed the
Emperor of my return and of Ibrahim’s arrival, asking his pleasure
concerning him, for he was anxious to be conducted to Frankfort.
The Emperor at first replied, that he thought it more advisable that
the Turks should await his return at Vienna, deeming it impolitic that
men of so hostile a nation should be conducted all the way from Vienna
to Frankfort through the heart of the Empire.
But it was tedious to wait, and might have given the Turks many
grounds for suspicion, and there was no cause for alarm, if Ibrahim
with his suite should travel through the most flourishing part of the
Empire; on the contrary, it was desirable that he should thereby form a
just estimate of its strength and greatness, and, most of all, that he
should see at Frankfort how unanimous the chief princes of the Empire
were in electing Maximilian as his father’s successor.
When I had laid these arguments before the Emperor, he gave his consent
to Ibrahim and his attendants being conducted to Frankfort. So we set
out on our journey thither by Prague, Bamberg, and Wurzburg.
Ibrahim was unwilling to pass through Bohemia without paying his court
to the Archduke Ferdinand; but the Archduke did not think fit to give
him an audience, except incognito.
When I was only a few days’ journey from Frankfort, I decided to
precede the Turks by one or two days, that I might, before they
arrived, inform the Emperor about certain matters connected with my
embassy. I therefore took post, and arrived at Frankfort the eve of the
day, on which seven years before I had commenced my second journey from
Vienna to Constantinople. I was received by my most gracious Emperor
with a warmth and indulgence which was due not to my own poor merits,
but to the natural kindness of his character. You may imagine how much
I enjoyed, after so many years, seeing my Master not only alive and
well, but also in the utmost prosperity. He treated me in a manner
betokening his high satisfaction at the way in which I had discharged
the duties of the embassy, thanked me for my long services, expressed
his complete approval of the result of my negotiations, loaded me with
tokens of his esteem, and, in short, bestowed on me every possible mark
of favour.
On the day before the coronation (November 29, N.S.), Ibrahim arrived
at Frankfort very late in the evening, after the gates of the town had
been shut, which according to ancient custom are not allowed to be
opened the whole of the following day. But his Imperial Majesty gave
express orders that the gates should be opened for the Turks the next
day. A place was assigned them from which they could see the Emperor
elect passing, with the whole of the show and procession. It appeared
to them a grand and magnificent spectacle, as indeed it was. There
were pointed out, among the others who accompanied the Emperor to do
him honour, three Dukes, those of Saxony, Bavaria, and Juliers,[267]
each of whom could, from his own resources, put a regular army in the
field; and many other things were explained to them about the strength,
dignity, and grandeur of the Empire.
A few days afterwards Ibrahim had an audience of the Emperor, related
the reasons of his coming, and presented to him such gifts as are
considered the most honourable among the Turks. After the peace had
been ratified, the Emperor honoured him with magnificent presents, and
sent him back to Solyman.
I am still detained here by my private affairs, though longing to fly
from the court and return home. For, indeed, the life of a court is by
no means to my liking. Full well do I know its cares. Beneath its gaudy
show lurk endless miseries. In it deceit abounds, and sincerity is
rare. There is no court which is not haunted by envy, in which it is
not vain to seek for friendship that can be trusted, and in which there
is not cause to fear a change of favour and a sudden fall. For even
monarchs themselves are human. I have seen a man, who had entered the
palace escorted by a hundred friends, return home with hardly a single
companion, on account of the Sovereign’s displeasure. A court does not
recognise real merit till too late, but is guided by mere shadows, such
as rumour, outward appearances, intrigues and popular mistakes, so that
I should not hesitate to call those fortunate, who have been granted a
speedy and happy release from its annoyances. To be able to live for
oneself and literature, and to grow old in some quiet country nook,
with a few honest friends, is indeed an enviable lot. If there is any
true life to be found in this earthly pilgrimage, surely it must be
this. Far too often in a court is a buffoon of rank valued more highly
than a man of merit; indeed a picture of an ass among monkeys gives an
excellent notion of the position of an honest man among courtiers.
It is of ordinary courts that I speak. For I freely admit that many
courts, and especially this one, derive lustre from the presence of
men of distinction in every walk of life, who shed around them a
glorious light. Be this as it may, I prefer a peaceful retired life,
with plenty of time for reading, to the throng and tumult of a court.
But, though I long to depart, I am afraid my most gracious Sovereign
may detain me, or at any rate summon me back, when I have reached my
retirement at home. He has consented to my departure, it is true, but
only on condition of my returning if recalled. But if this occurs (for
who could refuse the courteous request of a Sovereign who is able to
command, and to whom one owes so much?) then one consolation will
be left me, namely, that it will be granted me to gaze upon the most
Sacred Person of my Emperor, or, to express it better, upon the living
image of real virtue.
For I assure you my master is the noblest prince on whom the sun ever
shone. His character and his virtues give him a claim to empire such as
few have ever possessed. Supreme power must everywhere command respect,
even when held by unworthy hands, but to deserve supreme power and to
be fit to wield it, is, in my judgment, a far more glorious thing.
I speak not therefore of his birth, nor of his illustrious ancestors;
his greatness requires no extraneous support, but can stand on its own
merits; it is his personal virtues and his personal fitness for his
high station that strike me most forcibly.
There have been many bad Emperors, who did not deserve to be elevated
to such a pinnacle of power; but, of all the Emperors that ever lived,
not one has merited that dignity more than my master.
Again, how many originally upright and faultless characters when raised
to power, have been quickly corrupted by their freedom from restraint
and by the temptations of a court, and have plunged headlong into every
form of vice. They forgot they were mortal, and conceiving arrogant
thoughts beyond the limits of human ambition, they claimed to be
elevated to heaven, and ranked among the gods, while all the time they
were unworthy to be reckoned among men.
But few men’s necks can bear the load of an exalted lot; many sink
beneath it, and when placed in a high position forget themselves. It is
a hard trial to have unlimited power, and yet to curb one’s desires.
There is none whose eyes have been less dazzled than my master’s by
the splendour of high position, and no one has kept a firmer hold on
virtue, or guarded more diligently against his naturally upright
disposition being corrupted by the temptations to which royalty is
exposed. He has always felt, that those who shine before men in the
glory of exalted rank ought to influence their minds to good by the
purity of their lives.
He is most zealous for religion, and piously serves and worships God,
always living as if he were in His immediate presence, measuring all
his actions by His law, and thereby governing his whole life. Whether
in prosperity or adversity, he recognises the Hand which gives and
takes away. In short, while still on earth he leads a life such as
saints in heaven may lead.
He feels intensely the seriousness of his position. All his words and
actions have the common weal for their object, and he ever makes his
personal interests subordinate to his subjects’ welfare. So much is
this the case that some people accuse him of sacrificing the legitimate
claims of his household and his children to the welfare of the state.
To those about him he shows every possible kindness, and treats us
all as if he were responsible for our welfare, and, in fact, were the
father of every member of his vast household. Who is there who has
implored his protection in vain, when he needed assistance, or has
not had proof of his generosity? He thinks every day lost in which
he has not benefited some one; and, while he welcomes every one with
the greatest affection, towards the members of his household he is
especially gracious. Among them there is no one who can complain of
being neglected or passed over; he knows by heart the life, habits,
merits, and even the name, of everyone, however low his rank may
be. Mighty prince as he is, when he sees them leading careless and
unbecoming lives, he does not hesitate, at a fitting opportunity, to
remind them of their duty and rebuke them; and, if they reform, to
praise and reward them. Therefore, when they leave his presence, they
declare that they find the Emperor not a master, but a father.
It is also his constant practice, when he has punished their errors by
his displeasure for some days, after he has pardoned them, to restore
them to exactly their former position, blotting out from his memory all
recollection of their fault.
He lays down the law most uprightly, and as strictly for himself as for
others. For he does not think he has the right of disregarding himself
the rules he prescribes for others, or of allowing himself a license
which he punishes in them.
He keeps his passions under control, and confines them within the
limits of reason. Hatred, anger, and harsh language are strangers to
him. No man alive has heard him disparage another; not even those whom
he knows to be unjust to himself. He has never said a harsh word of any
one, nor does he ever speak ill of people behind their backs.
Beneath his protection goodness is secure; malice, violence, deceit,
dishonesty, all vices in a word, fly from his presence, and crimes and
outrages receive the punishment they deserve.
The Romans had their censors appointed to regulate morals, and to keep
the nation firm in the path of duty and the customs of their sires, but
among us no censor is required, as the life of our Sovereign supplies
his place. His bright example shows us what to follow and what to avoid.
He is extremely kind towards men of worth and learning, who are trained
in the pursuits which do the State good service. In dealing with men of
this description he lays aside his royalty and treats them, not as a
master, but as an intimate friend on a footing of perfect equality, as
one who would be their companion and rival in striving after what is
right, making no distinction between those who owe their high position
to the credit they derive from the glory of their ancestors, and those
who have been elevated by their own merits and have proved their worth.
With them he enjoys passing the time he has to spare from business,
which, however, is but little. These are the men he values, holding, as
he does, that it is of great public importance that merit should occupy
the position which is its due.
He is naturally eager for information, and desirous of knowing
everything worthy of a human being’s attention, and therefore always
has some subject about which he wishes to hear the opinion of men
of learning, from time to time interposing some shrewd and pointed
observation of his own, to the great admiration of his hearers. Thus
he has acquired no mean store of useful information, so that it is
impossible to ask him a question on any subject with which he is wholly
unacquainted.
He knows several languages. Spanish, as his mother tongue, takes the
first place, then come French, German, Latin, and Italian. Although he
can express anything he means in Latin, yet he has not learnt it so
accurately as not to infringe, at times, the rules of grammar, a fault
to be blamed in a man of letters, but not, in my humble judgment, to be
hardly criticised in an Emperor.[268]
No one will deny that what I have said so far is true, but perchance
some will regret that he has not paid more attention to warlike
enterprises, and won his laurels on the battle-field. The Turks, such
an one will say, have now for many years past been playing the tyrant
in Hungary, and wasting the land far and wide, while we do not give
any assistance worthy of our name. Long ago ought we to have marched
against them, and allowed fortune by one pitched battle to decide
which was to be master. Such persons, I grant, speak boldly, but I
question if they speak prudently. Let us go a little deeper into the
matter. My opinion is that we should judge of the talents of generals
or commanders rather from their plans than from results. Moreover,
in their plans they ought to take into account the times, their own
resources, and the nature and power of the enemy. If an enemy of an
ordinary kind, with no great prestige, should attack our territories,
I frankly confess it would be cowardly not to march against him, and
check him by a pitched battle, always supposing that we could bring
into the field a force equal to his. But if the enemy in question
should be a scourge sent by the wrath of God (as was Attila of yore,
Tamerlane in the memory of our grandfathers, and the Ottoman Sultans in
our own times), against whom nothing can stand, and who levels to the
ground every obstacle in his way; to oppose oneself to such a foe with
but scanty and irregular troops would, I fear, be an act so rash as to
deserve the name of madness.
Against us stands Solyman, that foe whom his own and his ancestors’
exploits have made so terrible; he tramples the soil of Hungary with
200,000 horse, he is at the very gates of Austria, threatens the rest
of Germany, and brings in his train all the nations that extend from
our borders to those of Persia. The army he leads is equipped with the
wealth of many kingdoms. Of the three regions, into which the world is
divided, there is not one that does not contribute its share towards
our destruction. Like a thunderbolt he strikes, shivers, and destroys
everything in his way. The troops he leads are trained veterans,
accustomed to his command; he fills the world with the terror of his
name. Like a raging lion he is always roaring around our borders,
trying to break in, now in this place, now in that. On account of
much less danger many nations, attacked by superior forces, have left
their native lands and sought new habitations. When the peril is
small, composure deserves but little praise, but not to be terrified
at the onset of such an enemy, while the world re-echoes with the
crash of kingdoms falling in ruins all around, seems to me to betoken
a courage worthy of Hercules himself.[269] Nevertheless, the heroic
Ferdinand with undaunted courage keeps his stand on the same spot,
does not desert his post, and stirs not an inch from the position he
has taken up. He would desire to have such strength that he could,
without being charged with madness and only at his own personal risk,
stake everything on the chance of a battle; but his generous impulses
are moderated by prudence. He sees what ruin to his own most faithful
subjects and, indeed, to the whole of Christendom would attend any
failure in so important an enterprise, and thinks it wrong to gratify
his private inclination at the price of a disaster ruinous to the
state. He reflects what an unequal contest it would be, if 25,000 or
30,000 infantry with the addition of a small body of cavalry should
be pitted against 200,000 cavalry supported by veteran infantry. The
result to be expected from such a contest is shown him only too plainly
by the examples of former times, the routs of Nicopolis and Varna,
and the plains of Mohacz, still white with the bones of slaughtered
Christians.[270]
A general must be a novice indeed, who rushes into battle without
reckoning up his own strength or that of the enemy. And then what
follows when too late? Why, simply that excuse, unpardonable
in a general, which is ushered in by the words, ‘But I never
thought’[271]....
It makes an enormous difference what enemy we have to encounter; I
should not ask you to accept this assertion if it were not supported
by the evidence of the greatest generals. Cæsar, indeed, the greatest
master of the art of war that ever existed, has abundantly demonstrated
how much depends on this, and has ascribed to the good fortune of
Lucullus and Pompey that they met with such cowardly enemies, and
on this account won their laurels at a cheap and easy rate. On the
only occasion that he met with such a foe in Pharnaces, speaking as
if in jest of an exploit, which had cost him no pains, and therefore
deserved no praise, he showed the easiness of his victory by his
despatch, ‘Veni, vidi, vici.’ He would not say the same thing if he
were now-a-days to wage war with those nations; in his time they were
enervated and made effeminate by luxury, but now they lead a frugal
and hardy life, are enured to hunger, heat, and cold, and are trained
by continual toil and a rigorous system of discipline to endure every
hardship and to welcome every danger.
It is not without reason that Livy argues, that Alexander of Macedon
would have made war with far different results, if he had had the
Romans for enemies, instead of the Persians or the unwarlike Indians.
It is one thing to make war with warlike nations, and another to fight
with peoples ruined by luxury or unaccustomed to arms. Among the
Persians mere numbers were much thought of, but in dealing with those
same Persians it proved to be more trouble to slaughter than to conquer
them. I consider Hannibal’s three victories, at the Trebia, Lake
Thrasimene, and Cannæ, are to be placed far above all the exploits of
Alexander. Why so? the former won his successes over famous warriors,
the latter had the effeminate nations of Asia to contend with.
Fabius Maximus had no less courage than T. Sempronius, C. Flaminius,
or Varro, but more sagacity. That prudent general knew that he must
not rashly hazard everything against an enemy brought up in the camp,
whose whole life had been passed in arms, who had been trained in the
school of great commanders, who was distinguished by so many trophies,
and attended by some extraordinary destiny or good fortune; delay and
opportunity were absolutely necessary to make his defeat a possibility.
When he had to contend with such an enemy, the only hope he had left
was to avoid a battle, until there was a chance of fighting with
success. Meanwhile he had to stand up against the foe, keep him in
check, and harass him. In this Fabius was so successful, that perhaps
he is entitled to quite as much credit for defeating Hannibal as Scipio
himself, although the latter won the final victory. For who can tell
whether Scipio would have had an opportunity of conquering at Zama,
if Fabius had not checked Hannibal’s victorious career? Nor should a
victory won by strategy be thought less of than one gained by force.
The former has nothing in common with animals, the latter has.
The Emperor Ferdinand’s plan was the same as that of Fabius Maximus,
and accordingly, after weighing his own strength and that of
Solyman, he came to the conclusion that it would be the height of
bad generalship to tempt fortune, and encounter in a pitched battle
the attack of so mighty an enemy. There was another course open to
him, namely, to endeavour to check his inroad by the same means as we
should use to stay the overflow of a swollen stream, and accordingly he
directed all his energies to the construction of walls, ditches, and
other fortifications.
It is forty years, more or less, since Solyman at the beginning of his
reign, after taking Belgrade, crushing Hungary, and slaying King Louis,
made sure of obtaining not only that province but also those beyond; in
this hope he besieged Vienna, and renewing the war reduced Güns, and
threatened Vienna again, but that time from a distance. Yet what has he
accomplished with his mighty array of arms, his boundless resources and
innumerable soldiery? Why, he has not made one single step in Hungary
in advance of his original conquest. He, who used to make an end of
powerful kingdoms in a single campaign, has won, as the reward of his
invasions, ill-fortified castles or inconsiderable villages, and has
paid a heavy price for whatever fragments he has gradually torn off
from the vast bulk of Hungary. Vienna he has certainly seen once, but
as it was for the first, so it was for the last time.[272]
Three things Solyman is said to have set his heart on, namely, to
see the building of his mosque finished (which is indeed a costly
and beautiful work),[273] by restoring the ancient aqueducts to give
Constantinople an abundant supply of water, and to take Vienna. In two
of these things his wishes have been accomplished, in the third he has
been stopped, and I hope will be stopped. Vienna he is wont to call by
no other name than his disgrace and shame.
But I return to the point from which I made this digression, namely,
that I do not hesitate to claim for Ferdinand a foremost place among
generals, inasmuch as, with resources wholly inadequate to the
occasion, he has never quailed, but for many a long year has, with
marvellous fortitude, sustained the attacks of a foe of no ordinary
kind. He has preserved a large portion of Hungary for better days;
a greater feat in my eyes than many a triumph won under favourable
circumstances over conquered kings and vanquished nations. The greater
his need at the critical hour, the brighter his courage shone. Of
course I cannot expect those to appreciate his conduct who think that
everything ought to be risked in a single action, without the slightest
regard to the time, the circumstances, or the strength of the foe. But
to anyone else it must seem well nigh miraculous, that a realm so open
and exposed as that of Hungary, and one so torn by civil war, should
be capable of being defended so long, and should not have altogether
passed under the yoke of its powerful assailant. That so much has been
done is wholly owing to God’s special mercy, and under Him to the
ceaseless toil and anxious care of this most prudent monarch.
In this task what difficulties had he not to encounter, each more
grievous than the preceding! The enemy was in sight, his friends were
far off; the succours his brother Charles sent came from a distance
and arrived too late; Germany, although nearest to the conflagration,
was weary of supplying aid; the hereditary states were exhausted by
their contributions; the ears of many Christian princes were deaf to
his voice when he demanded assistance; though the matter was one of
vital importance to them, it was about the last they were likely to
attend to. And so at one time, by his own valour, with the forces he
could gather from Hungary, Austria, and Bohemia, at another, by the
resources of the Empire, at another, by hiring Spanish or Italian
troops, he held his ground, though at vast cost. By a line of garrisons
he has protected the frontiers of Hungary, which extend for fifteen
days’ journey, for he is obliged always to keep some troops embodied,
even during a time of truce. For at times there are truces; and he
condescends, when there is fear of the Sultan’s attack, and he has
no other means of stopping him, to send ambassadors and presents to
appease his wrath, as the best chance of saving the necks of the
unfortunate Hungarians from the coming storm.
It is ridiculous to suppose that a man thus engaged can enjoy a good
night’s rest. For the benefit of the state he must forego sleep.
Affairs so weighty demand continual watchfulness, and great anxiety.
You may think it is a panegyric I am composing, but I am writing my
letter with strict historical accuracy.
To manage these affairs he has ministers, few indeed, but good. The
leading men among them, whom perhaps you have heard of, are John von
Trautson and Rodolph von Harrach,[274] both of whom are persons of
singular loyalty and prudence.
I will conclude with a few details of his private life. He rises at
five, even in the severest winter months, and after prayers and hearing
mass retires to the council chamber, where he devotes himself to public
business until it is time for dinner. He is occupied the same way in
the afternoon till supper. When I say supper, I mean, not his own,
but that of his councillors, for he never touches supper himself, and
does not take food more than once a day and then sparingly; nor does
he indulge more freely in drinking, being content to finish his dinner
with two draughts of wine. Since he lost his wife, no other woman has
been allowed to take her place. He does not care for jests and the
amusements by which many are attracted. Fools, jugglers, buffoons,
parasites, the darlings, but also the curses, of ordinary courts, are
banished from his palace. He avoids leisure, and is never idle. If,
which is an unusual event, he has any time to spare from business, he
devotes it, as I previously mentioned, to conversations with men of
worth and learning, which he greatly enjoys. In particular, they stand
by him at dinner, and talk with him on various topics.
You may be sure that not many of his subjects would wish to change
their mode of life for his, which is so frugal and severe. For how
rarely can you find a man who does not devote some fraction of his
life to pleasure? Who would cheerfully endure the loss of all his
amusements? Who would not be disgusted at spending his last years in
the midst of unceasing business and anxieties—a condition which more
resembles slavery than sovereignty? But the Emperor is of a different
opinion, and when talking with his friends is wont to say, that ‘it is
not for his own sake that he has been appointed by God to so important
an office; the helm of empire has not been entrusted to him that he
may wallow in pleasures and amusements; the terms on which private
fortunes are inherited are far different from those which regulate the
succession to kingdoms and empires. No one is forbidden to use and
enjoy the advantages of his patrimony, but all these numerous nations
have been committed by God to his charge, that he may take care of them
and bear the toil, while they enjoy the fruits of his labours; that he
may endure the burden and heat of the day, while rest and peace are
secured for them.’
Hunting is the only amusement of which he ever partakes, and that not
so much for the sake of pleasure as of health. For, when he feels his
mind and body require bracing after a long spell of sedentary work, he
chooses a day to refresh himself by out-of-door exercise and plenty of
fresh air. On such occasions, very early in the morning, in summer at
daybreak, in winter some hours before sunrise, he goes out to hunt,
whatever the weather may be. Sometimes, however, only the afternoon
is devoted to this occupation. I remember once hearing him say, when
I was standing by him at dinner, ‘I have done all my work, I have
finished all my business, I have come to the bottom of my despatch-box,
there is nothing left in the chancery to keep me; the rest of the day I
will spend in bodily exercise.’ And so he returns home, when the night
is already advanced, delighted at having killed a boar, or a stag, or,
sometimes, even a bear, and without taking any food or drink, composes
himself to sleep, all wearied by his various exertions.
It is absurd, therefore, for anyone to look back with regret on Trajan,
Verus, and Theodosius, and to wish that such wonderful Emperors were
living in our times. I seriously and solemnly declare, that I believe
there is more real merit in my master than in the three of them put
together.
But my admiration for so great a man is carrying me away too far.
It is not my design to speak of his merits as they deserve; that
would require a volume, not a letter, and would call for talents and
faculties that are far beyond me, but, as I have narrated my other
adventures to you, I wished that you should not remain in ignorance of
the character of the Emperor I serve. I shall conclude with that which
is the universal prayer with regard to the saint and champion of our
age—‘Serus in cœlum redeat.’
As to your inquiries about Greek books and your writing that you hear
I have brought back many curiosities and some rare animals, there is
nothing among them that is much worth mentioning. I have brought back
a very tame ichneumon, an animal celebrated for its hatred to the
crocodile and asp, and the internecine war it wages with them. I had
also a remarkably handsome weasel, of the kind called sables, but I
lost him on the journey. I also brought with me several beautiful
thoroughbred horses, which no one before me has done, and six
she-camels. I brought back some drawings of plants and shrubs, which I
am keeping for Mattioli,[275] but as to plants and shrubs themselves
I have few or none. For I sent him many years ago the sweet flag
(Acorus calamus[276]) and many other specimens. Carpets too, and linen
embroidered in Babylonian fashion, swords, bows, and horse-trappings,
and many nicknacks elegantly made of leather, which is generally horse
leather, and other trifling specimens of Turkish workmanship I have,
or rather, to speak more correctly, I ought to say, I had. For, as
in this great assemblage of Sovereigns, both male and female, here at
Frankfort, I give, of my own accord, many presents to many people as
compliments, and am ashamed to refuse many others who ask me, what I
have left for myself is but little. But, while I think my other gifts
have been well bestowed, there is one of which I regret having been so
lavish, namely, the balsam,[277] because physicians have thrown doubts
on its genuineness, declaring that it has not got all the properties
which according to Pliny mark the true balsam, whether because the
strength of the very old plants, from which it flows, has been in some
degree impaired by age, or for some other reason. This much, at any
rate, I know for certain, that it flowed from the shrubs which are
cultivated in the gardens of Matarieh, near Cairo.[278]
Before I left Constantinople I sent a Spanish physician, named Albacar,
to Lemnos, that he might be there on August 6, at the digging out
of that famous earth,[279] and so might write us a full and certain
account of its position and source, and the mode of extracting it and
preparing it for use; which I do not doubt he would have done, had he
not been prevented by circumstances over which he had no control. For a
long time I wanted to cross over there, that I might be an eye-witness
myself. As the Turks did not allow me to do so, I took pains to make
myself, at least, an ear-witness, if I may say so.
I am also bringing back a great medley of ancient coins, of which I
shall present the most remarkable to my master.
I have besides, whole waggonfuls, whole shiploads, of Greek
manuscripts. There are, I believe, not much fewer than 240 books, which
I sent by sea to Venice, to be conveyed from there to Vienna, for their
destination is the Imperial Library. There are some which are not to
be despised and many common ones. I ransacked every corner to collect,
in a sort of final gleaning, all that remained of such wares. The only
one I left at Constantinople was a copy of Dioscorides,[280] evidently
a very ancient manuscript, written throughout in uncial characters and
containing drawings of the plants, in which, if I am not mistaken,
there are also some fragments of Cratevas and a treatise on birds. It
belongs to a Jew, the son of Hamon, who was Solyman’s physician, and I
wanted to buy it, but was deterred by the price. For he demanded 100
ducats, a sum suiting the Imperial purse, but not mine. I shall not
leave off pressing the Emperor till I induce him to ransom so famous an
author from such foul slavery. The manuscript is in very bad condition
from the injuries of age, being so worm-eaten on the outside that
hardly anyone, if he found it on the road, would take the trouble of
picking it up.
But my letter is too long already; expect to see me in person very
shortly; if anything remains to be told, it shall be kept for our
meeting. But mind you invite men of worth and learning to meet me, so
that pleasant company and profitable conversation may serve to rub off
the remains of the rust I have contracted during my long sojourn among
the Turks. Farewell.
Frankfort, December 16, 1562.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See Prescott, _Philip II._, book iv. chap. i.
[2] The Society of Sciences, Agriculture, and Arts at Lille has for
several years been offering a prize for an essay on Busbecq’s life.
[3] See Appendix, _List of Editions_.
[4] _Mêlanges à Histoire et de Littérature_, vol. i. p. 48, edition of
1702. The author is Noel d’Argonne, who wrote under the assumed name of
de Vigneul-Marville.
[5] The sweet or aromatic flag.
[6] See Fourth Turkish letter _ad finem_.
[7] Monsieur Rouzière being a complete stranger to the neighbourhood,
Monsieur Jean Dalle, the present Maire of Bousbecque, acted as his
cicerone. Before going away, Monsieur Rouzière selected an old house
in Comines to which he attached his legend; this house is now shown as
the birthplace of the Ambassador, on the authority of a man who could
have had no acquaintance with the traditions of the place. On the other
hand, Monsieur Dalle’s family have resided in the neighbourhood from
time immemorial, and Monsieur Dalle himself has for the last twenty
years taken the keenest interest in the subject. He tells us that
there is not the slightest evidence connecting the house with Busbecq,
and that no one ever heard of the story till after the publication of
Monsieur Rouzière’s brochure in 1860.
[8] That the name of Busbecq’s father was George—and not, as usually
supposed, Gilles (Ægidius)—is established by the deed of legitimation,
a copy of which is given in the Appendix.
[9] See letter to Boisschot, appended to the Elzevir edition of
Busbecq’s letters from France.
[10] See Appendix, _Patent of knighthood_.
[11] Ogier is the name of an old Norse hero, who figures prominently
in the Carlovingian epic cycle. Jean Molinet says of some Burgundian
archers, who displayed great courage at a critical moment, ‘Et n’y
avoit celui d’entre eux qui ne montrast mine d’estre ung petit Ogier.’
(Molinet, chap. xxx.) It was Latinised into Augerius, hence some write
Auger.
[12] Bousbecque takes its name from a tributary of the Lys, which is
still called Becque des bois.
[13] For this and other documents quoted in this section see Monsieur
Dalle’s _Histoire de Bousbecque_.
[14] Some few traces, showing the high position of the early Seigneurs,
are still to be found in Bousbecque; among these is the beautiful
cross, of which we have been enabled by the kindness of Monsieur Dalle
to give a representation in the frontispiece of the Second Volume.
Monsieur Dalle considers it to be ‘la croix d’autel mobile qui était
sans pied et sans hampe, qui l’on portait de la sacristie à l’autel
au moment du saint sacrifice, et qui se plaçait sur un pied préparé
d’avance.’—_Histoire de Bousbecque_, chap. xxxviii.
[15] For the pedigree of the Ghiselins see Monsieur Dalle’s _Histoire
de Bousbecque_, chap. iv. In consequence of there being several
seigneurs of the same name it will be necessary to speak of them as
Gilles Ghiselin I., &c.
[16] Marie, daughter of Gilles Ghiselin I., became Abbess of Messines.
The following is an extract from L. Guicciardini’s _Description de tout
le Païs Bas_, Antwerp, 1567. ‘Messine ha une tres-bonne et tres-ample
Abbaye de femmes, de laquelle l’Abbesse est Dame du lieu, et de sa
jurisdiction, tant au temporel qu’au spirituel.’
[17] Jeanne de la Clite was married to Jean Halluin (Halewin),
Seigneur of Halluin, the relation and near neighbour of the Busbecqs
of Bousbecque. The families had been connected from a very early date
by the marriage of Roger Halluin to Agnes de Bousbecque; it will be
noticed that the grandmother of George and Gilles Ghiselin was also
a Halluin; moreover in consequence of this alliance the Busbecqs
quartered the Halluin arms. We should have been afraid, however, to
state positively that a relationship existed between them and Jean
Halluin, husband of Jeanne de la Clite, had not Monsieur Leuridan, who
is the chief authority on genealogies in the North of France, most
kindly investigated the question for us. The result of his researches
has placed the matter beyond doubt; Jean Halluin and George and Gilles
Ghiselin had a common ancestor in Jacques Halluin, Seigneur of Halluin
in the fourteenth century. As far as mere cousinship is concerned they
were but distant relations, still it is easy to understand that two
seigneurs, in the fifteenth century, living within two miles of each
other, would value and appreciate any blood relationship however slight.
[18] For this battle see Philippe de Comines, book vi. chap. 5, and
Molinet, chap. lxvi. Jean Molinet was chronicler to the Court of
Burgundy from 1474 to 1506. He is a most painstaking writer, and of
great value on account of the graphic details to be found in his
narratives. Unfortunately for his reputation as an annalist, he here
and there inserts chapters of pedantic nonsense, in which frequent
references are made to the saints of the calendar and the heroes of
mythology. But it is only fair to observe that the quantity of wheat to
be found is greatly in excess of the chaff, and that he keeps his wheat
and chaff separate and distinct. In his historical chapters he never
indulges in these vagaries. Possibly the court fashion required him to
write such pieces, for Molinet was by no means blind to the faults and
errors of his patrons, and could also see the humorous side of their
misfortunes. The following description of Maximilian’s imprisonment
in Bruges, is to be found in _Recollection des merveilles advenues en
nostre temps_, written by Molinet.
‘Les moutons détentèrent
En son parc le berger,
Les chiens qui le gardèrent
Sont constraint d’eslonger.
Le berger prist figure
D’aigneau, mais ses brebis,
Dont il avait la cure,
Devindrent loups rabis.’
[19] See Molinet, chap. clxii.
[20] See Molinet, chap. clxiii.
[21] See Molinet, chap. clxiv.
[22] See De Barante, _Histoire des Ducs de Bourgogne_, vii. 428.
[23] The Flemings having objected to the introduction of German troops
into their country this order was most impolitic.
[24] ‘Le bourreau, qui volontiers entendit ces mots pour son gaing,
et afin que la chose ne demourast à faire pour faulte de lui, monta
soudainement sur le hourd où se firent les executions, et en attendant
sa proie, estoit sorti d’espées et de bandeaux.’—Molinet, chap. clxvii.
[25] Those called up were Jehan van Ninove Wautergrave, Victor hoste
de la Thoison, Peter d’Arincq et deux autres. Molinet, chap. clxix.
A comparison of this list with the names of those brought out for
execution will show that the two others (deux autres) were George
Ghiselin and Bontemps.
[26] Many expressions used by Philippe de Comines, which are supposed
to be obsolete, are simply the idioms of Comines and its neighbourhood,
where the historian spent the early part of his life, and may still be
heard at Bousbecque, Wervicq, Halluin, and other villages on the banks
of the Lys.
[27] ‘Nul prince ne le passa jamais de désirer nourrir grans gens et
les tenir bien reglez.’—Philippe de Comines, book v. chap. 9.
[28] See Molinet, chap. i.
[29] The reader will remember Scott’s description of the battle of
Nancy in _Anne of Geierstein_; the Burgundians were surprised in the
night and cut to pieces by the Swiss.
[30] Another memorial of Gilles Ghiselin II. is to be found in
the inscription on the beautiful Bousbecque Chasse, considered by
antiquarians to be the work of the twelfth or thirteenth century. ‘En
ceste fiertre a de le sainte vraie crois et biaucop d’autres dimtes,
laquelle a faict réparer noble homme Gilles Gisselins: proés pour lui.’
[31] For an account of Jeanne de la Clite see page 27.
[32] For an account of the office of _écuyer trenchant_ see page 59.
[33] Leonora (as she is called by Busbecq), otherwise Eleanor, was
married, 1519, to Emanuel, King of Portugal, and was left a widow with
only one daughter in 1521. She married Francis I., King of France, in
1530, lost her second husband, 1547, and died February 1558.
[34] Elizabeth, or Isabella, married Christian II. of Denmark in 1515,
and died 1526.
[35] An interesting document is given by Dupont (_Mémoires de Philippe
de Comines_, iii. 180), which connects George Halluin with Philippe
de Comines. The latter had been the ward of George Halluin’s great
grandfather, but the accounts as regards the administration of his
property had never been closed. This no doubt was owing to Philippe de
Comine’s desertion, and the disturbed state of Flanders, but on July
7, 1519, George Halluin paid over the balance due, after deducting the
expenses of his education, and received an acquittance for the same.
[36] These particulars as to the family of Philippe de Comines, Jeanne
de la Clite, and George Halluin, we owe to the kindness of Monsieur
Leuridan, Archiviste of Roubaix. The accounts hitherto published
contain manifest errors. For instance, Dupont represents Jeanne de
Wazières as Dame de Comines et de Halewin, and when the property comes
to Jeanne de la Clite she is only Dame de Comines, and as such marries
the Seigneur of Halewin (Halluin). Monsieur Leuridan’s account of the
Seigneurs of Comines will appear shortly in the fourteenth volume of
the _Bulletin de la Commission historique du Nord_, under the title of
_Recherches sur les Sires de Comines_.
[37] De Barante, _Histoire des Ducs de Bourgogne_, xi. 196.
[38] Philippe de Comines, book vi. chap. 2.
[39] Molinet, chap. lix.
[40] The Halluins formed a numerous and powerful family, of which
the Seigneur of Halluin was the head. At the battle of Gavre, 1453,
Jean Halluin, husband of Jeanne de la Clite, is said to have brought
forty-four knights on to the field, every one of the blood and every
one of the name of Halluin. Le Glay, _Catalogue descriptif des
manuscrits de la Bibliothèque de Lille_, preface, xviii.
[41] Jeanne de la Clite had been created Vicomtesse de Nieuport.
[42] George Halluin was sent on one occasion as Ambassador
extraordinary to Henry VIII. of England. Like Veltwick (see p. 54) he
was, it would appear, the joint envoy of the brothers Charles V. and
Ferdinand. Foppens, in his _Bibliotheca Belgica_, says he was sent
by the Emperor. With this statement compare the following extract of
a letter from Lord Berners to Wolsey dated Calais, June 29, 1524.
‘On this Wednesday, the 29th, there came to Calais, Mons. de Halwyn
from the Archduke of Ostrych (Ferdinand) with 20 horse.’ Halluin asks
Berners to inform the Cardinal of his arrival, and intends crossing as
soon as he can obtain a safe conduct. See Brewer’s _Letters and Papers
of the Reign of Henry VIII._, vol. iv. part 1, p. 191.
[43] Published at Strasburg, 1512.
[44] The following inscription was placed over the tomb of Despauteres
in the church of Comines:—
Epitaphium doctissimi viri JOHANNIS DESPAUTERII,
quondam hujus oppidi ludi-magister.
Hic jacet unoculus visu præstantior Argo,
Flandrica quem Ninove protulit et caruit.
Obiit 1520. Requiescat in pace.
The following is a free translation of his epitaph somewhat amplified.
Underneath this stone doth lie
The famous master of one eye,
That eye it served him for a hundred,
To catch his scholars when they blundered.
His birthplace is at Ninove seen,
His fame and glory in Comines.
[45] The famous Ἐγκώμιον Μωρίας, dedicated to Sir Thomas More. George
Halluin published a French translation of the work.
[46] This visit to Erasmus at Louvain is mentioned in Strauss’s _Life
of Ulrich von Hutten_, English translation, p. 215.
[47] These notes are still preserved in the library of the cathedral at
Arras.
[48] See Monsieur Dalle, _Histoire de Bousbecque_, chap. vi.
[49] See page 141.
[50] The object of this statement is to show that Daniel de Croix had
no intention of attacking Desrumaulx. The account is evidently drawn
up so as to represent the young Seigneur’s case in the most favourable
light possible.
[51] De Lickerke, after the capture of Courtrai (see page 17), slew
the Seigneur of Heulle, who had seized the castle while the former was
engaged in superintending an execution. Jean Molinet is greatly moved
at the thought of his dying before he could be confessed. ‘Lui féru
d’une espée trois cops en la teste, tellement qu’il morut illec sans
confession, qui fut chose piteuse et lamentable.’—Molinet, chap. clxiii.
[52] This was not the first time that a Ghiselin of Bousbecque had
ventured to differ with his Count. See page 25.
[53] A copy of the deed is given in the Appendix.
[54] The monuments in Bousbecque Church show that after Busbecq’s
death the Hespiels were in fairly good circumstances; one of them
was burgomaster of the village. From this Monsieur Dalle concludes
that Busbecq was not forgetful of his mother’s family.—_Histoire de
Bousbecque_, chap. xxvii.
[55] See Motley’s _Rise of the Dutch Republic_, i. 6.
[56] ‘Guere loing de Messine sur la Lisse est le village de Commines,
avec un bon chasteau, ou y ha une tres-belle et tres-noble librairie,
rassemblee par George, Seigneur de Hallewin et de Commines,
gentilhomme tres-docte, lequel entre ses autres œuvres plus dignes
et louables entretenoit et carressoit continuellement gens doctes et
vertueux.’—L. Guicciardini, _Description de tout le Païs bas_, page 311.
[57] An attempt is here made to give the views of Erasmus as they would
present themselves to such a mind as George Halluin’s. The ideas are
in a great measure adopted from Nisard’s _Renaissance et Réforme_,
to which a little local colouring has been added, and are offered as
an explanation of Busbecq’s neutrality with regard to the religious
differences, which sent his countrymen into opposite camps.
[58] ‘Le moine est inquiet, furieux, au milieu de cette universelle
renaissance des lettres et des arts; il baisse sa lourde paupière
devant la lumière de l’antiquité resuscitée, comme un oiseau de
nuit devant le jour.’—Nisard, _Renaissance et Réforme_, i. 55. ‘Le
génie de l’antiquité chassant devant lui les épaisses ténèbres de
l’ignorance.’—_Renaissance et Réforme_, i. 66.
[59] ‘Mais ce qui rendit surtout Érasme odieux aux moines ce fut son
rôle littéraire, si brillant et si actif. Chose singulière, il excita
peut-être plus de haines par ses paisibles travaux sur l’antiquité
profane, que par ses critiques des mœurs et des institutions monacales,
ses railleries contre l’étalage du culte extérieur, ses insinuations
semi-hérétiques contre quelques dogmes consacrés même par les chrétiens
d’une foi éclairée. A quoi cela tient-il? Est-ce que la science fait
plus peur à l’ignorance que le doute à la foi? Est-ce que la foi des
moines, extérieure, disciplinaire, pour ainsi dire, mais nullement
profonde, était plus tolérante que leur ignorance? Enfin, y avait-il
moins de péril pour eux dans le tumulte des dissensions religieuses,
que dans l’éclatante lumière répandue par les lettres sur le monde
moderne, rentré dans la grande voie de la tradition?’—_Renaissance et
Réforme_, i. 63-4.
[60] Erasmus was by nature extremely timid, ‘animo pusillo,’ as he
describes himself to Colet (Ep. xli.). When writing to George Halluin
he seems delighted at his having translated the Ἐγκώμιον Μωρίας, but
he was by no means willing to stand the odium which arose on the
publication of his satire in French. He shifts the responsibility
entirely on to his friend. No doubt he thought that the shoulders of
the Seigneur of Comines were broader than his own. (See Ep. cclxxxiv.
to Abbot Antony de Berges.) ‘Post hæec accepi a nonnullis, quod me
vehementer commovit, te mihi nescio quid subirasci, opinor ob Moriam,
quam vir clarissimus Georgius Haloinus, me dehortante ac deterrente,
fecit Gallicam, hoc est, ex meâ suam fecit, additis detractis et
mutatis quæ voluit.’ December 13, 1517.
[61] See Appendix. _Legitimation of Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq._ The
Patent is dated November 24, 1540. It is interesting to know that
just before that date Charles had been making a progress throughout
the neighbourhood of Bousbecque. He was at Ghent November 1, at
Oudenarde on the 2nd, at Courtrai on the 3rd, at Tournai on the 5th,
at Lille on the 7th, and at Ypres on the 9th. (_Journal des Voyages de
Charles Quint._ Par J. de Vandenesse.) Probably Ogier’s father took
advantage of the opportunity to procure from the Emperor the grant of
Legitimation.
[62] One of the most remarkable applications of this theory is with
regard to the military art. Busbecq wrote a treatise on the _Art
of Warfare against the Turks_. In it he constantly quotes as his
authorities the great captains of Greece and Rome; some may smile on
reading his work, and imagine that the tactics of Cæsar and Alexander
are out of place in the days of gunpowder and cannon balls, but the
following passage will show how one of his countrymen successfully
followed out the principle, which he may possibly have taken in the
first instance from Busbecq’s work. ‘Lewis William of Nassau had
felt that the old military art was dying out, and that there was
nothing to take its place. He had revived in the swamps of Friesland
the old manœuvres, the quickness of wheeling, the strengthening,
without breaking the ranks or columns, by which the ancient Romans had
performed so much excellent work in their day, and which seemed to have
passed entirely into oblivion. Old colonels and ritt-masters, who had
never heard of Leo the Thracian or the Macedonian phalanx, smiled and
shrugged their shoulders ... but there came a day when they did not
laugh, neither friends nor enemies.’—Motley, _United Netherlands_, iii.
4; see also _United Netherlands_, iv. 34.
[63] His contemporary, L. Guicciardini, says of him in his book,
published 1567, ‘Il est homme sage et prudent: a cause dequoy il ha
este envoyé plusieurs fois ambassadeur par les Princes en divers
endroicts, pour tres-grans affaires et mesmes par l’Empereur Fernand,
a Soliman Empereur des Turcs, ou il traicta, par l’espace de huict
ans continuels les affaires de la Chrestienté, avec telle _fidelité
et loyauté_ que outre le gré qu’il acquit empres de son Seigneur, fut
surnommé par les Turcs mesmes, _Homme de bien_.’—_Description de tout
le Païs bas_, p. 311.
[64] On his way to Constantinople some of his escort complained of his
servants not paying proper respect to paper—an unpardonable offence in
the eyes of a Turk. Another might have argued the question, but Busbecq
thoroughly appreciated the men he was dealing with. He tacitly admitted
the heinousness of the offence; ‘but,’ added he, ‘what can you expect
of fellows who eat pork?’ This argument was in their eyes unanswerable.
[65] Roostem once sent a fine melon to Busbecq, telling him that
there was plenty of such fruit at Belgrade; the melon was supposed to
represent a cannon-ball, and the message was tantamount to a threat of
war. Busbecq thanked him warmly for his present, and at the same time
took the opportunity of observing that the Belgrade melons were very
small compared to those produced at Vienna!
[66] Don Pedro Lasso de Castilla was grandson of Don Pedro de Castilla,
who claimed to be descended from an illegitimate son of Pedro the
Cruel, King of Castile. The grandfather married Catalina Lasso, and was
living at Madrid in 1494. His son, Don Pedro Lasso de Castilla, married
a lady of the noble family of Haro, and three of their children were in
the service of Ferdinand and his son. Francisco was Mayor-domo Mayor of
Maria the wife of the Emperor Maximilian, and accompanied his daughter,
Anne of Austria, to Spain in 1570. Diego was at one time Ferdinand’s
ambassador at Rome, while Pedro served Ferdinand from his childhood,
and accompanied him to Germany, when he left Spain after the death of
his grandfather Ferdinand. He became his Master of Horse, and governor
to his son Maximilian, in whose household he subsequently held the post
of Mayor-domo Mayor. He was created a Knight of the Order of Santiago,
at Brussels, by a Patent dated March 26, 1549. (See Quintana, _Historia
de Madrid_.) This account has been given at greater length because it
has been frequently stated that Busbecq’s chief was Pierre Lasso, a
native of Lille; we can find no trace of any such person.
On the other hand, Ferdinand’s ambassador is frequently spoken of in
the _Calendar of State Papers of the reign of Mary_ (vol. ii. pp. 78,
90, 94, &c.), as Don Pedro Lasso de Castella (Castilla). See also
_Viage de Felipe Segundo á Inglaterra_ by Muñoz. This rare work,
written by a contemporary, was republished at Madrid 1877, under the
supervision of Don Pascual de Gayangos, to whose kindness we are
indebted for the reference.
[67] See _Calendar of State Papers of the reign of Mary_, vol. ii. p.
90.
[68] See page 75.
[69] This letter is dated Dover, October 6, 1554. See _Calendar of
State Papers of the reign of Mary_, vol. ii. p. 125.
[70] See Appendix. _Sketch of Hungarian History_; see also
_Itineraries_.
[71] See _Sketch of Hungarian History_.
[72] Compare the pardon of Jean Dael in the Appendix with the story of
the Greek steward and the snails, page 122.
[73] L. Guicciardini says of the Netherlanders, ‘La pluspart des gens
ont quelque commencement de Grammaire, et presque tous, voire jusques
au villageois, sçavent lire et escrire.’—_Description de tout le Païs
bas_, p. 34.
[74] Quacquelben means fowler, or bird trapper; the name is still
common at Courtrai.
[75] We take this opportunity of explaining how it comes to pass,
that in this Life of Busbecq, in which so much space is assigned to
an account of his relations, so small a portion comparatively is
devoted to the man himself. Busbecq’s letters are to a great extent an
_autobiography_. It would be impossible to anticipate their contents
without robbing them of their freshness.
[76] See Appendix _Itineraries_.
[77] He was Ambassador for the two Queens, _i.e._, Mary Queen of
Hungary and Leonora Queen of Portugal and France, sisters of Charles
V. and Ferdinand, who after their widowhood lived together in the
Netherlands till the abdication of Charles V., when they accompanied
their brother to Spain.
[78] _Ecuyer (escuier) trenchant._ The first of these words supplies
the derivations for two English titles (1) squire, (2) sewer; the first
being the equivalent of _écuyer_, and the second of _écuyer trenchant_.
The office of sewer (_écuyer trenchant_) is alluded to by Milton,
_Paradise Lost_, ix., where the poet speaks of
_Marshall’d_ feast
Served up in hall by _sewers_ and _seneschals_.
‘Here,’ says Todd in his note, ‘is an allusion to the magnificence of
elder days; the _marshal of the hall_, the _sewer_ and the _seneschal_
having been officers of distinction in the houses of princes and great
men. From Minshew’s _Guide into Tongues_ it appears that the marshal
placed the guests according to their rank, and saw they were properly
arranged, the sewer marched in before the meats and arranged them
on the table, and the seneschal was the household steward, a name
of frequent occurrence in old law books, and so in French “le grand
Seneschal de France,” synonymous with our “Lord High Steward of the
King’s household.”’ Busbecq himself held the offices of sewer and
seneschal. See Appendix, _Sauvegarde &c._, where Parma gives him the
title of ‘Grand maistre d’hostel de la Royne Isabelle.’
[79] See page 9.
[80] See Lipsius’ Letters, _Centuria_ i. 5: ‘Prandium mihi hodie apud
_heroem_ nostrum (non enim virum dixerim) Busbequium. Post prandium
longiusculæ etiam fabulæ; sed _de litteris ut apud eum solet_.’ Vienna,
June 13, 1572. It was at Vienna that Lipsius first made Busbecq’s
acquaintance (Lipsius, _Cent._ iii. 87); they afterwards corresponded
with each other (_Cent._ i. 17, 18, 34, 63). Lipsius felt his death
deeply, and wrote of him in the strongest terms of affection and
regret. (_Cent._ ii. _ad Belgas_, 78). The following inscription is
from his hand:—
IN AUGERII GISLENI BUSBEQUII TRISTEM MORTEM ET SITUM.
Augerius istic est situs Busbequius.
Quis ille? Quem virtutis et prudentiæ,
Habuêre carum, gratiâ, ipsi Cæsares.
Hunc aula eorum vidit, aula et extera
Asiæ Tyranni. Quæ viri felicitas!
Probavit hæc et illa: in omni tempore,
In munere omni, Nestorem se præbuit
Linguâ atque mente. Jam quies eum sibi
Et patria hæc spondebat; ecce sustulit
Viam per ipsam miles incertum an latro.
Sed sustulit, simulque sidus Belgicæ,
Quod nunc choreas fulget inter astricas.
Justus Lipsius magno amico exiguum
monumentum P.
[81] Busbecq’s letters to Maximilian appear to have altogether escaped
the notice of historians and biographers. They are printed only in
one rare book, Howaert’s second edition of Busbecq’s letters from
France, 1632. In the same edition are to be found five more letters to
Rodolph, written during the wars of the League. It seems impossible
to suppose that Motley knew of them, for they contain some of those
striking details which the historian of the Netherlands would certainly
have appropriated—for example, the chain shot, the musket balls joined
together with copper wire, and the fences of rope, with which Parma
prepared to encounter the cavalry of Henry of Navarre.
[82] It is impossible to regard Motley as fair in his treatment of
Matthias. The historian of the Netherlands evidently considers that
he holds a brief for William of Orange; if the great patriot fails to
act wisely and rightly, some justification must be made out! Matthias
accordingly is treated as a meddlesome interloper, for venturing
to accept the invitation of a large body of the leading men of the
Netherlands—amongst whom were some of Orange’s friends—to come amongst
them as their governor. And yet Matthias was a descendant of their last
native sovereign, Mary of Burgundy, and brother of the head of that
Empire of which the Low Countries formed part. Motley cannot call in
question his courage, his humanity, or his honourable conduct, but he
damns him with faint praise, dismissing him with these words: ‘It is
something in favour of Matthias that he had not been base, or cruel, or
treacherous.’—_Rise of the Dutch Republic_, part vi. chap. 4.
[83] See Fourth Turkish Letter.
[84] The deed by which this transfer was effected is dated December 18,
1587. It will be found in the Appendix.
[85] No doubt the garden was such as Erasmus loved. See Nisard: ‘Au
sortir de table, on va s’asseoir dans le jardin, au milieu des fleurs
étiquetées, portant des inscriptions qui indiquent leurs noms et leurs
qualités médicinales.’—_Renaissance et Réforme_, i. 60.
[86] Elizabeth of Austria having died January 22, 1592, Busbecq’s
duties as her seneschal had come to an end, but he was still acting as
Rodolph’s representative. It is probable that he took his holiday as
soon as he had wound up the affairs of his late mistress.
[87] Large sums were paid on this occasion; the accounts are still
preserved among the archives of Bousbecque.
[88] The word used by Busbecq is ‘iter,’ the best equivalent to which
in English is perhaps ‘itinerary.’ This first letter was originally
published by itself as an itinerary, under the title _Itinera
Constantinopolitanum et Amasianum_. The writing of itineraries, which
were generally in Latin Verse, was a special feature among the students
of Busbecq’s days; for an account of them, see Appendix _Itineraries_.
[89] These letters were written to Nicolas Michault. See page 58.
[90] The wedding took place at Winchester, July 25, 1554. The
ambassador was Don Pedro Lasso de Castilla, a Spaniard, who held a
high post in Ferdinand’s household. ‘Ajour d’huy (June 26, 1554) sont
arrivez en ceste ville (London) dom Pietro Lasso et dom Hernando
Gamboa, ambassadeurs de la part des roys des Romains et de Bohesme,
lesquelz ont esté saluez de l’artillerie de la Tour, ce quel’on a
trouvé fort estrange comme fabveur qui ne fust oncques faicte à aultres
ambassadeurs.’—Noailles, iii. 262. See also p. 52.
[91] The Busbecq family had a magnificent hotel at Lille; his
grandmother, Agnes Gommer, had lived there after the death of her
husband, and his aunt, Marie Ghiselin, was probably living there at
this time.
[92] Veltwick (Velduvic) went as ambassador to Constantinople A.D.
1545. An account of his embassy is given in the _Iter_ of Hugo
Favolius. See Appendix _Itineraries_.
[93] For an explanation of these transactions, see _Sketch of Hungarian
History_.
[94] Here and elsewhere Busbecq calls Ferdinand ‘Cæsar.’ He was not
Emperor till 1558, but the title of Cæsar belonged to him as King of
the Romans; so also at the end of the Fourth Turkish Letter Maximilian
is spoken of as ‘Cæsar’ on his election as King of the Romans.
[95] Busbecq’s miles are German Stunden, each equal to about 2-1/2
English miles.
[96] Busbecq’s explanation is correct. The word may possibly be a
corruption of the Latin signum. It is now applied to the district which
was formerly governed by a Sanjak-bey, i.e., Lord of the standard.
Busbecq writes the word Singiaccus, Von Hammer uses the form Sandjak,
while Creasy prefers Sanjak.
[97] See Creasy, _History of the Ottoman Turks_, chap. ii.: ‘The name
of Yeni Tscheri, which means “new troops,” and which European writers
have turned into Janissaries, was given to Orchan’s young corps by the
Dervish Hadji Beytarch. This Dervish was renowned for sanctity; and
Orchan, soon after he had enrolled his first band of involuntary boyish
proselytes, led them to the dwelling-place of the saint, and asked him
to give them his blessing and a name. The Dervish drew the sleeve of
his mantle over the head of one in the first rank, and then said to
the Sultan, “The troops which thou hast created shall be called Yeni
Tscheri. Their faces shall be white and shining, their right arms shall
be strong, their sabres shall be keen, and their arrows sharp. They
shall be fortunate in fight, and shall never leave the battle field
save as conquerors.” In memory of that benediction the Janissaries ever
wore as part of their uniform a cap of white felt like that of the
Dervish, with a strip of woollen hanging down behind, to represent the
sleeve of the holy man’s mantle, that had been laid on their comrade’s
neck.’ See also Gibbon, chap. lxiv.
[98] At Mohacz, A.D. 1526. See _Sketch of Hungarian History_.
[99] The Princes of Servia were styled Despots in Greek, and Cral in
their native idiom. See Gibbon, chap. lxiii. note.
[100] ‘A little below Orsova the Danube issues from the Iron Gate,
and at a village called Severin, where it expands to a width of 1,300
yards, the foundations of the piers, corresponding in number with the
statement of the historian, have been seen when the water was more than
usually low. Here, then, as is now generally agreed, stood the bridge
of Trajan’s architect, Apollodorus.’—Merivale, _History of the Romans_,
chap. lxiii.
[101] Galen, the great physician, who flourished in the second century
of our era. Busbecq’s allusion to him is quite in accordance with the
fashion of his day. See Ranke’s _Civil Wars and Monarchy in France,
Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries_, chap. xix. ‘Peter de la Ramée
wished to forsake in all things the path hitherto trodden, to alter the
entire system of doctors and professors in the university, and to make
the works of the ancients the immediate text-books of the different
branches of study,—the codex of the civil law in jurisprudence,
Galen and Hippocrates in medicine, and in theology the Old and New
Testaments.... Physicians arose who brought into practice once more
the deserted rules of Hippocrates; and it soon went so far, as Ambrose
Paré, the reformer of surgery, said, that people were not content with
what they found in the ancients, but began to regard their writings
as watch-towers, from which more might be discovered.’ For Busbecq’s
application of these principles see the Life.
[102] An ‘aspre’ or ‘asper’ is still the lowest coin in Turkey. At the
present rate of exchange a penny is worth nearly 100 aspres, but in
Busbecq’s time the Turkish coinage had a considerably higher value.
[103] See Ranke’s _Civil Wars and Monarchy in France, Sixteenth and
Seventeenth Centuries_, chap. xiv. ‘As he (the Prince of Condé) had
distinguished himself by his bravery in the field, he now desired
to shine through his versatility, by taking part in the knightly
festivities of the court, in which it was the fashion to _represent the
heroic fables of the Greeks_.’ It would seem that it was the fashion in
high circles to appear on certain occasions in the dress and character
of Greek heroes and heroines.
[104] John Cantacuzenus became Emperor 1341, and abdicated 1354.
His son Matthew was associated with him. His descendants have given
many princes to Moldavia and Wallachia. The Palæologi held the
Empire 1282-1453 (see Gibbon, chap. lxii., and following chapters).
Dionysius, tyrant of Syracuse, when banished from his kingdom became a
schoolmaster at Corinth.
[105] See Freeman’s _Essays_, Series iii. p. 418. ‘The Bulgarian
land on the Volga—Great Bulgaria—kept its name long after the New or
Black Bulgaria arose on the Danube. It remained Turanian; it became
Mahometan; it flourished as a Mahometan state, till in the 15th
century, it yielded to the advance of Russia, and gave the Russian Czar
one of his endless titles.’ Mr. Freeman here quotes ἡ πάλαι καλουμένη
μεγάλη Βουλγαρία from Theophanes. This is an oversight, the words are
not taken from Theophanes, though he uses a similar expression, but
from Nicephorus of Constantinople.
[106] Baldwin, tenth Count of Flanders, was elected Emperor 1204, and
taken captive by Bulgarians 1205. He died a prisoner, but that he
was put to death is by no means certain. He was succeeded by his son
Baldwin, eleventh Count and second Emperor of that name. See Gibbon,
chap. lxi. Busbecq would naturally take great interest in the Sovereign
of his ancestors.
[107] The Rascians and Servians were distinct tribes in Busbecq’s time
and long afterwards; see page 165, where he notices that at Semendria
the Servians leave off and the Rascians begin; they are now both
included under the name of Servians.
[108] This pass is commonly known as ‘Trajan’s Gate,’ or the ‘pass of
Ichtiman.’ It is a point on the frontier between Bulgaria and East
Roumelia.
[109] For an account of Selim, who at last succeeded in dethroning
his father, see Creasy, _History of the Ottoman Turks_, chap. vii.,
and Von Hammer, book xxi. He was father of the Sultan to whose court
Busbecq was accredited. His successful rebellion against his father has
an important bearing on the events of which Busbecq was about to be a
spectator.
[110] Buyuk Tchekmedjé and Kutchuk Tchekmedjé. The bridges were
constructed by Solyman.
[111] Of the two women mentioned here, one is called Bosphorana
by Busbecq and the other Roxolana. Bosphorana means a native of
the kingdom of the Bosphorus—not the Thracian Bosphorus near
Constantinople, but the Cimmerian Bosphorus, now called the straits
of Caffa—which included the Crimea and the Caucasus. Roxolana means
Russian; she was always spoken of by contemporaneous Venetian
ambassadors as ‘la Rossa,’ and Creasy in a note (p. 184), says that
‘La Rossa’ was euphonised into Roxolana; the mistake is obvious,
for Roxolana is the classical equivalent for a Russian woman (see
Smith’s _Classical Dictionary_, s.v. Roxolani), and it is to Busbecq
that she owes the name by which she has become famous. Her real name
was Khourrem, i.e., ‘the joyous one.’ See Von Hammer, book xxxi.
vol. v. p. 538. A curious story is told of how Roxolana prevailed
on Solyman to make her his wife. Having borne a son to the Sultan,
she became entitled, according to the Mahometan law to her freedom;
this she claimed, and then refused to allow Solyman the rights of a
husband unless he married her. She cleverly pointed out to the Sultan,
that though she had lived with him _as a slave_ without the bond of
marriage, _as a free woman_ she could not feel justified in doing so
any longer. Solyman, as Busbecq’s letters will show, was the very man
to be influenced by such an argument, and being unwilling to give her
up, he consented to her taking the position of a lawful wife.
[112] See Creasy, _Ottoman Turks_, chap. iii., Von Hammer, book vii.,
and Gibbon, chap. lxv. Tamerlane is a corruption of Timour lenk, i.e.,
Timour the lame.
[113] During the Russo-Turkish war, 1877-8, a paragraph appeared in a
paper published at Constantinople, professing to give an account of
Mr. Gladstone, late Prime Minister of England. It described him as
originally ‘a pig-driver.’ This created great amusement in England, but
to the countrymen of Roostem there seemed no inherent absurdity in the
statement.
[114] Busbecq is in error here, for Solyman was encamped at Eregli, in
Karamania, about 250 miles from Amasia. Von Hammer takes our author
to task for laying the scene at Amasia; but Busbecq nowhere commits
himself to this statement.
[115] Ghemlik, on the Sea of Marmora, called Prusias by Busbecq. It was
originally called Kios, and about B.C. 200, Prusias, King of Bithynia,
gave it his own name. See Strabo, 563-4.
[116] The legend of Orpheus being torn to pieces by the women of Thrace
was a favourite with the ancients. See Virgil, _Georgic IV._, &c.
[117] See Tacitus, _Annals_, xii. 63. Herodotus, iv. 144.
[118] The bronze serpents, which are still on the same site, are three,
and not two in number. See Gibbon, chap. xvii., where he describes
these serpents, and proves that they form the serpent pillar mentioned
by Herodotus, ix. 81; on it was placed the golden tripod, made of part
of the spoil taken at the battle of Platæa B.C. 479, and dedicated
to Apollo. It was removed from Delphi to Constantinople by order of
Constantine.
[119] ‘The centre of the Forum was occupied by a lofty column, of which
a mutilated fragment is now degraded by the appellation of the _burnt
pillar_. This column was erected on a pedestal of white marble 20
feet high, and was composed of ten pieces of porphyry, each of which
measured about 10 feet in height and about 33 in circumference. On
the summit of the pillar, above 120 feet from the ground, stood the
colossal statue of Apollo. It was of bronze, and had been transported
either from Athens or a town in Phrygia, and was supposed to be the
work of Phidias. The artist had represented the god of day, or, as it
was afterwards interpreted, the Emperor Constantine himself, with a
sceptre in his right hand, the globe of the world in his left, and a
crown of rays glittering on his head.’ Gibbon, chap. xvii.
[120] A similar story is told of the obelisk in front of St. Peter’s at
Rome.
[121] The battle of Tschaldiran, August 23, A.D. 1514. See Creasy,
_History of the Ottoman Turks_, chap. viii.; Von Hammer, book xxii.
[122] Busbecq is alluding to the then recent conquests of Mexico and
Peru. When he penned these lines only thirty-four years had elapsed
since Cortez conquered Mexico, and twenty-four since Pizarro made
himself master of the kingdom of the Incas; the tide of adventurers was
still pouring into those unhappy lands.
[123] Busbecq is evidently referring to the exploits of his countrymen
in the days of the Crusades. ‘At the same time’ (A.D. 1200), says
Gibbon (chap. lx.), ‘Baldwin, Count of Flanders, assumed the Cross at
Bruges, with his brother Henry, and the principal knights and citizens
of that rich and industrious province.’ See also page 105.
[124] Properly, the name of the islet at Alexandria on which the
lighthouse stood; hence the name was given to any lighthouse.
[125] A Dalmatian fortress captured by the Spaniards in the autumn of
A.D. 1538, and recaptured by the Turks in the following August. Von
Hammer, book xxix.
[126] ‘The straits of the Bosphorus are terminated by the Cyanean
rocks, which, according to the description of the poets, had once
floated on the face of the waters. The deception was occasioned by
several pointed rocks alternately covered and abandoned by the waves.
At present there are two small islands, one towards either shore; that
of Europe is distinguished by the pillar of Pompey.’ Gibbon, chap. xvii.
[127] P. Gilles (or Gyllius) was born at Albi in 1490. He was sent
by Francis I. to the Levant; the remittances he expected having
miscarried, he was obliged to enlist in Solyman’s army and served
against the Persians. In 1549 he received money from his friends, with
which he purchased his discharge. He returned home in 1550, and died at
Rome in 1555, the year that Busbecq wrote this letter. Besides other
works he published three books on the _Thracian Bosphorus_, and four on
the _Topography and Antiquities of Constantinople_. Gibbon quotes him
frequently, and speaks of his learning with great respect.
[128] This passage appears to be founded on a mistranslation of
Herodotus, iii. 104.
[129] ‘In the deep gullies and broad plateaus of Angora is bred the
finest species of the mohair goat; its long silky and lustrous fleece
is the principal export of the country, so much so that it is a common
saying that “mohair is the soul of Angora,” without which it would have
become a desert long ago. The mohair is forwarded on mule and camel
back (in its raw state) to Constantinople, and thence, per steamer, to
Liverpool; it all finds its way to Bradford to be manufactured. The
export in this article alone was valued at 462,550_l._ for the year
1877, and in years of greater prosperity and higher values, this amount
has been nearly doubled.’ Extract from the letter of the correspondent
to the _Standard_ newspaper, dated, Angora, October 1, 1878.
[130] The province of Angora occupies almost the same area as the
ancient Galatia.
[131] See Herodotus, iii. 113. These sheep are very common in Asia and
Africa. Great numbers are to be found at the Cape of Good Hope, whence
they are called ‘Cape sheep.’
[132] Pierre Belon (Bellonus) was a contemporary of Busbecq’s, having
been born about 1518. He travelled in Greece, Italy, Turkey, Egypt,
Palestine, and Asia Minor. By profession a physician, he devoted
himself to the pursuit of Natural Science. He published several books,
and is generally considered to have been the founder of the science of
Comparative Anatomy. Busbecq corrects Belon, but his own account of
the hyena is wrong. It has vertebræ in the neck, and also an array of
teeth. If he had been able to procure a specimen we should have had an
accurate description. The Sultana, therefore, is indirectly responsible
for the errors.
[133] The Kanûns formed a kind of Domesday Book, drawn up by the
direction of Solyman, who thence received the name of Solyman Kanûni.
[134] A full account of the inscription is to be found in Merivale’s
_History of the Romans_, chap. xxxviii. ‘Augustus employed the next
few months in compiling a succinct memorial of his public acts to be
preserved in the archives of the state, a truly imperial work, and
probably unique of its kind. The archives of Rome have long mouldered
in the dust, but a ruined wall in a remote corner of her empire,
engraved with this precious document, has been faithful to its trust
for eighteen hundred years, and still presents us with one of the most
curious records of antiquity. The inscription, which may still be read
in the portico of a temple at Ancyra, attests the energy, sagacity, and
fortune of the second Cæsar in a detailed register of all his public
undertakings through a period of fifty-eight years,’ &c. In a note Dr.
Merivale states that it was first copied by Busbecq in 1544. This is
incorrect; Busbecq had it copied by his servants, and the date should
be 1555.
[135] ‘Reges amici atque socii, et singuli in suo quisque regno,
Cæsareas urbes condiderunt; et cuncti simul ædem Jovis Olympii,
Athenis antiquitus inchoatam, perficere communi sumptu destinaverunt,
genioque ejus dedicare.’—Suetonius, _Octavius_, chap. lx. Augustus
directed a decree granting especial privileges to the Jews to be
inscribed ἐν ἐπισημοτάτῳ τόπῳ γενηθέντι μοι ὑπὸ τοῦ κοινοῦ τῆς Ἀσίας
ἐν Ἀγκύρῃ.—Josephus, _Antiquities_, xvi. 6.
[136] Menin (near Bousbecque) and its neighbourhood were famous for
their capons. See L. Guicciardini, _Description de tout le Païs bas_,
p. 311.
[137] There are different versions of this story, see Von Hammer, book
v. and Gibbon, chap. lxiv. Creasy says that Amurath was killed by a
Servian noble, Milosch Kabilovitsch. Being mortally wounded, Amurath
died in the act of sentencing Lazarus, Despot or Cral of Servia, to
death.
[138] The permanent corps of paid cavalry in the Turkish army was
divided into four squadrons, organised like those which the Caliph
Omar instituted for the guard of the Sacred Standard. The whole corps
at first consisted of only 2,400 horsemen, but under Solyman the Great
(Busbecq’s Sultan), the number was raised to 4,000. They marched
on the right and left of the Sultan, they camped round his tent at
night, and were his bodyguard in battle. One of these regiments of
Royal Horseguards was called the Turkish Spahis, a term applied to
cavalry soldiers generally, but also specially denoting these select
horseguards. Another regiment was called the Silihdars, meaning ‘the
vassal cavalry.’ A third was called the Ouloufedgis, meaning ‘the
paid horsemen,’ and the fourth was called the Ghourebas, meaning ‘the
foreign horse.’ See Creasy, _History of the Ottoman Turks_, chap. ii.
[139] Evelyn, who no doubt took the hint from Busbecq, induced Charles
II. to adopt the Eastern dress. _Diary_, p. 324.
[140] See page 102 and note 1.
[141] See Creasy, _History of the Ottoman Turks_, chap. viii.: ‘The
schism of the Sunnites and the Schiis (the first of whom acknowledge,
and the last of whom repudiate the three immediate successors of the
Prophet, the Caliphs Abubeker, Omar, and Othman) had distracted the
Ottoman world from the earliest times. The Ottoman Turks have been
Sunnites. The contrary tenets have prevailed in Persia; and the great
founder of the Saffide dynasty in that country, Shah Ismael, was as
eminent for his zeal for the Schii tenets, as for his ability in
council, and his valour in the field. The doctrine of the Schiis had
begun to spread among the subjects of the Sublime Porte before Selim
came to the throne; and though the Sultan, the Ulema, and by far the
larger portion of the Ottomans, held strictly to the orthodoxy of
Sunnism, the Schiis were numerous in every province, and they seemed to
be rapidly gaining proselytes. Selim determined to crush heresy at home
before he went forth to combat it abroad, and in a deliberate spirit
of fanatic cruelty he planned and executed a general slaughter of such
of his subjects as were supposed to have fallen away from what their
sovereigns considered to be the only true faith.’ This massacre took
place in 1513. The Selim here mentioned was the father of Solyman. See
Creasy, _History of the Ottoman Turks_, chap. viii. There was not much
to choose between Philip of Spain in the West and Selim in the East!
See Motley, _Dutch Republic_, part iii. chap. 2.
[142] Scordium, or water germander, is mentioned in Salmon’s _Herbal_
as a sudorific, &c.; he notices that it has a smell of garlic, and that
it is a specific against ‘measles, small-pox, and also _the plague or
pestilence itself_.’ The plague is a form of blood poisoning; a medical
friend whom we consulted considered that the symptoms indicated only a
mild form of the disease; he also entirely approved of the physician’s
treatment of the case.
[143] See note page 254.
[144] An electuary is a medicine of a pasty consistence composed of
various ingredients. The one mentioned in the text was invented by the
celebrated physician Frascatorius. It contained scordium, from which
its name is derived. The prescription for it may be found in Larousse’s
_Dictionnaire Universel_, vii. 3117. Evelyn went to see the severall
‘drougs for the confection of _Treacle_, _Diascordium_, and other
electuaries.’—_Diary_, p. 262.
[145] See _Sketch of Hungarian History_.
[146] See _Sketch of Hungarian History_.
[147] See page 90.
[148] Rakos is the name of a plain near Pesth; the greater
extraordinary Hungarian Diet used to assemble on this plain after the
manner of the Polish Diet which met near Warsaw. The Turks continued to
use the place for mustering their militia.
[149] The Emperor Claudius was murdered by his wife Agrippina, who gave
him poison in a dish of mushrooms. Tacitus, _Annals_, xii. 67.
[150] In all the Latin editions of Busbecq the date is given as
September 1, 1554. This is manifestly wrong, as may be shown by
internal evidence, as for example the date of the marriage of Philip
and Mary, July 25, 1554. Busbecq was present at this marriage, and was
not summoned to Vienna till November 3, 1554, see page 77. He must,
therefore, have returned in 1555.
[151] At Augsburg.
[152] See page 190.
[153] See _Sketch of Hungarian History_.
[154] Roxolana, see note, page 111.
[155] I.e., the modern Bulgaria.
[156] See page 115.
[157] I.e., the Crimea and adjacent countries, the birthplace of
Mustapha’s mother, see page 111.
[158] The Turkish historians do not mention Bajazet’s connection with
the attempt of the Pseudo-Mustapha. Busbecq’s account, therefore,
fills an important gap. Von Hammer would discredit all statements that
are not confirmed by Eastern writers, but surely the evidence of the
Austrian Ambassador deserves as much consideration as that of Ottoman
Ali. See note 1, page 264.
[159] All the Latin editions have July 14, 1555. See note, page 173.
[160] ‘The regular answer of the ancient Sultans, when requested to
receive an embassy, was, “The Sublime Porte is open to all.” This,
according to the Turkish interpretation, implied a safe conduct in
coming, but gave no guarantee about departing.’—Creasy, _History of the
Ottoman Turks_, chap. xviii.
[161] ‘The intruding Ottoman himself, different in faith as well as in
blood, has more than once declared himself the representative of the
Eastern Cæsars, whose dominion he extinguished. Solyman the Magnificent
assumed the name of Emperor, and refused it to Charles V.’—Bryce, _The
Holy Roman Empire_, p. 407.
[162] Compare Johnson’s _Vanity of Human Wishes_:—
‘Condemned a needy suppliant to wait,
While ladies interpose and slaves debate.’
[163] The great Council of State was named the Divan; and in the
absence of the Sultan the Grand Vizier was its president. The other
Viziers and the Kadiaskers, or chief judges, took their stations on
his right; the Defterdars, or treasurers, and the Nis-chandyis, or
secretaries, on his left. The Teskeredyis, or officers charged to
present reports on the condition of each department of the State,
stood in front of the Grand Vizier. The Divan was also attended by the
Reis-Effendi, a general secretary, whose power afterwards became more
important than that of the Nis-chandyis, by the Grand Chamberlain,
and the Grand Marshal, and a train of other officials of the Court.
(Creasy, _History of the Ottoman Turks_, chap. vi.)
[164] ‘The Sultan (Bajazet I.) had at this time 7,000 falconers,
and as many huntsmen. You may suppose from this the grandeur of his
establishments. One day in the presence of the Count de Nevers, he
flew a falcon at some eagles; the flight did not please him, and he
was so wroth, that, for this fault, he was on the point of beheading
2,000 of his falconers, scolding them exceedingly for want of diligence
in their care of his hawks, when the one he was fond of behaved so
ill.’—Froissart, iv. 58.
[165] The reference is to the _Digest_ or _Pandects_ of Justinian,
liber xxxix. titulus 4, _De Publicanis et Vectigalibus et Commissis_,
where ‘Babylonicæ pelles’ are mentioned in a catalogue of taxable
articles.
[166] See Homer’s _Iliad_, iii. 2-6, and compare Milton, _Paradise
Lost_, i. 575:
‘That small infantry
Warred on by cranes.’
[167] These stories of the lynx and crane are quoted by Burton in his
_Anatomy of Melancholy_.
[168] Gibbon’s reference to this passage is not fair. He says (chap.
lxviii. note), ‘Busbequius expatiates with pleasure and applause on
the rights of war, and the use of slavery among the ancients and the
Turks.’ In the first place Busbecq merely throws out a suggestion,
which _he would be sorry for his friend to take in sober earnest_.
Secondly, we must remember the evils existing in Busbecq’s days, which
slavery would have remedied; (i.) it was the common practice to put
to death all prisoners of war, who could not pay ransom; e.g. see
Busbecq’s letter of November 13, 1589, to Rodolph. Slavery in this
case would be a mitigation of their fate, (ii.) At that time death or
mutilation were the punishments for almost every offence. Busbecq’s
project is an anticipation of the more merciful system of modern times
which has introduced penal servitude, which is really ‘a just and mild
form of slavery.’
[169] Shooting with the crossbow has been a custom at Bousbecque from
very early times. The village had a guild of crossbowmen in the times
of Charles V., which was reconstituted in 1715. A society of the kind
still exists there. See _Histoire de Bousbecque_, p. 170.
[170] This passage occurs in the life of Saturninus, who uses it in
support of an invective against the Egyptians. The quotation is from
a letter of Hadrian’s preserved in the works of his freedman Phlegon.
(Vopiscus, in _Historiæ Augustæ Scriptores_, ii. 719, in the Leyden
edition of 1671.) The Egyptians still hatch chickens in ovens, but the
heat is supplied by a fire, and not by the hot-bed mentioned in the
text. The process is described in Wilkinson’s _Ancient Egyptians_, ii.
450.
[171] Axylos, a woodless tract in Asia Minor, ‘northward of the
region of lakes and plains, through which leads the road from Afioum
Karahissar to Koniah, a dry and naked region, which extends as far as
the Sangarius and Halys.’—Leake, _Asia Minor_, p. 65.
[172] Evelyn narrates how he went to see some Turkish horses captured
at the siege of Vienna; he admired their spirit, and says they were,
‘with all this, so gentle and tractable as called to mind what I
remember Busbequius speaks of them to the reproch of our groomes in
Europe, who bring up their horses so churlishly as makes most of them
retain their ill habits.’—Evelyn, _Diary_, p. 461, Chandos Edition.
[173] ‘They were shod with yron made round and closed at the heele
with a hole in the middle about as wide as a shilling. The hoofes most
intire.’—Evelyn, _Diary_, p. 462.
[174] See note 2, page 299.
[175] Cyrus, in his expedition against his brother Artaxerxes, took
with him 400 waggons loaded with barley and wine that, in case
provisions should be very scarce, he might have the means of supplying
the Greeks, who were the flower of his army.—Xenophon, _Anabasis_, i.
10.
[176] The quotation is from Suetonius, _Life of Julius Cæsar_, chap.
67. Suetonius observes that sometimes Cæsar, after a great victory,
relaxed the strict rules of discipline, and allowed his army to abandon
themselves to the utmost license, boasting that ‘his soldiers, even
if perfumed for a banquet, would fight well.’ The conference with
Ariovistus is described in Cæsar _de Bello Gallico_, i. 43-45, and in
Merivale, chap. vii.: ‘Each was attended by a squadron of cavalry of
equal numbers. Cæsar had no Roman cavalry, nor could he safely confide
in his Gaulish auxiliaries: yet he would not reject the arrangement
proposed by his adversary, nor betray any appearance of distrust
or dread. He caused a party of Gauls to dismount, and placed upon
their horses the infantry of his favourite legion’ (the tenth). The
conference was interrupted by the impatience of the German horse, who
suddenly assailed the Romans with stones and arrows. See also pages 48
and 49.
[177] The Venetian ambassador to the Porte bore the title of Bailo
or Baily. This title was probably given to him on account of the
protection and jurisdiction he exercised with regard to the persons
and goods of all Venetian subjects, who lived and traded in all the
factories of the Levant. He, with the ambassadors of the Pope and
the Emperor, took precedence of all other ambassadors. On account of
the importance of the post, appointments to it were not made by the
Senate, but by the Great Council. Marc Antonio Barbaro, the subject
of Yriarte’s interesting work, _La Vie d’un Patricien de Venise_, was
appointed to this office in 1568.
[178] This story is referred to by Bacon, _Essays_, XIII.: _Of Goodness
and Goodness of Nature_. ‘The inclination to goodness is imprinted
deeply in the nature of man; insomuch that if it issue not towards
man, it will take unto other living creatures; as it is seen in the
Turks, a cruel people, who nevertheless are kind to beasts, and give
alms to dogs and birds; insomuch as Busbechius reporteth, a Christian
boy in Constantinople had like to have been stoned for gagging in a
waggishness a long-billed fowl.’ Bacon, in his _Essays_, also alludes
to Jehangir, Solyman’s son, to Roxolana, to Selim, and to the fate of
Mustapha.
[179] Busbecq’s countrywomen enjoyed great liberty. ‘Les femmes, oultre
ce qu’elles sont de belle et excellente forme, sont de beau maintien et
gracieuses; car elles commencent dés leur enfance, selon la coustume
du païs, à converser librement avec un chacun.’—L. Guicciardini,
_Description de tout le païs bas_, p. 38.
[180] The festival called by Busbecq the Turkish Easter was that of
Bairam. It succeeds Ramazan, the month of abstinence, which he terms
their Lent. It lasts three days, and seventy days later is the Kourban
Bairam, or Feast of Sacrifice, which lasts four days.
[181] See _Thirty Years in a Harem_ for a description of taking off the
veil.... It was the conclusion of the marriage, and the Bridegroom made
a present to the Bride on the occasion.
[182] See note, page 161.
[183] See _Sketch of Hungarian History_.
[184] Ten years later Solyman died while besieging this place.
[185] See note 1, page 196.
[186] See note 1, page 196.
[187] The Turks could hardly object to the use of ‘villainous
saltpetre’ as by its aid Solyman’s father, Selim I., had been enabled
to crush the Mamelukes. See Creasy, _History of the Ottoman Turks_,
chap. viii. After the battle ‘Koort Bey poured forth a brilliant eulogy
on the valour of the Mamelukes, and spoke with contempt and abhorrence
of guns which, he said, killed so cowardly, and so like an assassin.’
[188] Arslan was Sanjak-bey of Stuhlweissenburg and Veli of Hatwan.
[189] Compare Brantôme, _Discours sur Duels_, vi. p. 151.
[190] Of the nations mentioned in this passage the Mingrelians live
along the coast from the Turkish frontier to Sukhum Kaleh; the Iberians
correspond to the modern Imeritians, while the ancient Albanians
lived in what is now the part of Georgia that borders on the Caspian
and in Daghestan, the country of the Lesghians. According to Mr.
Bryce (_Transcaucasia and Ararat_, p. 99) the modern Mingrelians
correspond to Busbecq’s description of their ancestors. ‘They are
the ne’er-do-wells of the Caucasian family. All their neighbours,
however contemptible a Western may think them, have a bad word and a
kick for the still more contemptible Mingrelian. To believe them, he
is lazy, sensual, treacherous and stupid, a liar and a thief. Lazy
the Mingrelian certainly is, but in other respects I doubt if he is
worse than his neighbours; and he lives in so damp and warm a climate
that violent exercise must be disagreeable.’ According to Malte Brun,
‘the Prince of Mingrelia assumes the title of Dadian or Master of the
Sea, though he possesses not even a fishing-boat: he generally moves
about with his suite from place to place, and his camp is the scene of
licentiousness as well as poverty.’ The Caspian Gates mentioned in the
text are probably the Dariel Pass. ‘There were three passes, between
which boundless confusion has arisen: first, the Dariel, sometimes
called the Caucasian, sometimes the Caspian, sometimes the Iberian
Gates; second, the pass between the mountains and the sea near Derbend,
where is the wall of Gog and Magog, called sometimes the Caucasian,
sometimes the Caspian, sometimes the Albanian Gates; third, a pass
somewhere on the south coast of the Caspian, which was really visited
and fortified by Alexander the Great.’—Bryce, _Transcaucasia and
Ararat_, p. 76.
[191] ‘A plant of the millet kind, differing from it in the
disposition of the flower and seeds, which grow in a close thick
spike. It is sown in parts of Europe as corn for the sustenance of the
inhabitants.’—Johnson’s _Dictionary_.
[192] Medea was a Colchian, i.e. Mingrelian.
[193] M. Génin, in the introduction to his edition of the _Song of
Roland_, the most famous hero of the Carlovingian epic cycle, speaking
of the wide-spread popularity of the legend, quotes this passage. He
also mentions that Bellonus, or Belon (see note, page 140), states that
the Turks preserved at Broussa the sword of Roland, who, they declared,
was one of their countrymen. This illustrates what Busbecq in his first
letter says of the way in which the Turks identified St. George with
one of their own legendary heroes. Godfrey de Bouillon was one of the
leaders of the first Crusade, and the first Christian King of Jerusalem.
[194] See note, page 229.
[195] The chief production cf Lemnos was a red earth called Terra
Lemnia, or sigillata, which was employed by the ancient physicians as
a remedy for wounds and the bites of serpents, and which is still much
valued by the Turks and Greeks for its supposed medicinal virtues.
It is dug out of a hill, made into small balls, and stamped with a
seal which contains Arabic characters. Mattioli, in his letter to
Quacquelben (see note 1, page 415), asks him for information about this
earth, and requests him to procure some for him. See also page 416.
[196] The reference is to Terence, _Heauton timorumenos_, 3. 1. 48.
[197] This was before March 13, 1559, as Verantius, in a letter of that
date, mentions that Hooz, Busbecq’s secretary, had been taken prisoner
with his Turkish escort by some Hungarians and brought to Kaschau, and
that he had said that Baldi was then on his way back.—Katona, _Historia
Regum Hungariæ_, xxiii. 227.
[198] In 1540, Luigi Badoer was sent as ambassador to treat for peace
on the basis of the _status quo ante bellum_, and the payment of 30,000
ducats, but was forbidden in any case to cede Malvasia and Napoli di
Romania. Such were the instructions of the Senate, but the Council
of Ten gave him in addition secret instructions, empowering him to
surrender these places, if he found it impossible to obtain a peace
on easier terms. The brothers Cavezza, of whom one was secretary to
the Senate, and the other to the Council of Ten, betrayed the secret,
probably through a French diplomatist, to the Porte. The consequences
are described in the text. See Daru, _Histoire de Venise_, book xxvi.
p. 82, Von Hammer, book xxix., and Charrière, _Négociations de la
France dans le Levant_, i. 548.
[199] See page 79.
[200] Some further details as to the intrigues which caused Bajazet’s
ruin may be gathered from the history of Ottoman Ali, who had been
secretary to Lala Mustapha. The latter was a _protégé_ of Achmet, the
Grand Vizier, and was on that account hated by Roostem, who, knowing
he was a friend of Bajazet’s, hoped to ensure his ruin by getting
him appointed Governor of Selim’s household. Lala saved himself by
betraying his former master. With Selim’s approval he encouraged the
unfortunate Prince to attack his brother, and caused some of the
Sultan’s messengers to be murdered in such a manner as to make it
appear that Bajazet was responsible for the crime, and thus widen the
breach between him and his father. It is the evidence of the secretary
of this double-dyed traitor that Von Hammer prefers to Busbecq’s. He
may have had more information than our writer; the question is, was he
as likely to speak the truth? See Von Hammer, book xxxii.
[201] See page 189.
[202] This was a very serious step. See page 187.
[203] See page 188.
[204] See page 116.
[205] The allusion is to the ancient and famous oracle of Zeus at
Dodona in Epirus, which is mentioned in the _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_.
The god, according to one legend, was said to dwell in an ancient oak
tree, and to give oracles by the rustlings of the branches. These
‘talking oaks’ are alluded to by Æschylus in the _Prometheus Vinctus_,
and by Sophocles in the _Trachiniæ_. Busbecq’s Latin, ‘A quo in rebus
dubiis responsa petuntur,’ is suggested by Virgil’s lines—
‘Hinc Italæ gentes omnisque Œnotria tellus
In dubiis responsa petunt.’
_Æneid_, vii. 85.
[206] Koniah was the ancient Iconium.
[207] The Arabic word Memlook or Mameluke means a slave. The first
caliphs formed their body-guard of slaves, and in the decadence of
the caliphate these slaves, like the Roman prætorians, played a
principal part in the numerous revolutions that occurred. It was in
Egypt, however, that the Mamelukes attained their highest power. They
were Sovereigns of that country for more than 250 years, from the
fall of the dynasty of Eyoub to the Ottoman conquest, and even after
that event were the real rulers of Egypt till their massacre in the
present century by Mehemet Ali. They were composed of three bodies,
the Mamelukes, properly so-called, who were of pure Circassian blood;
the Djelbans, who were mostly composed of Abyssinian slaves, and
the Korsans, an assembly of mercenaries of all nations. They were
governed by twenty-four beys, over whom was a Sultan. Their dominion
extended over Egypt and Syria with the holy cities of Mecca and Medina
and the adjacent parts of Arabia. Selim I., Solyman’s father, after
his victorious campaign against Shah Ismael attacked the Mamelukes,
defeated and killed their Sultan, Kausson Ghawri, near Aleppo (Aug. 24,
1516), and, marching into Egypt, defeated Touman Bey, the new Sultan,
at Ridania (January 22nd), and added Syria and Egypt to his empire.
When in Egypt, he induced the last of the Fatimite caliphs, who had
been a puppet in the hands of the Mamelukes, to transfer that dignity
to himself and his successors. It is in virtue of this transaction that
the present Sultan and his predecessors since the time of Selim have
claimed to be the head of the Mahommedan faith throughout the world.
See Von Hammer, book xxiv.
[208] The Kurds are descended from the Carduchi or Gordiæans of the
ancients. (See Xenophon, _Anabasis_, iv.) They have gradually advanced
from their original mountain homes into the plains in the south-east of
Armenia and the north of Mesopotamia. They are a warlike race, and much
addicted to brigandage.
[209] See note, page 108.
[210] ‘The most remarkable building in Koniah is the tomb of a
saint, highly renowned throughout Turkey, called Haznet Mevlana, the
founder of the Mevlevi Dervishes. His sepulchre, which is the object
of a Mussulman pilgrimage, is surmounted by a dome, standing upon a
cylindrical tower of a bright green colour.’—Leake, _Asia Minor_, p. 50.
[211] May 29, 1559, was the date of the battle.
[212] See note 2, page 153.
[213] Compare the account of the Turkish horses and equipments seen by
Evelyn in 1684:—
‘It was judged by the spectators, among whom was the King, Prince
of Denmark, Duke of York, and several of the Court, that there were
never seene any horses in these parts to be compar’d with them. Add
to all this, the furniture, consisting of embroidery on the saddle,
houseings, quiver, bow, arrows, scymetar, sword, mace or battle-axe _à
la Turcisq_, the Bashaw’s velvet mantle furred with the most perfect
ermine I ever beheld; all which, yron-worke in common furniture, being
here of silver, curiously wrought and double-gilt, to an incredible
value. Such and so extraordinary was the embrodery, that I never
saw anything approching it. The reins and headstall were of crimson
silk, cover’d with chaines of silver gilt. There was also a Turkish
royal standard of an horse’s taile, together with all sorts of other
caparisons belonging to a general’s horse, by which one may estimate
how gallantly and magnificently those infidels appeare in the field,
for nothing could be seene more glorious.’—Evelyn, _Diary_, p. 461.
[214] See note, page 87.
[215] In Busbecq’s time it was the fashion in Europe to wear clothes
with slashes or eyelet-holes. Compare page 155.
[216] See note, page 229.
[217] See page 101.
[218] ‘Cedo alteram,’ the original Latin, is a quotation from Tacitus.
(_Annals_, i. 23).
[219] See _Sketch of Hungarian History_.
[220] The Persian dominions were bounded on the east by the country
now known as Afghanistan, which then formed part of the empire of
the Mogul Emperors, or Padischahs, of Delhi, the second of whom was
Humayoum, the father of the famous Akbar. During his life of forty-nine
years Humayoum experienced extraordinary changes of fortune, losing
his throne, and being obliged, after undergoing the greatest hardships
and dangers in his flight through the desert, to take refuge with Shah
Tahmasp. Eventually he regained his dominions, and at his death in 1556
was the ruler of Cabul and Candahar, and also of the Punjaub, together
with Delhi and Agra and the adjoining parts of India.
[221] Shah Ismael was the founder of the dynasty of the Sofis or
Saffis, so called from Sheik Suffee-u-deen of Ardebil, a devotee
renowned for his sanctity, from whom Shah Ismael was the sixth in
descent. His father, Hyder, on the death of his uncle and father-in-law
Uzun Hussun, the prince of the dynasty of the White Sheep, invaded
Shirwan at the head of a body of partisans. He made his troops wear red
turbans, whence, according to one account, comes the name of Kizilbash
(Red Heads), by which the Persians were known among the Turks. Hyder
was killed in battle, and his sons were thrown into prison, but they
afterwards escaped. The eldest was killed in battle, the second died in
Ghilan, Ismael, the youngest, in 1499, at the age of fourteen, took the
field against the Turkomans, who were then in possession of the greater
part of Persia, and in the course of four campaigns succeeded in
establishing his authority throughout the country. His family claimed
descent from the seventh Imaum, and their great ancestor, Ali, was the
special object of their reverence. The very name of Schiah, which means
a sectary, and which Ismael’s enemies had given him as a reproach,
became a title in which he gloried. When Sultan Selim I. massacred
his co-religionists (see note page 161), the natural consequence was
a war between Turkey and Persia. The Turkish army advanced through
Kurdistan and Azerbijan on Tabriz, which was then the Persian capital.
They were much embarrassed by want of provisions, as the Persians
retired, laying waste the country in their retreat. A threatened mutiny
among the Janissaries was quelled only by Selim’s presence of mind and
resolution. Ismael at last abandoned his Fabian tactics, and took up
a position in the valley of Tschaldiran, some 30 miles south-east of
Bayezid. A bloody and fiercely contested battle (August 23, 1514) ended
in the complete victory of Selim, which he owed mainly to his artillery
and the firearms of the Janissaries. This success was followed by the
occupation of Tabriz, but Selim was obliged by the discontent of his
troops to return homewards. The acquisition of Diarbekir and Kurdistan
was, however, the result of this campaign. Apart from his defeat
by Selim, Ismael reigned with unbroken success till his death in 1523.
He was succeeded by his son Shah Tahmasp.—See Malcolm, _History of
Persia_, i. ch. 12.
[222] See _Sketch of Hungarian History_.
[223] See note, page 229.
[224] ‘The youths among the Christian tribute children most conspicuous
for birth, talent, and beauty were admitted into the inferior class
of _agiamoglans_ or the more liberal rank of _ichoglans_, of whom
the former were attached to the palace and the latter to the person
of the prince.’—Gibbon, ch. lxv. Busbecq, in his _Art of War against
the Turks_, gives an account of the method by which the Turkish army
was recruited from the children of Christians. Every year the Sultan
sent to his different provinces, and took one out of every three or
four of the boys. When they arrived at Constantinople, the handsomest
and cleverest were placed in the households of the Sultan and Pashas.
Of the rest some were hired out to farmers, &c., and the remainder
employed in public works. The former were fed and clothed by their
masters, till they grew up, when they were drafted into the ranks of
the Janissaries, as vacancies occurred. Those who were placed in the
Sultan’s household often rose to the highest offices of the state.
The last of these levies of Christian children was made in 1638.—Von
Hammer, book xlviii. tome ix. p. 325.
[225] In the account of the Shah’s dealings with Bajazet, we have
followed the readings given in all the editions prior to the Elzevir.
See Appendix, _List of Editions_.
[226] ‘The Persians dwell with rapture on the character of Ismael,
deeming him not only the founder of a great dynasty, but the person
to whom the faith they glory in owes its establishment as a national
religion.’—Malcolm, _History of Persia_, i. p. 328. On his accession
Ismael declared Schiism to be the national religion. See also note 2,
p. 299 and note p. 161.
[227] For a fuller account of the siege and capture of Gerba or Djerbé
or Gelves the reader is referred to Prescott’s _Philip II._, vol. ii.
book iv. chap. 1, and Von Hammer, book xxxiii. The Spanish historians
cited by Prescott are so conflicting that he defies the reader to
reconcile them, but Busbecq’s narrative, as far as it goes, may be
considered of the highest authority, as no doubt it was founded on
what he heard from his friend Don Alvaro de Sandé, who commanded the
garrison. In the spring of 1559 the Duke of Medina Celi, the Viceroy
of Sicily, was ordered to fit out an expedition against Tripoli and
its corsairs, to which Tuscany, Rome, Naples, Sicily, Genoa, and Malta
furnished contingents. John Andrew Doria, nephew of the great Andrew
Doria, commanded the Genoese forces. The fleet consisted of more than
100 sail, including 54 galleys, and had 14,000 troops on board. The
armament assembled at Syracuse, from which they sailed in November.
They met with such bad weather, however, that they were forced to
put into Malta, where they stayed more than two months refitting. So
much time had now been lost, that they gave up the attempt on Tripoli
as hopeless, and attacked Djerbé instead. They took it without much
difficulty on March 14, and spent two months there fortifying it,
and placed in it a garrison of 5,000 men, commanded by Don Alvaro de
Sandé. As the troops were preparing to re-embark, news was brought of
the approach of the Turkish fleet. A council of war was held, in which
opinions were divided; but the arrival of the Turkish fleet under the
command of Pialé, which included 86 galleys, each with 100 Janissaries
on board, saved them the trouble of deciding (May 14). The Christians
were seized with panic. Many of their ships were sunk, and many more
surrendered. A few took refuge under the guns of the fortress. The
Duke of Medina Celi and Doria were among those who escaped, and they
took advantage of the darkness of the following night to fly to Sicily
in a frigate. Next morning Pialé commenced the siege. After a breach
had been made, he assaulted the fortress, but was repulsed with great
loss, and several other attacks of the Turks met with the same fate.
The siege lasted nearly three months, although at the end of six weeks
provisions and water had begun to fail. On July 31, 1560, two hours
before dawn, Don Alvaro, accompanied by hardly 1,000 men, sallied
out and tried to cut his way through, with the intention of seizing
a vessel and escaping, but the attempt proved unsuccessful, and the
same day the rest of the garrison surrendered. On September 27 the
victorious fleet returned to Constantinople, as described in the text.
Don Alvaro lived to take ample vengeance for all he had suffered. When
the Spaniards raised the siege of Malta in 1565 Don Alvaro, as second
in command, again encountered his old opponent Pialé. The gallant
Spaniard was in the thick of the fighting, had a horse killed under
him, and was one of those who contributed most to the defeat of the
Turks.
[228] Chios was first brought under the immediate dominion of the
Sultan by Pialé Pasha in 1566, though it had previously acknowledged
his suzerainty and paid tribute. It had been conquered by the Genoese
admiral, Simon Vignoso, in 1346. The form of government was so peculiar
as to deserve some notice. It is the first example of the territorial
administration of a mercantile company of shareholders exercising
in a distant country all the duties of a sovereign. Of this form of
government the East India Company is the best known specimen. The
Genoese treasury in 1346 was so exhausted that the funds for fitting
out the twenty-nine galleys of Vignoso’s fleet were raised by private
citizens, who subscribed the money in shares. The Republic promised
to secure them against all loss, and pledged a portion of its annual
revenue to pay the interest. After the conquest of Chios, Vignoso,
in virtue of the full powers with which he was invested, established
a committee of the subscribers, who administered the Government of
Chios, and collected the revenues under the sovereignty of the Republic
of Genoa. The contributors had formed themselves into a joint-stock
company, according to the established usage at Genoa; and this society
or maona assumed the name of the Maona of Scio. The Republic being
unable to repay the advances, a convention was concluded between the
State and the Maona, by which the shareholders were recognised as
the lawful proprietors and administrators of Chios, subject to the
terms on which the Greek population had capitulated, for a term of
twenty years, during which the Republic reserved the right of resuming
possession of the island on repayment of the sum advanced. This,
however, the Republic was never able to do, so the arrangement became
permanent. The greater part of the shares passed into the hands of the
family, or, more correctly speaking, the firm of the Justiniani, and
the Joint-Stock Company of Scio was generally called the Maona of the
Justiniani. For further details as to the Government of Scio while held
by this company, see Finlay, _History of Greece_, vol. v. ch. ii.,
from which this note is taken. It must, however, be added that the
Government of the company, notwithstanding its defects, was for a long
period the least oppressive in the Levant.
[229] Petremol, the French chargé d’affaires, mentions some Spanish
slaves being brought to Constantinople from Chios. The Sultan, it was
said, did not intend to keep them in servitude, but wished to see
whether Roostem’s contention was true, namely, that Pialé had stolen
all the prisoners of high rank, and had presented to the Sultan, under
the names of the different officers, common soldiers who could pay no
ransom. Charrière, _Négotiations de la France dans le Levant_, ii. 671.
[230] Adam von Dietrichstein was born in 1527. He accompanied
Maximilian on his journey to Spain, when he went to marry his cousin,
the Infanta Maria. In 1561 he was sent by Maximilian to the Pope as
ambassador. Maximilian appointed him his High Chamberlain in 1563,
and sent him to conduct his sons to Spain as head of their household.
Busbecq therefore served under him on this mission (see page 61).
About the same time Ferdinand appointed him his ambassador to Spain,
and after Ferdinand’s death he remained there as Maximilian’s
representative. In this post he had the delicate task of keeping the
bigoted Philip and the tolerant Maximilian on friendly terms. In 1573
he escorted the Archdukes home, and was appointed Privy Councillor
and Governor of Rodolph’s household. He died in 1590, and was buried
at Prague, at the feet of his master Maximilian. He married in 1555
Margaret, daughter of Don Antonio de Cardona.
[231] In Wervicq Church, about a mile from Busbecq’s home, stands a
life-size figure of a galley-slave, with this inscription: ‘Vrais
Chrétiens, soyez touchés de cœur à faire charité aux esclaves
Chrétiens.’ The utter, hopeless misery there depicted illustrates the
force of this appeal.
[232] July 8, 1561.
[233] See page 157.
[234] One of the Princes’ Islands in the Sea of Marmora, where the
British Fleet was stationed during the spring of 1878.
[235] We have here a good description of a serious attack of the
plague. Compare pages 163-4.
[236] Busbecq went there in the beginning of August 1561. He was
accompanied by a cavasse, and twenty Janissaries as a guard. Charrière,
_Négotiations de la France dans le Levant_, ii. 668-9.
[237] These references are to Cicero, _De Naturâ Deorum_, ii. cap. 48,
and _De Finibus_, iii. cap. 19; Pliny, _Natural History_, ix. cap. 66,
and _Athenæus_, iii. p. 93. For descriptions and figures of the pinna
and pinnophylax or pea-crab, see Wood’s _Natural History_, pages 422
and 588. They are frequently found in the shells of bivalves. The real
reason for this habit is not certainly known. For an account of Belon,
see note, page 140.
[238] This passage illustrates the statement in the _Life_, pages 50,
51.
[239] In ancient times, and now in the English Church, the title
of Metropolitan (Archbishop) was confined to the chief bishop of a
province; but in the Greek Church at the present day the title is given
to many ordinary bishops.
[240] See pp. 113, 114.
[241] After the Spaniards, in 1533, abandoned the fortress of Coron in
the Morea, some Greeks, who had taken their part, fled with them to
Charles V. Among them was one James Heraclides, whose ancestors had
been Despots, or Lords, of Samos and Paros. In his suite was a lad
named John Basilicus, the son of a ship-captain in Crete. He took a
fancy to the young man, and had him educated, and for some years he
worked as a copyist in the Vatican library. On the death of his patron,
John persuaded his household to acknowledge him as the nephew of their
deceased master by allowing them to take possession of the property
left by him, only keeping for himself all the diplomas, title-deeds
and other documents he could find. Many years afterwards he repaired
to Charles V. in his retirement at Yuste, and obtained from him an
acknowledgment that he was nephew and heir of Heraclides, and as such
was recognised by him as Despot of Samos and Paros. Charles V. also
acknowledged the good service he had done while in the Albanian light
cavalry attached to the Spanish army, and according to some accounts
gave him the right of conferring the degree of Doctor and creating
Notaries and Poet-Laureates. Armed with these credentials he repaired
to Wittenberg, where he became acquainted with Melancthon, published
an historical work in Latin, and with the Emperor’s consent exercised
his powers by creating some Poet-Laureates. At Lubeck he assumed the
character of a prince banished by the Turks, and thence repaired to
the courts of Denmark and Sweden, and next went by Dantzic to Albert
of Brandenberg, the first Duke of Prussia. He then visited Nicholas
Radzivill at Wilna, who introduced him to Sigismund, King of Poland. To
gain Radzivill’s favour he professed himself a Protestant. In Poland
he heard of the disturbed state of Moldavia, and found that the wife
of the Hospodar Alexander was a kinswoman of his pretended uncle.
Armed with letters of recommendation from Radzivill and the King, he
entered Moldavia, assumed the name of James Heraclides, and on the
strength of a forged pedigree, passed himself off as a descendant of
the ancient Moldavian dynasty of that name. He applied himself to
learn the language and to gain the affections of the nobles. Thereon
Alexander, who at first had received him well, tried to poison him,
but he escaped to Upper Hungary; here he obtained the assistance of
Albert Laszky and would have invaded Moldavia through Ruthenia, if
the Palatine had not stopped him by the King of Poland’s orders. He
then retired to Kaschau, where he gained the confidence of Busbecq’s
old colleague Zay, then Governor of Upper Hungary. Having come to
an understanding between themselves, they wrote to Ferdinand, who
entered into a secret agreement to assist Basilicus with money, and
allow him to levy troops in his dominions. To lull the suspicions
of Alexander, a report of Basilicus’s death was circulated, and his
funeral was actually performed by Laszky at Kesmark, the capital of
the County of Zips. His second invasion proved more successful. In
November, 1561, he defeated Alexander near Suczawa, who fled to Jassy,
and thence to Constantinople. There he endeavoured to prejudice the
Sultan against him, and spread reports that he was about to invade
Thrace with his German mercenaries. Though Solyman was much annoyed
at these events, and had commenced to assemble an army to attack the
Despot, yet he deemed it wiser to dissemble his vexation, and, yielding
to the representations of the Despot’s envoys, which were supported by
a judicious administration of bribes, he conferred on him the vacant
dignity. The Despot, however, soon made himself unpopular by raising
the taxes, which he was obliged to do in order to provide the increased
tribute he had agreed to pay, Alexander having carried off all the
money in the treasury. Moreover, to save expense he dismissed his
German and Italian troops, retaining only Hungarians. The priests and
common people were alienated by his religious innovations, especially
as they could not refute his arguments, ‘having learnt to worship God
with more zeal than knowledge.’ He declared his intention of abolishing
vain ceremonies and false doctrines, and introduced Calvinist preachers
from Poland, who ridiculed the mass-books, expressed their abhorrence
of all ceremonies, destroyed images, and, in the words of the episcopal
historian, had the arrogance to affirm that their doctrines agreed
with the testimony of the Scriptures. He began to plunder the churches
of their treasures, plate, &c., which made the priests fear their
turn would come next. His crowning act of sacrilege was to melt down
certain silver crosses, venerable both from their age and the relics
they contained, and to coin them into pieces bearing his image and
superscription. The nobles were further estranged by his projected
marriage with the beautiful Christina, daughter of Martin Zborowski,
Castellan of Cracow, a man of great influence in Poland, and the leader
of the Protestant party. Accordingly, they conspired against him,
treacherously surprised and killed most of his foreign guards, his
other partisans, and his infant child, and besieged him in Suczawa.
After three months his Hungarian troops mutinied and surrendered the
fortress, and he was cruelly murdered by Tomza, the leader of the
conspirators.
[242] See note, page 226.
[243] The farewell audience took place on the Tuesday before September,
10, 1559. Apparently, however, it was on June 6 that Lavigne procured
the release of the prisoners. The Baily, Marini di Cavallo, was much
annoyed at the favour, which had been refused to his entreaties and
bribes, being granted to Lavigne. ‘Et il ne s’est peu tenir, tout saige
et _cavallo_ qu’il est, de se faire cognoistre fol et _asino_: car
usant de paroles magnifiques et de ceste bonne créance de Realto contre
moy, au lieu de me louer et vous faire remercier par sa seigneurie
d’une si bonne œuvre qu’il n’eust jamais sceu mectre à fin, soubz main
il a tasché de faire dresser les commandements desdits pellerins en son
nom, et de corrompre l’ambassadeur du roy des Romains (Busbecq) affin
qu’il escripvit à l’empéreur que c’estoit à la requeste de ladicte
seigneurie qu’ils avoient esté déliverez.’—Charrière, _Négociations_
&c., ii. 584.
[244] It is curious to find that some Goths still existed in the
Crimea so late as Busbecq’s days. They occupied the south coast from
Balaklava to Sudak, and the mountains north of the latter, and the
Genoese officer who governed this coast in the fifteenth century, bore
the title of Capitanus Gotiæ. They are mentioned by the monk Rubruquis,
who was sent in 1253 by Saint Louis to the Great Khan, and also by
Marco Polo, (book iv. c. 24, Yule’s edition, ii. p. 421 and note).
The traveller Pallas, at the end of the last century, could find no
traces of them or of their language, so that he thinks (_Travels_,
vol. ii. p. 358), that Busbecq’s belief in their existence must have
arisen from some German, Swedish, or other captives being found in
the Crimea. Busbecq, however, is not the only writer who notices
these Goths, and it is not difficult to understand that the tribe may
have disappeared before the time of Pallas in the numerous wars which
devastated the Crimea. The ruins of Mancup still remain, four leagues
south of Simferopol, and nearly due east of Sebastopol. It is an almost
inaccessible fortress, on a high isolated rock. Pallas describes the
ruins of it in the second volume of his _Travels_. One of Gibbon’s
numerous references to Busbecq is found in a note to Chapter xl., where
he alludes to ‘these unambitious Goths.’
[245] The Flemish is not given by Busbecq, but has been taken by the
translators from an article on Busbecq in _Les Voyageurs Belges_, ii.
p. 30, by the Baron de Saint-Génois,
[246] This is a mistake on Busbecq’s part. The first German immigrants
came to Transylvania at the invitation of Geisa II., king of Hungary,
in the times of Conrad III. and Frederick Barbarossa, _i.e._, about the
middle of the twelfth century. Most of them came from the Lower Rhine.
They still form distinct communities, marrying only among themselves,
and are known as Saxons.
[247] See note 1, page 415.
[248] A similar legend is told of St. Raymond, a Spanish saint, who
lived in the thirteenth century. He was confessor to Don James, King of
Aragon. In the words of Mrs. Jameson (_Legends of the Monastic Orders_,
p. 421), ‘the latter’ (the King) ‘had but one fault; he was attached
to a certain beauty of his court from whom Raymond in vain endeavoured
to detach him. When the King summoned his confessor to attend him
to Majorca, the saint refused unless the lady were left; the King
affected to yield, but soon after their arrival in Majorca, Raymond
discovered that the lady was also there in the disguise of a page; he
remonstrated; the King grew angry; Raymond intimated his resolution to
withdraw to Spain; the King forbad any vessel to leave the port, and
made it death to any person to convey him from the island. The result
is thus gravely related: St. Raymond, full of confidence in God, said
to his companion, “An earthly King has deprived us of the means of
escape, but a heavenly King will supply them!” Then walking up to a
rock which projected into the sea, he spread his cloak on the waters,
and setting his staff upright and tying one corner to it for a sail,
he made the sign of the cross, and boldly embarked in this new kind of
vessel. He was wafted over the surface of the ocean with such rapidity
that in six hours he reached Barcelona. This stupendous miracle _might_
perhaps have been doubted, if five hundred credible witnesses had
not seen the saint land on the quay at Barcelona, take up his cloak,
which was not even wetted by the waves, throw it round him, and retire
modestly to his cell; more like an humble penitent than one in whose
favour Heaven had so wonderfully wrought.’
[249] This feat is by no means impossible. See Hone’s _Everyday Book_,
ii. p. 771-9.
[250] A receipt by which this feat may be accomplished is given in
the _Booke of Secrets_ of Albertus Magnus, imprinted at London by H.
Jackson. ‘Take the juice of Bismalua, and the white of an egge, and the
seed of an herb called Psillium, also Pulicarius herba, and break it
into powder, and make a confection, and myxe the juice of Radysh with
the white of an egge. Anoynt thy body or hand with this confection, and
let it be dryed, and after anoynte it againe; after that thou mayest
suffer boldely the fire without hurt.’ (See Hone’s _Everyday Book_, ii.
p. 774.) Similar feats were performed before Evelyn. (_Diary_, p. 370.)
[251] See note, page 226.
[252] Treaty of Cateau Cambrésis, concluded between France and Spain,
April 3, 1559.
[253] ‘Alvaro de Sandé fit tres bien à la bataille de Gerbes, là
où combattant vaillamment il fut pris et mené à Constantinople en
signe de triumphe et presenté au grand Solyman, qui le fit garder
fort curieusement et estroictment, en faisant serment sur son grand
dieu Mahom(!) qu’il ne luy feroit jamais plus la guerre, et qu’il
vieilliroit et mourroit en prison sans le vouloir jamais mettre à
rançon; car il sçavoit bien que le roy d’Espagne son maistre le
rechapteroit de beaucoup. Enfin, voyant que pour or ny argent il ne
le pouvoit faire rançonner ny avoir, il envoya prier avec grande
suplication le roy Charles, son beau et bon frere, par le moyen de
ceste bonne Reyne d’Espaigne sa sœur, d’envoyer une ambassade vers
le Grand Seigneur pour le luy demander et le luy donner; dont le Roy
(comme je le vis moy estant lors à la Cour) despescha aussitost M. le
chevalier de Salvyaty, qui a esté depuis premier escuyer de la reyne
de Navarre, homme fort digne pour ceste charge, et fort habile, qu en
fit l’ambassade, avec danger de sa vie, pourtant qu’il courut par les
chemins, me dict il à son retour. Le Grand Seigneur du commancement
en fit un peu de refus à ce qu’il me dict; mais vaincu par prieres du
Roy, il ne l’en voulut refuser, et le luy accorda pour la premiere
demande qu’il luy avoit faicte, parce que c’estoit son avenement à
la couronne: outre plus, luy envoya les plus belles offres du monde.
Par ainsy ledict chevalier s’en retourna libre avec son prisonnier,
qui ne pensoit rien moins à cela devoir à nostre Roy sa vie et sa
liberté.’—_Brantôme_, i. 218.
It is needless to point out the absurdities and gross inaccuracies of
this account, which is given by Salviati’s friend. It is contradicted
by the despatches of the French representative at Constantinople,
which show that Salviati’s mission was a complete failure: ‘Solyman ne
se souvenant plus de ses parolles et de ce qu’il avoit escrit au roy
dernièrement par M. le chevalier Salviati, que sa foy ne permettoit
point de délivrer les chrestiens pris en bataille, accorda la
délivrance desdits trois chevaliers espagnols, à la premiere requeste
et instance que Ferdinand luy en a faicte soubz ombre de cent cinquante
esclaves turcqs qu’ilz ont promis dellivrer.’—Charrière, _Négotiations
de la France dans le Levant_, ii. 704.
[254] ‘Quant à l’aultre point des chevalliers espagnols délivrez, Ali
me dit que certainement leur foy ne permettoit point délivrer les
chrestiens pris en bataille, mais que le Grand Seigneur ayant remis
ce pesché sur ses bassats, ils avoient trouvé par leur loy que pour
eschange d’esclaves en tel nombre que les Espagnols promettent, et
faire un bien public comme la paix, leur foy, comme par une indulgence
spécialle, permettoit ladite délivrance.’—_Charrière_, ii. 706.
[255] See page 156.
[256] These ants are mentioned first by Herodotus, iii. c. 102, where
he gives an account of the stratagem by which the Indians steal the
gold thrown up by them as they burrow. The most plausible conjecture
is that which identifies this animal with the Pangolin or Ant-eater.
See Blakesley’s and Rawlinson’s notes on the passage, in the latter of
which the statement in the text is referred to.
[257] This headdress must have resembled that of the Janissaries
Busbecq saw at Buda. See p. 87 and note.
[258] Aleppo is really a considerable distance from the Euphrates.
[259] The date of Bajazet’s death was September 25, 1561.
[260] See note, page 108.
[261] See _Sketch of Hungarian History_.
[262] Compare page 159.
[263] Theriac, the original form of the word treacle, is derived from
θηρίον, i.e. a venomous serpent (see Acts xxviii. 4). It originally
meant a confection of vipers’ flesh, which was popularly believed to be
the most potent antidote to vipers’ poison. Hence the word came to mean
any antidote against poison.
[264] The value of this balsam is illustrated by the amusing account
of the adventures in Ireland of Jean de Montluc, Bishop of Valence,
given by Sir James Melville in his _Memoirs_ (page 10, Bannatyne Club
edition). Like his friend Busbecq (see vol. ii. p. 34, _Letter to
Maximilian_, XI.) he had been ambassador at the Turkish Court, and was
afterwards sent in the same capacity to Scotland. On his return he paid
a visit to Ireland to intrigue with the chieftains who were hostile to
England. Melville, then a boy of fourteen, was sent back with him by
Mary of Guise, the Queen Regent, to be a page to her daughter Queen
Mary. They landed on Shrove Tuesday, 1550, in Lough Foyle, and were
taken to Odocarte’s house. A woman, who had been brought to entertain
the bishop, and was kept quietly in his chamber, ‘found a little glass
within a case standing in a window, for the coffers were all wet by the
sea waves that fell in the ship during the storm. But she believed it
had been ordained to eat, because it had an odoriphant smell; therefore
she licked it clean out; which put the bishop in such a rage that he
cried out for impatience.... But the Irishmen and his own servants
laughed at the matter, for it was a phial of the only most precious
balm that grew in Egypt, which Solyman the great Turk had given in a
present to the said bishop, after he had been two years ambassador
for the King of France in Turkey, and was esteemed worth two thousand
crowns.’
[265] See p. 86.
[266] Here we part from the gallant Spaniard. For his future career see
note p. 317. He was finally Governor of Oran, ‘où il a finy ses jours
fort vieux et cassé.’—_Brantôme_, i. 219.
[267] The then Duke, or rather Elector, of Saxony, was Augustus the
Pious, who succeeded his brother, the famous Maurice, in 1553, and
died in 1586. The Duke of Bavaria was Albert III., surnamed the
Magnanimous, who reigned from 1550 to 1579. His wife was a daughter of
Ferdinand. William the Rich was then Duke of Juliers, Cleves and Berg,
&c. He reigned from 1539 to 1592, and he also had married a daughter
of Ferdinand. He was younger brother of Anne of Cleves, Henry VIII.’s
fourth wife.
[268] Ferdinand might have defended himself by the example of his
predecessor Sigismund. See the story in Carlyle’s _Frederick the
Great_, i. 187, of his speech at the Council of Constance. “‘Right
Reverend Fathers, date operam ut illa nefanda schisma eradicetur,’
exclaimed Sigismund, intent on having the Bohemian schism well dealt
with,—which he reckons to be of the feminine gender. To which a
Cardinal mildly remarking, ‘Domine, schisma est generis neutrius
(Schisma is neuter, your Majesty),’ Sigismund loftily replies, ‘Ego sum
Rex Romanus et super grammaticam (I am King of the Romans, and above
Grammar)!’”
[269] An allusion to Horace, _Odes_, iii. 3, 1-10.
[270] In the battle of Nicopolis, A.D. 1396, Bajazet defeated
Sigismund, King of Hungary (afterwards Emperor), and a confederate army
of 100,000 Christians, who had proudly boasted that if the sky should
fall, they would uphold it on their lances. Among them was John, Count
of Nevers, son of Philippe-le-Hardi, Duke of Burgundy, afterwards the
Duke known as Jean Sans-Peur, who led a contingent of French knights.
In the battle of Varna, A.D. 1444, Ladislaus, King of Hungary and
Poland, was defeated, and killed by Sultan Amurath II. For Mohacz, see
_Sketch of Hungarian History_.
[271] Compare Camoens: ‘Eu nunca louvarei o general que diz “Eu não
cuidei.”—I will never praise the general who excuses himself by saying,
“I thought not.”’
[272] See _Sketch of Hungarian History_.
[273] The Suleimanyeh, or mosque of Solyman, is the most glorious
masterpiece of Ottoman architecture. It is built after the pattern of
St. Sophia, and was intended to surpass it. As regards the regularity
of the plan, the perfection of the individual parts, and the harmony of
the whole, that intention appears to have been fully attained. It was
begun in 1550 and finished in 1555.
[274] Johann Trautson von Matray, Freiherr von Sprechenstein, &c.,
descended from an ancient Tyrolese family, was Governor of the Tyrol,
and Privy Councillor and Lord High Chamberlain to Ferdinand, who
created him a Baron. Leonard von Harrach, a member of an ancient
Bohemian family, Privy Councillor and Court Chancellor of Ferdinand, is
probably the person meant.
[275] Mattioli or Matthioli, an Italian physician, was one of the
founders of modern botany. He was born at Siena in 1500, and died at
Trent in 1577. He was educated at Venice and Padua, and afterwards
lived at Siena and Rome, but was compelled by the sack of the latter
city to retire to Trent, from which he removed to Goritz. In 1562
he was summoned by Ferdinand to his Court, where for ten years he
was first physician to Maximilian. His most celebrated work is his
_Dioscorides_ and his _Commentary_ on that author. In this he made
especial use of two MSS. discovered at Constantinople by his intimate
friend Busbecq, one of which is presently mentioned in the text.
Mattioli in his _Commentaries_, continually refers to the specimens
and information he had received from Quacquelben, Busbecq’s physician.
He gives a figure and description of the _Acorus_, the plant mentioned
in the text, which Busbecq had had collected for him from the Lake of
Nicomedia, and also mentions the _Napellus_ under the head of Aconite.
Apparently there were two species known by that name, one of which was
extremely poisonous. Mattioli gives instances of experiments tried with
it upon condemned criminals, some of which proved fatal. Mattioli also
describes and gives figures of the horse-chestnut and lilac, taken from
branches and seed sent him by Busbecq.
Quacquelben took advantage of the return of Busbecq’s colleagues in
August 1557, to send Mattioli a box of specimens accompanied by a long
letter, which, with Mattioli’s reply, is printed among the letters of
the latter.
[276] The sweet or aromatic flag was used as a medicine in cases of
bites from mad dogs, &c. See Salmon’s _Herbal_. It was also used for
scenting rooms, and for ornamental purposes. See Evelyn’s description
of Lady Clarendon’s seat at Swallowfield: ‘The waters are flagg’d about
with _Calamus aromaticus_, with which my lady has hung a closet that
retains the smell very perfectly,’ _Diary_, p. 490. See also Syme’s
_English Botany_, vol. ix. p. 11.
[277] See page 389.
[278] Matarieh, a village near Cairo, occupies the site of the ancient
On or Heliopolis, where Cleopatra’s Needles originally stood.
[279] See page 256 and note.
[280] This MS. was purchased by the Emperor, and is still preserved
at Vienna. It is one of the most ancient and remarkable MSS. in
existence. It was written at Constantinople, towards the end of the
fifth century, for Juliana Anicia, daughter of the Emperor Olybrius,
who died A.D. 472. On the second and third pages are two miniatures,
each representing seven famous botanists and physicians assembled in
consultation. Among those represented in the second are Dioscorides
himself and Cratevas. On the fifth page is a picture of Dioscorides
engaged in the composition of his work. Visconti considers that the
resemblance of the two portraits of Dioscorides proves that they were
taken from a real original, and are not imaginary. On the sixth page is
a picture of Juliana Anicia seated on a throne between two allegorical
figures of Wisdom and Magnanimity. A winged Cupid, above whom is
written ‘The Love of the Creator of Wisdom,’ is presenting her with an
open book, while a kneeling figure entitled Gratitude is kissing the
feet of the princess. Engravings of these pictures, which, apart from
their antiquity, are remarkable as works of art, are given by Visconti,
_Iconographie Grecque_, vol. i. ch. 7, and by Montfaucon, _Palæographia
Græca_, bk. iii. ch. 2. Throughout the MS. the description of each
plant is illustrated by a figure.
Dioscorides was a famous botanist and physician, who wrote a celebrated
treatise on Materia Medica. Cratevas was a Greek herbalist, who is
supposed to have lived about the beginning of the first century B.C.
The great work of Busbecq’s friend, Mattioli (see note 1 page 415), was
his edition of _Dioscorides_.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
LONDON: PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET
———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
OGIER GHISELIN
DE BUSBECQ
VOL. II.
(_The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved_)
[Illustration: CROSS OF BOUSBECQUE.
THIRTEENTH CENTURY.]
THE
LIFE AND LETTERS
OF
OGIER GHISELIN DE BUSBECQ
SEIGNEUR OF BOUSBECQUE
KNIGHT, IMPERIAL AMBASSADOR
BY
CHARLES THORNTON FORSTER, M.A.
_Late Fellow of Jesus College, Cambridge: Vicar of Hinxton_
AND
F. H. BLACKBURNE DANIELL, M.A.
_Late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge: Barrister-at-Law_
Πολλῶν ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω
_IN TWO VOLUMES_
VOL. II.
LONDON
C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1881
CONTENTS
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME.
PAGE
LETTERS FROM FRANCE TO MAXIMILIAN—I.-XXXVII. 3
” ” ” RODOLPH—I.-LVIII. 141
APPENDIX 265
INDEX 311
LETTERS FROM FRANCE.
BOOK I.
LETTERS TO MAXIMILIAN.
In illustrating Busbecq’s letters from France reference is frequently
made to contemporary writers, and it may be useful to the reader to
have some idea of their different characters, and positions, and of the
historical value of their statements.
(1). J. A. de Thou, the historian, son of Christopher de
Thou, President of the Parliament of Paris. Jurist and
statesman. Busbecq’s intimate friend and warm admirer.
Quoted as _Thuanus_. Edition, Geneva, 1620, &c.
(2). Pierre de l’Estoile. Audiencier de la Chancellerie
de Paris. A quiet man, who took no part in politics.
He kept a diary which is generally known as _Journal
de Henri III._ and _Henri IV._, but is really _his own
private diary_ during the reigns of those monarchs.
Quoted as _De l’Estoile_. Edition, Paris, 1875, &c.
(3). Pierre de Bourdeille, Abbé and Seigneur of Brantôme.
Soldier and courtier. Gentleman of the Chamber to Charles
IX. and Henri III. His ideas are those of the French
Court of that period, and consequently his standard of
morality is very low. He was a friend of Alençon, du
Guast, Bussy, de Viteaux, La Noue, &c., and a great
admirer of Marguerite, to whom he dedicated several
of his works. Having been disabled by a fall from his
horse, he devoted his last years to writing memoirs of
the celebrated men and women he had known, a treatise on
duelling, &c. Quoted as _Brantôme_. Edition, Paris, 1822.
(4). Marguerite de Valois, wife of Henry of Navarre,
sister of Charles IX., Henri III., and Alençon, wrote an
autobiography which she addressed to Brantôme. Quoted as
_Mémoires de Marguerite_. Edition, Paris, 1842.
(5). Theodore Agrippa d’Aubigné. Friend and adherent of
Henry of Navarre. He wrote a _Histoire universelle_ and
_Mémoires_. Quoted as _Aubigné, Histoire_. Edition S.
Jean d’Angely, 1616, &c. The _Mémoires_ are quoted from
the Panthéon Littéraire. Paris, 1836.
(6). Louis Gonzaga, Duc de Nevers. Soldier and statesman.
The compilation known as his Memoirs is quoted as
_Mémoires de Nevers_. Edition, Paris, 1665.
(7). Venetian ambassadors:—John Michel, sent in 1575 to
congratulate Henri III. on his coronation and marriage.
Jerome Lippomano, ambassador in 1577-1579. Their reports
are contained in _Collection de Documents inédits
sur l’Histoire de France, Première Série, Relations
des Ambassadeurs Vénitiens_. Quoted as _Ambassadeurs
Vénitiens_.
(8). Guillaume and Michel Le Riche. Avocats du Roi at
Saint-Maixent in Poitou. Their Journal is quoted as _Le
Riche_. Edition, Saint-Maixent, 1846.
(9). Famianus Strada. A Jesuit priest who wrote the
history of the wars in the Netherlands. Motley has drawn
largely from his work. Quoted as _Strada_. Edition, Rome,
1648.
LETTER I.
Yesterday, August 21, I arrived at Speyer. I stayed a day at Salzburg
and another at Augsburg, on account of my health. For at my third stage
from Vienna an attack of hæmorrhage came on, unaccompanied, however,
by pain, or any great derangement of the system. The physicians I
consulted at Salzburg and Augsburg told me that, if I neglected it, the
consequences might be serious, and ordered me to rest for some days.
For my own part, till now I saw no reason for interrupting my journey
for any length of time, but, as I observe that this trouble, whatever
it may be, is aggravated by heat and motion, I intend to stay here over
to-morrow, for fear of more haste perhaps proving to be worse speed. In
order to save time, I have abandoned my project of passing through the
Netherlands, and intend to go directly to Metz by easy stages, as my
health will not admit of rapid travelling. As to the King of France, I
can learn nothing here; no one knows where he is, but he is said to be
going straight to Rheims, which lies, I imagine, on my road, and I hope
to get there before him.
When I passed through Munich, the Duchess, the sister of your
Majesty,[1] who had lately returned from a visit, sent to me, and made
particular inquiries about the health of your Majesty, of the Empress,
and your children. She also gave me messages for the Queen of France,
and sent letters to Augsburg next day for me to take to her.
I was speaking to someone to-day who had come but lately from the
Prince of Orange, and he said that negotiations[2] for peace had been
opened with him through St. Aldegonde, who was a prisoner in the hands
of the Royalists. He represented the Prince as strongly inclined for
peace, but said that the cities, which had called him in, were no less
strongly opposed to it, and would rather suffer the worst extremity
than trust themselves to the Spaniards, or send Orange away. The same
person told me that Leyden was starving, and must soon surrender.[3]
The Prince, he said, was not to blame for it, but the inhabitants, who,
having been repeatedly warned to lay in stores in time, had obstinately
neglected to do so. He also informed me that the Spanish fleet, if it
was really coming, was to sail round Scotland, and that Orange had set
up false beacons and lights on the coast to draw it among the shoals
and sandbanks.
Perhaps the information I have sent your Majesty is not of much
importance, still I feel sure that it will at least do no harm, and
that with your accustomed graciousness you will not take my sending it
amiss. I pray God to preserve your Majesty, and remain, &c.
Speyer,[4] August 22, 1574.[5]
LETTER II.
On September 2 I arrived at Meaux, fourteen[6] miles from Paris. My
journey was delayed by want of post-horses, for, as the King had just
gone to Lyons, they had almost all been transferred to that road from
their proper stations, and so for two days and nights I sailed down the
Marne, but, as it winds very much before its confluence with the Seine,
near Paris, I had to change my mode of travelling, and return to land.
As no horses or carriages were to be had, I sent people to Paris to
get some, and also to look for lodgings against our arrival. When the
Queen, your Majesty’s daughter, knew of this, she sent two of her own
carriages, which brought me and my suite to Paris on the 4th.
On that day the Queen[7] wished me to rest, and did not send for me
till the next day. I found her in excellent health, but her face was
melancholy, and still showed traces of her recent loss. As I was going
through the points mentioned in my instructions, she spoke gratefully
of your Majesty’s thinking of her and sending to console and visit
her in her bereavement. She was not surprised, she added, at the deep
regret expressed by your Majesty, for, indeed, her late Consort had
always felt the warmest affection for you, and had always been most
anxious to meet your wishes. She then made very minute inquiries
about your Majesty’s health. But, when I said that she must wait
patiently till your Majesty should be able to decide, according to the
turn events might take, whether she was to leave or stay, she gently
replied, that all she asked was to be allowed to do that which was most
useful and pleasing to her father. Our conversation then ended, and I
received permission to retire.
The next day the Queen again ordered me to be summoned, and during
the interview I contrived to introduce the question of her marriage
to the new King (Henry III.) by alluding to the reports now current;
many people set her down as his future bride, I remarked, and if the
union were to take place, it would, in my opinion, harmonise with your
Majesty’s views and policy. Her reply was such as to make it perfectly
plain the suggestion was by no means to her liking; and yet I could see
that she did not intend to be obstinate; she will, I am sure, place
herself in her father’s hands, and further his interests and wishes by
every means in her power.[8]
I also touched on the Constantinople matter, as your Majesty directed.
She promised to bear it in mind when the Queen Mother returned. I will
then make it my business to remind her of it.
I went to her a third time to ask that, as your Majesty’s principal
reason for sending me here was that I might look after her interests,
she would kindly give orders to the _maréchaux de logis_ to provide me
with proper quarters in the neighbourhood, and she at once complied
with my request.
As to other matters, there is no news of any importance. The King is
expected to arrive at Lyons today, where the Queen Mother, Alençon,
and Vendôme[9] have been for some time awaiting him. Disturbances are
still going on in Poitou and the neighbouring provinces. The King, they
say, is preparing to exert his influence, and, if need be, to put them
down with a strong hand. He has hired 5,000 Swiss, besides reiters from
Germany, and some thousands of Italian musketeers.
With regard to our business, not much, I see, can be done here while
the King is away, and so, if I was not afraid I might transgress the
rules of etiquette, I should like to run home for a few days. But I
cannot make up my mind, as I hardly know what people here might think;
otherwise I see no objection, as I had your Majesty’s permission.
Montmorency and Cossé[10] are still confined in the Bastille, and both
are so strictly guarded by the people,[11] that passers-by cannot so
much as bow to them without danger.
Yesterday there arrived here Master John Koch, whose misfortune has
been a great grief to me. Today I took the letters he brought to the
Queen, and she immediately answered them.
Paris, September 10, 1574.
LETTER III.
A few days ago I sent such news as I had by way of Brussels; I now
write, more because I have a convenient opportunity of forwarding a
letter, than because I have anything particular to tell.
The King arrived at Lyons on the 6th. His army is besieging the town
of Nove,[12] twelve miles from Lyons, which they think will not be
hard to take, as it is commanded on every side by the adjoining hills.
Still, they are not quite confident, as they know how obstinate the
King’s opponents have hitherto been in defending the places they
have occupied. Montpensier[13] is besieging the town of Fontenay; a
capitulation, they say, was agreed on, but his men refused to accept
it, preferring to risk their lives in storming the place, rather than
forego their plunder, so the result is still uncertain. Great is the
strength of despair, and however things may turn out, their spoils, I
warrant, will be blood-stained.
They say that the King, before he reached Lyons, asked his Council’s
advice, as to whether he should send back the Italian troops he had
brought with him as a body guard, and that Pibrac,[14] whom your
Majesty saw at Vienna, was for dismissing them. This gave offence to
the Queen Mother, and on his arrival at Lyons she ordered him to return
to Paris, and resume his duties as Advocate of the Kingdom. The Queen
Mother, people think, is in favour of war, because she hopes thereby
to retain her power.
Damville,[15] they say, received an unfavourable answer from the King,
and consequently remained at Turin; he has now, I hear, been summoned
by the King; a suspicious circumstance, as many think. It will be two
months, it is supposed, before the King gets away from his affairs
at Lyons, and in the meantime business here makes little progress. I
expect the King and the Queen Mother will give your Majesty an account
of what is passing in France. At any rate I feel justified in saying
that everybody is anxiously looking for a marriage between the King and
your Majesty’s daughter—it is the general topic of conversation.
The Comte de Bailen, after being kept for a long time in Gascony by the
dangers of the road, has at last started for Lyons.
Paris, September 17, 1574.
LETTER IV.
I have despatched two letters to your Majesty since I arrived here, one
I sent by way of Brussels, the other, dated the 17th, was given to a
servant of the Duke of Bavaria, who was travelling this way from Spain.
Now I have a convenient opportunity of sending despatches by the hands
of Master John Koch.
The King has determined to continue the war rather than suffer two
religions in his kingdom, or allow the rebels to remain in possession
of the towns they have seized; while they declare that they will
hold them to the death, having no hope of safety left save in their
walls and their despair. Thus the King is again getting entangled in
difficulties, from which he will not easily free himself, and which he
might perhaps have avoided.
Fontenay, the town about which I wrote lately, fell at the third
assault. There was great slaughter both of besiegers and besieged.
People think Lusignan will be attacked next. It is a fortress of
considerable strength, five miles from Poitiers, and being built on
a rock is not easily accessible.[16] The siege of Lusignan will give
Montpensier’s army occupation for some time, and though less important
places like these may be easily recovered by the King, at any rate the
reduction of Montauban, Nismes, Rochelle, and other towns, which still
hold out, will prove a more difficult task. But who can say what may
happen in the meanwhile? Time brings about many a surprise, and the
result may turn out far other than what it is expected to be. The King
thinks differently; under his mother’s influence, as it is supposed,
he is entering on the war with a light heart. Within the last few days
an Edict[17] was published, by which all who had fled the country are
invited to return home within six months, under promise of an amnesty;
if they do not avail themselves of this act of indemnity within that
time, they are to be considered outlaws and public enemies. This
proclamation, it is feared, will be the signal for those who distrust
the King’s word to take the field—it is the trumpet calling them to
battle. To people’s astonishment some noble families, as, for instance,
those of Rambouillet and d’Estrées,[18] have been ordered to leave the
Court and retire to their homes.
At his parting from the Duke of Savoy, the King is said to have
made him a present of two towns which are still held by his
garrisons—namely, Savigliano and Pignerolo, if I remember the names
rightly. This arrangement, however, has been interfered with by
the Duke’s wife having died, unfortunately for him, before it was
completed, an event which may possibly make the King change his
intentions.[19]
I am far from satisfied with the state of the business which is the
principal object of my mission—namely, the settlement of the Queen’s
dower. The King’s return, I suspect, is further off than people think,
and meanwhile nothing can be done here. The Queen is thus left in a
state of uncertainty; she knows not what is to happen, or what her
position is to be, and therefore she naturally feels by no means
comfortable. Some people think the King will go down to Avignon, to
be nearer the seat of the war which is imminent; and, if so, it is
supposed he will not be in Paris for full six months from this. If
this be true, though sufficient provision has been made for her in the
meantime, still perhaps it is hardly creditable that a lady, who is now
practically your Majesty’s ward, should be left dependent on another’s
beck and call, and sit quietly waiting till it pleases him to ask her
to become once more a wife. Such a position is, in my humble opinion,
a highly improper one; nor do I believe that in any other case the
relatives of a widowed queen ever waited so long before taking steps to
protect her interests. I trust your Majesty will consider what is to be
done. Shall I go to the King—which will involve some expense—or shall
I write to him, or shall I wait here for his return, whenever that may
be?
If I may give my opinion, I think the King is likely to have more
trouble than he expects. For, taking even the most favourable
supposition, and assuming that he reduces a great part of the rebels
to submission, I consider that he cannot possibly complete his task
during the present winter, and that many of them will hold out still.
What then will be the King’s position? His forces will be no longer
what they were at the beginning of the campaign; war, privation, and
winter will have thinned their ranks. On the other hand, we must be
prepared to see the exiled nobles now in Germany come to the succour of
their friends with such troops as they can raise. All France will then
be in a blaze once more; the issue of the contest it is impossible to
foretell, for who can say how many secret allies the rebels can reckon
on? Those who are thoroughly estranged from the King are not a few.
This forecast of future probabilities is derived in great measure
from a conversation I had, when I was passing through Kaiserslautern,
with an intimate friend of the Palatine and Casimir.[20] The exiles I
speak of have been prevented from invading the country chiefly by two
motives: in the first place, they had some hopes that the King would
be more indulgent to their party, and wished to give him a trial;
secondly, among their chiefs are two sons of the Constable,[21] and
they saw that if they stirred it would be the signal for the execution
of their imprisoned brother, Montmorency; the Queen Mother has openly
threatened and declared as much. Perhaps, too, they are influenced
by the consideration that it would be very bad policy to choose the
moment when the King’s forces are at their best for attacking him,
instead of biding their time.
To turn to another subject. A few days ago a gentleman, who is one of
the King’s councillors, came to see me, and gave me a book to send to
your Majesty, to whom it is dedicated by the author. It is the work of
François de Foix, Bishop of Aire, and Privy Councillor to the King. He
is an old man of the highest rank, and is a great scholar. He is also a
near relative of your Majesty, for his father, he states in his letter,
was brother of your Majesty’s grandmother on the mother’s side.[22] His
elder brother, the Comte de Candale, is dead. He left a son, who was
killed by a musket-shot in the head,[23] while fighting under Damville,
who was then engaged in some service for the King. He left only two
daughters, the eldest of whom succeeded to the family property, and is
being brought up in the house of her maternal grandmother, the widow
of the Constable, their father having married one of the Constable’s
daughters. To return to the Bishop. He is a man of the greatest
learning, especially in mathematics, and is regarded by the professors
of that science here as one of their most distinguished men. He has
translated Hermes Trismegistus[24]—a writer of such antiquity that
some people make him out to be a contemporary of Moses himself—from
Greek into Latin, and this is the work that is now on its way to your
Majesty. He has also translated him into French, and has dedicated the
translation to the Queen Mother. He has written, besides, five books of
commentaries on the same author in French, which those who have seen
it assert to be a noble work; and this has been published under the
patronage of the Queen, your Majesty’s daughter. I humbly hope your
Majesty, when answering my letter, will condescend to acknowledge the
arrival of the book, and gratify the good old man by thanking him for
the compliment. I will take care to show the passage to his friends,
who brought me the book.
As to the Queen’s condition, I have nothing to write which your Majesty
will not hear from her own letters. One matter, I think, I should not
omit to mention. Everything here is exceedingly dear, especially the
necessaries of life, such as bread, wine, fire-wood, and lodgings.
With these high prices, I do not see how I am to keep within the salary
allowed by your Majesty. However, I will do the best I can for this
half year, and after that I trust your Majesty will kindly see that I
am properly provided for.
To conclude. As I perceive there is no immediate prospect of the King’s
arrival, and I can leave Paris for some days without any inconvenience
to the Queen, I have determined, with her approval, to avail myself of
your Majesty’s kind permission, and to make the journey home, which
I have so long intended, to arrange my private affairs. I think of
remaining in the Netherlands till your Majesty’s gracious reply to this
letter arrives at Brussels, which I consider your Majesty will find to
be the most convenient route for sending an answer. I have nothing more
to add except my earnest prayer that God may long preserve your Majesty
to us and to Christendom.
Paris, September 28, 1574.
Montmorency is still detained in the same prison; Cossé, on account of
his illness, is allowed a more convenient lodging, but is guarded there
with the utmost strictness.
I am not sure if it is worth adding a postscript to say that, if your
Majesty should think fit to send me to the King, any despatches to the
Duke of Savoy could be conveyed at the same time without any additional
trouble or expense, for Turin is not very far from Lyons, and is nearer
still to Avignon—if I mistake not.
LETTER V.
I have but lately sent all the news I had by the hands of Master John
Koch. Since then nothing has happened worth notice, except that letters
from Lyons have reached Paris, saying that the question of the Queen’s
dower has been discussed at Court, and that the Duchy of Berry has been
assigned to her on account thereof. The annual income, however, of
this Duchy, derived from real estate, does not come up to the amount
of her dower; whence the rest is to be provided we do not know, but
it certainly ought to be charged on lands in the neighbourhood. The
Queen herself has not heard a word on the subject, though the King
has written several times to her, and the Queen Mother still more
frequently. The report I mention about the dower prevents my starting
for the Netherlands, as I had intended, for I am afraid of perhaps
being wanted here.
As to the King’s return, nothing is yet known for certain: some think
it is not near, and that he intends going further away; others regard
his movements as a trick to induce the gentlemen of the Court to start
for the camp, under the notion that the King will shortly follow. I can
make no positive assertion either way; I have not been long in France
and am at a distance from the scene of action; hitherto I have been
unable to do more than chronicle rumours and people’s opinions. Your
Majesty must excuse it, therefore, if I am occasionally wrong in my
facts or mistaken in my predictions.
One part of the Royal army is besieging Poussin,[25] a castle fortified
by the Huguenots, on the bank of the Rhone, a little below Vienne,
I believe, and not many miles from Lyons. The rest of it is with
Montpensier, besieging Lusignan, which is garrisoned, they say, by
about 600 soldiers and 200 gentlemen. La Noue,[26] the head of the
rebels, is said to be at Rochelle with such a following, that they
think he will be master of the town. As to Damville, some people have a
story that, when he found the King intended to arrest him and put him
to death, he crossed by sea from Savoy to Montpellier, a city in his
government, and that he has induced it with some of the neighbouring
towns to revolt. Of this, however, there is nothing known for certain,
and I suspect it is somebody’s invention.
Paris, October, 1574.
LETTER VI.
I lately despatched a letter to your Majesty by a running footman, whom
I sent to Brussels to bring back the answer I am expecting from your
Majesty. Since then nothing new has occurred except that the Queen was
threatened with an attack. The symptoms were sickness, accompanied by
general inflammation and irritation of the skin, while at night she
suffered from thirst. Physicians were called in, and they declared it
to be a case of bile in the blood; they said that there was danger of
fever if remedies were not promptly employed. Accordingly, they treated
her with purgatives and bleeding; since then there has been a change
for the better, and the physicians now have great hopes that the attack
has been taken in time, and this is also my view. The Queen herself is
in good spirits, and considers herself as well as before the illness.
Still I should not like to leave your Majesty in ignorance of what has
happened.
A few days ago the Comte de Bailen arrived from Lyons to offer the
Queen the condolences of the King of Spain; he had already expressed
his master’s regret to the King and Queen Mother at Lyons. He was kept
a long time at Bordeaux by the dangers of the road, and he incurred
serious risks on his way round by Lyons, as parties were watching
at various places on his route with intent to waylay him. He is now
hesitating as to what road he shall choose for his return, and seems
to think the safety of his route a more important consideration than
its length. He has, moreover, a wish to visit the Netherlands and other
countries.
To-day I was informed that Pibrac is coming here from Lyons; from him
I shall be able to learn how matters stand there. He is also bringing,
they say, the King’s instructions to me with reference to the dower.
Your Majesty shall be duly informed of whatever I hear.
Poussin, which was being besieged, has fallen into the King’s hands;
the defenders, according to some accounts, sallied out by night and
escaped from the town.[27] Damville’s conduct excites suspicion; two
Vicomtes are said to have come to him at Montpellier to concert plans
for war. One of them, I think, is the Vicomte de Montbrun; the other’s
name I have not heard. Damville is also believed to have tried to take
Avignon by surprise; people think that he will raise the standard of
a fresh insurrection, and thus exasperate the King, who is at present
inclined towards justice and mercy, as your Majesty will see from
the Edict[28] I enclose. There seems, therefore, to be no prospect
that France will see any termination of the woes with which she is
afflicted. One civil war begets another, until there is no end.
About the King’s coming there are vague reports, which change every
day. I cannot be sure of anything till I have an interview with
Pibrac, and, as soon as I have seen him, I will lose no time in making
my report to your Majesty.
Paris, October 31, 1574.
LETTER VII.
In my last letter to your Majesty I gave an account of the Queen’s
health; and how her physicians hoped to keep off a fever by timely
remedies. Unhappily, a few days later, though the Queen had felt no
inconvenience in the mean time, there was a return of the complaint,
and it was found necessary to repeat the medicines and to bleed her
again. The blood that was taken was very corrupt, so much so that
her physicians became anxious, feeling sure that her illness would
be serious, and possibly dangerous. They called in some of the first
physicians in Paris, and held a consultation. The attack, however,
never became dangerous, and on the fifth day there was a decided
improvement, and on the seventh, which was Sunday, the fever had quite
subsided. Her physicians are not yet altogether free from anxiety,
as there is still some derangement of the system, which they are
endeavouring to remove; the Queen, however, now the fever has left her,
is not in the least nervous about herself. Thanks to God’s mercy, she
is in a fair way towards recovery.
There is another matter, as to which it is essential to have explicit
instructions from your Majesty. From the beginning of next January
the Queen, they say, will have her dower assigned to her, and instead
of living as hitherto at the expense of the State, she will have to
maintain herself on her own resources and out of the revenues of her
dower. Consequently there are several points that present themselves
for your Majesty’s consideration. In the first place, your Majesty
will have to indicate the source from which the Queen is to get money
for her maintenance till her own revenues begin to come in; secondly,
your Majesty will have to decide whether she is to remain here for the
winter, so as to have milder weather for her journey, or to return
immediately. If the last course is preferred, your Majesty will have
to settle all the questions relating to her route, the expense to be
incurred, the suite that is to attend her, the road she is to take, and
her ultimate destination. If, on the other hand, there is not time to
make all these arrangements, and it should be therefore decided that
she shall stay some months longer in France, still a decision must be
come to as to whether she is to remain in Paris, or retire to the place
assigned her as dower. For there can be no question that she will live
at much less expense in her own house, if I may call it so, than here
in Paris, where everything is excessively dear. There is a château in
the Duchy of Berry which would just suit her, called Remorantin; the
Queen Mother herself is said to have sometimes thought of retiring
thither. Apart from any questions of economy, a residence in the
country would be more in keeping with her position as a widow. Assuming
this to be settled, your Majesty’s opinion will be required as to all
the arrangements of her new establishment, and the gentlemen and ladies
who are to constitute her household. Nothing can be determined till I
receive your Majesty’s instructions.
I mentioned in my former letter that the Duchy of Berry is to be
assigned to the Queen, and I have now written that after the first
of January she is to live at her own charges. Both these statements
are founded only upon current report and require confirmation, for
neither the Queen, nor the Comte de Fiesco,[29] nor I have received
any official notice on the subject. However, the fact is in itself so
probable and the rumour has become so general, that neither the Comte
nor myself have any doubt of its truth. I heard from one of Pibrac’s
relatives in Lyons that he would shortly be here to discuss the whole
question with me on behalf of the King. However, he has not arrived
yet, though he is expected every day. I shall lose no time in informing
your Majesty of the result of our interview. In the meantime I have
thought it better to send this letter without waiting for his arrival.
The report, which was at first very general, of the King’s intending to
marry your daughter, is now universally discredited. Some people, whose
opinion is worth having, ascribe the cause to the Sorbonne or College
of Divines in Paris. When King Henry VIII. of England began to question
the validity of his marriage with his deceased brother’s widow, and
wanted to have it declared null, these divines were consulted as to the
lawfulness of the marriage. At the instigation of King Francis I., who
wished to gratify the King of England, knowing that the dissolution of
the marriage would dissolve the alliance between the Emperor Charles
and Henry, they pronounced the marriage unlawful and incestuous, in
opposition to all the other divines and jurists before whom the case
had been laid.[30] This decision being so contrary to the general
opinion, King Francis thought it sufficient to forward it to England,
and wished it to be suppressed as far as possible in France. But the
King of England, being anxious to support his case, had the decision
printed, and published far and wide. This precedent is supposed to be a
great stumbling-block to the King, and to make him have scruples of the
lawfulness of a marriage with his brother’s widow, as he would thereby
seem to question the authority of his ancestor’s decision.
This is one version of the story; whether it be the true one, or
simply an excuse, I cannot tell for certain. I fully expect that when
I have had a talk with Pibrac I shall be able to make out more of this
matter, or at any rate to form a tolerably good guess; for even if he
says nothing I shall be able from his very silence to draw my own
conclusions as to the King’s wishes and intentions.
It is considered certain that the King will go down to Avignon. His
object, I imagine, is to be nearer the scene of action, where his
presence is required. Meanwhile the siege of Lusignan continues. As to
other matters, I cannot venture to make any positive assertion. The
Comte de Bailen will, I understand, leave this to-morrow on his way
back to Spain. He intends going to Nantes, a seaport in Brittany, and
thence taking ship for Bilbao or St. Sebastian. He has chosen this as
being by far the shortest route as well as the safest.
I most humbly entreat your Majesty for an early answer to this letter,
for, until we have your instructions, we cannot bring this business to
a conclusion with credit to your Majesty. I would suggest sending the
answer to Leonhard de Taxis[31] at Brussels, who has promised to use
all speed in forwarding your Majesty’s letters to Paris.
Paris, November 9, 1574.
I told your Majesty that we were expecting Pibrac in Paris. Well, he
has arrived, and as we were old friends, having made each other’s
acquaintance when the King of France was staying at Vienna, I went
and called on him. He returned my visit. I took the first opportunity
which offered itself in the course of our conversation of introducing
the Queen’s business, and expressed my surprise at the delay in the
assignment of the dower. He replied that affairs of this kind could
not be arranged in a hurry, and that matters would be set right if I
went to the King myself.
LETTER VIII.
I have little to add to what I told your Majesty in my last two letters
of the Queen’s health. She is still confined to her bed by the orders
of her physicians, but she looks well, and is in excellent spirits.
There is no need for me to say more, as she is writing to your Majesty
herself.
Pibrac arrived three days ago. I lost no time in calling upon him, to
ascertain whether he had any instructions with regard to the Queen’s
dower. He avoided the subject, and talked of Poland, and a message the
King had received from a Diet held at Warsaw, begging him to return
forthwith. He told me that the Turkish Ambassador had been present
at the meeting of the Diet, and informed the Poles that the Sultan
would make it a _casus belli_ if they elected a Muscovite or one of
your Majesty’s sons to the vacant throne: they must appoint one of
their own countrymen, two of whom he specified as proper candidates.
It was supposed, however, that it was at the instigation of these two
gentlemen that the embassy had been sent. Pibrac then observed that
there was one of your Majesty’s subjects who was looking out for the
throne.
I remarked that an absent king was not likely to keep his crown long.
He agreed, and was of opinion that the Poles would soon be engaged in
fighting with each other.
The conversation flagged, and as he made no allusion to the subject in
which I was interested, I introduced it myself. I told him that there
was a rumour that the Queen’s dower had been assigned. He informed me
that the report was correct, and represented the settlement which had
been made as most advantageous to the Queen. He said that he understood
your Majesty intended arranging a marriage for the Queen with the King
of Portugal. I replied that I knew nothing of the matter beyond the
fact that the King of Portugal had been most anxious to obtain her hand
before her marriage. At present, I added, he was too much engaged with
his expedition against Fez.[32]
It appears from my conversation with Pibrac that the Queen will
not receive her dower till January, and I am anxious to know what
arrangement your Majesty proposes for providing her with funds in the
meantime.[33]
November 13, 1574.
LETTER IX.
On Saturday last I despatched a letter to your Majesty by a gentleman
who paid a visit to the Queen on behalf of the King and Queen Mother,
as he told me that on his return to Lyons the Seneschal of that city
would be sent to your Majesty. The Queen also wrote a letter, which I
enclosed. I wrote in such a hurry that I am afraid my letter is hardly
as clear as it should be; I trust your Majesty will, with your usual
kindness, pardon its shortcomings.
The purport of my letter was that the Queen was convalescent, and
that her dower was to commence on the 1st of January. She will then
begin life afresh, and her residence and the arrangements of her
establishment will depend upon your Majesty’s pleasure. I humbly trust
that your Majesty will make such provision as the case requires.
I understand that in similar cases the widows of French Kings have
been sent home with a French retinue at the charge of the royal
treasury; but I see that the Queen’s officials are anxious as to the
source from which funds are to be provided until her revenues shall
begin to accrue, for her debts are already large, and will be still
greater by January 1. At that date she will not owe less than 50,000
francs. The King ought to pay the money, but I am afraid he will not
do so punctually, and in that case her creditors are likely to become
troublesome. I am also anxious as to her income, for I fear that,
whatever reductions are made in her household, she will have difficulty
in meeting her expenses if she remains in France.
As to other matters, there is not much for me to say, except that
the King’s affairs are far from prosperous. The besieged garrison of
Lusignan has made a successful sally, and Montpensier has lost so many
men that he is compelled to raise the siege. Some companies also of the
Comte de Retz’s forces, with a detachment of cavalry, have likewise,
they say, been cut to pieces by Damville’s troops. Damville is believed
to be full of confidence, and busy in making preparations for defence.
He holds a commission as Condé’s lieutenant. There are fears that Condé
himself will take the field, and that troops will be raised in Germany.
In confirmation of this, we hear that the people of Rochelle have sold
a large quantity of salt to German traders, whose ships are lying in
their harbour, and that the proceeds are to be placed to the credit of
Condé in Germany, for the purpose of hiring soldiers. If this be true,
it is very serious news for France.
As to the King’s views with regard to marriage, I cannot speak with
any certainty. Some think that he has set his heart on Monsieur de
Vaudemont’s daughter, who is a very handsome girl. Besides, the King is
devoted to the House and party of Lorraine, and most anxious for its
advancement.
However, if he marries her he will cause tongues to wag, and give
offence to those who from interest or jealousy are opposed to the
party of Lorraine. Amongst these must be numbered Vendôme, Condé,
and possibly Alençon himself, who will suspect—not without reason
perhaps—that this marriage is only the thin end of the wedge.
Paris, November 16, 1574.
LETTER X.
I received your Majesty’s two letters dated October 31, and also my
instructions, on November 23. I was at Paris when they arrived, having
abandoned my visit to the Netherlands for reasons with which your
Majesty is already acquainted.
I informed the Queen of your Majesty’s wishes, and at the same time
delivered the letter. I took the opportunity of ascertaining her views
as to the desirability of my visiting the King in accordance with
your Majesty’s instructions. She thought it advisable, on the grounds
mentioned by your Majesty. I asked her to think the matter over, and
when I had an interview with her the next day she was still of the same
opinion.
Also I asked her whether the King (Charles IX.) had made a will before
he died? She replied in the negative, telling me that he had only given
verbal instructions on certain points; she was quite sure he had made
no will. I believe the Queen is right, for so far I have not heard from
anyone of his leaving a will. I will, however, make further inquiries.
A few days after I had written my last letter to your Majesty, the
Bishop of Paris,[34] who is the Queen’s Chancellor, paid me a visit,
and we were shortly afterwards joined by the Comte de Fiesco and
Monsieur de France, the Queen’s first steward. We discussed the
question of the dower; the last two gentlemen expressed their doubts
as to the possibility of getting the pension of 20,000 francs usually
granted to Queens Dowager charged on a good security, quoting the case
of the Queen of Scots, whose pension was settled in such a way as to
be absolutely worthless.
It would be of the greatest advantage to the Queen, your Majesty’s
daughter, if she could have the command of 10,000 or 12,000 thalers
to meet her expenses until the revenues of her dower shall begin to
accrue. I think we could manage without money in hard cash, if a credit
could be opened at Lyons or Antwerp, so that we might be able to draw
on our agents. My duty to your Majesty and the Queen, my mistress,
renders it incumbent on me to make this suggestion, but I shall gladly
acquiesce in your Majesty’s decision, whatever it may be.
Your Majesty mentions ‘credentials.’ I have not received them, and
I think they would be of some service to me; for if anyone should
challenge my right to act as the Queen’s representative, I have no
authority to produce except my letter of instructions, and I should not
care to have its entire contents made public.
Paris, November 30, 1574.
LETTER XI.
I set out on the journey which I had undertaken at the desire of your
Majesty, and arrived at Lyons December 12. There I waited a couple of
days for the purpose of making inquiries as to the remainder of my
route, and obtaining what was needful for the road.
I felt it my duty to have an interview with the Spanish Ambassador
and ascertain from him how matters were going on. His Excellency had
been ordered to remain at Lyons with the other ambassadors, and there
await the King’s arrival; but he had a still more imperative reason for
remaining—to wit, the gout!
He advised me most kindly with regard to my journey, telling me much
of the dangers to be encountered, both on the river route and that
by land, and recommending me strongly not to go to Avignon. I think
he would have persuaded me, had I not sent for some boatmen who had
lately made the voyage; from them I ascertained that matters were not
nearly so bad as the Ambassador had represented; there was a risk,
but no certainty, of our being attacked. Accordingly, not wishing to
waste my time at Lyons, where no intelligence was to be obtained of the
movements of the King—nor, indeed, any news at all—and thus displease
both your Majesty and the Queen, I determined at all hazards to
continue my journey.
Accordingly I embarked at Lyons on the 15th, and reached Avignon on
the 17th.[35] By God’s mercy, I encountered no difficulty or danger on
the way, and found the road far safer and pleasanter than I had been
led to expect. Not that it was altogether safe, for at Valence Bishop
Montluc,[36] (the chief negotiator in the Polish business), when he
came on board to pay his respects, advised me to take with me six
musketeers, as people had been stopped in the neighbourhood, and some
had been killed. I followed his advice.
I had an audience of the King on the 19th of the same month, and was
received most kindly. On my delivering your Majesty’s message and
letter, together with that of the Empress, he answered in very handsome
terms, that for your Majesty’s sake he would do all that lay in his
power for the Queen, and spoke at great length of the attentions
and kind services he had received at your hands. The Queen Mother
(Catherine de Medici), to whose presence I was admitted a few days
later, held similar language; she had been suffering from constant
sickness, which prevented her giving me an earlier interview. I
ascertained later that the King had sent letters to the Queen at Paris
touching the dower, and that, contrary to the usual custom, they had
been registered by the Parliament of Paris before being presented to
the Queen. I called on his Majesty and made some objections to his
proposal. The King said he must refer the matter to his council, and
also wait for an answer from the Queen’s advisers. He spoke of your
Majesty’s kindness at great length, and specially of the assurances
he had lately received, through Vulcob,[37] that he would have your
Majesty’s support if he cared to keep his kingdom of Poland.
In the course of our conversation I discovered that the King would do
whatever the Queen Mother wished, so I determined to approach her again
and ask for her services on behalf of the Queen. She professed the
utmost willingness and said, she would do her best for the Queen, who
had been an excellent daughter to her.
A few days later, de Morvilliers,[38] the Bishop of Orleans, and the
Bishop of Limoges called on me and we had a long discussion with regard
to the dower. I must not forget to mention that, when the King told me
that your Majesty had offered to assist him in keeping his kingdom of
Poland, I was much surprised, but made no reply, as I thought it might
possibly be a trap. I wonder also that nothing has been said as to the
non-payment of the marriage portion[39]; I am afraid they are keeping
this argument in reserve.
I must not forget to inform your Majesty that, in the course of my
interview with the Queen Mother, she told me she felt assured of the
kindly feeling which your Majesty entertained for her, because your
Majesty had continually advised her against war, whereas those who
wished her ill had given the opposite counsel. She had followed your
Majesty’s advice, she said, for a long time, and thereby exposed
herself to severe criticism from not a few.
Lyons, January 24, 1575.
LETTER XII.
To-day the King set out from Lyons on his way to Rheims, where he is to
be crowned—as he told me himself—on the 13th.
I will not weary your Majesty with a full description of the state of
France, but content myself with a sketch.
Ever since the commencement of the civil wars which are distracting the
country, there has been a terrible change for the worse. So complete is
the alteration, that those who knew France before would not recognise
her again. Everywhere are to be seen shattered buildings, fallen
churches, and towns in ruins; while the traveller gazes horror-stricken
on spots which have but lately been the scenes of murderous deeds and
inhuman cruelties. The fields are left untilled: the farmer’s stock
and tools have been carried off by the soldier as his booty, he is
plundered alike by Frenchman and by foreigner. Commerce is crippled;
the towns lately thronged with merchants and customers are now mourning
their desolation in the midst of closed shops and silent manufactories.
Meanwhile, the inhabitants, ground down by ceaseless exactions, are
crying out at the immense sums which are being squandered for nought,
or applied to purposes for which they were never intended. They demand
a reckoning in tones which breathe a spirit of rebellion. Men of
experience, members of the oldest families in France, are in many cases
regarded with suspicion, and either not allowed to come to Court, or
left to vegetate at home. Besides the two parties into which Frenchmen
are divided by their religious differences, there are also feuds and
quarrels which affect every grade of society.
In the first place, the feeling against the Italians who are in the
French service is very strong; the high promotion they have received
and the important duties with which they have been intrusted, arouse
the jealousy of men who consider them ignorant of French business, and
hold that they have neither merit, services, nor birth to justify their
appointment. Birague, as Chancellor, holds one of the highest offices
in the kingdom; Comte de Retz[40] is a Maréchal; Strozzi is in command
of the infantry of France; Guadagni is Seneschal of Lyons; and in the
same way other Italians occupy most important posts, while Frenchmen
murmur.
Again, Italians farm nearly all the taxes, and exact their dues
so rigidly as to drive the natives, who are unaccustomed to such
extortion, to the very verge of rebellion; there will be another Saint
Bartholomew[41] if they do not take care, and they will be the victims.
The feuds which separate the leading families of France are more
bitter than those described in ancient tragedy; this is the state of
feeling which exists between the Houses of Guise, Vendôme and Bourbon,
not to mention that of Montmorency, which, through its alliances and
connections, has a considerable party of its own.
The Bourbons are the strongest; the Guises have most influence at
Court, but this is an advantage which they may lose any day by the
death of the King, and then their fall is inevitable.
By his nearest relations the King is feared rather than loved, for,
knowing the designs they entertained before the death of his brother
(Charles IX.), they have no confidence in his mercy and forgiveness,
though he professes to have pardoned them, and think that his vengeance
is only deferred for a time. On the other hand, the King must see
clearly from the flight of Condé what the feelings of his own family
are towards him.
The district in which the rebellion on religious grounds has struck its
deepest roots begins at Rochelle and reaches to the Rhone, comprising
the whole of Guienne and Languedoc: it includes Saintonge, Poitou,
the Limousin, Perigord, Gascony, the country round Narbonne, &c., &c.
Nor is this all; across the Rhone, in Dauphiny itself, Montbrun has
seized places, as, for instance, Livron, which is now besieged by the
Royalists.
In making the statement that the rebels are powerful in Languedoc and
Guienne, I must not be understood to say that the principal cities of
those provinces do not obey the King; my meaning is that the insurgents
occupy posts of vantage throughout the country, which enable them to
render both life and property insecure; there is no peace or quiet for
those who are loyal to the King. To drive them from their fortresses
would be a most difficult task, for they have formidable positions
and strong fortifications, garrisoned by veteran soldiers, who have
made up their minds to die rather than trust the King’s word. Such,
undoubtedly, is their determination, for though peace, which is the
only cure for these ills, has lately been freely mentioned, and certain
men were at Avignon from Condé and his party, still, up to the present
moment, no arrangement has been concluded. True, the King is ready
to pledge his word that, if his towns are restored to him, no one
shall be troubled on account of his religion; but the memory of Saint
Bartholomew[42] is a fatal obstacle: they will place no confidence in
his promise, and believe that it is only a stratagem to destroy the
survivors of that night.
Such acts of treachery, it would seem, never answer in the long run,
whatever the advantage at the time may be!
Some people have a notion that the idea of peace is not seriously
entertained, but is simply a manœuvre to break up the confederacy by
making overtures to some of its members.
Ambassadors, it is true, have been sent lately to Rochelle, but in the
meantime both parties are busy fighting: the King is pressing on the
sieges of Livron and Lusignan, while the rebels are using every means
in their power to harass and perplex him. After the King’s departure
from Avignon, they took possession of Aigues-Mortes,[43] where they
found a store of cannon, which will be of great service to them. One
fort, however, still remains in the hands of the Royalists, and the Duc
de Uzes, who commands for the King, does not despair of retaking the
town under cover of its fire.
It is not that I should regard the situation as hopeless, if there
were a prospect of matters taking a turn for the better, but, bad as
is the present state of things, it is nothing compared to what we may
expect any day to see.
Having given my ideas as to the state of the country, I will now
give my opinion of the King. Of his character your Majesty has had
opportunities of judging; he is naturally well disposed, and in the
hands of good advisers and councillors of sound judgment might turn out
a pattern sovereign. But his companions are wild young men, the tone of
French society is licentious, and he listens to selfish intriguers who
are seeking their own advantage; under such circumstances, who can say
that he will not go astray? Both he and his brother (Alençon) are of a
weakly constitution and not likely to be long-lived.
The ambassadors who came from Poland have been ordered to remain at
Lyons, and there await the King’s arrival; it is supposed that his
Majesty will not care much for the despatches which they bring, as they
are couched in rough, not to say threatening, language. It seems that
the King has thoughts of keeping Poland, for, though he is still a
bachelor, he has announced his intention of bestowing it on one of his
future children, and with this view is negotiating for an alliance with
the King of Sweden’s daughter; for my own part, however, I am inclined
to suspect that this is a mere feint. First among the aspirants to the
Crown of Poland stands the Duke of Ferrara, but in France the idea
is that the Transylvanian[44] is the candidate most popular with the
Poles. The King is dissatisfied with the Duke of Savoy’s conduct with
regard to Damville, and it is supposed that, if what is past could be
recalled, he would not be so liberal with his towns.[45]
It seems that the siege of Livron will be a long business; for,
though the wall has been battered with cannon, and there is as wide a
breach as the besiegers could desire for them to mount to the attack,
two assaults have already been repulsed with heavy loss. There are
several reasons to account for these failures: in the first place, the
attacking column has to climb up hill through the rubbish and _débris_,
which crumble away under their feet; secondly, fresh intrenchments have
been made within the circuit of the walls, and the besieged are so
confident of holding the town that they may almost be said to laugh at
the efforts of their enemies.[46] I saw this with my own eyes when I
passed Livron on my way back from Avignon. Thirdly, when they come to
close quarters, not only do they meet with a most stubborn resistance
from the men, but many of them are also wounded by the women, who rain
stones upon them from the roofs and ramparts. I saw six ensigns on the
walls of the town, whence it is assumed that there are 400 soldiers
in the garrison; they have muskets, but no cannon. His son-in-law,
who was in command of the town, having been killed by a cannon-ball,
Montbrun, the night before I arrived, sent four more gentlemen into the
place with a party of soldiers; it is said that they passed through the
outposts of the German horse commanded by Count Nogarola.
Your Majesty no doubt received intelligence long ago of the death
of the Cardinal of Lorraine.[47] He died of fever, after an illness
of eighteen days. The attack was brought on, people think, by his
walking in a procession of Flagellants, at night. The Queen Mother has
been poorly from the same cause, and her daughter (Marguerite), wife
of Vendôme (Henry of Navarre), had a troublesome cold, which lasted
several days.
There are four societies of Flagellants at Avignon; the Cardinal
enrolled himself in one of them, and advised the King to do the same;
his Majesty’s example was followed by the whole of the nobility. On one
occasion, when they were walking in procession with these societies
at night, which is the usual time for such ceremonies, there was a
very cold wind, and this is supposed to have been the cause of the
Cardinal’s illness and death, for two or three days afterwards he fell
sick.
He was a great man, and took a prominent part in the government of the
country. In him we have lost a profound scholar, an eloquent speaker,
an experienced statesman. He was ever anxious to advance the interests
of his party and his family, and I am by no means sure that the State
did not sometimes suffer in consequence. The King visited him during
his illness, and would have gone to him oftener if he had not been
afraid of infection. He has felt his death deeply. When the body was
being removed from Avignon, on its way to Rheims, the King and four
Cardinals accompanied it to the gates of the city. They were attended
by all the nobles of the Court, with the King’s brother and the King of
Navarre (as they style him here) at their head. These last, I imagine,
were by no means sorry to do this honour, not to the Cardinal, but to
his corpse! He died at night, and the Queen Mother was so upset by his
death that the next day she fancied she saw him bidding her farewell,
and could hear him saying ‘Adieu, madame; adieu, madame.’ She tried to
point him out to those who were with her.[48]
Whilst I was writing, news came that Lusignan had surrendered to
Montpensier. The garrison are to be allowed to retire to Bouteville
and Pons with their arms and property. I hear also that the siege of
Livron has been raised; the attacking force is broken up; the men
being quartered in the neighbouring villages, from which they are to
watch the town and see that no provisions are brought in. They will
have a hard task, methinks, to keep up so strict a blockade, as not to
be sometimes given the slip.
Lyons, January 24, 1575.
LETTER XIII.
[The whole of this letter is occupied with business connected with the
dower. It is dated Paris, February 9, 1575.]
LETTER XIV.
I received your Majesty’s letter of December 31 on February 5, in which
your Majesty graciously acquaints me with the information touching the
dower given by the Seneschal of Lyons. On this head I wrote at such
length in my former letter that there is no need for me to recur to the
subject again. Your Majesty next informs me that the Seneschal of Lyons
said that the Queen would be treated in the same manner as during her
husband’s lifetime, a statement which, I think, must be considered one
of mere politeness—in short, a French compliment!
With regard to your Majesty’s questions as to the manner in which the
Queen will return, I understand that the King will see that she is
escorted to Vienna, or whatever her destination may be, by gentlemen
of high rank and a distinguished retinue, following in this respect
the precedent of the Queen of Scots, whom his predecessor (Charles IX.)
sent to Scotland at his own charges. The only expense that will fall
on your Majesty will be the presents that must be made to those who
accompany her, and the cost of their journey when they return.
Before leaving, I asked what your Majesty’s wishes were with regard to
the cipher I was to use. I was desired to draw up a code on my way,
and forward it to your Majesty. I drew up a code at Speyer, and put it
in a letter, of which I now enclose a copy. If the letter arrived, I
presume that the cipher arrived too; in the other case, they will both
have been lost together. I send another code, which seems to me less
difficult. I am surprised that your Majesty has not received the letter
I wrote at the end of November, before setting out for Avignon. Some
of your Majesty’s despatches to me are also missing—viz. those dated
December 11 and 16.
As to the state of France, matters are at a deadlock. They would
fain be at peace, for war means ruin, and the very sinews of war are
failing; but still they insist on the restoration of the King’s towns
as a matter in which his honour is concerned. On the other hand, the
insurgents do not care for any peace which does not furnish guarantees
for their safety. As to confidence, which is the very bond of human
society, they have lost it altogether, and will trust nought save walls
and fortifications.
Such a difference of views it is not easy to reconcile. I think that
anyone who offered to act as mediator would be welcomed by the King, as
he would then be able to patch up a peace by pledging some one else’s
word. His own is absolutely worthless. But who would care to pledge
himself, when there are a hundred ways in which his guarantee may be
set at nought?
Some, however, wish that a league could be made against the Turk, and
Condé sent to Hungary, with large forces both of foot and horse, by way
of pumping out the water from which, according to their idea, France is
foundering.
But it is an idle scheme, for the object of the rebels in making war
is to protect their altars and firesides, their children and their
wives; and I fail to understand by what argument they can be induced to
abandon all they hold dear, and allow themselves to be sent to Hungary.
This also is the opinion expressed to me lately by Bellièvre,[49] who
was the late King’s ambassador in Poland. Your Majesty saw him when
the King came to Vienna. He is a man who carries great weight. He
assured me in the most solemn manner that the King, at his suggestion,
had written during his stay at Mantua, and again from France, to his
ambassador at Constantinople, ordering him to support your Majesty’s
interests, and that if he had done otherwise he had distinctly
disobeyed the orders of his master.[50]
The advice that your Majesty gave the King[51]—viz. that he should
avoid war—is frequently mentioned both by the Catholics and their
enemies. They say the King is sorry he did not adopt it, and preferred
to enter his kingdom with the gates of Janus wide open, instead of
closing them. Accordingly, Pibrac, who was the only man for taking your
Majesty’s advice, and stood alone as the advocate of peace, though
at first evil spoken of, is now praised by all. The whole blame with
regard to the war is laid on the Cardinal and the Queen Mother, the
first of whom allowed his animosity to carry him too far, while the
other was afraid that, if peace were declared, she would be reduced to
the level of a subject and find her reign at an end.
I have now only to inform your Majesty of that of which your Majesty
must be already aware—viz. that my funds are completely exhausted by
my long and expensive journey to Avignon, and that I have been obliged
to incur some debts. I therefore humbly petition for the payment of my
half-year’s salary to Jerome de Cocq, who will arrange for its being
remitted to me here, in case your Majesty shall consider it advisable
to retain my services for the Queen.
Paris, February 9, 1575.
I trust your Majesty will not take it amiss that I have been
occasionally addressed as ambassador in France; for, in spite of my
protestations, I cannot prevent their sometimes giving me this title.
It matters the less because it is quite clear that I am not your
Majesty’s ambassador.
The Queen has just sent for me, to say that there is a general report,
which she hears on all sides, that the King is on the point of marrying
the daughter of Vaudemont of Lorraine, and that the ceremony will be
celebrated next Monday, at Rheims. She does not know how she ought
to treat her with regard to precedence, when she comes to Paris. I
trust your Majesty will deign to advise us on this matter. Possibly
your Majesty may think it advisable for the Queen to leave Paris and
go somewhere else—for instance, to her daughter at Amboise, or to any
other place your Majesty may prefer.
I think I told your Majesty of this love-affair of the King’s—in my
letter dated November 16, if I remember rightly. It is quite certain
that this engagement, which was a secret to all but a very few, and
might almost deserve the epithet of _clandestine_, will cause a
bitter feeling throughout France. Vendôme’s sister,[52] who is now
of marriageable years, is intended for Alençon, so that he will ally
himself with the Bourbons, while the King will be connected with the
Guises. As to the policy of these marriages I am doubtful and fear that
they will only add to the miseries of France.
I now implore your Majesty to send back the bearer of this letter as
soon as possible with full instructions on all points.
The future Queen is, if I am not mistaken, the daughter of a sister of
Count Egmont.
The Queen has sent for me again, and shown me a letter from the Queen
Mother, informing her of the approaching marriage of her son the
King, and telling her that the wedding is to take place next Tuesday;
she requests her to send nearly all her attendants to wait on the new
Queen.[53] Accordingly, many of her people have left, in order to
oblige the King; a few have refused to change their mistress at such
short notice. Among these last are the Comte de Fiesco and his wife. I
should be glad if your Majesty would notice their loyal conduct in your
next letter.
I trust your Majesty will seriously consider what ought to be done; we
must have a clear and distinct answer.
Whither is the Queen, your Majesty’s daughter, to go? It is impossible
for her to remain in France without seriously compromising her
position, for here all will attach themselves to the new Queen, and, as
usual, worship the rising sun! It is a common saying that if one loses
one’s position in life, life is not worth the having. I will not say
more, as I rely on your Majesty’s discretion, and affection for your
most loving and obedient daughter.
In the first place, we must have either cash or credit, and for that
reason I am going to the Netherlands. As soon as the messenger shall
have returned to Brussels, I shall be in a position to draw the money
from whatever house your Majesty may please to appoint, and return with
it to the Queen.
By this means I trust we shall be able to get away from Paris before
the King returns, or at any rate leave soon after his arrival, and thus
save our eyes and ears from a great deal of vexation; for when changes
of this kind take place there is much that is unpleasant.
The same day.
As to the dower question, of which I wrote from Lyons, the Queen’s
advisers at Paris think that it will be impossible to obtain a
settlement on Crown lands for the whole of the 60,000 francs per
annum due to the Queen. They say this was not done for the Queen of
Scots, though France was then much more prosperous, and her uncle, the
Cardinal,[54] was absolute master of the realm.
Paris, February 9, 1575.
LETTER XV.
I have now been four days in Brussels waiting for your Majesty’s
orders; I am sure your Majesty will see how important it is that I
should have them as soon as possible. When I get them I shall return to
the Queen with all speed.
Her position I explained clearly in my last letter. I have heard some
remarks which make me uneasy; people warn me that the French are most
liberal in their promises, but very niggardly in their performances,
and think the Queen will have great difficulty in obtaining her
revenues, and not receive more than half the nominal amount. They quote
the case of Queen Leonora.[55]
I must say I am anxious, but I trust things will not prove quite so
bad.
With the end of this month the quarter will expire during which the
King is to defray the Queen’s expenses, and she will then be left to
her own resources. I fail to see how funds are to be provided, unless
your Majesty will supply them. For, even assuming that we should
demean ourselves so far as to go begging to the King, we should expose
ourselves to be taunted with holding out on the question of the dower
as an excuse for dipping our fingers into the King’s purse. The only
available remedy is for your Majesty to place 8,000 or 9,000 crowns
to our account, and this I trust will be done. As to the rest, I find
that some people here talk of the Queen for the governorship of the
Netherlands. I should prefer seeing the appointment offered to one
of your Majesty’s sons; still, on the supposition that there should
be an obstacle in the way of such an arrangement—as is by no means
impossible—or in case of the Archduke’s receiving a more tempting offer
elsewhere, people have much to say as to the advantage which the public
would reap from the Queen’s acceptance of the post.
Within the last few days, negotiations for peace have been opened
at Breda,[56] where both parties are represented by delegates. God
grant they be successful, as many hope and everyone wishes; wise men,
however, shake their heads, for it is certain that the religious
difficulty will prove a most serious obstacle on account of the great
number of Hollanders and Zealanders who have publicly renounced the
Catholic religion. I fail to see how they can be induced to sell their
property and go into exile, especially as they are for the most part
sailors and fishermen, and the loss of their trade would mean to
them absolute starvation. The King, on the other hand, is determined
to allow none but Catholics to remain in his dominions. Most people
despair of a solution.
After writing my last letter I had some conversation with a gentleman
as to the Queen’s return; he told me that he knew for certain that the
Cardinal of Este[57] had long ago applied for the honour of escorting
the Queen to her destination. The Cardinal holds a great deal of rich
preferment: they say his income amounts to 100,000 crowns.
There is now, therefore, no doubt on this score: the King will take
care that the Queen is sent to your Majesty with every mark of honour.
Brussels, March 7, 1575.
LETTER XVI.
I returned to Paris March 21, where I found the Queen in excellent
health, and delighted at the prospect of a speedy return to her august
parents.
I delivered your Majesty’s letter to the King, and laid before him your
Majesty’s request that the Queen might have what was due to her under
the marriage settlements. He, as usual, gave me a kind answer, and said
he would take the opinion of his council. The Queen Mother has also
kindly offered her services on our behalf. Still, we want deeds and not
words!
It is quite clear that very little, if any, addition will be made to
the 32,000 francs already secured on Crown lands. The property, even in
the most prosperous days, never produced 60,000 francs.
You ask whether your Majesty’s granddaughter will be permitted to
accompany her mother to Austria. I am not sanguine, as I know of no
precedent of the kind in the history of France. The end of it will be
that, when they have exhausted their other pleas as to the length of
the journey, the delicacy of the child, and her tender years, they will
fall back on the argument that it is contrary to all the precedents of
France, and I hardly see how we can meet it. If, however, your Majesty
should decide on making a further attempt, I would recommend letters
being sent to the King and Queen Mother, and I myself will leave no
stone unturned to forward the arrangement; but I should advise your
Majesty simply to ask to see the child, and, if this is granted, the
situation will be reversed, and her return to France will depend on
your Majesty’s pleasure.[58]
As to affairs in this country, they were so bad that I thought it
impossible for them to grow worse; nevertheless they _are_ rapidly
growing worse. Damville, with his friends, is carrying war through
Languedoc and Guienne, and gentlemen are daily flocking to his
standard.
Words cannot describe how unpopular the King and Queen have become
throughout France. So gloomy is the prospect, that careful, respectable
men, I see, are thinking of leaving the country and emigrating to some
distant land. Nevertheless, peace negotiations are still going on, for
delegates from the rebel party are in Paris, and more are expected.
They demand, I hear, first, liberty of conscience; and, secondly,
the convening of the States General with a view to reforming public
abuses.[59] This last demand is supposed to be aimed at the Queen
Mother and certain Italians of rank who occupy high offices. But,
though everything is in a bad way, the financial situation is worst of
all. It fairly passes belief. The King borrows what he can here and
there from those who have, or are thought to have, money; but even then
he cannot get enough. It was determined to send a large sum of money
with the ambassadors who are going to Poland—200,000 crowns, people
say—but I do not believe such a sum can be raised; they will have to be
content with much less.
The new Queen has been troubled with constant sickness for several
days, and some fancy she is with child. She is no favourite with the
Queen Mother, who takes little pains to conceal her prejudice.
The Queen, your daughter, has made up her mind to visit Amboise[60]
after Easter, for the purpose of taking farewell of her child. She is
afraid to let her travel, on account of her delicacy. She will be away
for a month or thereabouts.
I hope your Majesty will condescend to grant the request which I have
already preferred, and order my half-year’s salary to be paid to Don
Rodolph Khuen,[61] Master of Horse to your Majesty, in order that I may
pay off my creditors, and have something in hand.
Paris, April 1, 1575.
LETTER XVII.
Finding that Count Nogarola was on the point of returning to Vienna,
I felt I must send a letter to your Majesty, although the Queen’s
business is still on hand, and I am expecting every day to have it
settled. I shall reserve my account of this matter, and send it by
Peter the courier. Peter arrived here on the 15th of last month,
and gave me a letter from your Majesty. On learning your Majesty’s
instructions, I demanded an audience of the King, but he was so much
engaged in the negotiations for peace that he was unable to see me,
and referred me to the Queen Mother and the young Queen. By the King’s
orders, I went first to the Queen Mother. On my laying before her your
Majesty’s request, and delivering your letter, she, as usual, spoke
of the great regard she entertained towards your Majesty, mentioning
the deep obligation under which she had been laid by your Majesty’s
attentions to her son the King. She inquired after your Majesty’s
health, asked where your Majesty was, and whether you would shortly pay
a visit to Frankfort. I made suitable answers, and then began to ask
for her support in the Queen’s business.
Whilst we were thus engaged, the young Queen (Louise de Vaudemont)
entered the room, and I took the opportunity of offering her your
Majesty’s congratulations (on her marriage). She sent her most humble
thanks to your Majesty, and made offer of her services to the Queen
with many expressions of regard.
After this the Queens gave me leave to go, and two days later I had
an interview with the King. When I had laid before him your Majesty’s
message, he replied that he on his part would always be glad to be
informed of your Majesty’s views. He had married, he said, in order to
promote the interests of his subjects and gratify their wishes. One
of his inducements, he added, for allying himself with the House of
Lorraine was its connection with your Majesty.[62] For the rest, he
placed his services heartily at your Majesty’s disposal, and concluded
by asking me to let him know when I intended sending back the courier,
as he wished him to take his answer to your Majesty’s letter. When
I mentioned the Queen’s business, he begged me to have patience a
little longer, till the negotiations which were now going on should be
concluded. He would then place the matter in the hands of his Council,
and would himself do everything in his power for the Queen.
The peace negotiations which the King alluded to have occupied his
attention for some time past, and I hardly yet know what the result
will be.
Everyone is anxious for peace, specially the King, but the terms
offered by the insurgents are very hard, as your Majesty will see from
the paper I enclose.
The extravagant nature of their demands will, in my opinion, make it
difficult for the King to grant them. The delegates will shortly be
sent back to their friends with the King’s answer, and are to return
with their reply on St. John’s Day (June 24). Meanwhile there seems
to be a good prospect of peace; everyone is anxious for it, and so
everyone assumes that it is certain.
Well, I am afraid it will be easier to _make_ peace than to _keep_ it,
and also I am apprehensive that peace for the French means trouble for
their neighbours, for nothing would so calm the atmosphere in another
quarter (the Netherlands) as a tremendous storm in France.
Frenchmen cannot keep quiet, and many years of war have made them more
restless than ever; consequently it is a matter of the first importance
to France that her adventurous spirits should find a field of action
elsewhere instead of fastening on her own vitals.
Peace has been concluded between the King and the Queen of England, on
the same terms as before.
The Ambassador who returned from England brings back a story of a joke
the English Queen (Elizabeth) made at his first audience.
She at once asked whether the King was married. He replied in the
affirmative, and began telling her who the new Queen was. Her Majesty
broke in—‘Yes, exactly; that was the first clause in the Cardinal’s
will. Dear me, what an unlucky woman I am! What is to be my fate? I
had counted on marrying the Cardinal, and now I have only one hope
left—perhaps the Pope will consent to take me as his wife!’
About the 17th of last month the King’s ambassadors, Bellegarde[63] and
Pibrac, set out from Paris; the former was to go by way of Venice, and
your friend through Germany and Bohemia—at least he told me so.
There are, I believe, financial reasons for Bellegarde’s _détour_, as
they have promised to send 200,000 crowns to Poland, and it would be
easier to draw blood from a stone than to make up such a sum just now
in France. They are said to be sending to the Pope at Rome, the Duke
of Savoy at Turin, and also to the Venetians, to raise funds; they
are supposed to be thinking of selling the marquisate of Saluzzo for
400,000 crowns, or at any rate, pawning it; but I suspect they will get
more in the way of promises than in the way of cash, and will carry
into Poland plenty of _golden_ words, but very few _golden_ coins. I
think also that the Ambassadors are intentionally lingering on the
road, in order that the Diet may be opened before they come. They will
thus be able to gain some idea of how matters are likely to go; and, if
they find that their case is hopeless, they will not have the disgrace
of being defeated through their own shortcomings, or lack of funds.
Again, if the prospect seems hopeful, and the Diet waits for them, they
will be able to employ the interval in sending agents before them to
prepare the way, and despatching letters full of fine promises, which,
with such aid as the lapse of time will afford, may be expected so
to soothe people’s minds as to render the avoiding of the threatened
Diet and election (of a new King for Poland) a matter of no great
difficulty. I give this as my own explanation.
As I was penning these lines, news came that Pibrac had been waylaid
in the territory of Montbéliard,[64] which belongs to the Duke of
Würtemberg, by some French exiles. They killed two of his party, and
took prisoner the Ambassador himself. The governor of Montbéliard came
to the rescue, the neighbourhood was roused, and Pibrac thus regained
his liberty; but he was in great danger, and lost his plate and his
money—some 7,000 or 8,000 crowns in all. The King was greatly disturbed
at the news, but when he heard that Pibrac had escaped to Montbéliard,
he gave him supplies of money and a fresh equipment, telling him to go
to Soleure, in Switzerland, and there obtain what was needful. This
shows that the King has by no means given up his hopes of Poland.
If I mistake not, I have before this mentioned to your Majesty that
agents had been sent to Sweden to procure a picture of the King of
Sweden’s daughter.[65] The picture has now come. Strange to say, it
greatly resembles the new Queen in height, complexion, and features;
the resemblance is increased by her having been taken in a French dress.
I must not forget to add that a number of ambassadors have come from
Switzerland to take part in the negotiations for peace as mediators.
It is supposed that Vaudemont, the King’s father-in-law, will also
offer his services as peacemaker. He is expected here in the course
of a few days with the Duke of Lorraine. The reason of his coming,
however, is not connected with the negotiations for peace, but with
a wedding, the Marquis of Nomeny, Vaudemont’s son, being about to
marry the wealthy daughter of Sebastian de Luxembourg, the Vicomte de
Martigues.[66]
May it please your Majesty, Ilsing[67] has just sent word that of the
8,000 crowns required for the Queen’s service he has not been able
to raise one farthing at Augsburg by pledging his own credit or that
of the Ballers, and that he has therefore written to your Majesty to
inquire whether there is any merchant about the Court who would, on
their security, place that amount to the Queen’s credit at Lyons. I am
expecting an answer from your Majesty on this matter.
The Queen is naturally and justifiably anxious to see her daughter
before leaving France. She has been ready to go to her since Easter,
but has been stopped by want of funds, and will be kept waiting still
longer unless they are provided, so that I am beginning to fear that
she will have to leave without seeing her child, to her great sorrow.
But this is not the only point to be considered, for the Queen may
have many other calls upon her purse, so that it is of the greatest
importance that she should be supplied with money, if she is to
maintain her position, live in comfort, and take advantage of such
openings as may occur. I hope it will not be long before I have more
certain tidings to give your Majesty with regard to the dower, and I
will then write at length by Peter the courier.
Paris, May 15, 1575.
I heard to-day that some one said he would lend the Queen 10,000
crowns, to be recouped out of her revenues. If this be so, and the
money can be obtained at a reasonable interest, I think the Queen will
accept his offer, since our business may any day take such a turn as
to render the possession of money indispensable, if we are not to be
exposed to delay and loss. For instance, it is essential to have a
valuation made of the revenues of the places offered to the Queen, in
order to make sure that they are not passed off for more than they are
worth. Now, this valuation will cost not less than 300 or 400 crowns,
and so without this sum we cannot conclude the negotiations. Again,
I have had notice that the King refuses to provide for the Queen’s
expenses after the Feast of St. John (June 24), and wishes her to live
at her own charges from her own revenues, and I am afraid of their
pressing the matter in such a manner as to render refusal impossible.
For we must admit that the King, when surrounded with difficulties
himself, has done his utmost for the Queen. It is now more than ten
months since the salaries of the Queen’s household have been paid, and
her people have received only paper cheques, or drafts. How many of
these are ever likely to be paid, God only knows! The Queen’s servants
are so utterly destitute of money that they have often had to undergo a
hardship quite without precedent. On some days there were not funds in
the palace to provide the table of the nobles and courtiers, and those
who did not care to fast had to procure their own dinner.
Those who understand the arrangements of the Queen’s household declare
that it would be to the advantage of the Queen and her household for
her to live at her own charges, instead of being hampered with the
present arrangement. Bellegarde, the other royal ambassador, who was to
go through Italy, is said to have fallen sick.
LETTER XVIII.
[A business letter with reference to the dower, and therefore omitted.
It is dated June 1575.]
LETTER XIX.
[Another business letter. It is dated June 1575. To it is attached the
following postscript.]
News has lately come to Paris that Mademoiselle de Bourbon,[68]
daughter of the Duke of Montpensier, who ran away from the nunnery
of which she was abbess, and took refuge in Germany, has married the
Prince of Orange; the report finds credit everywhere.
LETTER XX.
I sent quite lately, by Peter the courier, such statements as seemed
necessary, and I think my despatches must have already reached your
Majesty.
I now write by order of the Queen.
To-day she summoned me into her presence and told me she was quite
certain from the present aspect of affairs, and specially from
the greater severity with which Montmorency was guarded, and the
circumstance that the King was levying troops, that there was every
prospect of war, and of all the confusion that must necessarily follow
in its train.
She instructed me to write to your Majesty, and urge this additional
reason for expediting her journey home. She says she has borne her
position patiently as long as she could, but she foresees that it will
soon become intolerable. I told the Queen that I would humbly obey
her orders, although I felt sure that your Majesty, after reading my
last despatches, would do all that was possible towards forwarding her
return, and that on this account my letter would be unnecessary.
Having informed your Majesty of my conversation with the Queen, I
consider I have executed her commands, and do not think any petition or
prayer necessary on my part, in order to induce your Majesty to accede
to the natural desire of your most loving daughter.
If we can trust the news we hear, war is already at our gates, and a
war which holds out no prospect of relief, but, on the contrary, will
aggravate the misfortunes and miseries of France; this is saying a
great deal, for the country is already in so bad a state that to make
it worse seemed a downright impossibility.
But if the report be true that Condé and the other exiles will bring
strong forces to the support of their friends, there are no bounds
to the mischief that will ensue; in that case the existence of the
present _régime_ will hang on a thread, and be in the utmost danger;
for then the contest will be, not as to whose opinion shall have weight
in council, or who shall stand first in honour and rank, or who shall
administer the affairs of the kingdom, but simply _who shall wear the
crown_.
If the King should gain the day, it is easy to see that he will stand
upon his rights, and punish the rebels as traitors; while, if the
other party should prove victorious, they will bring the King to trial
for his tyrannical conduct. He must expect no mercy or forgiveness;
he has often tried issues with them, and still oftener broken his
word, until at last none will believe it. It is to be feared also that
the flames of civil war are likely to spread over a wider area than
existing appearances would seem to indicate; for there are many who
smother their grievances at present, though they are disgusted with the
treatment they have themselves received and the miserable condition of
the country, and these, it is to be apprehended, will flock to Condé’s
standard. The voice of the country is undoubtedly on his side, as all
are dissatisfied with the manner in which the government is at present
conducted.
The case of Montmorency, to which I have alluded, stands thus. His
prospects (of regaining his liberty) appeared to be good, and he was
being treated with much more indulgence than before, when tidings
came of his brother, Damville[69]; then all of a sudden there was a
complete change, and the prison rules were made much stricter: by the
King’s orders all his servants were removed, and, though seriously ill,
he was not allowed to keep so much as his physician or his cook, new
servants being appointed by the King. This alteration in his treatment
has caused the greatest alarm to his mother and other relatives, for
they think that this is a first step towards taking him off by poison.
The King is so sure of Damville’s being dead that he has already given
away every one of his offices and commands. He is supposed to have died
of the plague fever on the last day of last month.
His friends refuse to regard him as dead and console themselves with a
vague hope that he is still alive.
I trust that no delay or difficulty will arise with regard to the
Queen’s journey; still, if it had not been finally settled otherwise,
I am not sure that the route by the Netherlands would not be the most
convenient. In any case, that road will always be open to her, should
the others be blocked. But your Majesty will decide what is best.
The Portuguese ambassador has arrived and called yesterday on the
Queen. The King was indisposed, but is now better.
Paris, June 13, 1575.[70]
LETTER XXI.
The Duke of Lorraine and Vaudemont are, they say, expected here in the
course of two or three days.
The tedious and difficult negotiations about peace have kept Paris in
suspense for a long time. The following appears to be the result: the
deputies from the insurgents have not been able to carry all their
points, and the King, on his part, has not succeeded in inducing them
to accept his terms. They have therefore agreed upon a compromise,
the clauses of which are to be referred to Condé, Damville, and the
confederate towns: should they accept them, peace will be declared;
in the other case, war will be resumed. But it will be much easier to
declare war than to carry it on, as France is terribly reduced, and the
King himself is in the greatest straits for want of money.
The religious question, which in the Netherlands is the only obstacle
to peace, has not been considered here as a matter of paramount
importance, and the King has made no difficulty about granting liberty
of conscience; there were other points which were more difficult for
him to digest—to wit, that the rebels should have possession of two
cities in each province, in addition to those which they now hold, as
places of refuge in time of trouble. They demand also that members of
their party should be admitted into the Parliaments, and that the King
should pay the wages of the German reiters who have taken service with
them; and, again, that the States-General be convened. If this last
should be granted, the Queen Mother will be in great danger of losing
her authority. There are some other points, which your Majesty will
learn from the enclosed paper.