Invitation from Mustapha Pasha of Scodra—The Caïque, and the
Caïquejhes—How to Travel in a Caïque—Hasty
Glances—Self-Gratulation—Scutari—Imperial Superstition—The
Seraglio Point—Dolma Batchè—Beshiktash—The Turning
Dervishes—Beglièrbey—The Kiosks—A Dilemma—A Ruined
Palace—An Introduction—A Turkish Beauty—A Discovery—A New
Acquaintance—The Buyuk Hanoum—Fatiguing Walk—Palace of
Mustapha Pasha—The Harem—Turkish Dyes—Ceremonies of
Reception—Turkish Establishment—The Buyuk Hanoum—Turkish
Chaplets—The Imperial Firman—Pearls, Rubies, and
Emeralds—The Favourite Odalique—Heyminè Hanoum—A
Conversation on Politics—Scodra Pasha—Singular
Coincidence—Convenience of the Turkish Kitchen—Luxury of the
Table—Coquetry of the Chibouk—Turkish Mode of Lighting the
Apartments—Gentleness towards the Slaves—Interesting
Reminiscences—Domestic Details—Dilaram Hanoum—A Paragraph on
Pearls—A Turkish Mirror—A Summons—Scodra Pasha—Motives for
Revolt—The Imperial Envoy—Submission—Ready Wit of the
Pasha’s Son—The Reception Room—Personal Appearance of the
Scodra Pasha—Inconvenient Courtesy—Conversation on
England—Philosophy—Pleasant Dreams—The Plague-Smitten.
Accompanied by a Greek lady of my acquaintance, I embarked one fine
morning on board our caïque, to pay a visit to the wife and daughter of
Mustapha Pasha of Scodra. As his palace was situated in a distant
quarter of the city, and we were anxious to avoid the necessity of
rattling over the rude and broken pavement of the streets in an araba,
we resolved to stretch out beyond the Seraglio Point; and, following
the walls that are now crumbling into ruin along the coast, disembark at
Yani-capu, or the New Gate pier.
Our sturdy rowers accordingly bent to their oars, and the arrowy caïque
shot across the port, and out into the wider sea beyond, like a wild
bird. The boatmen were clad in their summer garb, for the sunshine lay
bright upon the water, and scarcely a breath of air murmured among the
dark branches of the cypress groves. They wore shirts of silk gauze, of
about the thickness of mull-muslin, with large hanging sleeves, and
bordered round the breast with a narrow scallopping of needlework; their
ample trowsers were of white cotton, and their shaven heads were only
partially covered by small skull-caps of red cloth, with pendent tassels
of purple silk; their feet were bare.
My companion and myself occupied cushions spread along the bottom of the
boat: the most comfortable, as well as the safest way to travel in a
caïque, which, from its peculiar formation, is liable to be overset by
the slightest imprudence; while our Greek servant, with his legs folded
under him, was seated on the raised stern of the boat, immediately
behind us.
What pretty peeps we had of the Seraglio gardens, as we shot along;
through the many latticed openings contrived for the gratification of
the fair prisoners. What magnificent glimpses of domes and minarets, of
bursting foliage, of marble fountains, and of gilded kiosks! But, alas!
how vain must have been all the luxurious inventions of the most
luxurious of Sultans, to insure happiness to the tenants of this painted
prison! I looked around me on the sea-birds that were sporting upon the
wave—above me, to the fleecy clouds that were sailing over the blue
ether—far into the distance where a shoal of dolphins were gamboling
almost above the water; and, as I felt the motion of the swift caïque,
while it was gently heaved up and down by the current of the sea of
Marmora, and saw how rapidly we sped along, I breathed a silent
thanksgiving that _I_ too was free! Free to come and to go—to love or
to reject—to gaze in turn upon every bright and beautiful scene of
nature, untrammelled, and unquestioned—that no Sultan could frown me
into submission—no Kislar Agha frighten me into hypocrisy—in short,
that I was not born a subject of his Sublime Highness, Mahmoud the
Powerful.
On our left, rose the lordly mountain of Bulgurlhu Dagi, above Scutari,
whose shores were fringed with country-houses, and hanging gardens;
gradually deepening into a sterner character as they receded from the
Bosphorus, and lifting to the sky the palace-like barrack, and the
elegant Persian kiosk of the Sultan. The present Sovereign has a
superstition derived from an astrologer whom he consulted in his youth,
that, while he is constructing Imperial residences, he is sure to be
fortunate in his other undertakings; and hence he is continually adding
to the almost countless numbers of palaces and kiosks, that occupy the
loveliest spots throughout the vicinity of the capital.
The most extensive and ancient of these is that which is situated at the
entrance of the harbour, and gives its name to the “Seraglio Point,” the
walls of the Imperial Seraï running, as I have already mentioned, far
along the coast. On the opposite shore is the small but elegant palace
of Scutari, with its bowery terraces, which are overlooked by the
Sultan’s principal residence of Dolma Batchè; and you may shoot an arrow
from the many-coloured and irregularly constructed palace of Dolma
Batchè to the vast edifice now building on the same border of the
Bosphorus, with infinitely less taste and more architectural
pretension—although, with true Eastern inconsistency, the whole of the
stupendous palace above Beshiktash, save the foundation, is of wood,
surrounded by a colonnade, supported on stately columns of white marble.
This palace, of which the expence is estimated at a million sterling,
has been already a considerable time in progress; and is erected on a
locality that was partly occupied by a beautiful kiosk of Sultan Selim,
and partly by a Tekiè and Chapel of Turning Dervishes.
These latter, with a tenacity altogether incompatible with our European
ideas of a despotic government, resolutely refused to quit their
convent, when the plan of the new palace which rendered their ejection
indispensable was explained to them. They had come to a resolution not
to move—their mausoleum contained the holy ashes of a saint, and, in
short, they were determined to measure their strength with the Sultan.
Accordingly, raising the cry of sacrilege, they continued snugly within
their convent walls, which were soon overtopped by the Imperial pile
that rose gradually on either side of them.
But Sultan Mahmoud was born a century too late to be thus baffled—the
work went on; and he bore the opposition to his will with most exemplary
patience so long as it did not retard the operations of his architects.
But, when the moment at length arrived which rendered expedient the
removal of the fraternity, he claimed from the Chèïk Islam, or High
Priest, his permission to expel them; and, having failed in procuring
it, quietly mounted his horse, and rode up to the convent gate. The
Chief Dervish met him on the threshold, and the dialogue was brief:—
“Your Tekiè occupies the ground necessary to the completion of my
palace:—you must vacate it.”
“We guard the sepulchre of a saint, may it please your Sublime
Highness.”
“My pleasure is your immediate removal—I have provided a place of
reception for your community.”
“We are not strong enough to contend against your Imperial will. We
obey.” And the fraternity were put in possession of an extensive
edifice, lately occupied by the Court Jester!
By a strange chance, this house was situated immediately under the holy
tomb which had afforded to the Dervishes their principal pretext for
disobedience to the Imperial mandate; and the Sultan adroitly availed
himself of the fact to impress upon them the eligibility of the
situation, pointing out, with a solemnity worthy of the occasion, that
it was more decent for them to be domesticated on the very spot
consecrated by the remains of the illustrious deceased, than at the
distance of a furlong, as had hitherto been the case. The observation
was a happy one, and the remark unanswerable; and the fraternity were
fain to affect accordance with the sentiment, however inconvenient its
effects.
Immediately opposite, seated upon the Asian shore, like a regal beauty
contemplating her gorgeousness in the clear mirror of the Bosphorus,
rises the summer palace of Beglièrbey—with its walls of pale gold and
dead white; the prettiest and most fanciful of all the Imperial
residences, and rendered doubly agreeable by its spacious gardens and
overhanging groves.
But the kiosks! Who shall number the kiosks! those gilt-latticed,
many-formed, and graceful toys, which seem as though they had been
rained from the sky during an hour of sunshine—see them on the heights
of the Asian shore—seek them in the depths of the “Valley of Sweet
Waters”—count them as they rise at short distances along the walls of
the Seraï—pause a moment to admire their fairy-like beauty as you
gallop through some lovely glen, so wild and solitary that you almost
fancied yourself to have been the first who has ever explored its
recesses—any where, every where, you come upon them; and they are so
neatly kept, so brightly gilt, and so gaily painted, that they look like
gigantic flowers scattered over the landscape.
But back, my truant fancy, to the sea of Marmora, and the shores of
Scutari; where the light caïque is bounding over the heaving waters, and
Mount Olympus, with its crown of snow, is summoning you to memories of
the days when, if Gods indeed were not, men lent them life! Back to the
hoary walls of Byzantium—to the lingering relics of the Ancient
Romans—to the City of the True Believers!
We passed the little bay of Cum-capu, or Sandport, and our caïque
shortly afterwards shot into the creek of Yani-capu; but we had not left
the boat five minutes when we became suspicious that the servant was not
altogether so familiar with the road leading to the palace of the Pasha
as he had professed to be. Nor were our suspicions erroneous; for, after
leading us up one street and down another; along the foot of the
Aqueduct of Justinian; and amid the blackened remains of the last great
fire, he fairly confessed that he had lost his way.
In this dilemma, we took a guide, who assured us that he was as familiar
with the palace of the Scodra Pasha as with his own house, and so he
proved to be; though the trifling inconvenience that ensued convinced us
that we were as far from our object as ever. After threading a vast
number of narrow streets, each more filthy than the last, we at length
reached one which, built on a steep acclivity, boasted a somewhat more
comfortable and cleanly appearance; the houses were larger and better
kept, and the shops less frequent and more respectable. Our guide
stopped before a pair of great gates about half way up the hill, and,
seizing the knocker, gave very audible evidence of our wish for
admittance; after which he pocketed his piastres, and withdrew.
On the opening of the gate, we found ourselves in a small covered court,
choked with rubbish. A house, literally “tottering to its fall,” and
propped on the garden side with heavy pieces of timber, presented itself
as the palace of the Pasha; and the door of the harem, which one rude
blow would have shivered to atoms, was immediately before us.
We looked at each other in wonder; but, as the servant who had given us
admittance assured us that we had made no mistake, which we were not
only inclined, but really anxious to believe that we had done, we
desired to be conducted to the Buyuk Hanoum. A loud blow on the door of
the harem, most portentously echoed by the void beyond, was instantly
answered by the appearance of a tall, bony, grinning negress; who,
having bade us welcome, invited us to follow her to her mistress.
The stairs by which we ascended to the harem creaked and quivered
beneath our weight; the window that lighted them was uncurtained, and
its missing panes were replaced by rags and paper—there was no matting
upon the floor of the empty, chilly, comfortless hall into which the
apartments opened—and the whole appearance of the place was so desolate
and wretched, that I shivered as I remembered that I had engaged myself
to pass the night there.
Having traversed the hall, the slave lifted the heavy curtain veiling
the door of one of the inner apartments; and, having obeyed her
bidding, we found ourselves in a small, snug, well-heated room, closely
carpeted and curtained; and at the instant of our entrance a beautiful
girl rose from the sofa where she had been seated, and welcomed us with
a smile and a blush that made us forget at once “the ruin of her house.”
There was one circumstance connected with the greeting, however, that
struck us as very singular; she made no allusion to our having been
expected: but there was, on the contrary, a sort of wonder and curiosity
in her manner, which, with intuitive good-breeding, she did not express.
We were both still haunted by the idea that there must be some mistake;
and this impression was heightened by the timid and constrained bearing
of the young beauty, who, after having clapped her hands, and desired
the two or three slaves who hastily obeyed the summons to prepare
sweetmeats and coffee, suddenly sank into silence, as though waiting to
learn the purport of our visit. My companion, acting upon the
presumption that some mistake _must_ exist, although she was unable to
comprehend its nature, once more inquired if she were correct in
supposing that we were in the palace of the Scodra Pasha.
Again she was answered affirmatively.
“And you are then the beautiful daughter of the Pasha, of whom I have
heard so much?”
“I am the wife of his son,”—was the reply, which, concise as it was,
brought a brighter blush to the cheek of the speaker.
And she _was_ beautiful, according to the strict rule of Turkish
loveliness; with rich red lips, large dark sleepy eyes, and a throat as
white and dazzling as the inner leaf of the water-lily.
“You are young to be a wife; have you been long married?”
“Exactly twelve months—I am thirteen; my husband is a year older.”
“Did you expect us earlier?”
“Expect you!” echoed the fair Turk, opening her deep eyes in wonder:
“Mashallah! how could I expect that two Frank ladies would come to visit
me?”
This was inexplicable!
“I trust that the Pasha has quite recovered his late indisposition,”
pursued my companion after a moment’s silence.
“I did not know that he was unwell; we have not heard from him lately.”
“Heard from him?” echoed Madame——in her turn; “my husband had a long
conversation with him yesterday.”
Again the beauty dilated her large eyes in wonder. “Impossible! He is in
Albania.” Here was the solution of the enigma. We were bound on a visit
to Mustapha Pasha, the rebel—and we were under the roof of Omer Pasha,
his present successor!
After a hearty laugh on all sides, we were quite at our ease; the young
beauty handed scented conserves and coffee to us with her own pretty,
plump, henna-tipped fingers; and informed us that her mother-in-law, the
Buyuk Hanoum, and herself, were occupying a house lent to them by a
friend, for the few weeks which they found it expedient to pass in
Constantinople, while making their arrangements for Albania, where they
were shortly to join the Pasha.
After passing half an hour in chatting on various subjects, we rose to
take our leave, and to profit by the polite offer of our new
acquaintance to send a servant to point out to us the palace of Mustapha
Pasha. As we were making our parting compliments, a slave came in to
request that we would pay a visit to the Buyuk Hanoum in her apartment,
whither she had just returned from the bath.
We immediately assented, and were conducted to a spacious room at the
other extremity of the hall, where we found the lady seated under the
tandour, and almost in darkness; the windows of the room being on the
old Turkish principle—that is, perforated in a double tier—the lower
ones so closely latticed that they admitted scarcely any light, and
barely permitted those within to see into the street; and the upper
ones, small and half circular, dull with dust, situated close to the
ceiling, and, in several instances, where time or accident had displaced
the glass, repaired roughly with thin planks nailed across. The
atmosphere of the apartment was close and oppressive, perfume having
been flung into the mangal as we entered, which was rising in a dense
vapour; and every creek and crevice in the room (and they were not few)
being stopped with pink paper.
The Buyuk Hanoum received us with much courtesy, and apologized for not
having welcomed us herself on our first arrival in her own apartment,
owing to her having been at the moment in the bath; and she appeared
much amused at the mistake, (of which her slaves had already informed
her) that had brought us under her roof. She had formerly been a fine
woman, but was no longer young, and had consequently lost all the
charming _fraicheur_ (I use the French word, for it is perfectly
untranslateable) which is the great beauty of Oriental females. In the
course of conversation, we discovered that she was sister to one of the
wives of Achmet Pasha; and had herself been to pay a visit to the harem
of Mustapha Pasha the previous day.
As our engagement still remained to be fulfilled, we did not long linger
in the apartment of the Buyuk Hanoum; but, taking leave of herself and
her pretty little daughter-in-law, who had, during our visit, remained
standing at the end of the room, with her hands folded meekly before
her, while we shared the sofa of the hostess: we placed ourselves under
the guidance of a bearded and turbaned Moslem, who was awaiting us in
the courtyard, and once more sallied forth.
What a walk we had! Up and down, and in and out, until I began to think
that the tales of Eastern enchantment that I had read in my girlhood
were now realized for my individual inconvenience, and that the palace
was receding as rapidly as we advanced. I was not, however, suffered to
persist in this idle fancy, for we really _did_ arrive at last, although
some hours later than we should have done, before the great gates of an
extensive edifice, which I am bound to admit had, externally, more the
appearance of a barrack than a palace. Half a dozen servants, several of
them negroes, were lounging in listless idleness at the entrance, which
our arrival instantly changed into ready and officious bustle.
We were ushered across an extensive courtyard to one of the wings of the
palace, a vast, irregular, pile of building; and a single stroke upon
the door of the harem was immediately answered from within: a group of
smiling female slaves received us in an inner court, wherein stood the
araba of the Buyuk Hanoum, and a very handsome marble fountain, at
which a pretty girl of about eighteen was performing her ablutions. A
couple of the negroes accompanied us up stairs, and, leading us across a
very handsome saloon, whose recesses were filled with cushions, and
whose open gallery commanded the court beneath, showed us into a smaller
apartment, and seated us on a sofa, whereon lay a mandolin and a
tambourine, probably flung there by some fair musicians whom our
approach had startled from their pastime.
Here we were shortly joined by a very old woman, who came to pay her
compliments to us; and who, from her manner, was evidently a
confidential person in the harem. She had been extremely beautiful, and
was still a fine ruin; the outline of her features being delicate and
regular; while her hair, of a bright chesnut colour, unmixed with a
taint of gray, gave her a softness of expression perfectly singular.
This latter circumstance only served to convince me of the great
superiority of the dyes in use among the Turkish women, to those common
in Europe; a fact which I had already occasion to notice: whatever may
be the age of a Turkish female, she is seldom disfigured by gray hair,
but, on the contrary, her tresses are as pure in colour, and as smooth
and glossy, as those of the youngest girl in her family.
A female slave shortly afterwards appeared to conduct us to the
apartment of the Buyuk Hanoum, which, when we entered, was half filled
with attendants, some standing in a semicircle round the mangal, and
others squatted on the carpet at the extremity of the room.
As this was the first harem that I had visited, where the establishment
was on the true Turkish footing—or, to speak more plainly, where there
were more candidates than one for the affections of the master of the
house, although there was, in point of fact, actually but one wife—I
paid particular attention to those delicate shades of etiquette and
gradations of ceremony that I had been prepared to notice in these
“princely families.”
The Buyuk Hanoum occupied the upper end of the sofa, against which the
tandour was placed; she was a plain woman, with a cold and somewhat
stern expression of countenance: and there was more haughtiness in the
bend and the smile wherewith she welcomed us, than I had yet seen
exhibited by a Turkish female; when we entered, she was amusing herself,
as is common with both sexes in this country, (as well Turks as
Armenians) in passing rapidly through her fingers the beads of a
chaplet, that rested on the gold-embroidered covering of the tandour.
I must be permitted a momentary digression on the subject of these
chaplets, which are as popular, or very nearly so, as the chibouk. They
resemble, somewhat, the rosary of the Roman Catholics, save that instead
of being terminated by a crucifix and a knot of relics, they are merely
beads strung upon a silk cord, divided at intervals by some of a larger
size, and secured, at the junction of the cord, by a carved acorn, or an
ornament of a like description. They are commonly made of a wood, which,
becoming heated by the action of the hand emits a delicious perfume; but
their material depends upon the taste and means of the owner; the poorer
classes carrying chaplets of berries, common beads, and other cheap
substitutes, for this somewhat costly indulgence.
The more independent the circumstances of a Turk, and consequently the
less use he is called upon to make of his hands, the more constantly are
they employed in toying with his chaplet—his fingers are busy with it
as he walks along the street—you hear the light click, click, click, of
the fast-falling beads, as he is squatted on his sofa—nay, so fond is
he of this dull enjoyment, that, only a short period after my arrival at
Constantinople, a Firman was issued by the Sultan, forbidding the use of
the chaplet in the mosques, the noise of so many collected together, and
all at work at the same time, disturbing the Mufti.
It is composed of ninety-nine beads, without including that which
connects the ends of the cord. With each of the former, an attribute of
God is recited thus; Great—Glorious—Excellent—Omnipotent—&c. &c. The
final bead terminates the ejaculatory prayer, and bears the name of the
Deity himself.
The chaplet of the Buyuk Hanoum was of fine pearls, beautifully matched,
and each the size of a pea, the divisions being formed by emeralds
similarly shaped and sized, and the whole string secured by one
pear-shaped emerald the size of a hazel-nut.
At the angle of the sofa sat the favourite Odalique of the Pasha, a
short, slight, unattractive woman of about thirty years of age; with
common, and rather coarse features, but with a shrewd and keen
expression that almost made them interesting. Close beside her was
seated a third lady, who, although certainly not pretty, was
nevertheless tall, graceful, and delicate, with full, fine eyes, and an
exquisite complexion; when we entered, she was employed in fondling a
sweet little child of between one and two years old. A pile of cushions,
carefully and comfortably arranged, were prepared immediately opposite
to the seat of the Buyuk Hanoum, for her fair daughter, but the lovely
Heyminè had not yet left the bath.
At the invitation of the Buyuk Hanoum, we placed ourselves beside her,
and partook of sweetmeats and coffee, amid the polite greetings of the
whole party; and the refreshments had scarcely disappeared, when the
fair bather entered the apartment.
How shall I describe the beautiful Heyminè Hanoum? How paint the soft,
sweet, sleepy loveliness of the Pasha’s daughter? She was just sixteen,
at the age when Oriental beauty is at its height, and Oriental
gracefulness unsurpassed by any gracefulness on earth. Her slight,
willow-like, figure—her dark deep eyes, long and lustrous, with lashes
edging like silken fringes their snowy and vein-traced lids—her
luxuriant hair, black as the wing of the raven—her white and dazzling
teeth—and the sweet but firm expression of her beautifully formed
mouth——
I had seen many lovely women in Turkey, but never one so purely, so
perfectly lovely, as Heyminè Hanoum; and I am not quite sure that I did
not admire her the more for the deep shade of melancholy that cast a
sort of twilight over her beauty, and softened, without diminishing, its
effect.
She had been born in Albania; it was the land of her love; the Buyuk
Hanoum, her mother, was descended from one of the most powerful and
princely families of the country; and she had been used to see her
looked upon with the reverence due to her birth and rank; she
remembered that the Pasha, her father, had dared, in his pride of
place, to measure strength with the Sultan, his master, and to defy his
power—he had failed, but the haughty effort had been made; and the fair
Heyminè looked back with sadness and regret to the days of past
splendour and warrior strife amid which she had grown to womanhood. She
clung to her mother with the loving gentleness that spoke in her deep
eyes: but she worshipped her father, as something more than mortal; and
her fair cheek flushed crimson, and her proud lip dilated into smiles,
as she spoke of him. And how she had garnered up within her heart those
sweet, sad, memories which mock the brightness of the present! How she
dwelt upon the country she had loved and lost, and amid whose mountains
she had breathed the breath of freedom! I never saw the enthusiasm of
the spirit more legibly written upon the brow of any human being than on
her’s. It redeemed the apathy of a score of Eastern women!
The Buyuk Hanoum was as far from being reconciled to the change of
country and position as her daughter; but her sadness was more subdued
by resignation—she had reached the age when reverses are less keenly
felt—a calm sorrow sat upon her brow, and breathed in her low,
tremulous, tone; but the blood which leaped to the brow of the daughter
in warmer gushes as she spoke of the past only curdled more chillingly
about the heart of the mother when the same visions arose in vain
mockery before her, to remind her of what had once been, and could never
be again!
Scodra Pasha had earned for himself a place on the page of history, but
he had paid a high and a painful price for the privilege. He had tasted
for a brief space the intoxicating draught of power, but the bowl had
been dashed from his lips. He had defied the yoke beneath which he had
been ultimately bowed, and the iron that has been resisted is ever that
which eats deepest into the soul.
It must be a severe trial to sink from a leader to a vassal; even when
it is from a rebel chief to the dependent Pasha of a Sultan. Mustapha
Pasha had been almost a sovereign in Albania, a brave soldier, and a
powerful prince; and, when he accepted the conditions of his Imperial
Master, and bought his life at the price of his country and his fortune,
the struggle of the spirit must have been a bitter one.
It was a singular circumstance that, at the period of my first visit to
his harem, he was occupying a palace adjoining that in which resided
another attainted noble—the Ex-Pasha of Bagdad! Both men of
information—both blighted in their ambition, and bowed beneath the
power they had defied—they amused the _ennui_ of their monotonous
existence with writing poetry; and moralizing on the instability of
human greatness. I have remarked elsewhere that the Turks are seldom
found wanting in philosophy.
As we did not arrive at the Pasha’s palace for several hours after we
were expected, it was supposed that some accidental circumstance had
prevented our visit, and the family had consequently dined before we got
there: but such an occurrence as this never causes the slightest
inconvenience in a Turkish house, where the culinary arrangements are so
regulated that you can command an excellent repast at whatever moment
you may chance to require it.
On the present occasion, I rather regretted that the profuse and even
sumptuous dinner that was served up to us was, from an excess of
courtesy on the part of our entertainers, perfectly European in its
arrangement, being accompanied by silver forks, knives, and chairs; but
the luxury of the East had, nevertheless, its part in the banquet, for
the cloth that covered the table was enriched with a deep border of
exquisite needlework, and the napkins of muslin, almost as impalpable as
a cobweb, were richly embroidered in gold. Wine was handed to us on a
beautifully chased golden salver, and the glasses from which we drank it
were of finely cut crystal; while the table stood upon a tapestry
carpet.
But the most beautiful objects employed during the repast were the
silver basin, strainer, and vase, that were held by two black slaves for
us to wash our hands, while a third stood a pace behind them, bearing
upon his arm the napkin, wrought with a border of flowers in coloured
silks, whereon they were to be dried. The vase, shaped like that from
which Ganymede might have poured wine for Imperial Jove, was chased in
the most delicate manner with grapes and vine leaves; and the same
design enriched the border of the capacious basin.
As soon as we had dined, we adjourned to the private apartment of
Heyminè Hanoum, at her especial invitation; when the young beauty, freed
from the restraint of her mother’s presence, clapped her hands, and
ordered her pipe, which she smoked with as much grace and gusto as any
Moslem of the Empire. They who cavil at this application of the word
_grace_, have certainly never seen a young Turkish woman manage her
chibouk—Nothing can be more coquettish!
The chapter on fans, so celebrated in the “Spectator,” might be
out-written a hundredfold by one competent to describe the manœuvres
of an Eastern beauty, with her amber-lipped and gold-twisted pipe. Such
soft and studied attitudes—such long and slowly-drawn respirations,
having all the sentiment of a sigh without its sadness—such clasping
and unclasping of the delicate fingers about the slender tube—-no
novice should venture to smoke beside a Turkish woman, who is not
satisfied to look as awkward as a poor mortal can desire!
We were all comfortably nestled among our cushions; and, on a small
round table at the extremity of the apartment, stood a tray, bearing
four wax lights. This custom of clustering the candles together is
common in both Turkish, Armenian, and Greek houses; and is peculiarly
congenial to the indolence of Eastern habits, as it leaves such deep
shadows in the distance, that those who have no immediate occupation to
confine them to the vicinity of the glare may doze in undisturbed
twilight on their sofas.
At intervals, a slave entered to trim the candles, or to replenish the
pipe of Heyminè Hanoum; and each lingered awhile, unchidden, to listen
to a fragment of the conversation, or to indulge in another gaze at the
Frank strangers; among the rest, one pale, languid-looking woman, who
complained of sudden and severe suffering, and to whom the Pasha’s
daughter spoke even more kindly and gently than to any of the others,
squatted down near the door, and remained a considerable time, with her
head drooping on her bosom, apparently amused in spite of her
indisposition.
The slaves, both black and white, were innumerable—I should think that
we had at least a score in attendance on us during dinner.
Despite the occasional interruptions that I have described, our
conversation became gradually extremely interesting. The young beauty
talked of Albania—of the proud and happy life that she had led there
during her father’s prosperity; and then of the misery which she had
endured in exchanging its delights for the chilling observances and
restraints of the Turkish capital. Had the heart of Heyminè Hanoum beat
in the breast of her father, let the result have been what it might, he
never would have recanted his rebellion.
From the political position of her family, she digressed to its social
condition; and I was not a little amused by the perfect _sang froid_
with which she entered into a detail of the domestic arrangements of the
household.
“You have seen my brother;” she said, “and I need not tell you that he
is delicate and sickly. He was my mother’s last child, and the Pasha
feared that he should be left without a son. In this dilemma, he
expressed to the Buyuk Hanoum his desire to contract a second marriage;
but this she would by no means permit. She could not, however, avoid
seeing that his anxiety was but too well founded: and she accordingly
proposed a compromise, to which he at once agreed. Without loss of
time, he wrote to a friend in Constantinople to purchase for him four
young Circassians, and to embark them, under the charge of an elderly
woman, for Albania.
“Young as I was, I shall not attempt to describe to you my mortification
on their arrival. I saw the tears of my mother, which, when alone with
me, she did not attempt to suppress; we had hitherto had but one heart
and one interest in the harem of my father, and we became suddenly
domesticated with strangers—women of another land and another language;
to whom we were knit by no ties, bound by no sympathies.
“But all this is idle. You saw the Odalique who sat nearest to my
mother? Allah has been gracious to her—she has borne two sons to the
Pasha.—She with the large dark eyes, who when you entered was nursing
her infant, has no other child than that one little girl. A third you
will shortly see, when she pays me her visit previously to retiring for
the night: I love her much, but she, poor thing! is childless. The
fourth died in consequence of her sufferings during the passage to
Albania, which was tempestuous and protracted. The aged woman who
received you on your arrival was the person who accompanied the four
Circassians from Constantinople, and—but here is Dilaram Hanoum.”
As she spoke, the curtain that shaded the door was pushed aside, and the
Odalique entered. She was by far the prettiest woman of the three, but
there was a subdued and hopeless expression about her, which showed at
once that she had not been a favourite child of fortune. She was slight
and beautifully formed, with a low, soft voice which was almost music.
She appeared much attached to the lovely Heyminè, and hastened, after
the first salutations were over, to replenish the pipe that rested
beside the young beauty, and to hand it to her; a mark of attention and
respect which was acknowledged by its object with the graceful
salutation common in the East—the pressure of the fingers of the right
hand to the lips and brow.
The conversation was, of course, changed on her entrance; and the
subject of jewels having been mentioned, Heyminè Hanoum despatched a
slave for a handkerchief with which she was in the habit of binding up
her hair, in order to show us one of the Albanian fashions. It was of
black muslin, painted with groups of coloured flowers, and bordered all
round with a deep fringe of fine pearls. I never in my life saw any
mixture which produced a more striking effect; and when she wound it
about her head—the dark glossy tresses of her hair relieved by the
bright tints of the flowers, and the whiteness of her clear brow
rivalling the pearls that rested on it—her crimson jacket, lined with
sable, falling back, and revealing the transparent chemisette of gauze,
and the fair throat which it shaded—the pale blue silk trowsers trimmed
with silver, and the small white naked foot that peeped for an instant
from beneath them as she altered her position—I thought that earth
could hold nothing more lovely than Heyminè Hanoum!
I was very busily engaged in examining an elegant hand-mirror set in a
frame of chased silver, when a couple of negroes entered to invite us to
the presence of the Pasha, who was awaiting us in his apartment. I have
already mentioned that one room in the harem is appropriated to the
master of the house, wherein he receives such of its inmates as he
desires to converse with.
The message was scarcely delivered when the Buyuk Hanoum, whom the Pasha
had desired to introduce us, entered the apartment, evidently somewhat
surprised at the honour which was about to be bestowed upon two female
Infidels. I had heard a great deal of the Scodra Pasha, and I naturally
desired to see him; nor perhaps may it be amiss to impart to my readers
a portion of his history.
Mustapha Pasha was residing on his Pashalik in Albania when Sultan
Mahmoud reformed the national costume of the country, and replaced the
lofty turbans and flowing garments of past centuries, with the scarlet
_fèz_ and frock coat of the present day. When the order for this change
reached the Pasha, he at once communicated it to the troops, who
resisted it with such violence as to threaten not only the liberty, but
the life of their Chief if he persisted in its enforcement. In vain did
he argue, explain, and persuade; the soldiery, wedded to their ancient
usages, refused to listen to his reasonings; their opposition being
furthermore aggravated by a conscription, enforced with sufficient
severity to lend them arguments against all concession to a power by
which they were thus oppressed; and he finally found himself compelled
to adopt a decided line of conduct in order to insure his own personal
safety.
Already nearly in a state of siege in one of his palaces—surrounded by
troops on whom he could by no means depend, seconded as they were by the
people, in the indignation excited by the threatened infringement on
their cherished habits—drawing the whole of his revenue from the
soil—married to a lady of the country—possessed of considerable
property within the Pashalik—and threatened with death by an infuriated
populace—it cannot be wondered at that Mustapha Pasha, thus hard
pressed, resolved to assist his people in the struggle; and
strengthening his army, and trusting to his mountain fastnesses,
determined on a resistance to the Imperial will which at once placed
Albania in a state of revolt.
It were tedious to detail at length the various fortunes of the rebel
Pasha: a brave man, beloved by his troops, and sincere in the same
cause—greatly assisted, moreover, by the mountainous and difficult
character of the country naturally possesses the means of making head
against a superior power to his own; and thus it was with the Scodra
Pasha. Many abortive attempts were made to dislodge and capture him, by
an army under the command of Reschid Mehemet Pasha, but in vain. He
still held on his way, until at length the Sultan, irritated at the
ill-success of his endeavours, despatched Achmet Pasha with full power
to act as a pacificator, and to use all possible means to recall the
rebel chief to his allegiance, and an order not to return without having
terminated the rebellion.
Thus instructed, the Imperial Envoy left the capital for Albania; and
his attempts were not destined to be as fruitless as those of his
predecessors. The rebel Pasha’s army had fought for their lives as well
as their privileges; they had gone too far to recede; and Achmet Pasha
felt at once the utter futility of persisting in a system of violence
which could produce no definite result. The character of his adversary
was well known to him; it was high, honourable, and unsullied, save by
his revolt against his Imperial Master; and it was to this knowledge
that he resolved to trust, in order to bring about a submission which
the Sultan’s arms were unable to effect. He accordingly despatched a
messenger to Mustapha Pasha, by whom he requested an interview; and, to
prove that no treachery was intended on the one hand, or feared on the
other, he offered to place himself in the power of the rebel leader, by
meeting him alone and unattended wherever he might appoint.
The Scodra Pasha, a man of amiable disposition and quick feelings, was
touched by this mark of confidence, and unhesitatingly acceded to the
request; when Achmet Pasha, without further delay, fulfilled the
conditions which he had imposed upon himself, mounted his horse, and
rode boldly off to the palace of the rebel. He was received with the
utmost courtesy; coffee and pipes were introduced, and the two Pashas
sat down side by side upon their cushions to discuss the important
subject of their meeting.
To a man of Mustapha Pasha’s good sense and sound judgment, it was by no
means difficult for his visitor to demonstrate in the clearest manner
the hopelessness of his situation. It was true that hitherto he had
baffled all the attempts of the Imperial troops, by the wisdom of his
measures, the judiciousness of his arrangements, the bravery of his own
bearing, and the zeal of his soldiery. But this state of things could
not last for ever—he was feeding upon his own strength, and his
resources must ultimately fail—he had yet time to make a creditable and
a free submission—he had still an opportunity to save his head—but,
when he yielded from weakness, (and, should he persist in his rebellion,
the bitter hour of helplessness must come;) how could he look for a
mercy which he had rejected when it was freely extended to him?
Thus pressed, both by exterior argument and internal conviction; wearied
also, it may be, of opposition to a sovereign whom he reverenced; the
rebel leader asked time for deliberate consideration ere he returned a
definite answer to the proposition—he stipulated also that an assurance
should be solemnly given that his own life and those of his family
should be spared; which Achmet Pasha did not hesitate to promise upon
the spot. It was accordingly determined that the latter should remain
two days in the palace of the rebel chief, when he should either depart
alone, and unmolested, bearing with him the continued defiance of the
revolted province; or that he should return to Constantinople
accompanied by his host, and the females of his family, under the
safeguard of his plighted word.
The latter alternative was adopted; and Achmet Pasha ultimately returned
to Constantinople in company with the Scodra Pasha and his Harem. The
fortune of the rebel chief was confiscated, and a hundred and twenty
thousand piastres a-year settled upon him to supply the means of
existence. But some time elapsed ere he was admitted to the presence,
and allowed the high honour of kissing the foot, of his Sublime
Highness.
On the same occasion he presented his two eldest sons, with whom the
Sultan was so much pleased that he created them Pashas on the instant;
and, having entered into conversation with them, he inquired how they
liked the _fèz_, upon which the younger of the two, a fine boy of eight
years of age, answered with a promptitude worthy of an accomplished
courtier, that he had always liked it, but since he had seen it on the
head of the Sultan, he should like it a thousand times better; a reply
which so delighted Mahmoud that he immediately presented him with a
watch magnificently enriched with diamonds. Nor was the child less
fortunate throughout the audience, for the smiling sovereign tried him
with another question, to which he answered with even more point—“And
which do you like the best, my young Pasha?” asked the Sultan:
“Constantinople or Albania?”
“Constantinople,” replied the boy; “because you are here—the leaves
cannot come upon the trees without the sun; and we cannot grow up to be
brave men if we are not near you.”
No wonder that Mustapha Pasha looks upon the mother of the boy as “the
Light of the Harem.”
The Buyuk Hanoum led us across the outer saloon to a spacious staircase,
then across an upper hall, through a short gallery, and finally to the
door of the Pasha’s apartment. As I crossed the threshold, I was
actually dazzled with light: the room was large; and was raised one step
at the upper end, round which ran the sofa. Two tables, bearing trays of
candles, were placed near the entrance; and a silver branch holding
others was in the arched recess between them. The curtains and the
covering of the sofa were of crimson satin, the latter fringed with gold
a foot in depth, and furnished with cushions of gold tissue embroidered
with coloured silk. At the extremity of the dais a pile of cushions were
heaped upon the floor; and at the upper end of the sofa squatted the
Pasha, with a negro slave on each side of him, busied in arranging his
pipe which had been just replenished. A capacious mangal, heavy with
perfume, occupied the centre of the floor.
Mustapha Pasha is still in the prime of life; of the middle size, with
an agreeable and sensible expression of face, and a slight cast in one
of his eyes. He received us very courteously, and ordered chairs for my
friend and myself near his own seat, while he motioned the Buyuk Hanoum
to be seated also; an intimation which she obeyed by placing herself on
the extreme edge of the sofa. The next ceremony was to cause pipes to be
presented to my companion and myself; the greatest honour that can be
conferred on a female in Turkey being an invitation to smoke in the
presence of the other sex.
This was indeed a dilemma, for smoking had formed no part of my
education; and I knew that, did I even raise the pipe to my lips, I
should infallibly be ill; but the Pasha fortunately remarked the slight
shudder and the gesture of repugnance with which I took it from the hand
of the slave; and he immediately requested me to refuse it, if I found
it disagreeable, as he merely sought to pay me a compliment by offering
it.
I need not say how gladly I availed myself of the permission, much to
the amusement of the Pasha; who, after he had inhaled a few whiffs of
his own chibouk, sent a second message to the harem, which was answered
by the speedy appearance of Heyminè Hanoum and the favourite Odalique. A
motion of his hand invited both to take their places upon the cushions
already alluded to; and then I remarked the ascendency of the latter
over the spirit of the Pasha—an ascendency due probably as much to her
being the mother of his two sons, as to her natural shrewdness of
intellect. Be that as it may, however, it was easy to perceive that she
was a woman of great natural talent, and wonderful quickness of
perception; and very likely to retain the supremacy that she had gained.
The Pasha understood a little French, but did not attempt to speak it;
though it is probable that he will soon do so, as he is studying the
language with unwearying perseverance. He has already formed a very
respectable library, where he has collected together the works of
Voltaire, Racine, Boileau, Molière, and many other standard authors; and
he has done so thus prematurely, he says, in order that the sight of the
volumes may stimulate him to industry; as he never looks towards them
without reflecting on the riches that are hidden from him by his
ignorance of the language, and which may one day be within his grasp.
I was astonished at many of the questions that he asked me; they were so
unlike the generality of those to which I had already become accustomed
in the country. He was very inquisitive on the subject of the Thames
Tunnel—inquired as to its probable expense—the period at which it was
likely to be completed—the width of the river at that precise
spot—the amount of the toll to be paid by passengers—the mode in
which the money had been obtained for its construction—in what manner
it would be lighted—in short, he entered into every particular
connected with the undertaking so earnestly, that I had reason to
congratulate myself on being able to satisfy his curiosity.
He next asked a number of questions relatively to the Fire Insurance
Companies of London, of which he had heard vaguely; and, when I had
explained to him the whole of the system, he expressed his regret that
no institution of the kind had been established in Constantinople; a
want to which he was the more sensible as he had lately lost a house
filled with valuable furniture and effects, of which he had been unable
to save the smallest portion. He inquired if I thought that one of our
Companies would consent to accept an insurance for his palace; as in the
event of their being willing to do so, he would immediately take steps
to make the arrangement. I explained to him the difficulty of inducing
them to run so great a risk, aware as they must be of the frequency of
fires in Stamboul, and the exorbitant interest they would require in the
event of their consenting to his wish: when he at once allowed the
objection to be perfectly reasonable, although he much regretted the
necessity of abandoning the idea.
In the course of conversation, some allusion having been made to the
philosophy with which he supported his reverses, his reply was so
characteristic that it deserves record. “The chariot of my fortunes,” he
said, “had, for so long a time, run smoothly over the highways of life,
that I ought rather to feel surprise at its even pace during so many
years, than wonder that its wheels should fail at last.”
To comment on such an answer would be idle.
It was not without regret that I took leave of the Pasha, whose
courteous manners and intelligent conversation rendered him a most
agreeable companion; and, had I been able to converse with him in his
own language, I have no doubt that I should have been still more
impressed in his favour. Before we quitted him, he invited us to spend a
few days with the Buyuk Hanoum, and his daughter, during the marriage
festivities of the Princess Mihirmàh, at a house which he had taken at
the “Sweet Waters;” and, as we re-entered the harem, I could not refrain
from expressing to the fair Heyminè my admiration of the intelligence
and information of her father. But all praise of the Pasha to his
daughter was “gilding refined gold, painting the lily, and throwing a
perfume o’er the violet;” human commendations could not exalt him higher
in her esteem.
If splendour could insure repose, we were destined to a long night of
slumber beneath the roof of Mustapha Pasha, for our beds were one blaze
of gold and embroidery; and it is certain that the fair form which
hovered about me until I sank upon my pillows had a most pleasant
influence over my dreams; I never passed a more delicious night. I had
visions of beauty, of which the lovely Heyminè was the type and subject:
and if some faint impressions of strife and suffering mingled in the
illusion, a bright smile and a soft glance dispelled the gloom, and
brought back the light and the loveliness, that had been veiled for a
moment, with tenfold lustre.
In the morning we returned to Pera, carrying with us a store of pleasant
memories for which we were indebted to this amiable family; and it was
not without a very painful emotion that we learnt, in the course of the
second day after we had quitted them, that the harem of the Pasha was
dispersed in all directions, and the palace completely empty. The sick
slave, whom I mentioned as having passed a considerable time in the
apartment of Heyminè Hanoum, had died the previous night of plague!