SIR JOHN GOES TO COURT
On Sunday, the 2nd of May 1675, after morning prayers and a sermon
by the Rev. John Covel, his Excellency set out from Pera with
a very great retinue. Besides the Embassy staff and servants,
there were all the English merchants of Constantinople and some
of Smyrna with their own servants--altogether one hundred and
twenty horsemen, fifty-five baggage-wagons, three led horses in
rich trappings, a gorgeous coach-and-six with postillions, a
coach-and-four for the Chief Dragoman, and a double litter canopied
with fine wrought cloth and carried by four mules harnessed
together two and two: in that litter, attended by four muleteers
and preceded by two link-bearers, Sir John Finch and Sir Thomas
Baines lay in state.
It must have been a comely sight to watch these English travellers
on that spring day, two hundred and fifty years ago, clatter over
the wooden bridges which spanned the streams at the head of the
Golden Horn, skirt the walls of Stambul, and enter upon the highway
to Adrianople. We will follow their slow progress along that dusty
road; for the details of their journey are all on record, and one
might do sillier things than that.
Four hours through clouds of dust brought our wayfarers, hot
and hungry, to their first _konak_ or stage: Kuchuk Chekmejé--a
township “about the bignesse of Newmarket,” half Turkish, half
Greek, near the Sea of Marmara. There they halted for the night.
His Excellency with his suite was lodged in a Moslem hostel--one
of those pious foundations which, by their statutes, were obliged
to afford travellers shelter and some food. As to bed, they had to
bring their own. The Ambassador and the Knight, after supping on
rice boiled with onions, fish, and bread, had their travelling beds
set up indoors and slept in stuffy state. The Chaplain and two or
three other humble mortals, as the night was very warm, slept on
carpets in the cloisters that ran round a fair-sized quadrangle
with a fountain murmuring in the middle--not unlike, thought the
Rev. John, a Cambridge College court. The Treasurer--there had been
little or no sleep for him that night; for here he was surprised
with a “jolly fever” (his own phrase), got by over-harassing
himself about the expedition. For this reason next morning, when
the journey was resumed, the coach-and-six fell to his share. The
Ambassador and the Knight continued their progress as before,
leaning back in their canopied litter, so that, though all the rest
might sweat and swear at the sun, the dust, and the flies, they
were cool and collected, free to doze or to survey the scenery at
their ease.
The country traversed was, to speak in the language of that time,
“perfect champion ground”--a lovely plain, here swelling to low
mastoid hills, there sinking into green valleys. But though the
land appeared naturally fertile, our wayfarers were struck by its
desolation. About the towns and villages they saw good husbandry;
but elsewhere they saw nothing to remind them of man and his works.
For many miles the Rev. John could discover neither cornfield nor
vineyard, neither flock of sheep nor herd of cattle: only a fair
wilderness--an ideal place for beasts to lie down in. It was easy
to understand the Imperial Hunter’s attachment to this plain.
On our pilgrims crept and on, at the rate of three miles an hour
and an average of six hours a day, every evening halting at some
township or village--Buyuk Chekmejé, Selivria, Chorlu, Karistran,
Lule-Burgas, Eski-Baba, Hafsa--and always sending ahead to each
stage a caterer with two chaoushes to procure them board and
lodging by force: “else the people would in most places not afford
us anything.” Small wonder. The Grand Signor’s subjects had long
since learned to shun travellers of quality as they shunned other
robbers. For such a traveller’s progress bore a strong resemblance
to a hostile invasion: his Janissaries raided the villages,
slaughtering all the sheep and fowls they could lay hands on, with
absolute impartiality and, of course, with absolute impunity. When
provincial governors travelled to or from their Pashaliks, it
was even worse. The Pasha drained the very vitals of the country
he passed through, sparing neither Turk, nor Christian, nor Jew;
and (in Turkey humour was seldom far from horror), after cramming
himself and his numerous retinue, he levied upon his hosts what
was called “teeth money” (_dishe parassi_)--a tax for the use of
his teeth, worn in the process of devouring their substance.[83]
The peasants had recourse to all sorts of prophylactics dictated
by the instinct of self-preservation. Among other things, they
made their doors just big enough for a man to creep in at, so that
distinguished travellers might, at least, not be able to use their
houses as stables.
So the English Ambassador journeyed on, extorting the necessary
provisions from the Greeks, for his myrmidons knew better than to
touch Turks on behalf of a Giaour. All this was in strict accord
with the custom of the country. And so was this: wherever his
Excellency took up his lodging, as soon as it began to grow dark
the link-bearers would come and plant their beacons before his door
and intone a sonorous prayer for the Grand Signor, the Ambassador
and all his company, naming every one: the Treasurer, Secretary,
Chaplain, Dragomans, and the rest, even as was done to the Grand
Vizir and all other grandees on their journeys.
For eight days the long train of horses and carriages and
baggage-wagons straggles across the Thracian plain in mediaeval
caravan style: of all styles of travel the most delightful as an
experience, the most refreshing as a memory.
At the last konak, Sir John sends for Signor Antonio Perone, to
make sure, before it is too late, that the arrangements for his
reception are correct; and “taking an account,” he finds, to
his immense satisfaction, that the Dragoman has not only kept
a vigilant eye on “the King’s Honour,” but has “exceeded any
example.” And so he moves forward, another day’s march, five
and a half hours, say seventeen miles, to the consummation of
his journey. He moves, rehearsing in his mind the ceremonial
theatricalities that lie ahead; and by and by, as a sort of
curtain-raiser, we have the first of them. When within six miles
of his destination, our Ambassador is met by a party of Frenchmen
and Dutchmen--residents of Pera who were then at Adrianople
sight-seeing; mere private, unofficial folk, yet well-meaning, and
they help to swell our train. We move on, and presently, in the
early afternoon, the sight we long for bursts into view: stately
cupolas, slim white minarets, brown tile-roofs amidst green
leaves--a dream of urban beauty completely realised.
About two miles from this magic city, at a spot where a fine
_kiosk_, or summer-house, stood beside a sparkling fountain, a
dozen grooms are waiting, with a dozen of the Grand Signor’s
horses--“all admirable good ones, and set out as rich as possible”:
bridles, saddles, stirrups, and buttock-cloths aglow with gold and
silver; the animal destined for the Ambassador himself glittering,
in addition, with precious stones and pearls “most gloriously.”
My Lord, quitting his litter, mounts this steed, the staff follow
suit, and the cavalcade moves on. They have not gone far before
they are met by a guard of honour of sixty chaoushes under the
command of the Chaoush-bashi, who acts as Master of the Ceremonies,
and the Capiji-bashi, or Marshal of the Court. The two parties
exchange the usual compliments, then the guard of honour faces
about, and the procession enters the city.
It was a triumphal entry, attended with an éclat that left
nothing to be desired. The chaoushes, in their tall white turbans
of ceremony, marched first, two abreast. After them rode the
Chaoush-bashi and Capiji-bashi in their gala uniforms: long
sleeveless cloaks of cloth of gold lined with rich furs. His
Excellency followed, with the French and Dutch holiday-makers
before him; then came the Englishmen, with their servants behind
them; then the link-bearers with Sir Thomas Baines; then the
coach-and-six; then the Chief Dragoman’s coach-and-four; the
baggage-wagons bringing up the rear. Janissaries flanked the narrow
streets through which the procession threaded its way. Everything
was marked by a splendour that did the Chaplain’s ritualistic
heart good, and wrung even from our cynical Treasurer a grudging
admission that the Merchants had full value for their money. As
to the Ambassador, no sordid thought of cost, we may be certain,
sullied his soul, as he rode in, high-headed, high-hearted, proud
of his trappings, horses, chaoushes, and what not, feeling that he
was received with all the honour and glory due to his character.
In this fashion our visitors reached the house allotted his
Excellency--and there, by one of those strokes of grim humour in
which (as has been said) the Turkish genius delighted, the whole
scene underwent a sudden transformation.
“The house,” says the Rev. John, astonished into a fit of most
unclerical eloquence, “was the damn’dest, confounded place that
ever mortall man was put into: it was a Jewes house, not half big
enough to hold half my Lord’s family--a mere nest of fleas and
cimici [bugs] and rats and mice, and stench, surrounded with whole
kennells of nasty, beastly Jewes.”[84]
In his wildest nightmares Sir John had never seen himself living
in a Ghetto. And this was no nightmare, but hard, solid, filthy
reality. A spasm of rage came over him--rage at everybody, but
more especially at Signor Antonio Perone who had had two months
in which to provide for his honourable accommodation. He swore
at the miserable Dragoman as perhaps no ambassador had ever sworn
before. “He vowed,” says our Treasurer, whose mischievous spirit
had been moved to impish glee, “he vowed with the most execrable
protestations never to be reconciled to him.” He ordered him off
to Constantinople in twenty-four hours, else he would have him
drubbed.[85] Apparently Sir John knew not that the magnificent
Marquis de Nointel had been treated to precisely the same fragrant
surprise;[86] or if he did, the knowledge carried no comfort.
Signor Antonio retired to his private lodging to wait for the
ambassadorial wrath to evaporate; and three days later, by the
mediation of Mr. Hyet, the oldest English merchant, he received
plenary absolution. Meanwhile, after an unforgettable night in
that salubrious abode, Sir John had sent his Chief Dragoman, the
venerable Signor Giorgio Draperys, to the Grand Vizir to beg for a
better residence. With gratifying celerity the Vizir turned a rich
Jew out of his home; and the Ambassador, accompanied by his staff
and the friend of his bosom, removed thither, still keeping the
other house for the servants. Mr. North turned Signor Antonio out
of his quarters and made himself comfortable therein. The others
shifted as best they could, until little by little every infidel
dog found his kennel.
Quickly as these transmigrations were effected, Sir John had had
time, in the midst of them, to save the King of England’s honour
from some fresh perils that menaced it. There were at Adrianople
several foreign diplomats: Count Kindsberg, the German Emperor’s
Resident; the Ambassador, as they called him, of the little
Republic of Ragusa; and M. de La Croix, second secretary to the
Ambassador of France. Contrary to Sir John’s expectations, none of
these, save the Ragusan, had sent out to meet him on his approach
to the city. So, the instant he set foot to earth, he “searchd’
into the Point Whether the Emperors Resident was wont to send to
meet the Ambassadour of France,” and heard that “for certain,
yes.” Immediately after, one of the Resident’s gentlemen came to
tell Sir John that the Caesarean Excellency desired to wait upon
him. Sir John answered that the house he was in “was so infamous”
that he could receive no one, but when in a convenient lodging he
would invite the Resident, “unlesse He, as I was informd’, had
sent to meet the French Ambassadour, which He had not done to me.”
Similar overtures from the French diplomat met with a similar
rebuff. Count Kindsberg hastened to explain that his Excellency
was terribly misinformed: “He never sent to meet the Ambassadour
of France in his life, but he had sent to meet me, had not the
Gran Signor at the same time sent for Him to Audience; which I
knew to be true, and amongst other Reasons this was one that he
would have sent out to meet me, because my Lord of Winchelsea
did so to Count Lesley”--Walter Leslie, the Scottish Ambassador
Extraordinary from the Emperor to Turkey, whose mission had
created a great sensation ten years before.[87] Mollified by these
explanations, Sir John intimated to the Resident that he “would
gladly receive His Favour in another House.” When he moved to that
new house, Count Kindsberg came; Sir John returned his call two
days after; and their intercourse acquired a distinct flavour of
familiarity thenceforward. The Resident turned out to be “a Civill
understanding Gentleman. He invites me to Dinner, and I Him, and
frequently comes to visitt me.”
Would that all “Publick Ministers” were equally reasonable! “But
Monsieur Le Croix (_sic_) Huffs and gives out that He could not
come to see me being once refusd.” He had reported this affront to
his master and was waiting for instructions. When these arrived,
however, La Croix called to apologise. He was, he said, “tender
of His Master’s Honour”--Nointel “had raisd’ Him from nothing,
and all he had was owing to Him.” The Frenchman’s words and his
tone appealed to Sir John’s magnanimity. With a gracious air and
a smiling look, he told the penitent that “He did ill to take
exceptions at that at which Ministers of farr greater figure took
none, and so Wee friendly parted.”[88]
It was well for Finch that he established good relations with these
gentlemen: their society would go a long way towards making his
sojourn in that environment bearable. The Greeks have a saying,
“Without fair as a doll, within foul as the plague.” To this
description Adrianople answered admirably. Despite its Seraglio,
its mosques, its baths and bazaars, it was, in our Chaplain’s
words, a “very mean and beastly” city, and just now it was crowded
to overflowing by all sorts and conditions of strangers drawn
to the spot by the lure of profit or pleasure, or by the Grand
Signor’s commands. And of all quarters of this dirty and congested
city the most dirty and congested was the Jewish quarter where our
pilgrims had their habitation: a slum that offended every sense
at every hour. At night rest was impossible: a multitude of pests
conspired to murder sleep: rats, mice, bugs and fleas indoors;
outside, carts rumbling over the rough cobbles, and legions of
pariah dogs brawling in the moonlight. During the day, as during
the night, “the stink of the Jewes did give us no small purgatory,”
wails the Rev. John. Even the sense of novelty could not atone for
the sense of discomfort and disgrace.
The only compensation for Sir John was the promptitude with which
the Grand Vizir granted him an audience, in little more than a week
after his arrival (May 19). This smoothed somewhat the Ambassador’s
ruffled feathers and, moreover, induced the consoling belief that
his purgatory would, at all events, not last long. Why should it,
anyhow? Lord Winchilsea had started for Adrianople on December 5th
(1661); by January 13th he had the Capitulations renewed with all
the additions obtainable; and by January 23rd he was back at Pera.
The audience, as all men conversant with such matters assured
Sir John, was “very courteous and very honorable”--even the most
captious eye could detect no “puntiglio” to cavil at.
Like all state apartments in Turkey, the room in which this
function took place had for its main feature a Soffah--part of
the floor raised a foot or so higher than the rest and furnished
with cushions and bolsters. When an ambassador was received with
great formality two chairs appeared on this dais: one for him and
the other for the Vizir; when the audience was less formal, the
Vizir sat cross-legged on his cushions in the corner, and the
ambassador had a stool set for him upon the dais--a point worth
remembering. It was upon such a stool that Sir John was now placed,
while his suite stood close behind him, on the common level of
the floor. Round about the room stood many chaoushes and other
attendants, motionless and mute. At the end of a quarter of an
hour, there was a loud “_Whish! whish!_”--to impose silence, rather
unnecessarily--and the Grand Vizir entered.
He was a man of about forty, of medium height and somewhat inclined
to corpulence. He had a small round face thinly fringed by a
short black beard, and a smooth erect forehead crowned, as far
as his turban permitted to see, by thick, close-cut hair. His
complexion was of a dark brown, and as his cheeks were deeply
pitted with small-pox the general impression was hardly one of
enchanting beauty.[89] Walking with a slight limp and a slight
stoop--though young in years, Ahmed Kuprili was already loaded with
infirmities--he dropped down upon the cushions and crossed his legs.
The Ambassador’s stool was moved nearer to the Vizir, and, once
seated again, his Excellency delivered the royal letter,[90] saying
that his Master commanded him to do so and withal to give him a
message by word of mouth: namely, to solicit for his Majesty’s
subjects trading in the Grand Signor’s territories protection in
the enjoyment of all their privileges and immunities, according
to the Capitulations, assuring him, on the other part, of his
Majesty’s desire, not only to confirm the good relations already
existing between the two Courts, but also to improve them. He
was told in reply that, as long as his Master observed the laws
of friendship with the Grand Signor, the Grand Signor would
reciprocate. These mutual civilities were exchanged through the
Dragoman of the Porte, Dr. Mavrocordato, who stood at the edge of
the Soffah, in stereotyped phrases which had suffered no variation
since the foundation of the Ottoman Empire.
At that point, the Ambassador and the Vizir were treated to
coffee, sherbet, and perfume; and then Sir John and his gentlemen
were clothed with _kaftans_, or robes of honour--loose garments,
shaped like night-gowns and bespangled with large yellow flowers,
half-moons, and other decorative devices. The material of which
they were made varied according to the rank of the recipient: cloth
of gold or silver, or silk with more or less of gold and silver
wrought in it. At most audiences such garments were given to the
visitors, in return for the many valuable cloaks of cloth, silk,
velvet, cloth of gold and silver, which the visitors had to give at
all audiences: as the English of the period proverbially said of
the Turk: “if he gives you an egg, he will expect at least a pullet
for it.”[91]
While refreshments and investments were proceeding, the Ambassador
and the Vizir continued their conversation. Sir John dwelt at
some length on the steadfast friendship the English nation had
shown towards Turkey for nearly a hundred years, laying stress
on the fact that during the protracted war for the conquest of
Candia, which the Vizir had brought to a happy conclusion, not one
Englishman had appeared amongst the numerous Christian volunteers
who had assisted the Venetians. Ahmed replied that it was true: he
himself was witness to it. Next Finch thanked him for so speedy an
audience. Ahmed said it was a time of mirth, great affairs were
laid aside for a while, so he had leisure. Finch expressed the
wish that it might always be a time of mirth with him, and went on
emitting many other compliments, to which he got the briefest of
answers--or no answer at all.
Ahmed Kuprili was no great dealer in words. Platitudes, especially
when the speaker repeated himself, as Sir John was prone to do,
wearied him. But he did not interrupt: he simply did not listen.
He sat in the corner of the Soffah, with his hands glued to his
knees, and his countenance fixed in a sort of stony composure:
hardly did a hair of his beard stir to show that he breathed. He
was somewhat short-sighted, which caused him to knit his brows and
peer very intently when a stranger entered his presence; but after
that one searching look his small eyes, having taken the visitor’s
measure, remained resolutely half-closed. Once, and only once, when
he said it was a time of mirth, his English guests fancied they saw
some shadow of a smile on his lips: so faint that it was hardly
perceptible. Thus he sat, dark, remote, silent, and inscrutable,
looking at the verbose Frank through half-closed, bored eyes. Such
calm, such silence, such hauteur, in any other man, would have been
exasperating. As practised by Ahmed Kuprili, they were simply
subduing. For even his quietude conveyed somehow a suggestion of
latent energy--of strength in reserve. On the present occasion,
however, we discern a little relaxation from this glacial grandeur.
“He look’t very pleasantly,” says the Rev. John, “and as we were
inform’d, with an unusuall sweetnesse; though, at best, I assure
you, I thought he had Majesty and State enough in his face all the
time.”[92] Sir John describes the Vizir as “in his discourse very
free and affable, oftentimes inclining his body towards me, which I
am told was not usuall.”[93]
These exceptional tokens of affability emboldened the Ambassador,
contrary to the rules and the plain hints given him that this was
no time for affairs, to broach the question of Tripoli. As we
know, he had already notified to the Vizir the rupture. “Here,”
he says, “I renewd’ my complaints desiring him over and above
that the Gran Signors owne hand being to that Treaty he would not
onely approve of the King my Master’s just vindicating the Right
of his Treaty by Arms, but also make his due resentment upon their
perfidiousness to his Imperiall Majesty. Answer was made me that he
would take nothing ill of the Kings part in that affayr, but that
he would seek to remedy what they had offended in, as to their owne
score.”[94] Whereupon Ahmed rose to his feet, and with a slight bow
to the Ambassador limped out of the room.
The visitors departed carrying away with them a mental picture of
an overpowering personality, and sixteen _kaftans_, which they
had the curious taste to appraise. The Ambassador’s was valued
at 25 or 30 dollars; those of the Treasurer, Secretary, and Chief
Dragoman at about 8 dollars apiece: the Chaplain sold his for 6½
dollars.[95]
All this was most interesting, but it was not business. The
interview was an empty formality. Nor could Finch hope for many
direct business dealings with the Vizir. It is true that Ahmed
Kuprili’s established monopoly of power saved an ambassador a
world of trouble. Often the Grand Vizirs were mere ciphers, and
the Palace usurped all the functions of the Porte. At such times
the Grand Signor’s minions counted for a good deal more than his
Ministers. The ambassador, therefore, was obliged to discover those
minions and the subterraneous channels which led to them, and,
while openly carrying on formal conversations with the Vizir, to
conduct real negotiations secretly with the Kislar Aga, or Chief of
the Black Eunuchs, and other magnates of the Harem. Again, common
Grand Vizirs, even when they had no rival in the Harem, had a
master at home. They were generally governed by some old friend, or
perhaps a favourite slave, through whose hands the great man’s most
momentous affairs passed, and who had such an ascendancy over his
mind that he could bring him to accept any proposals he liked. To
discover and propitiate this omnipotent adviser was no easy matter.
Ahmed had simplified a foreign envoy’s task in this respect also.
He never had any favourites, or if he had, he was never governed by
them.
But still Turkey was Turkey. The Grand Vizir did not quite
correspond to a European Prime Minister. Sir John spoke with awe
of “this most great and most important charge; the like to which
no age at no time under any Christian prince could ever parallel,
either as to grandeur or authority.” In fact, Ahmed, though more
accessible than many of his predecessors and successors, being the
Grand Signor’s vicar, was only less unapproachable than his master.
The way to him lay through his Kehayah, or Steward, and his Rais
Effendi, or Chief Secretary. With these officers all preliminary
negotiations had to be conducted.
Sir John, already initiated in the rudiments of Turkish procedure,
shaped his course accordingly. In consultation with the leading
English merchants, he had the new Articles of the Capitulations
drawn up, translated into Turkish, and sent by his Dragomans to the
Kehayah that he might submit them to the Vizir, after first taking
the advice of the Rais Effendi, who had been gained in advance.
The Kehayah had received the document very favourably and promised
his assistance. That was done as soon as Finch had settled down at
Adrianople. Since then nothing more had been heard from the Porte.
The Ambassador thought the Pashas should not be allowed to go to
sleep. So he despatched his Dragomans, soliciting an answer from
those obliging functionaries, but he was put off with the reply
that he must wait till the festivities were over.[96]
Alas, poor Ambassador! What maladroit demon had inspired thee to
select for business a time of mirth?
FOOTNOTES:
[83] See Appendix IX.
[84] Covel’s _Diaries_, p. 190.
[85] _Life of Dudley North_, p. 103.
[86] “Imaginez-vous la puanteur et la vilenie des Juifs causées
par la quantité de misérables familles qui logent ensemble, et
vous jugerez qu’on a besoin de bonnes cassolettes pour s’en
préserver.”--Nointel à Lyonne, in Vandal’s _Nointel_, p. 58.
[87] See Rycaut’s _Memoirs_, pp. 180-2, 188. Cp. _Present State_,
Epistle Dedicatory to Lord Arlington.
[88] Finch to Coventry, Sept. 9, 1675, _Coventry Papers_.
[89] Covel’s _Diaries_, p. 195; Rycaut’s _Memoirs_, p. 332. J. von
Hammer’s portrait of Ahmed Kuprili (_Histoire de l’Empire ottoman_,
vol. xi. p. 434) is singularly inaccurate.
[90] See Appendix II.
[91] Covel’s _Account of the Greek Church_, Pref. p. lv.
[92] Covel’s _Diaries_, p. 195.
[93] Finch to Coventry, Sept. 9, 1675.
[94] _Ibid._
[95] Covel’s _Diaries_, p. 196.
[96] _Life of Dudley North_, p. 104.