THE SUBLIME THRESHOLD
As soon as the Feasts ended (June 25th) the Ambassador applied
for his Audience--“and here,” he says, “I find I was mistaken,
that it was not the Feasts that hinderd’ my Audience, but a Pay
day to the Souldiery.” The Turks commonly chose that day for the
reception of new ambassadors in order to dazzle them with the sight
of their strength and wealth. But Sir John, who did not yet know
all the ins and outs of Ottoman etiquette, readily believed what
he was told--“that the Gran Signor had an Intention to place the
highest Respect upon me in giving me audience on the pay day of his
Janizarys.”[133]
This honour is promised him at once; but the days pass, and it is
still to come. Instead, other things come--things enough to try the
temper of a saint. Just then--beginning of July--the Plague breaks
out in the overcrowded city of Adrianople; and to the nuisance of
interminable festivals now succeed the horrors of interminable
funerals. Hundreds die every day. It is impossible to stir out of
doors without meeting a corpse. All slaves and poor people, the
moment they expire, are wrapped up in some rag, thrust upon the
back of a _hamal_, or porter, and conveyed to their destination
like bales of cadaverous goods. What is worse, one knows that there
lies as much danger of contagion in touching the clothes of the
living as the bodies of the dead. There is no protection against
the foul disease except in flight. Even the Turks, who are much
less given to panic than the Franks, fly in great numbers from the
town into the country. The Grand Signor himself, good Mohammedan
though he is, sets the example of lack of faith by retiring to a
palace which he has built at Ak-bonar, some ten miles north of
Adrianople, leaving the Grand Vizir in the infected city to carry
on the business of government as usual. What is left for mere
infidels?
They retreat as fast as they can to Karagatch--a Greek village
about a mile and a half south-west of Adrianople, on the river
Arda. There the Ambassador gets a house for himself, Sir Thomas
Baines, and their servants; the Chaplain, through the kind offices
of his brother-papas, the village priest, obtains a tiny apartment
in a cottage close by; and the others lodge, one here, one there,
wherever they can find room--no easy matter in a small village for
a company of one hundred and twenty persons. For the Treasurer
alone there is no escape from the pestilent city. Business compels
him to be always there. “Care was taken,” he says, “to find me
constant employment, and for the most part I went at the will
and pleasure of his Excellency.” North is a philosopher, and
takes health and sickness as he does light and darkness or the
vicissitudes of the seasons: as things to which a wise man has to
accommodate himself; only taking care, whatever befalls him on this
moonstruck planet, not to lose his temper with it. Nevertheless,
though prudence holds his tongue, he cannot help some sarcastic
reflections on “the Italick caution of the Ambassador and
selfishness of the Knight,” who thus shift almost the whole burden
on to his shoulders.[134]
Curiously enough, while showing so little regard for the English
Treasurer’s safety, Sir John invites the Spanish friars to share
his retreat with him--an invitation which is, naturally, accepted
with gratitude and alacrity.[135] Let us hope that they repay
him by their saintly exhortations and example of patience under
affliction: there is call enough for both from that day onward.
As the weeks go by, and the Plague, with the increasing heat, grows
fiercer, the Ambassador’s desire to have his Audience and his
Capitulations, and to be gone, becomes acuter. His Dragomans are
incessantly at work, pressing the Kehayah for dispatch; and, to
add weight to their solicitations, Sir John writes to that worthy,
desiring to know if there is any hitch in the business, declaring
himself ready to argue any point before the Grand Vizir against
any one, and asking whether he should make a direct application
to the Vizir. The Kehayah answers, with his accustomed suavity,
that his Excellency should not fret: all is well. As soon as the
Tefterdar, or Lord Treasurer, can get ready the money for the pay
of the Janissaries, Sir John will have his heart’s desire. There is
nothing to be done but to let things take their course.
At last the Grand Signor decides to return to the Seraglio for
the Audience. And, on the 27th of July, an hour before dawn, two
chaoushes arrive at Karagatch to fetch his Excellency.
“Is my Lord ready?”
Ready for anything is my Lord--anything that promises deliverance
from purgatory. Dressed and wigged and breakfastless, he and his
companions follow briskly the thrice-welcome messengers to the head
of a wooden bridge on the Arda, and there wait till the rest of the
chaoushes who compose the guard of honour make their appearance.
Then, crossing the river, our pilgrims mount their horses and set
off through the dim twilight. About them the plain lies veiled in
pestiferous mists; overhead a few stars still twinkle in the pale
sky; the dew sparkles on the bare sandy soil underfoot. In front,
with its solemn domes and slender minarets silhouetted against the
horizon, looms the city of Adrianople.
They enter, and ride up the crooked, deserted streets, pitch-dark
under the overhanging upper storeys of the houses, the noise of the
horses’ hoofs on the rough cobbles rousing the inhabitants from
their feverish dreams. Sir John’s heart grows almost merry within
him at the thought that he is seeing that mournful city of death
for the last time.
At about half-past five they alight at the great gate of the
Seraglio. Our old friends, the Chaoush-bashi and Capiji-bashi,
reinforced by a new one, the Peskeshji-bashi, or Chief Receiver
of Gifts, come forth and conduct the visitors across a vast court
lined with Janissaries to whose officers the Ambassador bows as
he goes on, prompted by the Peskeshji-bashi, who walks before him
with a long silver staff in his hand. After traversing this court,
they step through a stone porch into the Divan: a small hall--not
more than eight or nine yards square--with a bench running round
the three sides, covered, as is also the floor, with embroidered
silk. This hall serves many purposes: it is here that laws are
enacted, lawsuits decided, troops paid, and ambassadors made fit to
be introduced to the august presence of the Grand Signor: it has no
doors, but stands always open for all the world to enter and seek
justice.
The visitors look about them curiously: “The Truth is, Right
Honorable, it was a sight worthy of any man’s seeing,” says Sir
John, “but I have not here any time to dilate upon it.” Fortunately
the Rev. John has and does. On one side of the bench sits a
Secretary of State designated Nishanji-bashi, whose function it is
to affix the Sultan’s cipher (_toughra_) to Imperial decrees. On
another sits the Grand Vizir, with the two Cadileskers, or Supreme
Judges of Europe and Asia. On the third side sits the Tefterdar.
Over the Vizir’s head protrudes something that every one present
thinks of all the time, though no one dares for a single moment
gaze at--a bow-window screened with gilded lattice-work, through
which, it is understood, the Grand Signor watches the proceedings
unseen.
Having made his obeisance to the Vizir and the rest, the Ambassador
is given a velvet stool to sit on, and, after “a little discourse,”
is conducted to the bench on the Vizir’s right-hand side and placed
beneath the Nishanji-bashi, “which, as I am told, was a Respect.”
Next to him stands Dr. Mavrocordato, the Dragoman of the Porte, and
his own two chief Dragomans. The other members of the suite take
their appointed places at the farther end of the room: they may
turn sideways to look out into the court, but when one or two of
them, in so doing, venture to turn their backs to the Vizir, they
are sharply reprimanded.
Several hundred small leather bags, each containing coin to the
value of 500 dollars, are brought in and piled in heaps of ten
upon the floor. The Tefterdar presents his accounts to the Vizir.
He, after kissing them, sends them to the Grand Signor by the
Peskeshji-bashi, and by him they are presently returned to the
Vizir, who receives them with another kiss. Thereupon the bags are
taken out to the porch; the companies of the Janissaries are called
by the Peskeshji-bashi, one after another, and each company comes
running up to receive its quota. When they are all paid off, their
officers step into the Divan and, kneeling down before the Vizir,
lift the corner of his cloak to their foreheads and lips; then,
retiring three or four paces backwards and sideways, go out again;
Ahmed Kuprili all the time sitting as one who does not know what is
going on.
This solemn tomfoolery over, there follows another performance more
cheering for the wearied and hungry Englishmen. Ewers and basins
are brought in, and when the Vizir, Tefterdar, Nishanji-bashi,
and the Ambassador have washed their hands, three little round
tables are planted respectively in front of the three grandees and
covered with leather mats. Upon these tables are laid flat loaves
of bread like pancakes, coarse wooden spoons, some saucers of
capers, olives, parsley, and pickled samphire, a little salt-cellar
and a little pepper-box. The Ambassador sits at the Vizir’s table,
having beside him only his chief Dragoman, who “rendred us mutuall
Intelligible to each other.” He sits on a velvet stool, facing his
host, who is seated on the bench. Three similar stools are set at
the Nishanji-bashi’s table for our Treasurer, the oldest merchant,
Mr. Hyet, and Dr. Pickering of Smyrna. Three more stools at the
Tefterdar’s table are occupied by the Ambassador’s Secretary, the
Cancellier, and the Chaplain. All these are “most Civilly and
Courteously entertaind’.” The rest of the suite dine in the porch
outside, some with the Rais Effendi, some with the Chaoush-bashi,
and are none too gently treated by the Turkish attendants, who
shove them with their elbows and address to them rude words. The
two Cadileskers dine by themselves--too strict observers of the Law
to eat with infidels.
Thanks to our parson’s loquacious quill, supplemented with a few
touches from the Ambassador’s pen, we are able to raise the ghost
of that repast of long ago from the limbo of dead dinners. It is a
banquet in the very best Turkish style. There are roast chickens
and roast pigeons piled one upon another; kebobs, or bits of
mutton, both roast and boiled, skewered in alternate layers; gourds
stuffed with minced meat, and soups of several sorts, and puff
pastry pies, both plain and stuffed, and pillaf, and dates, and
pine kernels, and very, very many other things, sweet or savoury,
solid or sloppy--anything from fifty to a hundred courses--served
up in dishes of a glazed metal (_martaban_) much heavier and
costlier than china, and whipped away with disconcerting swiftness,
to be scrambled for by the Janissaries in the courtyard. The soups
are eaten with the wooden spoons; for the meats the banqueters have
to use the implements provided by Nature. At each table the host
begins by pinching the flesh with his finger and thumb and inviting
the guests to fall to; which they do, nipping and tearing lustily
with hands and teeth. About half-way through this “horse-feast,”
as the Rev. John calls it, the Ambassador asks for something to
drink, and is given--a cup of water. As he takes it, he catches the
Grand Vizir’s eye fixed upon his Dragoman with a quizzical smile,
“knowing very well that I usd’ to drink very Excellent Wines, for
He Himselfe had tasted of it.” But, at the other tables, the diners
have excellent lemon sherbet to wash down the viands with; the host
at each table beginning with a hearty draught and then passing the
cup round. The Rev. John deeply regrets that after this one round
he sees that blessed cup no more.
Turkish banquets, as a rule, were funereal affairs. But this one
was enlivened by some “very free and merry discourse” between the
Ambassador and the Vizir, the latter “often laughing out right,
though the Gran Signor stood in the window all the while to look on
us.”[136] It was over much sooner than the hungry Englishmen would
have liked or than might have been expected from the number of
courses; but the waiters at each table kept such good time that all
ended, as they had begun, together: even in their dinners the Turks
forgot not their discipline.
After the necessary ablutions, the guests are led by the Dragoman
Mavrocordato out into the porch, where they sit on a long bench and
are vested with kaftans. In this masquerade they wait for half an
hour, till the Vizir and the other Ministers come forth on their
way to the Grand Signor’s Audience Chamber. Shortly afterwards
the Ambassador is summoned to proceed in the same direction, and
he does so, followed by his presents and accompanied by all his
gentlemen; but only six are allowed to enter--the two Dragomans,
the Treasurer, the oldest merchant, the Cancellier, and the
Secretary, who carries the royal letter on his head. The Rev. John
is bitterly disappointed. Both the Ambassador and the Knight had
solemnly promised him before they set out from Constantinople and
all along that he should infallibly be one of the persons admitted
to the presence--and he has been left out. ’Tis no use for the Rev.
John to assure us that he does not mind a bit, because, forsooth,
he has already seen the Grand Signor again and again--that it is
only the furniture of the room he wishes to see. He does mind,
very, very much. But he consoles himself with the reflection that
he has not missed much that was worth having.
The proceedings appear to have been marked by rather more than the
ceremonial violence customary on such occasions: so much so that
those who took part in them could afterwards give only the vaguest
and most confused account of what had happened: it looked as if
the Avji wished to pay the giaours back for bringing him into the
plague-stricken city.
At the entrance they were each seized by two capijis, one holding
them under one arm, the other under the other, and were dragged
in. As soon as ever they crossed the Sublime Threshold, their
conductors, laying their hands on their necks, forced them to bow
down till their foreheads touched the floor: once-twice-thrice; and
immediately afterwards all, except the Ambassador, his Secretary,
and Chief Dragoman, were hustled out again in such a manner that
the Treasurer who came out first swore that he saw practically
nothing--only in a general sort of way he had an impression of a
very large, dimly lighted room with in it something that looked
like a thing they call the Grand Signor. The poor Cancellier, being
a little man, was crushed quite down at the door, and the oldest
merchant nearly tumbled over him as he lay sprawling over the
Sublime Threshold: so they saw even less than the Treasurer.
The Ambassador stayed in about four minutes altogether: the
Chaplain timed him by his pulse--a method of measuring time which
the Rev. John had often practised at sea by a half-minute glass.
All his Excellency could tell of the interview was this: the Grand
Signor sat upon a sort of four-post bed covered with a crimson
counterpane embroidered with pearls, and had by him “a Rich
Cabinett or Standish, sett all over with larg Diamonds to a great
Value.” The front of his cloak from the neck down was also set with
large diamonds and pearls. He wore on his head a small plain turban
with a little feather fastened to it by a jewelled brooch, and upon
his face a most severe, terrible, stately scowl.
After the three compulsory prostrations, Sir John’s Dragoman was
ordered to read his Excellency’s address--just twelve and a half
lines given to him beforehand in Italian: “wherein was all His
Majesty’s titles that I could thinke of, and the word Padesha in,
where there was occasion to putt it, at which my Druggerman being a
little startled when I gave Him the Paper the day before I went in,
I bad Him fear nothing for I was to be by Him.”[137] But in spite
of the brevity of the speech, in spite of his rehearsal of it, in
spite of the Ambassador’s protecting vicinity, poor old Signor
Giorgio, what with the violent exercise he had just undergone,
what with the Grand Signor’s scowl, was so flurried that he very
nearly lost the thread. That done, the Secretary handed the King’s
Letter to the Dragoman, who passed it on to the Vizir, who laid it
on the bolster at the Grand Signor’s right hand, who cast a kind
of scornful eye towards it and said--nothing. Whereas, the Rev.
John well remembered, he had spoken to Finch’s predecessor Harvey a
great deal. Clearly, the Avji was sulking. The Vizir spoke instead,
saying, “All right,” and, without more ado, Ambassador, Secretary,
and Dragoman were dragged out again.[138]
Pitiful to see the representative of a great Christian Power
crawling to the Ottoman throne in such a manner--and glad to arrive
there at all. The more we gaze on the picture, the more pitiful
it seems: that free men should from interest adopt an attitude to
which slaves are compelled by fear! That is the permanent fact we
discover in this passing show; and it is inevitable that we should
discover it. As long as our policy has an essentially illiberal
aim--be it dollars, be it domination--so long will our posture be
servile: to reach what lies low, you must stoop. Such is the tragic
moral of the picture; yet there are many touches of comedy in it,
too. A picture well worth looking at, in more ways than one.
FOOTNOTES:
[133] Finch to Coventry, Sept. 9, 1675.
[134] _Life of Dudley North_, pp. 227, 116; Covel’s _Diaries_, pp.
242, 244.
[135] Finch to Coventry, Sept. 9, 1675.
[136] Finch to Coventry, Sept. 9, 1675.
[137] Finch to Coventry, Sept. 9, 1675.
[138] Covel’s _Diaries_, pp. 257-67. See also Appendix X. For the
King’s Letter to the Sultan, see Appendix II.