The Life and Letters of Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq, Volumes 1 and 2

by Ogier Ghislain de Busbecq

LETTER III.

Introduction—Departure of Busbecq’s colleagues and preceding negotiations—Turkish hawking—Busbecq summoned to Adrianople—Earthquake there—Account of earthquake at Constantinople—Busbecq returns to Constantinople—Hires a house there—Is forced to go back to his former abode—Description of it—Anecdotes of animals in it—Busbecq’s menagerie—How Busbecq’s friend availed himself of the Turkish abhorrence of pigs—Stories of a lynx, a crane, a stag—Turkish mendicants—Turkish slaves—Busbecq’s kite-shooting—His tame partridges from Chios—Mode of keeping them—Artificial egg-hatching in Egypt—Turkish horses—Camels—Their use in war—Turkish commissariat—Turkish and Christian soldiers contrasted—Their clothing and equipment—Illustration from Cæsar of Turkish tactics—Turkish kindness to animals—Cats preferred to dogs—Mahomet and his cat—Narrow escape of a Venetian who ill-treated a bird—Turkish fondness for birds—Tame nightingales and goldfinches—Turkish women and marriage laws—Divorces—Baths for women—Extraordinary story of an old woman—Busbecq’s letters intercepted—Pashas puzzled by supposed cipher—Conversations with Roostem—Hungarian affairs—Ali Pasha appointed commander there—His character and appearance—Besieges Szigeth unsuccessfully—Turkish army preserved by advice of a Sanjak-bey—His subsequent treatment—Retreat and death of Ali Pasha—Capture of Gran—Skirmishes and raids in Croatia—Turkish and Persian dread of fire-arms—Story of Roostem’s corps of musketeers—Turkish opinion of duelling—Arslan bey—Account of the Mingrelians and their king—Busbecq’s life and occupations—Turkish archery—Turkish readiness to adopt foreign inventions and customs—Lemnian earth—Why some Turks have their children baptised—Parthian tactics of the Turks—Busbecq’s acquaintances of various nations—Rudeness of a Cavasse and Busbecq’s retaliation—Story of Roostem—Turkish treatment of ambassadors—Story of a Venetian ambassador—Emblematic present from Roostem—Beginning of Bajazet’s rebellion—Removal of him and Selim to new governments—Reluctance of Bajazet to obey—Selim marches on Ghemlik—Bajazet’s remonstrances and his father’s reply—Missions of Mehemet and Pertau Pashas to Selim and Bajazet—Reluctance of Solyman’s troops—The Mufti consulted—Message of Bajazet to Solyman—His preparations at Angora—Characters of the rival brothers—Address of Bajazet to his army—His defeat at Koniah and retreat to Amasia—Reputation he gains by [193]his conduct—Solyman crosses to Asia—His motives—Busbecq a spectator of his departure—Description of the procession—Busbecq summoned to Solyman’s camp—Description of it—Turkish observance of Ramazan—Impression made on a Turk by the carnival—Why wine was forbidden by Mahomet—Turkish military punishments—Quarrel of Busbecq’s servants with some Janissaries—Light in which the Janissaries are regarded by the Sultan—Albert de Wyss—Bajazet’s proceedings at Amasia—Description of Persia—Characters of Shah Tahmasp and his son—Solyman’s policy towards Bajazet—Flight of Bajazet to Persia—Description of the celebration of Bairam by the army—Return of Busbecq to Constantinople—Incidents of Bajazet’s flight—Solyman is dissuaded from marching against Persia—Disaffection among his troops—Bajazet’s arrival in Persia—His reception by the Shah—Duplicity of the Shah—His probable motives—Bajazet’s troops separated and massacred in detail—He and his family are thrown into prison—Opinions as to his probable fate—Influence of these events on Busbecq’s negotiations—His course of policy—Conclusion.

Of course you have heard of the last arrangements. Well, my colleagues left me some time ago, and I am alone at Constantinople. A strange fancy, I think I hear you say. What on earth can have induced him to stay among savages, an exile from his dear native land? But while you exclaim at my choice, you do not forget to ask for every scrap of news I have to give, solemnly promising to accept it all—good, bad, and indifferent—just as it comes. You have other questions which you wish answered. What books am I reading? What am I doing? How do I get through the day? Do I ever go out? Come, come, what you are plaguing me for is, I see, not a letter but a diary. Again, you are specially anxious for information about Bajazet’s fortunes, touching which, you say, there are many rumours at home. You assert that I am under an engagement to give you news of him, and you demand heavy damages for breach of contract! I believe you intend dragging me into court, and are already preparing your pleadings! Pray do not be so hard! Restrain your passion, my friend; or if nothing else[194] will serve, take the full sum; I will pay interest as well, in fact do or pay anything sooner than be brought into court, though indeed a demurrer would probably lie to your claim, for surely after so long an interval I might set up the Statute of Limitations.

When my colleagues, with whom my former letters have made you acquainted, saw that we had already wasted three years here, and that no progress had been made towards peace, or even towards an armistice of any duration, and there appeared hardly any hope of gaining anything if they stayed, they sought leave to return. Now I must tell you that it is easy enough to get here; the difficult thing is to get away![160] and they had much trouble before they could obtain Solyman’s consent. After this we had to decide whether we should all three leave, or I should remain behind, while my two colleagues, who had been longer at Constantinople, returned home. For this point Solyman had left for our decision, as he was afraid, if he kept one of us, that people would think that he was anxious for peace. My colleagues considered it was essential to the Emperor’s interest that one of us should remain. This was tolerably obvious; but, while I shared their opinion, I thought it politic to dissemble, and so, whenever the subject was mentioned in the presence of Turks, I took care to express my dissatisfaction with any arrangement which kept me at Constantinople. ‘Admitting that I had come to discharge the duties of an ambassador in ordinary, yet such a position implied that peace had been concluded. While this was uncertain, I did not see how I could remain at the Sultan’s court without disobeying my instructions, or at any rate going beyond them. The proper course,’ I added, ‘would be for one and all of us to receive our passports.’

I took this line in order to make them press me to stay, knowing that it would make a material difference in my position whether I remained at the request of the Turkish Government or of my own free will. I was fully alive to the fact that if none of us remained to represent his Majesty, there was a probability, or rather a certainty, of war; whereas if I stayed, the prospects of a peaceful arrangement would not be prejudiced. While communications were being exchanged between Vienna and Constantinople, a long time would elapse, in which many things might occur to improve our position. Finally, anything was better than needlessly to plunge into the horrors of war. These considerations did not blind me to the fact, that, as far as my own personal interest was concerned, I was acting imprudently in remaining behind. I foresaw the additional responsibility I must undertake, and the risks and dangers of the position I was to occupy, which, great as they must be in any case, would become extremely serious if the negotiations ended in war. But men who take upon themselves the onerous office of ambassador must not allow considerations of this kind to come between them and their duty to the State.

Roostem, in his excessive anxiety to keep me, played as it were into my hands. No doubt he understood how much the chances of peace would be diminished by our departure in a body, and the rupture of the negotiations which were pending. His chief reason for dreading an outbreak of hostilities was the effect it would probably have on Solyman’s sons, who would be sure to take up arms as soon as their father marched for Hungary. However quiet Selim might be, he knew that Bajazet would be certain to attack him; and the deep interest which he, his wife, and his mother-in-law took in the younger prince, made him anxious that nothing should occur to provoke a step on his part which he foresaw would be his destruction. Therefore, having summoned us to his house, he communicated at great length to my colleagues the considerations he wished to be brought before his Majesty to induce him to agree to the terms the Sultan offered. But he urged me to stay at my post, and to persevere in my efforts for the re-establishment of peace. There was no doubt, he said, that the course he recommended would meet with the Emperor’s approval, as he had never shown himself averse to peace. I, on the other hand, expressed annoyance at his proposals, and made objections to them, as far as I could do so with decency and safety. On this Roostem grew eager, and begged me not to take a step which must necessarily put an end to all prospect of peace, saying that his Emperor[161] was eager to lead his army into Hungary, and would have done so long ago, if he himself had not through the influence of certain ladies[162] (meaning his wife and mother-in-law) prevented him. To use his own expression, they had detained him by seizing the hem of his garment. He implored us not to go on teasing and provoking against ourselves the rage of a sleeping lion. I began to be less decided in my refusals, and to say that I would stay, did I not fear that the Pashas would be unreasonable in their treatment of me. I felt sure, I added, that if anything occurred to displease them they would hold me responsible for it, and make me the scapegoat, even for matters totally out of my power to prevent. Roostem told me not to be afraid, saying that whatever turn things might take, nothing should be laid to my charge; if I would only remain he would undertake to protect me, and, to use his own expression, would regard me as his brother. I replied that I would think it over, and so we departed.

The next day we were summoned to the Divan,[163] or Council of State, where almost the same scene was enacted, except that Roostem, on account of the presence of the other Pashas was more guarded in his language. Before I finally agreed to remain, I deposited a protest with the Pashas, in which I put on record that I was remaining without knowing what my master’s wishes might be, and therefore reserved all questions for his decision without prejudice. I undertook nothing, and did not engage to be responsible for the result which God had foreordained. This protest was afterwards of great service to me when affairs looked gloomy, and the Pashas were inclined to treat me harshly. I have now given you my reasons for remaining.

The departure of my colleagues took place towards the end of August 1557. In the following winter the Sultan, according to his usual custom, removed to Adrianople, with the double object of making a demonstration against Hungary and of enjoying the good hawking and the bracing climate, which he thought were beneficial to his health. At the junction of the rivers near Adrianople are wide tracts of flooded lands, on which there are great quantities of wild ducks, geese, herons, eagles, cranes, and buzzards. To capture these he generally uses a small species of eagle; these birds are trained to seek their quarry in the clouds, and bring it down, or to seize it as it flies beneath them, and with one swoop dash it to the ground.[164] I hear he has falcons so well trained that they can bring down a crane, striking it under the wing in such a way as to keep clear of its beak, on which they would otherwise be impaled. Their boldness, however, is not always successful, for if they make the least mistake, they immediately suffer for it; the crane’s beak goes through them like an arrow, and they tumble lifeless to the ground.

For the reasons I have mentioned, the Sultan makes a practice every year of repairing to Adrianople at the beginning of the winter, and of not returning to Constantinople till the frogs drive him away with their croaking.

Shortly after the departure of the Court, I received a letter from Roostem ordering me to follow. Some horsemen were attached to me as an escort, and also sixteen Janissaries, either as a mark of honour or to prevent my escaping. As I was directed to come with all speed, at first we travelled by long stages, but we had scarcely commenced our third day’s journey when the Janissaries began to grumble. It was winter, and they had to trudge along muddy roads, so our long marches were not at all to their liking; they declared that when they were campaigning with the Sultan they did not march more than half the distance, and said they could not stand it. This troubled me, as I did not wish to be hard on them. At last, while I was considering with my attendants what to do for them, one of them suggested that they were very fond of a sort of omelette, which my cook compounded of wine and eggs with plenty of sugar and spices. ‘Possibly,’ said he, ‘if they were served with this for breakfast every day, they would make fewer complaints of fatigue and be more obliging.’ Queer as the suggestion was, I determined to try it, and the result was a most complete success, for they were so charmed with the omelette, and so merry with the wine with which I plied them, that they were ready to start before the order came, and volunteered to follow me to Buda if I would always treat them so.

Travelling thus, I arrived at Adrianople, where I was obliged to listen to the complaints, not to say abuse, of Roostem about the raids and robberies of the Hungarians. To these, however, the answer was not far to seek, for I was able to tell him of the numerous wrongs which our people daily received from Turkish soldiers. He could not be surprised, I added, if the Christians retaliated.

I was enabled to answer him thus by the arrival of a courier with despatches from the Emperor, in which he narrated the outrages perpetrated every day by the Turks in our territory, in violation of the armistice which we had made for a fixed period on the departure of my colleagues; how they harried the miserable peasantry with their ceaseless raids, plundered their property, and carried off into captivity themselves, their wives, and their children.

I must not omit to mention that on the day of the courier’s arrival at Adrianople there was a great earthquake, à propos of which he related, that he had felt an earthquake, which he considered to be the same, at Nisch and Sofia, and many other places through which he had journeyed, so that the air enclosed in the caverns of the earth seemed to have run a race with him and to have travelled almost as fast as he had ridden. In confirmation of this theory, I must tell you that a similar earthquake was felt four days later at Constantinople; here are the data and you can make your own deductions.

I may remark that Constantinople is very subject to earthquakes, and I remember that once, a little after midnight, our lodging began to shake so violently that we thought the house would fall. I had been sound asleep, but when it woke me and I could see by my night-light books and cups tumbling about, laths and stones falling from the wall, and the whole room shaking violently, for a moment I was dumbfoundered and knew not what to make of it. At last, when it occurred to me that it was an earthquake, I jumped up and ran out, for fear the house should tumble in upon me. The same earthquake continued for some days, though the shocks were not so violent. All through the city, and especially in our lodging and in St. Sophia, even where the walls are most solid, may be seen huge cracks caused by settlements from earthquakes.

I stayed at Adrianople about three months, and then, after concluding a seven months’ armistice, I was taken back to Constantinople in March. As I was tired of being confined in the same lodging, I had recourse to the cavasse who acted as my keeper (for among the various duties which, as I have already told you, are assigned to men of this profession amongst the Turks, is the custody of ambassadors), and asked him to allow me, like other ambassadors, to hire a house with a little bit of garden or pleasure-ground, at my own expense. The cavasse made no objection, as it would be a saving for his master of 400 gold ducats a year if I took a house for myself, this being the price which the Sultan paid for my present lodgings; so I hired a house, or rather block of buildings, with some land about it, where I intended to lay out a garden, hoping by this means to divert my mind from the cares and anxieties of my position.

When, however, my cavasse found it was impossible to watch me in a house, which was furnished with several means of egress and lay in its own ample grounds, as strictly as in a caravanserai (a word with which I think my former letters have made you familiar), where all the windows were closely barred, and to which there was only one entrance, he changed his mind, and induced the Pashas, who had now returned from Adrianople, to shut me up once more within the walls of our old lodging. Thankful, indeed, was I that I did not get worse treatment, for some of the Pashas held that, now that I was alone, it was a needless extravagance to give me such a roomy lodging. The majority, however, of the council were more considerate, and I was allowed to return to my old prison-house.

I will take the opportunity of giving you a description of my abode. The house is situated on high ground in the most populous quarter of Constantinople. From the back windows there is a lovely view of the sea; though we are at some distance from the shore we can distinguish the gambols of the dolphins in the water, while the prospect is bounded by Mount Olympus in Asia, white with perpetual snow. On every side it is open to the breezes, and is on this account considered a peculiarly healthy residence. So airy a situation the Turks appear to think too good for foreigners, as they have not only put iron bars on our windows, to the discomfort of our eyes, but have built up parapets which prevent our getting fresh air or a good view. This was done to meet the complaints of our neighbours, who declared that their houses, which stood on lower ground, were completely exposed to the gaze of the Christians. In the centre there is a large open space or court in which is a well. No one lives on the ground-floor, but on the upper storey there is a verandah running round the court, out of which open the chambers which form the outer part of the building, and which consist of a great number of small rooms, all built after the same pattern, like the cells of a monastery. The front windows open on the public street leading to the palace; and from them the ambassadors have an opportunity, nearly every Friday (which answers to our Sunday) of seeing the Sultan on his way to his devotions. As he passes, the cavasse and Janissaries make their bow, or rather return his, for among the Turks it is the custom for the man of higher rank to bow first. In conformity with this rule, the Sultan himself does not wait for the people in the street to bow to him, but first bows himself, and they return his salute amid loyal shouts and blessings. The ground-floor of the edifice is intended for a stable. The vaulted roofs, which are universal throughout the building, render it safe from fire on the inside; while on the outside it is protected by a covering of lead.

While the house has many advantages, it must be allowed that it has corresponding inconveniences. Everything in it is constructed for use, and nothing for ornament or comfort; it has no beauty or novelty of design to render it attractive. It has no garden to take a walk in; not so much as a tree, or shrub, or patch of grass to refresh the eye, while it swarms with different kinds of vermin, such as weasels, snakes, lizards, and scorpions. Sometimes when a man goes to fetch his hat in the morning, he has the unpleasant surprise of finding a snake coiled round it. However, to let you into the secret of our diversions, we contrive to extract some amusement from these creatures. Sometimes a weasel has a battle-royal with a snake, with my whole household standing round, and in spite of its struggles drags it off in triumph to its hole; sometimes again a weasel changes its abode, and moves its young elsewhere. For instance, the other day, when my friends and I were still at dinner, one of them jumped down on the middle of the table from her nest in the roof with a young one in her mouth. On our pulling her away, she left it there, and stationed herself at the door to see what would happen to the cub. After amusing ourselves with the ugly little beast we placed it on the floor, whereupon the mother darted in, caught it up, and carried it off to its new home.

We also had an opportunity of inspecting a strange, reptile from the stables, which had been trodden on by the horses and killed; it was either a snake or a python. Its stomach appeared to be very much swollen, so I ordered my people to cut it open, and there we found three good-sized mice. I could not make out how an animal that crawled so slowly could catch such nimble creatures; nor could I understand how it contrived to swallow them whole, when its jaws were, as it seemed, so narrow. But my difficulty was solved by my finding another snake in the act of swallowing a toad or poisonous frog. It had seized it by the hind legs, and had already sucked them and a good part of its body down its throat. The toad was still alive, and kept endeavouring to get away from its enemy, struggling as hard as it could with its front feet. When I first saw it I was thoroughly puzzled. I thought the creature was some strange abortion, for it appeared to me to be a two-footed beast, with an enormous tail. When I saw what it was, I began beating it with a stick, and tried to make it release its victim. It was frightened, and did its best to disgorge its prey in order to escape; but it was some time before it could succeed in getting rid of the toad, for it had sucked it in so far that the creature stuck in its throat. At last, after much difficulty, it managed to disgorge; but then it could not shut its mouth, and gaped hideously with its open jaws until we killed it. My stick, if Pliny is to be believed, would be serviceable to women in childbirth.

Besides the creatures that breed in the building, I keep a good many animals, which furnish my people with employment and amusement. I am heartily glad to have something for them to do, as otherwise they would get terribly homesick. For what better resource is left us in our isolation than seeking to forget our cares in the society of animals? There is not much amusement to be had, I warrant you, in a great stone prison-house like ours. The chief favourites are the monkeys, on account of their strange tricks, which are very amusing. You may generally see round their cage a group of admiring bystanders, who watch their mischievous pranks with the keenest interest. I have also wolves, bears, broad-horned stags—which are frequently but incorrectly called fallow deer—and common deer, likewise gazelles, lynxes, ichneumons, and of the weasel kind the varieties called martens and sables; also, if you care to know, a pig as well, whose companionship I am told by my grooms is wholesome for horses. I certainly ought to have given him a place in my catalogue, as he attracts numbers of Asiatics to my lodging. They come to see this unclean animal, which the laws of their religion forbid their tasting. The beast is all the more interesting to them, because pigs are never kept, or even seen, in their country. Indeed, a Turk would as lief touch one of them as I would touch a man with the plague.

I will tell you a capital story of a friend of mine, who took advantage of this prejudice. He wished to send me a private parcel, so he got a little pig, and put it with the parcel in a sack, which he then told his servant to take to me. When he came to the door my cavasse met him, and asked him what he had got in the sack. The servant whispered in his ear, ‘It is a little pig, a present from a friend.’ The cavasse gave the sack a poke with his stick, on which the little pig began to squeak. The moment he heard it he made a hasty retreat, crying out, ‘Well, take your nasty dirty present in, if you must, and be hanged to you.’ Then, with a look of intense disgust, he turned to his fellow Mussulmans, and said, ‘How extraordinarily fond the Christians are of the flesh of that filthiest of animals; they positively cannot live without it.’ Thus the servant was admitted, and brought in the secret parcel.

I have also many kinds of birds, such as eagles, ravens, jackdaws, foreign kinds of ducks, Balearic cranes, and partridges. From this you will see that my house is full of animals, ‘A Noah’s ark, in short,’ as one of my friends observed.

Not only is the menagerie a great resource for my people by keeping them from fretting, but I also derive advantage from it myself, as I am able to verify the wonderful stories I have read in various authors of the great affection beasts are capable of entertaining towards human beings. I never ventured to accept these statements for facts, until I saw an Assyrian lynx so attach himself to one of my people after only a few days’ acquaintance, that one could only explain it by the theory that he had fallen in love with him. When he was present the lynx would give him many caresses that plainly showed his affection, hugging and all but kissing him. When he wished to go, the animal would try to detain him by placing its claws gently on the hem of his garment, and would cast wistful looks after him as he went away. During his absence the lynx was in a state of the deepest melancholy, constantly gazing at the door till the man returned; on which the creature, strange to say, recovered his spirits and welcomed his friend. When I took the man away with me to the Turkish camp across the water, the poor beast was inconsolable, refused its food, and after a few days pined away. I was much annoyed at this, for I had intended to make him, with a very tame ichneumon I had, a present to the Emperor, on account of the remarkable beauty of his coat; it was indeed so handsome, that if a common lynx were set by his side you would hardly think that they both belonged to the same species. It is in Assyria that the handsomest lynxes are found, and their skins are worth fifteen or sixteen golden crowns. I have no doubt that they are the same as the Babylonian skins considered so valuable in former days, which are mentioned in the Digest in the chapter on Farmers of the Revenue.[165]

Here is another story, which relates to a bird. Among other cranes I have a Balearic one. This species is distinguished from the common kinds by a white tuft of feathers hanging down from either ear, and also by the black feathers which cover the front of its neck. These last the Turks are wont to stick in their caps. It also differs in size from common cranes. This Balearic crane I speak of showed most distinct signs of affection for a Spanish soldier, whom I ransomed from captivity, being so attached to him that it used to march beside him for many hours as he walked, to halt when he stopped, and to stay by him when he sat down; and it allowed itself to be stroked and patted by him, though it could not bear to be touched by any one else. When he was away, it used to go to his room and knock at the door with its beak. If it was opened, it pried about to see if it could find him. When it found itself disappointed, it used to go all over the house and disturb us all with cries so loud and shrill that we were obliged in self-defence to shut it up; but when he returned, it would run to meet him with outspread wings and queer comical gestures, as if it were practising some outlandish jig, or preparing to do battle with a pygmy.[166] To be short, at last it made a custom of sleeping under his bed; and one day actually presented him with an egg.[167]

You have heard the marks of affection for men displayed by two animals. I will now give you an instance of an ungrateful beast, which proved itself both savage and treacherous. I had a tame stag which lived with us for many months and seemed quite domesticated. When the rutting season arrived, however, he suddenly became so frantic, that, forgetful of the ties of hospitality and kindness, he as it were declared war on us and treated us all like enemies, attacking with his horns everyone he met, so that we were obliged to shut him up. One night he broke out in spite of bars and bolts, and frightened the horses, which, after the Turkish fashion, were passing the night in the open air in the courtyard. When the grooms ran out to quiet the disturbance, and tried to drive the stag back to his prison, he not only refused to go in, but turned on the men and wounded several of them. Excited by this they drove the foe into the stable, which, as I said, was very spacious, and there with my permission attacked him with lances, hunting spears, and every weapon that came to hand. At first he made a gallant defence, but at last, overcome by numbers, he fell pierced with wounds in every limb; for more than forty men were arrayed against him, and he was all alone. Thus he atoned for his bad conduct to his hosts. All the ambassadors at Constantinople had a share of the fruits of that night’s chase, for I had the stag cut up and sent them each a present of venison.

The stag was one of very large size, like those that are in the habit of going up from Hungary to Austria at the beginning of autumn for the purpose of mating with their kind. I got him from beggars who made a profit of him. They went about collecting alms, and before asking for money they repeated a prayer, in which there was frequent mention of the name of God. As often as it occurred they bowed their heads, and they had trained the stag to do the same. By this the lower orders were led to imagine that the animal recognised the name of God, and gave many a penny to its owners. As the stag was an unusually fine specimen of its kind, I had intended bringing him to the Emperor.

Now that we are talking of Turkish beggars, I may as well give you some account of their ways. They are not so numerous as with us, and for the most part consist of religious impostors of one kind or another, wandering from place to place. Some feign madness or idiocy as an excuse for their begging, for lunatics and crazy folk are considered sure of salvation by the Turks, and therefore regarded as saints whilst still on earth. There are Arabs too among them, who carry about with them banners, under which they declare their ancestors fought to extend the Moslem religion. They do not beg indiscriminately or from everybody, but force upon the passers-by in the evening a tallow candle, a lemon, or a pomegranate, for which they expect double or treble its value, that so by a pretence of selling they may avoid the disgrace of asking.

But the people who among us are beggars among them are slaves, for when a slave has lost the use of his limbs his master is still bound to maintain him; besides, however feeble a slave may be, they manage to get some service from him. I remember ransoming a Spanish gentleman, who had been an officer in his own army. Though he was completely crippled by his wounds, yet the Turk who had bought him managed to make some profit of him. He took him over to Asia, where flocks of geese are kept, and hired him out as goose-herd, by which he turned a nice little penny.

I have my doubts as to whether the man who first abolished slavery is to be regarded as a public benefactor. I know that slavery brings with it various disadvantages, but these are counterbalanced by corresponding advantages. If a just and mild form of slavery, such as the Roman laws ordained, especially with the State for master, had continued, perhaps fewer gallows and gibbets would be needed to keep those in order who, having nothing but life and liberty, are driven by want into every conceivable crime. Freedom when combined with extreme poverty has made many a man a rascal; it causes temptation such as few can resist. Nature has denied to many the power of self-control, and the knowledge which is indispensable for acting aright; they need the support and guidance of a superior as the only means of stopping them in their career of vice. They are like savage animals, and require chains to prevent their becoming dangerous.

In Turkey the class which is likely to go astray is controlled by a master’s authority, while the master is supported by the slave’s labour. Both publicly and privately the Turks derive great advantages from this institution. Slave labour enables them to live both comfortably and economically; indeed they have a proverb to the effect that no one can be considered poor as long as he is master of a single slave. So also in the department of public works, if there is any building, removing, clearing, or breaking up to be done, there is a constant supply of slave labour to execute the work. We never attain the grandeur of the works of antiquity. What is the reason? Hands are wanting, or, in other words, slave labour. I need not mention what means of acquiring every kind of knowledge the ancients possessed in learned and educated slaves. Well, well, you must not put down all this as my serious opinion; it is a mere fancy which I should be sorry you should take in sober earnest.[168]

Slave-hunting is the chief source of profit to the Turkish soldier. If he brings back from a campaign nothing except one or two slaves, he may consider himself well repaid for his exertions, as the price of an ordinary slave is from forty to fifty crowns, and twice this sum may be obtained for a slave who is young or handsome or a skilful craftsman. This will give you a notion of the gain they make, when they carry off some five or six thousand prisoners from a town, and will show you how profitable their raids must be. I observe that the Romans also did not despise gains of this kind; nay, their own writers tell us how they sold by public auction the populations of entire cities, numbering 25,000 or 30,000 souls. The Turks would make of such a booty fifteen hundred thousand crowns more or less. They abstain, however, from exercising the rights of war over men of their own religion, and allow them to retain the status of freemen unimpaired.

But to return from this digression. As I have already spoken of my hunting, I must now tell you about my fowling. Kind as the Turks are to all animals, they are especially so to birds, and most of all to the kites, whom they regard as useful scavengers of their city. Accordingly these creatures, having neither snares nor missiles to fear, are to be found in numbers at Constantinople, and are wonderfully tame. They come at one’s whistle, and pounce on pieces of food which are thrown into the air. My plan is to order a sheep to be killed; the kites are then whistled for, and fragments of the offal are thrown into the air. In a moment some ten, twelve, or twenty appear, and presently they gather so thick as almost to overshadow the house. Some are so bold that they will snatch the meat from my people’s hands as they hold it out. Meanwhile I post myself behind a pillar with my crossbow,[169] pick out a kite, and make my clay bullets rattle on its wings or tail, till I have brought down one or two. I am obliged to bolt my gates before indulging in this sport for fear of irritating the Turks.

Talking of birds, I must tell you about my partridges, so that you may have a full account of all my amusements, and may perhaps feel the same surprise about the habits of these birds that I did. I had some partridges from Chios with red beaks and red legs, so tame that they became quite tiresome. They were continually at my feet, beating the dust from my velvet slippers with their beaks to dust themselves with. They got so troublesome that I ordered them to be shut up in a room, where they grew so fat that they died after a few days’ confinement. At least this is the account my servants give, and the question is whether to believe them or Pliny, for the latter has a passage to the effect that hares and partridges never grow fat. So far you have no ground for surprise, but listen to the rest of the story. Chios abounds in birds of this kind, which live there in the houses. Almost every peasant keeps more or less of them, according to his means or inclination. At dawn the public herd summons them by a whistle, and they run out in crowds, and gather on the road. Then following their keeper, like sheep do with us, they go into the fields, where they feed and sun themselves all day long. Towards evening they are recalled by the same signal, and return home in a body to their several roosts. This habit is said to be formed by the peasants putting the birds, as soon as they are hatched, into their bosom inside their shirt, and so carrying them about and nursing them for a day or two, lifting them from time to time to their mouth and feeding them with spittle. They become attached to their masters by such kind treatment (for indeed almost every animal has a more lasting feeling of gratitude than man), and do not forget those who nursed them. One precaution only must be taken; they must not be allowed to pass the night in the fields, for if this should occur once or twice they readily return to their natural habits, and prefer a free life to the company of man. I am doing my best to secure one of these partridge-tamers for the Emperor, so as to introduce the art into our country. Although I have not seen with my own eyes this system in practice, yet its existence is established by witnesses so numerous and credible, that I place the same reliance on my ears that I should on my eyes. The same may be said of the following anecdote, which is here so commonly reported and so universally admitted, that any one, who ventures to throw doubt upon it, is thought an ignoramus. Those who come hither from Egypt, as many do every day, uniformly declare, that in that country eggs are not put under hens to be hatched in our fashion, but that in spring a sort of vast oven is made out of a big dunghill by certain men who carry on the trade. To this the whole neighbourhood far and wide bring their eggs, which are put in and quickened by the heat of the sun and the rotting dung. In due time the eggs produce chickens, which are distributed by the managers of the business to the people who brought the eggs, not by counting, for that would be too long a process, but by measure. I have less hesitation in telling you this, as there is a passage in Vopiscus quoting a letter of Adrian’s, in which he vents his wrath on the Egyptians in the following words:—‘I wish them nothing worse than to be fed on their own chickens, which are bred in a way too foul to speak of.’[170] I have no doubt this was an old custom among the Egyptians, and I suspect it was on that account that Adrian reproached them with the foulness of their food, inasmuch as they lived on chickens hatched in dunghills. I may, however, be mistaken, and I leave the point for your decision.

I will now complete the catalogue of my amusements. I keep several thoroughbred horses, both Syrian, Cilician, Arabian, and Cappadocian, and also baggage camels, so as always to have cattle ready for my return journey. I do this, because I wish the Turks to believe that, having fulfilled all my master’s instructions, I am only waiting for the Sultan’s permission to depart; for this I have now been pressing for a long time past in very urgent terms, the truth being that, in consequence of their present discords and the civil war between the brothers, I do not despair of negotiating a peace on fair and reasonable terms.

I am particularly fond of watching my horses, when in the summer evenings they are led out from their stable one by one, and picketed in the courtyard to enjoy the night air, and take their repose in cooler quarters. They come prancing from their stalls with their necks arched, tossing their manes as if they appreciated the interest we take in them. Their fore-feet are hobbled, and one of their hind-feet is fastened by a rope to a peg. The Turkish horse is the gentlest creature in the world, and also the most capable of attachment to its master or groom. These qualities are the results of the kind treatment they receive from the Turks during their early training. I saw, when I was travelling to Cappadocia through Pontus or the part of Bithynia which is deservedly called Axylos[171] (woodless), what care the peasants take of the foals while they are still quite young and tender, how they pet them, how they bring them into their rooms and almost to their tables, and how they handle them and stroke them. They seemed to regard them almost as their children. Round their neck all have a band like a necklace full of amulets against the evil eye, which is greatly dreaded. The grooms in whose care they are placed treat them with equal kindness, making them fond of them by continually stroking them, and never beating them cruelly with a stick unless they are absolutely compelled to do so. Being thus used they become extremely attached to men, and yet you will not find one which this treatment has made a kicker or a biter or refractory. Such vices are seldom met with in this country. But, good heavens, how different our system is from theirs! According to our method grooms think it essential to use the roughest words and loudest tones in talking to their horses, and to be for ever thrashing them. The consequence is that the horses quiver all over with terror on their entering the stable, and regard them with equal hatred and fear.[172]

The Turks like to have them trained to kneel down at command and so take up their rider, and to pick up from the ground in their teeth a stick, a mace, or a sword, and to give it to their master in the saddle. When they have learned to do these things, as an honour and a mark of their proficiency, they fit silver rings in their nostrils, to show that they have been thoroughly trained. I saw a horse who, when his master was thrown from the saddle, would stand by him without moving a step, and others who would go round their groom, as he stood at a distance, and halt at his bidding. I also saw some who, when their master was dining with me in a room upstairs, kept their ears pricked up to catch his voice, and neighed when they heard it. It is a peculiarity of these horses that they always come in at the end of their work with stiff and outstretched necks. Again, they cannot be pulled up or turned sharply, which I think

I may say is the fault of the bit, which is of the same kind and shape throughout Turkey, and is not, as among us, made more or less severe to suit the horse’s mouth. Their horses’ shoes are not so wide open in the middle as with us, but are almost solid and unbroken, so as to protect the feet more thoroughly.[173] Turkish horses live much longer than ours, for you may see some twenty years old with as much spirit and strength as eight-year-olds have with us, and some, which for their great services were pensioned for life in the Sultan’s stables, are said to have lasted to their fiftieth year, and even longer. During the hot summer nights the Turks do not keep their horses under cover, but expose them, as I said, to the night air with horse-cloths over them, their litter being composed of dry dung. For this purpose all through the year they gather the horses’ droppings, and after drying them in the sun break them up into powder. This forms their horses’ bedding, and is the only kind of litter they have. They use no straw, not even for food, but diet their horses on a moderate portion of hay and a little barley. They prefer having them too thin to too fat, considering that in this condition they are fitter for travelling and work of every kind. They cover their horses with the rugs I mentioned, in summer just the same as in winter, but change them according to the season. They consider these coverings useful for producing a sleek coat, and also necessary as a protection against cold, for their horses are chilly and cannot stand exposure.

As I said, I enjoy looking at my horses when, towards sunset, they are being picketed out in the court. When I call them by their names of Arab or Caramanian, or whatever else it may be, they neigh in reply, and give me a look. I have taught them to know me by sometimes going down and giving them each a pumpkin skin. In truth I am glad of any employment to divert my thoughts from my troubles.

I have six she camels procured, nominally for the purpose of carrying baggage, but in reality that I may bring them to the royal family, as I think it not impossible that they may like to keep a stud of these useful animals. There are two things from which, in my opinion, the Turks derive the greatest advantage, namely, rice among grains and the camel among beasts of burden, both of which are exceedingly well suited for the distant campaigns they make. The first keeps well, affords a wholesome food for men, and a little of it goes a long way. Camels carry the heaviest weights, endure hunger and thirst, and require very little care. One driver can attend to six camels. They are, I may say, the most obedient creatures in the world, and they need no currycomb or scraper, but are groomed with brushes as clothes are with us. They lie, or, more correctly speaking, kneel on the bare ground to receive their loads. But if the load should be excessive, they give a grunt by way of protest and refuse to rise. If the weight be unduly heavy, it does not take much to rupture them, especially if the road be muddy or slippery. It is a pretty sight to see them kneeling in a circle with their heads together, and taking their food and drink out of the same bucket or manger without any quarrelling or discontent, though their fare be scanty. On an emergency, if food is scarce, they browse on brambles and thorns, and the more these make their mouths bleed the more they enjoy them. The Scythians supply some camels, but more are produced by Syria and Assyria, where they are kept in very large herds and are bred in great numbers. They are so cheap there, that sometimes a mare of good pedigree is bartered for a hundred camels. Yet in this perhaps it is not the cheapness of the camels that is so wonderful as the price asked and given for the mares, for such mares are valued so highly that the owner of one considers himself a rich man. The test of their excellence consists in their being ridden down the side of a steep and high mountain, and those that do not stumble in the descent are highly prized.

The Turkish monarch going to war takes with him over 40,000 camels and nearly as many baggage mules, of which a great part, when he is invading Persia, are loaded with rice and other kinds of grain. These mules and camels also serve to carry tents and armour, and likewise tools and munitions for the campaign. The territories, which bear the name of Persia, and are ruled by the Sophi, or Kizilbash as the Turks call him,[174] are less fertile than our country, and even such crops as they bear are laid waste by the inhabitants in time of invasion in hopes of starving out the enemy, so that it is very dangerous for an army to invade Persia, if it be not furnished with abundant supplies. The invading army carefully abstains from encroaching on its magazines at the outset; as they are well aware that, when the season for campaigning draws to a close, they will have to retreat over districts wasted by the enemy, or scraped as bare by countless hordes of men and droves of baggage animals, as if they had been devastated by locusts; accordingly they reserve their stores as much as possible for this emergency. Then the Sultan’s magazines are opened, and a ration just sufficient to sustain life is daily weighed out to the Janissaries and other troops of the royal household.[175] The rest of the army are badly off, unless they have provided some supplies at their own expense. And this is generally the case, for the greater number, and especially the cavalry, having from their long experience in war already felt such inconveniences, lead with them a sumpter horse by a halter, on which they carry many of the necessaries of life; namely, a small piece of canvas which they use as a tent, for protection against sun and rain, with the addition of some clothes and bedding; and as provisions for their private use, a leathern bag or two of the finest flour, with a small pot of butter, and some spices and salt, on which they sustain life when they are hard pressed. On such occasions they take out a few spoonfuls of flour and put them into water, adding some butter, and seasoning the mess with salt and spices; these ingredients are boiled, and a large bowl of gruel is thus obtained. Of this they eat once or twice a day, according to the quantity they have, without any bread, unless they have brought some biscuit with them. In this way they are able to support themselves from their own supplies for a month, or if necessary longer. Some fill a bladder with beef, dried and reduced to powder, which forms a highly nutritious food and expands greatly in the cooking, like the flour of which I spoke above. Sometimes too they have recourse to horseflesh; dead horses are of course plentiful in their great hosts, and such beasts as are in good condition when they die furnish a meal not to be despised by famished soldiers. I must not forget to tell you of the men who have lost their horses. When the Sultan moves his camp they stand in a long line by the side of the road with their saddles on their heads, as a sign that they have lost their steeds and need assistance for the purchase of others. An allowance is then made to them by the Sultan at his discretion.

From this you will see that it is the patience, self-denial, and thrift of the Turkish soldier that enable him to face the most trying circumstances, and come safely out of the dangers that surround him. What a contrast to our men! Christian soldiers on a campaign refuse to put up with their ordinary food, and call for thrushes, becaficos, and such like dainty dishes! If these are not supplied they grow mutinous and work their own ruin; and, if they are supplied, they are ruined all the same. For each man is his own worst enemy, and has no foe more deadly than his own intemperance, which is sure to kill him, if the enemy be not quick. It makes me shudder to think of what the result of a struggle between such different systems must be; one of us must prevail and the other be destroyed, at any rate we cannot both exist in safety. On their side is the vast wealth of their empire, unimpaired resources, experience and practice in arms, a veteran soldiery, an uninterrupted series of victories, readiness to endure hardships, union, order, discipline, thrift, and watchfulness. On ours are found an empty exchequer, luxurious habits, exhausted resources, broken spirits, a raw and insubordinate soldiery, and greedy generals; there is no regard for discipline, license runs riot, the men indulge in drunkenness and debauchery, and, worst of all, the enemy are accustomed to victory, we, to defeat. Can we doubt what the result must be? The only obstacle is Persia, whose position on his rear forces the invader to take precautions. The fear of Persia gives us a respite, but it is only for a time. When he has secured himself in that quarter, he will fall upon us with all the resources of the East. How ill prepared we are to meet such an attack it is not for me to say.

I now return to the point from which I made this digression. I mentioned that baggage animals are used in a campaign for carrying armour and tents. These for the most part belong to the Janissaries. The Turks take great care to have their soldiers in good health and protected against the inclemency of the weather. They must defend themselves from the enemy, for their health the State will undertake to provide. Therefore you may see a Turk better clad than armed. They are especially afraid of cold, and even in summer time wear three garments, of which the innermost one, or shirt, is woven of coarse thread and gives a great deal of warmth. For protection against cold and rain they are furnished with tents, in which each man is given just room enough for his body, so that one tent holds twenty-five or thirty Janissaries. The cloth for the clothes I referred to is supplied by the State, and is distributed after the following fashion. The soldiers at nightfall are summoned by companies to the office for the distribution of such stores, where parcels of cloth are ready in separate packets according to the number of men in each company. They march in, and take their chance in the dark, so that if any soldier’s cloth is of inferior quality to that of his comrades, he has nought to grumble at save his own bad luck. For the same reason their pay is not given them by tale, but by weight, to prevent anyone accusing the paymaster of giving him light or clipped coins. Moreover, their pay is always given them the day before it is actually due.

The convoy of armour, of which I spoke, is intended chiefly for the use of the royal horse-guards, as the Janissaries are lightly equipped, and generally do not fight at close quarters, but at a distance with muskets. Well, when the enemy is near, and a battle is expected, the stock of armour is produced, consisting for the most part of antiquated pieces picked up on the fields which have been the scene of Turkish victories; they are distributed to the royal horse guards, who at other times have only their light shield to protect them. Where so little pains is taken to provide each man with a suit that fits him, I need hardly tell you that they are but clumsily equipped. One man’s cuirass is too tight, another’s helmet too big; a third gets a coat of mail too heavy for him to bear; one way or another no one is properly accoutred. Yet they never grumble, holding that a man who quarrels with his armour must needs be a cowardly fellow, and are confident that they will make a stout fight of it themselves whatever their equipment may be. This feeling is the result of their great successes and military experience. In the same spirit they do not hesitate to turn their veteran infantry, who never have fought on horseback, into cavalry, for they are firmly convinced that a man who has courage and military experience will do brave service in whatever kind of fighting he may be engaged.

I think the Romans were of the same opinion, especially Julius Cæsar, who they relate was wont to say, ‘his soldiers even when perfumed would fight well.’[176] For what should we consider to have been his intention, when, before he went to his conference with Ariovistus, he mounted the tenth legion? In my opinion it was that they might fight on horseback if necessary, a kind of fighting to which they were by no means accustomed. For we know that among the Romans the drill of the infantry was quite different from that of the cavalry. But if, in your opinion, Cæsar’s design was to transport the legion on horses and employ them on foot, we are driven to the conclusion that Cæsar involved his troops in a most hazardous operation. For the highly trained cavalry of Ariovistus were so close that they could annoy the Romans with stones; consequently, if they had suddenly charged, the legion would have had no time to dismount, send their horses to the rear, and form line of battle. According to our notions, such an arrangement would have been the height of folly. But, whichever of these explanations is the correct one, it was by confidence in their experience of arms, though with a training quite different from our system, that the Romans in ancient times brought their wars to a triumphant conclusion, and the same reason will account for the uniform successes of the Turks in modern days. But enough of this.

I now return to what I mentioned, namely, that the Turks behave kindly to every sort of animal. The dog among them is considered a foul and unclean animal, and therefore they keep it out of their houses; its place is taken by the cat, a creature endowed, as they think, with far more correct notions of propriety than the dog. For this preference they quote the example of Mahomet their lawgiver, who was so fond of his cat, that when she had fallen asleep on his sleeve as he sat at table, and the hour summoned him to the mosque to his devotions, he preferred to cut off his sleeve rather than disturb her sleep. Notwithstanding that such is their feeling about dogs, and though they are public property, not having masters, and watching special streets and wards rather than particular houses, and though they live on the refuse which is thrown out into the highways, yet if there should be in the neighbourhood a bitch with young, they go to her and pile round her bones and scraps of cakes and porridge, and this they think a charitable action. If, in conversation on this topic, I accused them of giving to a brute what they probably would not give to a rational being of their own nation, or at any rate would refuse to a Christian, they replied, that inasmuch as God has endowed man with reason, a noble organ for every purpose, so that no misfortune befalls him, which he has not brought on himself by his own misconduct, he therefore deserves less compassion; but that nothing has been granted to brutes by God except certain natural instincts and appetites, which they cannot help following, and, therefore, they have a claim upon us for sympathy and assistance. For this reason they are indignant if any beast be put to death by torture, or pleasure be sought in its slaughter, as a Venetian goldsmith lately found to his cost. He was amusing himself with bird-catching, and had taken among others a bird the size of a cuckoo, and almost the same colour; its beak was not large, but its throat could be expanded by force so as to receive the fist of a full-grown man. As he was naturally fond of a joke, and was struck by the strangeness of the phenomenon, he fastened the bird to the lintel of his door with its wings outspread and with its throat forced open by a peg, so as to show a huge orifice. The Turks who were passing by in crowds kept stopping and looking up, but when they perceived the bird was alive and moving, struck with compassion they exclaimed, it was a shame that a harmless bird should be so tortured, called the goldsmith out, seized him by the neck, and dragged him before the judge who tries capital charges, and he was near being bastinadoed, when a messenger came from the gentleman, who administers the law to the Venetians at Constantinople, and is called the Venetian Baily,[177] to demand his release; the application was favourably received by the judge, and the goldsmith was dismissed, to the great indignation of the Turks who were present. Thus was he preserved. This goldsmith was a frequent visitor at my house, and I had a hearty laugh when he told me the whole story, and what a fright he had had. Moreover he brought the bird for my inspection. I have described its appearance, and it is said to fly at night and suck cows’ udders. I fancy it is the same as the goat-sucker of the ancients. This story will show you how merciful the Turks are to all kinds of animals, and especially to birds.[178]

Opposite our lodging there is a lofty plane tree remarkable for the extent of ground its branches cover, and the thickness of its foliage; here bird-catchers sometimes station themselves with a great number of small birds. Many people go to them and ransom their prisoners for a trifle, and then release them from their hands one by one. They generally fly up into the plane tree, where they clean themselves from the dirt of their cages, chirping all the while. Then the Turks who ransomed them say to each other: ‘Do you hear how yon bird congratulates himself on his freedom, and is thanking me for it?’

You will ask then, are the Turks such Pythagoreans that every animal is considered sacred among them, and that they eat no flesh? Far from it; on the contrary they usually abstain from nothing that may be set before them, whether boiled or roast. Indeed they say that sheep were born for slaughter, but they think it atrocious that people should seek to find pleasure in their agonies and torments. As for the smaller birds, who make the country places and fields resound with their song, some of the Turks cannot be induced to kill them, or even to keep them shut up in cages, thinking it a shame to rob them of their liberty. There are different opinions, however, among them on this subject. Some at any rate keep in their houses nightingales, that sing very sweetly, and make a profit by hiring them out in the spring-time. I have seen people carrying about goldfinches so well trained, that, when a coin was shown them from a window above, they would fly to almost any distance to get it; and, if the holder did not let it be pulled away, they would perch on his hand and go with him from room to room, trying all the time to wrest the coin out of his hand; the moment they got it, they would fly back by the way they had come to their master, who was standing in the street and calling them back by ringing a bell, and would give him the coin, receiving some hemp-seed as a reward. But I must stop, or you will think that I wish to imitate Pliny or Ælian, and compose a history of animals.

Passing on to other topics, I will tell you about Turkish women and the manner in which they are guarded. The Turks are the most careful people in the world of the modesty of their wives, and therefore keep them shut up at home and hide them away, so that they scarce see the light of day.[179] But if they have to go into the streets, they are sent out so covered and wrapt up in veils that they seem to those who meet them mere gliding ghosts. They have the means of seeing men through their linen or silken veils, while no part of their own body is exposed to men’s view. For it is a received opinion among them, that no woman who is distinguished in the very smallest degree by her figure or youth, can be seen by a man without his desiring her, and therefore without her receiving some contamination; and so it is the universal practice to confine the women to the harem. Their brothers are allowed to see them, but not their brothers-in-law. Men of the richer classes, or of higher rank, make it a condition when they marry, that their wives shall never set foot outside the threshold, and that no man or woman shall be admitted to see them for any reason whatever, not even their nearest relations, except their fathers and mothers, who are allowed to pay a visit to their daughters at the Turkish Easter.[180]

On the other hand, if the wife has a father of high rank, or has brought a larger dowry than usual, the husband promises on his part that he will take no concubine, but will keep to her alone. Otherwise, the Turks are not forbidden by any law to have as many concubines as they please in addition to their lawful wives. Between the children of wives and those of concubines there is no distinction, and they are considered to have equal rights. As for concubines they either buy them for themselves or win them in war; when they are tired of them there is nothing to prevent their bringing them to market and selling them; but they are entitled to their freedom if they have borne children to their master. This privilege Roxolana, Solyman’s wife, turned to her own advantage, when she had borne him a son while still a slave. Having thus obtained her freedom, and become her own mistress, she refused to submit any longer to his will, unless, contrary to the custom of the Ottoman Sultans, she was made his lawful wife. The only distinction between the lawful wife and the concubine is, that the former has a dowry, while the slaves have none. A wife who has a portion settled on her is mistress of her husband’s house, and all the other women have to obey her orders. The husband, however, may choose which of them shall spend the night with him. He makes known his wishes to the wife, and she sends to him the slave he has selected. Hardly a pleasant task, one would fancy, for a wife, whatever the feelings of the other might be! Only Friday night, which is their Sabbath, is supposed to belong to the wife; and she grumbles if her husband deprives her of it. On all the other nights he may do as he pleases.

Divorces are granted among them for many reasons which it is easy for the husbands to invent. The divorced wife receives back her dowry, unless the divorce has been caused by some fault on her part. There is more difficulty in a woman’s getting a divorce from her husband. Among the reasons which are considered sufficient for granting a divorce are the deprivation of the necessaries of life by the husband, and certain kinds of ill treatment. In the latter case the woman goes before the judge, and makes a declaration that she is unable to remain any longer with her husband; when the judge asks the reason, she gives no answer, but takes off one of her shoes and turns it upside down. This the judge accepts as sufficient evidence that her husband has treated her improperly.

People of consideration with large harems appoint eunuchs to guard them. They also have baths at home, in which they and their women perform their ablutions, while people of smaller means patronise the public baths. They consider cleanliness of the body as even of more importance in a religious point of view than purity of the soul, which is the reason of their frequent ablutions. The great mass of women use the public baths for females, and assemble there in large numbers. Among them are found many girls of exquisite beauty, who have been brought together from different quarters of the globe by various chances of fortune; so cases occur of women falling in love with one another at these baths, in much the same fashion as young men fall in love with maidens in our own country. Thus you see a Turk’s precautions are sometimes of no avail, and when he has succeeded in keeping his wives from a male lover, he is still in danger from a female rival! The women become deeply attached to each other, and the baths supply them with opportunities of meeting. Some therefore keep their women away from them as much as possible, but they cannot do so altogether, as the law allows them to go there. This evil affects only the common people; the richer classes bathe at home, as I mentioned.

It happened that in a gathering of this kind, an elderly woman fell in love with a girl, the daughter of an inhabitant of Constantinople, a man of small means. When her courtship and flatteries were not attended with the success her mad passion demanded, she ventured on a course, which to our notions appears almost incredible. Changing her dress, she pretended she was a man, and hired a house near where the girl’s father lived, representing herself as one of the slaves of the Sultan, belonging to the class of cavasses; and it was not long before she took advantage of her position as a neighbour, cultivated the father’s acquaintance, and asked for his daughter in marriage. Need I say more? The proposal appearing to be satisfactory, the father readily consents, and promises a dowry proportionate to his means. The wedding-day was fixed, and then this charming bridegroom enters the chamber of the bride, takes off her veil,[181] and begins to chat with her. She recognises at once her old acquaintance, screams out, and calls back her father and mother, who discover that they have given their daughter in marriage to a woman instead of a man. The next day they bring her before the Aga of the Janissaries, who was governing the city in the Sultan’s absence. He tells her that an old woman like her ought to know better than to attempt so mad a freak, and asks, if she is not ashamed of herself? She replies, ‘Tush! you know not the might of love, and God grant that you may never experience its power.’ At this the Aga could not restrain his laughter; and ordered her to be carried off at once, and drowned in the sea. Thus the strange passion of this old woman brought her to a bad end.

The Turks do not inquire very closely into secret vices, that they may not give an opportunity for false charges, but they punish severely open profligacy and crimes that are detected.

I am afraid your ears have been offended by my account of such an instance of wickedness; but, if I can, I will remove by a pleasanter story any disagreeable impressions the former may have left, for I am quite sure you will have a good laugh over what I am going to tell you.

There came lately during the disturbances in Hungary a courier from the Emperor. The Pashas desired that he should not as usual be brought directly to me, but first be taken to the Divan, their object being to know the contents of the Emperor’s letters before they were delivered to me, as they suspected that many things were suppressed, and that I did not give them a faithful account of the tenor of despatches. The courier, however, foreseeing what was coming, concealed the Emperor’s packet, and delivered only my private letters. The Pashas had been previously informed by their interpreter Ibrahim, who is by birth a Pole, that despatches which contained confidential instructions were not written in the usual characters, but in a new sort of letters; namely, in what we call cipher. As they were examining all the letters, they chanced to come upon one from a friend of mine, the Burgundian Secretary, which Ibrahim perceived was written on unusually thin paper, through which the letters could be seen when held to the light. He exclaimed, ‘I have found it,’ and told them to let the others be, saying this was the one that contained important matter. The Pashas, telling him to break the seal, read it, and translate it, assumed an attitude of attention and expectation. Ibrahim, however, declared that he could not make out a single letter. At this the Pashas were amazed, and asked him if he had never learnt, or had forgotten, Christian characters? to which Ibrahim replied, that this kind of writing was known only to the confidential secretaries of Sovereigns. As they did not clearly understand his answer, they said: ‘But if so, why do you delay? why don’t you hurry off at once to the Secretary of the Venetian or the Florentine Baily?’ Off flew Ibrahim in hot haste. Now the letter was written in such characters that a boy ten years old could have read it, but both the Secretaries, seeing it was addressed to me, after one glance returned it, declaring that without a knowledge of the private key it was impossible for anyone to decipher the writing. Ibrahim returned with this reply, and the Pashas then deliberated what was to be done. Then some one made the following suggestion: ‘There is in the city the Patriarch, who is acquainted with many kinds of characters; if he, being an old man and a Christian, cannot read them no one else can.’ They agreed to the proposal, but the Patriarch declared that he could not make out a single jot of them, for the characters were neither Greek, nor Latin, nor Hebrew, nor Chaldee. So they brought the letter back having had their trouble for nothing. Then, Ali Pasha, though on other occasions he showed that he was by no means a fool, turned to Roostem and said, ‘Cardassi (which means ‘brother’ in Turkish), I remember I had a slave, by birth an Italian, who knew all languages and characters. Were he still alive I feel no doubt that he could have read and interpreted these characters; but he died some time ago.’ Not knowing what further plan to adopt, they decided to send me the letters as they could make no use of them. When I had heard the whole story from Ibrahim (for it was impossible to conceal it), I made vehement complaints, and was very indignant at their having thus intercepted my letters, without paying any regard to international law, or to the Emperor from whom they had come; and I also told him to wait and hear some passages translated from them, that he might communicate them to the Pashas the next day.

On the morrow, when he appeared in the Divan, the Pashas asked him, ‘could I read those characters?’ ‘As easily,’ said Ibrahim, ‘as his own name;’ and at the same time proceeded to lay before them certain statements which I had desired him to communicate. Then Roostem remarked: ‘The Ambassador is a young man, and yet he understands what the old Patriarch cannot so much as read; he will certainly turn out a great man, if he attains old age.’

I do not know if it was in consequence of this occurrence, or of something else, that this same Roostem, in the course of a conversation I had with him some days afterwards on public business, began to throw off his usual reserve, and finally went so far as to ask me, ‘Whether I had any objection to be initiated into their religion, and to become a worshipper of the true God? If I should do so, Solyman, through his influence, was ready to confer on me great honours and great rewards.’ I replied that I was determined to remain in the religion in which I was born, and which was professed by my master. ‘Very well,’ said Roostem; ‘but what is to become of your soul?’ ‘For my soul too,’ I replied, ‘I have good hopes.’ Then, after a moment’s reflection, he said, ‘You are right; and I myself do not dissent from the doctrine that men who have passed this life in holiness and innocence will be partakers of eternal bliss, whatever religion they may have followed.’ Such views are entertained by some Turks, but they are thought heretical, and Roostem himself is not considered altogether orthodox. The Turks deem it their duty and an act of charity, to make one offer to a Christian of whom they have a good opinion, of partaking in their rites and religion, in the hope of saving, if they can, a man otherwise destined to eternal perdition, and think such an offer is to be considered the greatest possible honour and mark of kindness they can show.

I will now give you another conversation with Roostem, that you may understand how widely the Persians are separated from the Turks by religion.[182] He once asked me if war was still going on between the Kings of Spain and France. On my replying that it was, ‘What right have they,’ said he, ‘to wage war on each other, when they are united by the ties of religion?’ ‘The same,’ said I, ‘as you have to fight with the Persians. There are cities, provinces, and kingdoms about which they are at variance.’ ‘It is quite a different case,’ said Roostem, ‘for we, you must know, hate the Persians worse, and consider them more impious than we do you Christians.’

I will now give you some news of events in Hungary, where, since my return, each side has met with chequered fortune in its enterprises. To write a full and particular account would be tedious and out of place.[183] Isabella, the wife of King John, returned to Transylvania with her son, after repudiating the agreement and the treaties she had made with the Emperor Ferdinand, and from fear of the Turkish arms, the people of Transylvania again submitted to the old yoke. Even these successes did not satisfy the Turks, who appeared to be aiming at the acquisition of the whole of Hungary. Accordingly, among other operations they resolved to besiege the very strong position of Szigeth,[184] which derives its name from the Hungarian word for island. For this enterprise they selected as general a man, whose successful career was calculated to inspire his troops with confidence and his enemies with fear. This was Ali Pasha, an Albanian, who had distinguished himself whilst governor of Hungary by his successes, the chief of which was his decisive victory over Sforzia Palavicini and the Bishop of Fünfkirchen. He was summoned from his distant command on the Persian frontier, and the greatest hopes were excited by his appearance in Constantinople. My colleagues were then still here, pressing for leave to return. The Pashas thought it well that we should see the man who, they considered, would be regarded by us as a very thunderbolt of war. He received us courteously, and addressed us at length, telling us that we ought to endeavour to make peace, and save Hungary from being wasted with fire and sword, by acceding to the terms which his Emperor[185] proposed. We answered that peace was our first object, provided it was granted on such terms as were consistent with the honour of our Emperor; but that we were forbidden to agree to such a peace as would be contrary to the interests and dignity of his Majesty. So we departed, having been first entertained by him with eau sucrée.

Ali was a eunuch, but his spirit seemed to have gained what his body had lost. He was of short stature, bloated person, and yellowish complexion; the expression of his face was morose, his eyes had a fierce look, and his shoulders were high and broad. Between them his head was sunk and concealed. From his mouth projected two teeth like a boar’s tusks; his voice was discordant. To describe him in a word, he was a regular devil.

He set out the next day with a great train, and having reached Hungary, he spent some time in preparations; then, marching on Szigeth, he drove away the men who were rebuilding Babocsa—a fortress belonging to the Emperor. But his Majesty, who had already been informed of Ali Pasha’s designs, determined to send one of his three sons to encounter his onslaught, and do battle for Hungary. The young Archduke Ferdinand, on whom his choice fell, is equal in courage to any of the famous generals of ancient times. He took up a position against Ali’s army with a small body of picked cavalry. Turks who were there told me that it was a goodly sight to behold the splendour, discipline, and steadiness of our troops. The Pasha, whose army was much the largest, and who was naturally a man of fierce and haughty temper, could not brook that Christians should dare to face him. Some marshy ground, which could not be crossed without danger, lay between the two armies. Ferdinand, whose object was to relieve Szigeth and to raise the siege, had no need to cross; but Ali Pasha, on the contrary, was obliged to risk everything, as he had no choice between advancing and committing himself to an ignominious and hazardous retreat. He, therefore, seeing to what a strait he was reduced, decided to risk everything on the success of his movement, and was on the point of plunging with his steed into the marsh, when a Sanjak-bey who was among the bystanders, whose name I have forgotten, perceiving the greatness of the danger, leaped down from his horse, and, laying his hand on the Pasha’s rein, said, ‘My Sultan’ (for this is the title given by the Turks to men of high rank), ‘do you not see the peril into which you are wilfully bringing yourself and us? You do not sufficiently take into account the difficulty of crossing this quagmire. The Christians are waiting for us on the other side with stout hearts and strong lances, and their serried squadrons will charge down on our straggling column as soon as the vanguard has got clear of the marsh, while the rest are still struggling in the mud. They will take advantage of our rashness, and fight with the certainty of defeating us. Restrain your wrath, and recollect yourself. Preserve the lives of your gallant soldiers and your own for our Emperor’s[186] service and for better days. God will be sure to give us an opportunity of mending this day’s work.’ At these words Ali recovered his senses, and restrained himself. Every Turk on the field admitted that the army had been saved by the advice of the Sanjak-bey. However, when news of the affair reached Constantinople, although not even the Vizierial (that is the chief) Pashas could deny that Ali’s army owed its safety to the prompt interference of the Sanjak-bey, and though they praised his loyalty and generalship in private, yet they were unwilling that such a breach of discipline should go unpunished, and thus become a precedent for the future. Accordingly, they removed him from office, recalled him to Constantinople, and they placed him on the list of those who had been dismissed the service, until, when they thought his fault had been sufficiently atoned for, they promoted him to a much better government than the one he had lost, which made it quite plain that he had been thus punished rather to preserve discipline than because he had done wrong.

Ali not long afterwards returned to Buda. During his retreat his troops were so harassed by the Hungarians that he lost a large part of his army. He arrived at the capital of Hungary a broken and dishonoured man, where he died shortly afterwards of grief and shame.

On the other hand, the Archduke Ferdinand returned to his father with well-earned laurels. His success will not only be of immediate advantage, but it will enhance for the future the prestige of our arms. The Turks have now had ample proof that, if they trouble the Emperor, he is one who has both soldiers and generals wherewith to chastise their insolence. This check has made the Turks on the borders a great deal quieter.

While Ali was still encamped before Szigeth, our soldiers took by escalade the city of Gran, with the adjoining citadel of the same name. They carried off some plunder, and also the inhabitants, who were mostly women and children. The messenger who brought the news to the Pasha came trembling, with dismay painted on his face. ‘Is all well?’ quoth the Pasha. ‘Why are you thus cast down?’ Thereon the man told him of the great disaster the Turks had sustained in the loss of Gran. ‘Disaster! loss!’ cried the Pasha. ‘Well, I know what disaster and loss mean; I can tell you it was a disastrous loss when they made me what I am.’ The Pasha was a eunuch, and he intended by this coarse joke on himself to divert the attention of the people round him from the loss which he was unable to repair.

In Croatia, too, and in the neighbouring regions, various forays went on upon both sides, and people, whether Turks or Christians, who were too venturesome and careless, were punished for their presumption. I will tell you an instance, and as it gave me reason to rejoice, I trust you also will find the story agreeable. True, it occurred a little before the affair of Szigeth which I have just related; but as it is a letter I am writing, I feel that the order of time need not be very strictly regarded. From those districts news was brought to Roostem of a feat performed by a certain Turk, for whom he professed great admiration and spoke of as his kinsman. He had swept down on a large party of Christians, who were celebrating a wedding without the slightest notion that there were any Turks in the neighbourhood. You may imagine what an unwelcome guest he was. His troops scattered the people, killing several, and carrying off many more as prisoners; amongst the latter was the unfortunate bridegroom, with her who was about to become his wife. Roostem was greatly elated, and kept boring everybody with his boasts of the wonderful success of his kinsman’s raid. So far, the story is one on which we must exchange condolences rather than congratulations. Well, it is the fortune of war. But retribution was close at hand to change Roostem’s merriment into tears and lamentation. There came not long afterwards from the same districts in hot haste a Dalmatian horseman with news of a great defeat. (The man belonged to a class whom the Turks call Delli, i.e. madmen, on account of their blind and reckless daring.) He said that several Sanjak-beys and other commanders of garrisons had united their forces and invaded the enemy’s territory; they had scoured the country for many miles, and had carried off much booty, but at last, advancing too far, they fell in with a Christian force, composed of musketeers on horseback, by whom they were put to flight and utterly routed with the loss of many men, among whom was that Achilles, Roostem’s kinsman, of whom he had just been speaking in such high terms. Roostem was overwhelmed on hearing the disastrous intelligence, and burst into tears. Richly did he deserve this misfortune in retribution for his former boastfulness.

Now listen to the rest of the story, which affords still greater reason for rejoicing. When the Dalmatian horseman, who brought the news of the defeat I mentioned, was immediately afterwards asked by the Pashas in the Divan, ‘How many of you then were engaged?’ he replied, ‘Above 2,500.’ The Pashas proceeded, ‘Pray, what was the number of the Christians?’ to which he said, ‘he thought they were not above 500 that he could see, though there might have been some more lying in ambush, and for his part he thought there were, but he could take his oath that there was not more than that number of Christians actually engaged.’ Thereupon the Pashas got angry with him for not being more ashamed at the defeat of a regular army of Mussulmans by a handful of Christians. They thought it foul scorn that picked warriors, who had been deemed worthy of being numbered amongst Solyman’s household and of eating his bread, should thus disgrace themselves. The messenger most unblushingly replied, ‘You do not take a right view of the matter. Did you not hear that we were overcome by the force of fire-arms? it was fire that routed us, not the enemy’s valour. Far different, by heaven, would have been the result of the fight, had they met us like brave men. They called fire to their aid; by the violence of fire we were conquered; we are not ashamed; it is one of the elements and the fiercest of them, and what mortal man has such strength as to be able to resist the fury of the elements?’[187] When he delivered this speech bombastically with Dalmatian magniloquence, the bystanders, notwithstanding the melancholy tidings, could with difficulty check their laughter.

This news cheered me not a little, coming as it did when I was still depressed by the recollection of the previous disaster. I could thereby learn that the Turks are much afraid of carbines and pistols, such as are used on horseback. The same, I hear, is the case with the Persians, on which account some one advised Roostem, when he was setting out with the Sultan on a campaign against them, to raise from his household servants a troop of 200 horse and arm them with fire-arms, as they would cause much alarm and do great execution in the ranks of the enemy. Roostem, in accordance with this advice, raised a troop of dragoons, furnished them with fire-arms, and had them drilled. But they had not completed half the journey when their guns began to get out of order. Every day some essential part of their weapons was lost or broken, and it was not often that armourers could be found capable of repairing them. So, a large part of the fire-arms having been rendered unserviceable, the men took a dislike to the weapon; and this prejudice was increased by the dirt which its use entailed, the Turks being a very cleanly people; for the dragoons had their hands and clothes begrimed with gunpowder, and moreover presented such a sorry appearance, with their ugly boxes and pouches hanging about them, that their comrades laughed at them, and called them apothecaries. So, since with this equipment they pleased neither themselves nor others, they gathered round Roostem, and showing him their broken and useless fire-arms, asked what advantage he hoped to gain from them when they met the enemy, and demanded that he should relieve them of them, and give them their old arms again. Roostem, after considering their request carefully, thought there was no reason for refusing to comply with it, and so they got leave to resume their bows and arrows.

The fighting on the Hungarian borders, which I mentioned above, reminds me to tell you what the Turks think of the practice of duelling, which we are accustomed to regard as the greatest proof of personal courage. There was in a part of Hungary which adjoins our frontier, a Sanjak-bey, famous for bodily strength, named Arslan Bey. None drew the bow with greater strength, no one’s sword pierced deeper, or was more formidable to the foe. Veli Bey, the governor of the next Sanjak,[188] who coveted the same reputation, put himself forward as his rival. From this rivalry, and possibly other differences, there arose a deadly feud between the Sanjak-beys; they laid plots against one another, and bloodshed was the consequence. Whether it was for this or some other reason that Veli Bey was summoned to Constantinople is unknown to me; at any rate he came. The Pashas in the Divan, after putting many other questions to him, finally wished to hear about his feud with Arslan Bey. (Arslan in Turkish means Lion.) Then he narrated at great length the whole story of their quarrel, and to improve his case, he told them how it ended in Arslan Bey’s lying in wait for him and wounding him; there would have been no need, he continued, for Arslan Bey to act thus, had he chosen to show himself worthy of his name; since for his part he had never declined a fight with him, and indeed had many times challenged him to a duel. The Pashas,[189] in indignation at this speech, exclaimed, ‘Did you dare to challenge your comrade to a duel? Were there no Christians for you to fight? Both of you live on the bread of our Emperor, but yet you were preparing to engage in mortal combat. By what law or precedent can you justify such conduct? Did you not know that whichever of you fell the Emperor would lose a soldier by his death?’ With these words they ordered him to be taken to prison, where he was made to do penance for several months, and then having with great difficulty obtained his discharge, was at last released with his reputation much impaired. Among us many who have never seen a public enemy are considered to be famous and distinguished characters, because they have drawn their swords on a fellow-citizen or fellow-soldier. What can you do when the sense of right is so perverted that vices usurp the place of virtues, and what deserves punishment is accounted a glory and an honour?

As you are eager for information of every kind, I must not deprive you of an account of the arrival here of the king of the Colchians.[190] He reigns on the banks of the Phasis at the corner of the Euxine, not far from Mount Caucasus. His name is Dadian. He is a man of dignified appearance and commanding person, but at heart they say he is a mere savage. He was attended by a large but ragged retinue in poor and threadbare attire.

The Colchians are now called Mingrelians by the Italians. They are one of the tribes settled between the Caspian Gates, called by the Turks ‘Demit Capi,’ i.e., ‘Iron Gates,’ and the Black and Caspian Seas, which are now called Georgians, either from the sect of Christianity to which they belong, or because it is their ancient name, which last seems the more probable theory, among whom are also included the Albanians and Iberians (Imeritians).

The reason of Dadian’s coming is uncertain. Some suspect that he has been summoned by the Turks; for when the Turks are at war with the Persians, the Mingrelians and the other tribes of that region would, if friendly, be able to render important assistance. But the general and more probable version of the story is, that he has come to ask for the assistance of some galleys to help him against his neighbours the Imeritians; and that he is prepared to pay tribute to the Sultan in return for this favour. His father was killed by the Imeritians, with whom the Mingrelians have an ancient feud of long standing.

There is, however, an amusing story that, when on a certain occasion a conference to effect a union and a reconciliation had been arranged, and the Mingrelians on the one part and the Imeritians on the other had assembled in large numbers, they had a match to see who should have the honour of drinking the most; in which the Mingrelians were worsted, and fell dead drunk under the table. But the Imeritians behaved dishonourably, and putting the doughty Dadian, while he was sound asleep and snoring, into a carriage, carried him off as if they had taken him prisoner in fair fight, and shut him up in a lofty tower. To avenge this wrong and to recover their king, the Mingrelians collected men to the number of 30,000, commanded by the wife of the captive prince, a woman of high spirit, who could ride a horse and wield a sword. The chiefs of the army were equipped in cumbrous coats of mail, and carried swords and lances tipped with iron. There was also, you will be surprised to hear, a body of musketeers. The rest were without any armour, and fought with arrows, or stakes hardened in the fire, and great clubs of wood, and rode barebacked, nor was there any attempt at order among them. When this raw and undisciplined army drew near to the place where the king was confined, the enemy fired some cannon, at which they took to their heels, and ran away a full mile. Then they again plucked up courage and returned to the attack: the cannons were again discharged; off went the Mingrelians once more, and this scene was repeated over and over again. Dadian, however, seeing help near at hand, cut the sheets of his bed into strips, and letting himself down at night through a window, reached his troops in safety; an exploit, which has made him famous in those parts.

All the country of the Mingrelians is exceedingly rich in every kind of grain, except wheat and barley. The crops receive but little attention, and it is supposed that if a little care were taken, wheat and barley might also be grown. The people are incorrigibly lazy. Panic[191] is sown in a slovenly way, but it grows with the greatest luxuriance, and produces such a crop that one harvest is sufficient for two years’ consumption. They have got accustomed to this grain, which they eat in large quantities, and do not wish for any better kind of corn. From vines planted at the foot of the tallest trees, they make a great deal of fair wine. These vines climb among the branches of the trees to which they are trained, and last for many years. Abundance of wax and honey may be obtained from the wild bees that work in the forests by anyone who will take the trouble to look for their hives. The woods also supply plenty of game, indeed the whole country is full of pheasants and partridges. The very pumpkins show the fertility of the soil, as they not only are of a delicious flavour, but are often quite three feet long.

They have very little money. Few among them are acquainted with silver coins, and still fewer with gold; hardly anyone possesses them. I am not sure that they ought not to be called fortunate on this account. The absence of money is the absence of that which is the chief incentive to crime; and yet, for my part, I have my doubts whether many of our friends at home would care for this blessing, which renders it impossible for anyone to grow rich! Yet silver is to some extent esteemed by them, for when any comes into the country in the course of trade—as is necessarily the case—they dedicate it to their churches, and it is recast into crosses, chalices, or other church ornaments. All these the king, when he thinks proper, melts down, and converts the bullion to his own uses. In dealing with each other, barter is their only form of trade. Everyone brings to market the commodity of which he has plenty, to exchange it for what he is in need of. Thus they do not feel the want of money, since its place is supplied by barter; nay, even the king’s tribute is paid to him in the produce of the soil. He receives an abundant supply of what is needful in the way of food and clothing. He has enough to eat, enough to drink, enough to clothe himself with, and also has the means of maintaining his household and rewarding his supporters. He has an inexhaustible store of provisions, both from tithes and other royalties and from the presents which he is continually receiving; yet he is no miser, and gives as freely and readily as he takes. His palace resembles a public storehouse, being crammed with supplies of every kind. From these stores rations are issued to all his subjects who need them. Any who are in want, or have fallen into poverty through the failure of their crops, are fed from the royal granary.

It is the custom for merchants on landing to make some present to the king; its value is unimportant, as he will accept whatever is offered, and they are then invited to a banquet. There is a vast hall with stables at each end, in which the king’s table is laid. It is a very long one; he sits at the head himself, and the others at a little distance from him. The table is loaded with game and other dishes, and wine is liberally supplied; indeed, the hardest drinkers are considered the most welcome guests. In the same banqueting-hall the queen likewise dines with her train of women, but at a separate table. I am afraid I cannot say much for the manners of the ladies. They behave quite as badly as the men, drinking, gesticulating, tittering, nodding, and winking, to such an extent as to make it plain that any of them would play the Medea if a Jason[192] appeared. After the banquet the king with his guests goes off to the chase.

In this country you may see in the forests parties of the common people lying under the shade of spreading trees, and keeping holiday with wine and dances and songs. They stretch strings to a long pole, and strike them with a small stick in regular time. To the accompaniment of these rude harps they sing their love-songs and ballads in praise of heroes, among whom, if the stories that are told are true, the name of Roland frequently occurs.[193] How it was conveyed there I cannot conjecture, unless it came across the sea with Godfrey de Bouillon. About this Roland they tell many marvellous tales, even more absurd than those of our own romances.

Where life is so easy and food so plentiful, morality suffers. A respectable woman is not often to be met with. A man who wishes to amuse his visitor and make his stay agreeable, introduces him to his wife or sister, and does not trouble himself as to how far their intimacy may go. On the contrary, they think that if their wives prove attractive it is a compliment to themselves. Unmarried women are allowed the same liberties, and behave just as badly as their married sisters. Cases are often pointed out of girls of ten years old who have got babies. When you express your surprise, and refuse to believe that such diminutive creatures can be mothers, they produce a baby not much bigger than a large frog, which is the more surprising, as the men and women are generally tall, and remarkable for the symmetry of their limbs. But they are so completely devoid of refinement and good manners that, among other customs, they think it a compliment to make a curious noise in the throat, something like a hiccough.

For one thing they certainly have talents, and that is stealing. Amongst them this art is held in high esteem, and a successful pilferer is a great man. He who is ignorant of the noble science of thieving is despised as a mere blockhead; indeed, they hardly think him worthy of life. So strong is this feeling, that if a man has a brother or son who cannot steal, he considers him a hopeless case and a disgrace to his family, and gives him away or sells him for a trifle to foreign traders to carry him to some distant land. An Italian merchant, who had been in that country, told me that one of their priests robbed him of his knife in church. He perceived the theft, but pretended not to do so, and, to show the priest he had been discovered, made him a present of the sheath as well, that he might have something to put the knife in!

When they enter a church they do not care much for the images of the Virgin, St. Peter, St. Paul, or other saints, but look about for a picture of St. George on horseback. Before this they prostrate themselves in adoration, and then kiss it all over, not omitting even the horse’s shoes. They say that St. George was a brave soldier of great renown, who fought several battles with the Evil Spirit on equal terms, and always beat him, or at the worst was able to hold his own.

I will now tell you something that will surprise you. Kings in the East expect presents from their visitors. Dadian brought Solyman a dish hollowed out of a ruby of such brilliancy that it would make the road by night as clear as if it were noonday. You will say, ‘I do not believe it.’ For the matter of that, I do not either, and what is more, I do not ask you to believe it. I only tell you there are plenty who do. More knowing people say it is a paten of garnet, and that it was stolen from a son of the King of Persia, who was wrecked on that coast as he was trying to escape to Constantinople. He likewise brought twenty white falcons, or hawks, which are said to be found in great numbers in Mingrelia. So much for my news about the Mingrelians and their manners.

You ask about my pursuits, and the general routine of my life, and whether I ever go out of my house. Well, I am not in the habit of going out, unless when despatches are received from the Emperor for me to present to the Sultan, or instructions come to remonstrate about the raids made and mischief done by the Turkish garrisons, and this happens only two or three times a year. Were I to express a wish to take a ride occasionally through the city with my keeper, it would in all probability be granted; but I do not care to have this made a favour of, as I want to make them think that my rigorous confinement is no punishment to me. Besides, what pleasure would it give me to ride about with Turks all round me, making their remarks or perhaps venting their abuse on me? The country and the fields are what I enjoy, and not a town; least of all one that is tumbling to pieces, and in which, with the exception of its magnificent site, no relic of its original splendour is left. The former rival of Rome is now crushed beneath the yoke of the most cruel slavery. Who could see this proud city and not pity her fall, while musing over the changes and chances of this fleeting world? Besides, who knows how soon her fate may be ours?

I keep at home, where I hold converse with my old friends, my books. They are at once my companions and my solace. For the sake of my health I have built a tennis-court, where I play before dinner. After dinner I practise the Turkish bow, in the use of which weapon people here are marvellously expert. From the eighth, or even the seventh, year of their age they begin to shoot at a mark, and practise archery ten or twelve years. This constant exercise strengthens the muscles of their arms, and gives them such skill that they can hit the smallest marks with their arrows. The bows they use are much stronger than ours, and being shorter, are also much more handy; they are made not of a single piece of wood, but of the sinews and horns of oxen fastened together with a quantity of glue and tow. A Turk in good practice can easily draw the string of the very stiffest of them to his ear. Without training, however, the strongest man could do nothing with a Turkish bow. Indeed, if a coin be set between the string and the bow close to the notch, none but an adept could pull the string so far as would suffice to liberate the coin. So sure is their aim, that in battle they can hit a man in the eye or in any other exposed part they choose. At the range where they are taught, you may see them shooting with so sure an aim that they surround the white on the target, which is generally smaller than a thaler, with five or six arrows, so that every arrow touches the margin of the white, but does not break it. They seldom use a range of more than thirty feet. On the thumb of the right hand they wear bone rings, on which the bowstring lies when they draw it, and the arrow is kept in its place by holding the left thumb in an upright position and joining it to the forefinger; so that their way of shooting is quite different from ours. The butt they use as a target is raised four feet more or less from the ground, and consists of a wooden frame filled with sand. Pashas and men with large households exercise their servants in this sort of practice at home, the more skilful being told off to act as teachers. Some of them at the feast of Easter[194]—for the Turks have an Easter (the feast of Bairam) like ourselves—assemble in the great plain beyond Pera, where, squatting on the ground in a line, with their legs crossed in the Turkish manner like tailors, they try who can shoot the furthest. I must mention that the contest, after the usual Turkish fashion, is prefaced by prayer. Great order and silence prevail throughout, however large the number of spectators. On these occasions they use special bows and arrows; the former are very short and stiff, and cannot be bent except by a man who has had a great deal of practice. An embroidered handkerchief, such as we use for wiping our faces, is the winner’s prize. The chief reward, however, is the reputation which the successful archer acquires. The range they attain with their arrows is almost incredible. The point reached by the arrow of the longest shot in the year is marked by a stone. Many such stones set up in former days are still standing, several paces beyond those which are now erected. These they firmly believe are the marks of their ancestors’ shots, to whose strength and skill, by their own admission, they cannot aspire. Moreover, in various streets and piazzas of Constantinople there are ranges of this sort, at which there assemble not merely boys and young men, but also those of more advanced age. A target-keeper is appointed, who has the charge of keeping it in order and watering the butt every day, which otherwise would get so dry that the blunt arrows which they use in practice would not stick in it. It is also the keeper’s business to stand by the target and draw out the arrows, and throw them back to the shooters after cleaning them. In return everyone gives him a fixed fee, which forms his salary. The front of the target is like a small door, from which, perhaps, originated a proverb the Greeks have; when a man has wholly missed the mark, they say ‘he is shooting against a door.’ For I think the Greeks formerly used this sort of target, and the Turks adopted it from them. I am well aware, of course, that the use of the bow is very ancient among the Turks; but that does not seem to me any reason why they should not have gone on using the sort of target and butt which they found in the Greek cities when they took them. For no nation in the world has shown greater readiness than the Turks to avail themselves of the useful inventions of foreigners, as is proved by their employment of cannons and mortars, and many other things invented by Christians. They cannot, however, be induced as yet to use printing, or to establish public clocks, because they think that the scriptures—that is, their sacred books—would no longer be scriptures if they were printed, and that, if public clocks were introduced, the authority of their muezzins and their ancient rites would be thereby impaired.

Even in the case of other nations, it is their habit to pay great respect to ancient usages. This principle they carry so far as almost to infringe the precepts of their own religion. Remember, in saying this, I am speaking of the practice of the ordinary Turk. As an example, of course everyone knows that they have not the slightest sympathy with Christian worship, but notwithstanding, as the Greek priests have a custom of opening, as it were, the closed sea at a fixed time in spring by blessing the waters, before which the Greeks are afraid to trust themselves to the waves, even the Turks have some superstitious regard for this ceremony. Accordingly, as soon as they have made their preparations for a voyage, they go to the Greeks, and inquire if the waters have yet been blessed. It they say no, they put off their voyage; if they are answered in the affirmative, they embark and set sail.

It was also a custom among the Greeks that the cave in Lemnos from which is extracted the earth they call ‘goat’s seal,’[195] should not be opened except on August 6, the feast of the Transfiguration of our Lord. This custom the Turks observe to this very day; and they think it proper that a service should even now be performed there by a priest of the Greek Church in the same manner as it used to be, while they remain at a distance as spectators of the sacred rites in which they cannot join. But if one should ask why they do so, they reply that there exist many customs ordained of yore, the advantage of which is proved by long experience, though the reasons for them are unknown. The ancients, they say, knew more and saw further than they do, and what they had approved of ought not to be abolished. They prefer to keep such customs rather than run the risk of changing them. Some carry this way of thinking so far, that I have known instances of Turks who had their children secretly baptised; their notion being that there must be some advantage in this rite, or otherwise it would never have been instituted.

But, by the way, I must not fail, when speaking of Turkish drill, to mention a very ancient manœuvre which has been handed down from the time of the Parthians; namely, for the cavalry to pretend to fly, and to shoot down their unwary enemies when they attempt to pursue. The following is the method by which they acquire the art of rapidly executing this manœuvre. They put a brass ball on the top of a very high pole, erected on level ground, and galloping past it at full speed, they then turn suddenly, and bending back shoot an arrow at the ball, without drawing bridle; and by practising this exercise constantly they acquire such skill, that they can without any difficulty shoot behind them, and send an arrow into their enemy when he least expects it.

But it is time for me to return to our lodging, or my keeper will be angry with me! Whatever time I have left unoccupied by the exercises I mentioned, is spent in reading, or talking with the citizens of Pera, who are Genoese by origin, or with other friends; but for this the cavasses’ leave is necessary. Their temper is indeed somewhat uncertain, but they occasionally have lucid intervals, during which they prove more reasonable. Accordingly, when they are in a good humour, Ragusans, Florentines, Venetians, and sometimes also Greeks, and men of other nations come in numbers, either to pay a visit or on some business. Hither flock also men from yet more distant lands, whose conversation has great attractions for me. A few months ago there came an amber merchant of Dantzic, who had bought up the whole supply of amber. As a great quantity of this article is sent to Turkey, he was very curious to know what it was used for here, or if exported, to what country it was taken. At last he ascertained that it is conveyed into Persia, where it is highly prized, and where they ornament their rooms, cabinets, and shrines with it. He gave me a barrel of the beer they call Juppenbier (sprucebeer), which is certainly capital stuff. But I had a hearty laugh at my Greek and Italian guests, who, having never met with such a beverage, could not find a name for it. At last, as they heard from me that it was good for one’s health, they thought it a kind of medicine, and called it Sirup; and as they kept on asking for ‘a little more of the same mixture,’ by repeated tastings, like the lady in Terence,[196] they finally finished my barrel at one sitting.

My cavasses are changed from time to time, and sometimes I have the good fortune to have men who are so considerate that they not only would not object to my going out, were I to desire it, but they actually invite me to take a ride. But, as I said, I make a point of refusing to leave my quarters to prevent their thinking that they have it in their power either to gratify or to annoy me. I excuse myself on the plea, that by such a long stay in the house I have grown a piece of the building, so that I can’t be torn away without risk of its falling! I tell them I will go out once for all, when permission shall be granted me to return home! I am glad my household are allowed their liberty, as it may help them to bear their long exile more patiently. In this, however, there is again the inconvenience that quarrels often occur when they meet with drunken Turks, especially if they are unattended by Janissaries; but even if they are at hand, they cannot always prevent blows being exchanged. All this causes me much annoyance, as I am obliged to answer the accusations which are continually trumped up against my people, though I must say that my cavasses in most cases save me the trouble, they are so particular about keeping the gates shut. Of this we had lately an instance, which I must tell you. There had been sent to me by the Emperor one Philip Baldi, an Italian, a man of about sixty, who had travelled too fast for a person of that age, and had consequently fallen ill.[197] When the apothecary brought the clyster the doctor had ordered, the cavasse refused him admittance, and would not allow him to take it to the patient, treating him most uncivilly.

This cavasse had for a long while behaved kindly and courteously towards us, but he suddenly turned savage, and even threatened to beat my visitors with his stick. As I was much annoyed by his conduct, I determined to show him he was wasting his trouble in trying to intimidate us, as if we were a set of children. I ordered one of my servants to keep the door bolted, and to undo it for no one except by my orders. The cavasse came as usual in the morning to open the gates, but, as the key proved useless, he perceived they were bolted inside, and called out to my servant, whom he could see through the chinks between the folding-doors, to let him in. My servant refused, and the cavasse thereupon got angry, and began to abuse him and swear at him. My servant replied, ‘Bluster to your heart’s content; but neither you, nor any of your people shall get in here. Why should I open the door for you any more than you do for us? As you keep us shut in, we will keep you shut out. You may lock the door on the outside as tight as you please; I will take care to bolt it on the inside.’ Then the cavasse asked, ‘Is this done by the Ambassador’s orders?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘But let me at least put my horse in the stable.’ ‘I won’t.’ ‘At any rate give me hay and fodder for him.’ ‘There is plenty to be had in the neighbourhood, if you are willing to pay for it.’ I used to invite this cavasse to dine with me, or send him something from my table; this day, however, his luck was changed, and he was obliged to stay before the gate without breaking his fast, and tie up his horse to the plane-tree which stands opposite. The Pashas and most of the court officials pass this way on their return home from the palace, and when they saw the cavasse’s horse, which they knew well enough by its trappings, munching hay at the foot of the plane-tree, they asked him why he kept it there instead of in the stable, as he usually did? He then told them the whole story; viz., that because he had shut us in, we had shut him out, and not only himself but his horse, and that he got no food and his steed no forage. The story reached the ears of the other Pashas, and caused much laughter. From that time they could no longer doubt how utterly useless it was to lock me up, and with what contempt I treated such petty means of annoyance. Shortly afterwards the cavasse was removed, and the rigour of our confinement was somewhat relaxed.

This occurrence was noticed by Roostem a few days afterwards in a way that deserves to be recorded. A man of reverend years and great reputation for sanctity was paying him a visit, and asked him in the course of their conversation, why, when the discord between the Sultan’s sons was so apparent, and serious disturbances were expected to arise from it, nay were imminent, he did not make a regular peace with the Emperor, and so relieve Solyman of all anxiety in that quarter? Roostem replied, there was nothing he desired better, but how could he do it? The demands I made he could not concede; and, on the other hand, I refused to accept what he offered. ‘Nor does he yield,’ said he, ‘to compulsion. Have I not tried everything to make him agree to my terms? I have now for several years been keeping him immured, and annoying him in many ways, and treating him roughly. But what good am I doing? He is proof against everything. We do our best to keep him in the closest confinement, but not content with our locking him up, he actually bolts himself in. Thus all my labour is in vain; any other man, I believe, sooner than endure these annoyances would ere now have gone over to our religion; but he cares nothing for them.’ This was related to me by people who were present at the conversation.

The Turks are a suspicious nation, and have got it into their heads, that the Ambassadors of Christian princes have different instructions, to be produced or suppressed according to circumstances, and that they first attempt to get the most favourable terms they can, and, if they fail, gradually come down and accede to harder conditions. Consequently they think it is necessary to intimidate them, to flaunt war in their faces, to keep them shut up like prisoners, and to torment them in every way, as the best means of breaking their spirit and making them sooner produce the set of instructions, which specify the minimum they are empowered to accept.

Some think that this notion was much encouraged by the conduct of a Venetian Ambassador, when there was a dispute between the Venetians and Turks about restoring Napoli di Romania to the Sultan.[198] The instructions he had received from the Venetian Senate directed him to do his best to make peace without giving up Napoli, but, if he failed, at last to agree to surrender the town, if he found war to be the only alternative. Now it happened that these instructions were betrayed to the Turks by certain citizens of Venice. The Ambassador, in total ignorance of this, intended to open negotiations by suggesting easier terms, and thus to sound the minds of the Pashas. When they pressed him to disclose all his instructions, he declared that his powers went no further; till at last the Pashas grew furious, and told him to take care what he was about, as their master was not accustomed to be trifled with, and also that he knew right well what his instructions were. Then they repeated accurately in detail the orders he had received from the authorities of Venice, and told him, that ‘If he did not at once produce them all, he would find himself in no small danger as a liar and impostor, while inevitable destruction would await the republic he represented, if his deceit should provoke Solyman’s wrath beyond all appeasing, and cause him to destroy them with fire and sword.’ They warned him that ‘he had not much time for deliberation; if he produced all his instructions, well and good; but if he persevered in his attempt to trifle with them, it would be too late afterwards to talk of peace and express his regret.’ They concluded by saying, that ‘Solyman was no man’s suppliant; since by God’s blessing he had the power to compel.’ The Ambassador knew not what to do, and thinking it useless to attempt to conceal what was perfectly well known, made a clean breast of it, and frankly confessed that what they stated as to his instructions was correct. This misadventure, however, made him very unpopular at home. From that time the Turks seem to have become much more suspicious, thinking it impolitic to enter into negotiations with an ambassador until his spirit is broken by long confinement. It was on this account that Veltwick,[199] the ambassador of the Emperor Charles, was detained by them for eighteen months, and my colleagues for more than three years, and then dismissed without having accomplished anything. On me they have been putting pressure for a long time, as you know, and as yet I can see no prospect of my release.

But when Baldi, whom I was speaking of, arrived, the age of the messenger made them suspect that he brought fresh instructions, allowing us to accept harder conditions of peace, and these they were afraid of my misrepresenting on account of my knowledge of their domestic troubles. They thought it therefore politic to treat me with greater rigour, as the best means of making me produce forthwith the real instructions I had last received. For the same reason Roostem tried to intimidate me with threats of war, which he hinted at by the following pleasantry. What does he do but send me a very large pumpkin of the kind we call ‘Anguries,’ and the Germans ‘Wasser Blutzer’ (water-melons). Those grown at Constantinople are of excellent flavour, and have red seeds inside; they are called Rhodian melons because they come from Rhodes. They are good for allaying thirst when the weather is very hot. A great round one was sent me by Roostem through my interpreter, one very hot day, with the following message: ‘He hoped I should like a fruit which suited the season; there was no better antidote for the heat; but he wished me also to know that at Buda and Belgrade they had great store of such fruit, and indeed some larger specimens of it,’ by which he meant cannon balls. I sent back word that I was much obliged for his present and should enjoy it, but that I was not surprised at what he said about Buda and Belgrade, as there were at Vienna plenty of specimens of the fruit quite as big as the one he sent me. I made this answer because I wished Roostem to understand that I had noticed the point of his jest.

Now it is time I should relate the story of Bajazet, about which you especially beg for information.[200] Doubtless you remember the circumstances under which Bajazet parted from his father a few years ago. He was pardoned on condition that he should not again make any movement against his brother or excite fresh disturbances, but should remain at peace and on friendly terms with him, as a brother ought to do.[201] ‘Let him,’ said the Sultan, ‘remember the pledges he has given me, nor further disquiet my declining years. Another time I will not let him go unpunished.’ These warnings influenced Bajazet for a time, but only as long as his mother survived; indeed, he placed but little confidence on his brother’s affection or his father’s feelings towards him, and relied entirely on the love his mother bore him, and being anxious not to alienate her, he remained quiet during her lifetime. But, when she died two years afterwards, thinking that his case was desperate, and that he was no longer bound by any tie of filial duty, he began to resume his former designs, and to prosecute his old quarrel against his brother with more bitterness than ever. At one time he plotted secretly against his life, at another used open violence, and often sent his troops to make forays into his brother’s government, which bordered on his own, and if he could catch any of his servants he sentenced them to heavy punishments, intending thereby to insult their master; in short, as he could not strike at his brother’s life, he left nothing undone which he thought would impair his prestige.

At Constantinople he had some devoted partisans, and through them he tried to tamper with the Sultan’s bodyguard by every means in his power, and on some occasions he even ventured to cross over to Constantinople himself,[202] concealing himself there among his accomplices and the men of his party.

The progress of the conspiracy was no secret to Solyman, who, besides his other channels of information, received accurate intelligence from Selim, who wrote despatches from time to time, warning his father to be on his guard against attack. ‘The Sultan was mistaken,’ said Selim, ‘if he thought that the impious designs which Bajazet was now rehearsing were not ultimately aimed at his own person. Bajazet cared neither for God nor man, provided he could reach the throne. His father was as great a barrier as his brother to the accomplishment of his ambitious hopes. Attacks on himself were aimed at Solyman’s life, a crime which Bajazet had planned long ago, and had lately been trying to carry into execution. He begged the Sultan to take care he did not fall a victim to these plots, and find himself a prisoner before news of his danger could be received or help sent to him. As to the personal wrongs he received from Bajazet, he could afford to disregard them, but he was troubled at the greatness of his father’s peril.’

By such insinuations fresh fuel was continually added to Solyman’s wrath against Bajazet. Accordingly he wrote letters reminding him of his duty, of the clemency with which he had treated him, and of his promises to himself, and bade him remember what he had said on a former occasion, viz., that he would not always find pardon, that he ought to turn over a new leaf, and not persist in provoking his brother and annoying his father.[203] He added that he had but a short span of life left himself, and when he was dead Providence would determine what their several lots should be. In the meantime they should keep quiet, if they had any regard for the peace of their father and their country. But such arguments were all thrown away upon Bajazet, who had made up his mind to hazard everything rather than take the other alternative, and tamely wait till the time came for him to be butchered like a sheep, which would most assuredly be his fate, if Selim ascended the throne.

He replied, however, to his father’s commands in becoming terms, but his deeds did not correspond to his words, nor did he swerve in the least from the line of conduct he had resolved on.

When Solyman saw this, he felt that other measures were necessary, and that he must not allow his sons to remain so near each other. Accordingly he issued orders that before a certain day each should leave his government (Bajazet was Governor of Kutaiah, Selim of Magnesia), and that Bajazet should go to Amasia and Selim to Koniah. No fault could be found with Selim, and his favour with his father was unimpaired, but to prevent Bajazet from being hurried into rebellion, Solyman wished to make it appear that they were both being treated alike. In giving these orders he observed that the further apart they were in actual distance the closer they would be in spirit. Vicinity, he added, was often prejudicial to union, many faults being committed on both sides by mischievous officers and servants, the effect of which was to cause great irritation on the part of their masters. Let both of them be obedient to his commands. If either should hesitate to obey, he would expose himself to a charge of treason.

Selim made no delay, inasmuch as he knew that these orders were given chiefly in his interest. Bajazet kept making excuses, and halted after proceeding a short distance. He complained that he had been given the government of Amasia, that town of evil omen, which was still reeking with his brother’s blood,[204] and said that he would be contented with any other government whatever, in place of that, in which the miserable end of his kinsfolk would ever be forcing itself on his eyes, and wounding his heart with its sad recollections. He asked that he might at least be permitted to pass the winter where he was, or at any rate in the place which his brother had left. To these remonstrances Solyman paid no attention; and Selim had already proceeded some days’ march with the troops, which his father had given him as an escort to protect him against any attack on the part of his brother, while Bajazet was still delaying and hesitating, when he suddenly turned and retraced his steps, and then making a circuit appeared in his brother’s rear, moving on Ghemlik, a Bithynian town, on the Asiatic coast opposite Constantinople. For this step he had the sanction of his father, who did not like Bajazet’s procrastination, for both father and son were alarmed at the thought of what might be the consequence both to the empire and themselves, if Bajazet should win over the Imperial guards and march on Ghemlik or even on Constantinople. As they were both threatened, the safest course seemed to be for Selim to take up such a position as would enable them to support each other. Selim had not as yet sufficient strength to make him certain of defeating his brother, who was now ready for any desperate step.

When Bajazet saw Selim in his rear, he felt that the only result of his own delay had been to ensure his brother’s succession to the throne, whenever his father should be carried off, an event which might be expected any day, as the Sultan’s health, which was generally bad, was at that time worse than usual. Accordingly he sent letters to his father, in which he accused his brother; he told him that Selim could have given no stronger proof of his undutiful and disloyal intentions than his march to Ghemlik; to which no other object could be assigned than an attempt on the throne, as it was a place from which he would have but a short passage to Constantinople, if he received the news he wished for, informing him of his father’s death. But if his father’s life should be prolonged, and the fulfilment of his wishes thus deferred, he would not hesitate to employ his tools for the attainment of his object, and would ascend the throne over his father’s murdered body. In spite of all this he could not help seeing that Selim, villain as he was, was his father’s darling, and was treated as if he were a pattern son; while he on the other hand, though he had always been a good son, and had never dreamt of such undutiful conduct, nay, more, had always strictly observed every indication of his father’s wishes, was nevertheless scorned and rejected. All that he requested was permission to decline a government, the traditions of which boded ill to its possessor. Next he had recourse to entreaties, and again implored his father to consent to his being appointed to a different government, whether it were the one his brother had left, or any other, provided it had not the dark history of Amasia. He concluded by saying he would wait for an answer to his petition at the place where he had halted, that he might not have further to return should his wish be granted, but if he should not obtain what he asked, he would then go wherever his father might order.

The complaints Bajazet made about Amasia were not altogether unreasonable, for the Turks are in the habit of forecasting important matters from trifling incidents. But this was not the view that Solyman took, for he knew what value to attach to his son’s bemoanings, and was convinced that his object was to obtain a situation more convenient for making a revolution, Amasia being too far from Constantinople. Thus Bajazet, pleading one excuse after another for delay, put off the hour for obeying his father’s wishes as long as he could, and went on increasing his forces by enlisting recruits, arming them, and raising money—in short, he made every preparation for defending himself and attacking his brother. These preparations were regarded by Solyman as directed against himself, but, nevertheless, he passed them over for the most part in silence. The cautious old man did not wish to render Bajazet desperate and thus drive him into open rebellion. He was well aware that the eyes of the world were fixed on the quarrel between his sons, and he was therefore anxious that these troubles should be left to the influence of time, and be allowed to die out as quietly as possible. He therefore replied to Bajazet in gentle language, saying, ‘He could make no change about the government, his decision on that point was final. They ought both to obey his commands and repair to their respective posts. As to the future he bade them be of good hope, as he would take care that everything should be so regulated as to prevent either of them having any ground for just complaints.’

Pertau, the fourth of the Vizierial Pashas, was selected to convey these commands to Bajazet, and to keep up an appearance of impartiality, Mehemet, the third of the Vizierial Pashas, was despatched to Selim with the same orders. Both were instructed not to leave the Princes before they reached their respective governments, as Solyman prudently intended to attach these important officers to his sons in order that they might be kept in mind of their duties. This Selim was ready to allow, but Bajazet refused, for, as his intention was to bring about a general revolution, he thought there could be no greater obstacle to his designs than to have one of his father’s counsellors ever at his side to criticise his words and actions. He therefore addressed Pertau courteously, and having given him such presents as he could, compelled him to return, in spite of his remonstrances, saying, that he wished to employ him as his defender and advocate with his father, as he had no one else to plead for him. He told him that he would not prove an ungrateful or a discreditable client. Further, he bade him tell his father that he would always regard his commands as law, if Selim would let him, but that he could not bear any longer the outrages of his brother, and his attacks upon his life.

The dismissal of Pertau in this manner made Solyman sure of his son’s intentions. Though Bajazet, to prevent the mission to him appearing to have been wholly ineffectual, kept pretending that he was on his way to Amasia, Solyman was not deceived, and continued to make his preparations for war with undiminished activity. He ordered the Beyler-bey of Greece, although he was suffering from an attack of gout, to hurry with his cavalry to Selim’s assistance, and on Mehemet Pasha’s return from his mission he despatched him into Asia with the most trusty of the Imperial guard on the same service. He also made his own preparations, and wished to make it appear that he was about to take the field in person, but the Imperial guard gathered to their standards with hesitation and reluctance, loathing a war between brothers as an accursed thing. ‘Against whom were they to draw their swords?’ they asked; ‘Was it not against the heir of the empire himself?’ ‘Surely,’ they argued, ‘some alternative might be found instead of plunging into war; it could not be necessary to compel them to dip their hands in the blood of their comrades, and to incur the guilt of slaughtering their fellow-soldiers. As to Bajazet’s attempts, they were, in their opinion, justified by the emergency.’

When these speeches reached Solyman’s ears he submitted the following questions to his Mufti, who, as you doubtless remember, is the chief authority among the Turks in religious matters, and like the oak of Dodona[205] is consulted in cases of difficulty. ‘First, how ought he to treat a man who in his own lifetime raised men and money, attacked and captured towns, and troubled the peace of the empire? Secondly, what was his opinion of those who joined his standard, and assisted him in such an enterprise? Finally, what he thought of those who refused to take up arms against him, and justified his acts?’ The Mufti replied, ‘That such a man and his partisans, in his judgment, merited the severest punishment; and that those who refused to bear arms against him were wicked men, who failed to support their religion, and therefore deserved to be branded as infamous.’ This reply was made public, and transmitted through the chief of the cavasses to Bajazet.

A few days afterwards there returned to Constantinople a cavasse, who had been sent to Selim by Solyman, and had been captured on the way by Bajazet. By him he sent word to his father, that he had violated no obligation demanded by filial duty, he had never taken up arms against him, and was ready to obey his commands in everything. The quarrel was one between his brother and himself, and life and death depended on the issue of the struggle, as either he must fall by his brother’s sword or his brother by his. That both should survive was an impossibility. He had determined to bring matters to a conclusion, one way or the other, in his father’s lifetime; therefore he called on Solyman not to interfere in their contest, and to remain neutral. But if, as was rumoured, he should cross the sea to go to Selim’s assistance, he warned him not to hope that he would find it an easy task to get him into his power, as he had secured for himself a refuge in case of defeat. The moment Solyman set foot on the soil of Asia, he would lay the country waste with fire and sword as mercilessly as Tamerlane. Such a message caused Solyman no small anxiety. At the same time news arrived that the town of Akschehr, which was governed by Selim’s son as Sanjak-bey, had been taken by Bajazet, and, after a large sum of money had been exacted, had been ruthlessly sacked.

But when Selim, who had been afraid of his brother’s lying in wait for him on the road, heard that he was on his way to Amasia, and had already reached Angora, his suspicions were relieved, and he rapidly marched on Koniah,[206] which was held for him by a garrison which had been thrown into it. For not the least of the anxieties which racked Solyman’s mind was, lest Bajazet should seize Koniah, and so make his way into Syria, and thence invade Egypt, a province which was open to attack and of doubtful loyalty, and which, having not yet forgotten the ancient empire of the Circassians or Mamelukes, was eager for a revolution.[207] Should Bajazet once establish himself there it would not be an easy task to dislodge him, especially as the neighbouring Arabs would readily adopt any cause which held out prospects of booty. From Egypt too if he were hard pressed, all the coasts of Christendom were within easy reach. For this reason Solyman took the utmost pains to bar the road which might be expected to be Bajazet’s last resource, orders having already been given to several of the governors in Asia Minor to hold themselves in readiness to take the field when Selim should give the signal. At the time of which I am now speaking, Selim had called them out and had encamped before the walls of Koniah, anxiously watching his brother’s movements. He determined to wait there for his fathers reinforcements, and not by a premature engagement to expose his life to the hazard of a battle.

Bajazet, on the other hand, was keenly alive to the magnitude of the enterprise he had undertaken. He had hired a body of Kurdish horsemen, who are, probably, descendants of the ancient Gordiæans.[208] They have a great reputation for valour, and Bajazet felt confident that their assistance would ensure the success of his arms. The day they arrived at his camp they went through a sham fight on horseback, which was so like reality that several of them were slain, and more were wounded. He pitched his camp in the open country, near Angora, so as to have at his command the ample resources of that important town. In the citadel he placed his concubines with their children. From the wealthier of the merchants he raised a loan, on the terms of repaying them with interest if Providence should crown his hopes with success. From the same source he obtained the means of equipping and arming his forces. He had, after the fashion of Turkish nobles, a numerous retinue of servants; these were reinforced by the Kurds I mentioned, and by men whose interests had been advanced by his mother, his sister, or Roostem. To them were added many of the surviving retainers of Mustapha and Achmet, brave and experienced soldiers, who burned to risk their lives in avenging the cruel murders of their masters. Nor was there wanting a motley following of men, who were discontented with their actual condition, and were eager for a change. The motive of some was compassion for the unfortunate Bajazet, whose only remaining hope lay in an appeal to arms. They were attracted to the young man by his looks, which strongly resembled his father’s; while, on the other hand, Selim was totally unlike the Sultan, and inherited the face and manner of his unpopular mother. In gait he was pompous, in person he was corpulent, his cheeks were unnaturally red and bloated; amongst the soldiers he was nick-named ‘The stalled ox.’ He lived a lazy life, at the same time a sluggard and a sot. In the smaller courtesies of life he was singularly ungracious; he never did a kindness and he never gained a friend. He did not wish, he said, to win the favour of the people at the expense of his father’s feelings. The only man that loved him was his father. Everyone else hated him, and none so much as those whose prospects depended on the accession of a generous and warlike Sultan. The soldiers had been wont to call Bajazet Softi, which means a studious and quiet person, but when they saw him take up arms and prepare to fight to the uttermost for his own and his children’s preservation, they respected his courage and admired his conduct. ‘Why had the father,’ they murmured, ‘disowned a son who was the living image of himself? Why had he preferred to him that corpulent drone, who showed not a trace of his father’s character? To take up arms was no crime, when nothing else would serve the turn. ‘Twas nothing worse than what Selim, their grandfather, had done.[209] That precedent would cover everything, as he had not only taken up arms against his brother, but also had been compelled by the force of circumstances to hasten his father’s end. Dreadful as the crime was to which he had been driven, still, by it he had won the empire for his son and grandsons. But if Solyman stood rightfully possessed of an empire, which had been won by such means, why should his son be debarred from adopting the same course? Why should that be so heavily punished in his case which Heaven itself had sanctioned in his grandfather’s? Nay, the conduct of Selim was far worse than that of his grandson Bajazet; the latter had taken up arms, but not to hurt his father; he had no desire for his death; he would not harm even his brother, if he would but let him live, and cease from injuring him. It had ever been held lawful to repel force by force. What fault could be found with a man for endeavouring to save himself from ruin when it stared him in the face?’

Such were the sentiments that made men daily flock to the standard of Bajazet. When his forces had well nigh attained the size of a regular army, Bajazet felt that he must forthwith attack his brother, and stake life and empire on the issue of the contest. That he might be defeated he was well aware, but even in defeat he felt that honour might be gained. Accordingly, he marched directly against Selim. His object was to effect a passage into Syria; if this should prove successful, the rest, he was confident, would be easy. Selim, having, with the assistance of his father, completed his armaments, awaited his brother under the walls of Koniah. He had large forces, and a numerous staff of experienced officers, who had been sent by the Sultan, and his position was strengthened by well-placed batteries of artillery.

By all this Bajazet was not one whit dismayed; when he came in sight of the enemy he addressed a few words of encouragement to his men, telling them to fight bravely. ‘This,’ he declared, ‘was the hour they had longed for, this was the opportunity for them to prove their valour. Courage on that day should secure a fortune at his hands. It rested with them to win or forfeit everything. Everyone who was discontented with his lot had now an opening for exchanging his former poverty for wealth and honour. They might expect from him, if they conquered, dignities, riches, promotion, and all the rewards that valiant men deserve. However extravagant their hopes, let them win this one victory, and those hopes should be satisfied. They had abundant means of gaining it in their gallant hearts and stout arms. Before them stood only his brother’s following, cowards more debased than their cowardly leader; it was through the ranks of these poltroons his men must cleave their way. As for his father’s troops, though in body they stood with his brother, in heart they were on his side. If Selim were out of the way, his safety was assured, and their fortunes were made; let them go and avenge themselves on the common enemy. Let them not fear,’ he repeated, ‘the multitude of their foe. Victory was won not by numbers but by valour. Heaven was on the side, not of the larger, but the braver army. If they bore in mind how cruel and how eager for their blood was the enemy they were to encounter, victory would not be hard to gain. Last of all’ said he, ‘I wish you to regard not my words but my deeds. Take my word for it, the day is yours, if you fight for my life, as you see me fighting for your profit.’

Having addressed his troops in such terms, he boldly ordered them to attack the enemy. He led the charge in person, and on that day proved himself alike a gallant soldier and a skilful leader, winning, by the courage he displayed, as much admiration from foes as from friends. The battle was fierce and bloody; for a long time neither party could gain any decisive advantage; at last victory inclined to the side which was stronger in arms, stronger in right, and stronger in generalship. Selim’s troops also received supernatural assistance, if one may believe the Turkish story, for they aver that a great blast came from the shrine of one of their ancient heroes, which stood hard by,[210] and carried the dust into the faces of Bajazet’s soldiers, darkening the atmosphere and blinding their eyes. After great losses on both sides, Bajazet was obliged to give the signal for retreat, but he retired slowly and without disorder, as if he had won a victory instead of having sustained a defeat. Selim made no attempt to pursue. He was perfectly satisfied with the success he had gained in repelling his brother’s troops, and remained in his position as a quiet spectator of the retreating enemy.[211]

Bajazet had now committed an act of direct disobedience to his father’s orders, he had given the rein to his own inclinations, and he had been unsuccessful. He abandoned his project of marching into Syria, and set out for Amasia in good earnest.

About this time Solyman crossed into Asia, having, it is asserted, received news of the result of the battle in a marvellously short space of time. The Pashas held it to be impolitic for the Sultan to cross until intelligence of Bajazet’s defeat should be received, but at the same time were of opinion, that when news of it arrived no time ought to be lost, lest Bajazet’s misfortunes should provoke his secret partisans to declare themselves, and thus greater troubles ensue. They argued that nothing would be more effectual than the report of his crossing for cowing Bajazet and terrifying his friends. The victory, they urged, should be improved, and no opportunity be given to the prince of rallying from the blow he had received, lest he should follow in the steps of Selim, Solyman’s father, who became more formidable after defeat than ever he was before, and owed his final victory, in no small measure, to his previous failure.

The Pashas were perfectly correct in their view of the situation. For though Bajazet had been defeated, his conduct in the field marvellously increased his popularity and reputation. People spoke of how he had ventured with a handful of men to encounter the superior forces of his brother, supported as they were by all the resources of the Sultan. The strength of his brother’s position, and his formidable array of artillery, had failed to daunt him, while in this, his first field, his conduct would not have shamed a veteran general. Though fortune had not favoured him, yet he was the hero of the battle. Selim might go to his father, and vaunt his triumph, but what then? True, he had won it, but Bajazet had deserved it. To whatever cause Selim’s victory was due, it was certainly not to his valour that he was indebted for his success.

Such was the common talk, the effect of which was to increase Bajazet’s popularity, and at the same time to make his father more anxious than ever. His hatred was inflamed, and he began to long for his destruction. His determination remained unaltered. Selim was the elder, and had ever been a dutiful and obedient son, and he and no one else should be his heir; while Bajazet, who had been a disobedient son and had endeavoured to supplant him on the throne, was the object of his aversion. He was well aware that the peril of the situation was increased by the reputation Bajazet had gained, and the open support which he himself had given to Selim. For these reasons he had crossed the sea: his object was to give moral support to Selim by his presence in Asia, but he had no intention of marching up the country. He could not trust his troops, and if he ventured to lead them to the scene of action, they might at any moment declare for Bajazet.

He left Constantinople June 5, 1559, on which occasion, in spite of my cavasse, I managed to be among the spectators. But why should I not tell you of my two skirmishes after the fashion of the Miles Gloriosus of Plautus? At any rate, I have nothing better to do, unless worry counts for work. Under such circumstances letter-writing is a relief.

When it became generally known that the Sultan was about to cross the sea, and the day was fixed, I intimated to the cavasse my wish to see the Sultan’s departure. It was his habit to take charge of the keys every evening, so, when the time came, I bade him attend me early in the morning and let me out. To this he readily agreed. My Janissaries and interpreters, by my orders, hired for me a room commanding a view of the street by which the Sultan was to pass. When the day came I was awake before daybreak, and waited for the cavasse to open the gates. Time passed and he did not come. So I availed myself of the services of the Janissaries who slept at my gate and the interpreters who were waiting to obtain admittance, and despatched messenger after messenger to fetch the cavasse. I had, by the way, to give my orders through the chinks of the crazy old gates. The cavasse kept putting me off with excuses, at one time saying he was just coming, and at another that he had business which hindered him. Meanwhile it was getting late, and we knew, by the salutes fired by the Janissaries, that the Sultan had mounted his steed. Hereupon I lost patience, for I saw that I was being humbugged. Even the Janissaries on guard were sorry for my disappointment, and thought that I had been treated scurvily; so they told me that, if my people would push from the inside while they pulled from the outside, it would be possible to burst the locks of the gate, which was old and weak. I approved of the plan; my people pushed with a will, and the gate gave way. Out we rushed, and made for the house where I had hired a room. The cavasse had intended to disappoint me, not that he was a bad sort of fellow, but when he had informed the Pashas of my wishes they had refused consent, not liking that a Christian should be among the spectators on such an occasion. They did not wish me to see their Sovereign on his march against his son and at the head of a mere handful of troops, so they recommended him to put me off by courteous promises till the Sultan had embarked, and then to invent some excuse, but the trick recoiled on its author.

When we arrived at the house we found it barred and bolted, so that we had as much difficulty in getting in, as we had just had in getting out! When no one answered our knocks, the Janissaries came to me again, and promised, if I would undertake the responsibility, either to break open the doors or climb in through a window and let us in. I told them not to break in, but did not object to their entering by a window. In less time than I can tell it they were through the window, and had unbarred the doors. When I went upstairs, I found the house full of Jews, in fact, a regular synagogue. At first they were dumbfoundered, and could not make out how I had passed through bolts and bars! When the matter was explained, a well-dressed elderly lady, who talked Spanish, came up and took me roundly to task for breaking into the house. I rejoined that I was the aggrieved party, and told her that the landlady ought to have kept her bargain, and not tried to fool me in this way. Well, she would have none of my excuses, and I had no time to waste on words.

I was accommodated with a window at the back of the house, commanding a view of the street by which the Sultan was to pass. From this I had the pleasure of seeing the magnificent column which was marching out. The Ghourebas and Ouloufedgis rode in double, and the Silihdars and Spahis in single file. The cavalry of the Imperial guard consists of these four regiments, each of which forms a distinct body, and has separate quarters.[212] They are believed to amount to about 6,000 men, more or less. Besides these, I saw a large force, consisting of the household slaves belonging to the Sultan himself, the Pashas, and the other court dignitaries. The spectacle presented by a Turkish horseman is indeed magnificent.[213] His high-bred steed generally comes from Cappadocia or Syria, and its trappings and saddle sparkle with gold and jewels in silver settings. The rider himself is resplendent in a dress of cloth of gold or silver, or else of silk or velvet. The very lowest of them is clothed in scarlet, violet, or blue robes of the finest cloth. Right and left hang two handsome cases, one of which holds his bow, and the other is full of painted arrows. Both of these cases are curiously wrought, and come from Babylon, as does also the targe, which is fitted to the left arm, and is proof only against arrows or the blows of a mace or sword. In the right hand, unless he prefers to keep it disengaged, is a light spear, which is generally painted green. Round his waist is girt a jewelled scimitar, while a mace of steel hangs from his saddle-bow. ‘What are so many weapons for?’ you will ask. I reply for your information, that he is trained by long practice to use them all. You will ask again, ‘How can a man use both bow and spear? will he seize the bow after he has cast or broken his spear?’ Not so; he keeps the spear in his grasp as long as he can, but when circumstances require that it should be exchanged for the bow, he thrusts the spear, which is light and handy, between the saddle and his thigh, so that the point sticks out behind, and by the pressure of his knee keeps it in this position for any length of time he chooses. But when he has need of the spear, he puts the bow into its case, or slings it on his left arm across his shield. It is not, however, my object to explain at length their skill in arms, which is the result of long service and constant drilling. The covering they wear on the head is made of the whitest and lightest cotton-cloth, in the middle of which rises a fluted peak of fine purple silk. It is a favourite fashion to ornament this head-dress with black plumes.

When the cavalry had ridden past, they were followed by a long procession of Janissaries,[214] but few of whom carried any arms except their regular weapon, the musket. They were dressed in uniforms of almost the same shape and colour, so that you might recognise them to be the slaves, and as it were the household, of the same master. Among them no extraordinary or startling dress was to be seen, and nothing slashed or pierced.[215] They say their clothes wear out quite fast enough without their tearing them themselves. There is only one thing in which they are extravagant, viz., plumes, head-dresses, &c., and the veterans who formed the rear guard were specially distinguished by ornaments of this kind. The plumes which they insert in their frontlets might well be mistaken for a walking forest. Then followed on horseback their captains and colonels, distinguished by the badges of their rank. Last of all, rode their Aga by himself. Then succeeded the chief dignitaries of the Court, and among them the Pashas, and then the royal body-guard, consisting of infantry, who wore a special uniform and carried bows ready strung, all of them being archers. Next came the Sultan’s grooms leading a number of fine horses with handsome trappings for their master’s use. He was mounted himself on a noble steed; his look was stern, and there was a frown on his brow; it was easy to see that his anger had been aroused. Behind him came three pages, one of whom carried a flask of water, another a cloak, and the third a box. These were followed by some eunuchs of the bed-chamber, and the procession was closed by a squadron of horse about two hundred strong.

Having had a capital view of the whole spectacle, which I thoroughly enjoyed, my only anxiety was to appease my hostess. For I heard that the lady, who had addressed me in Spanish at my entrance, was on very intimate terms with Roostem’s wife, and I was afraid that she might tell tales about me in his family, and create an impression that I had not behaved as I ought. I invited my hostess to an interview, and reminded her of her breach of contract in bolting the door in my face, when she had for a fixed sum agreed to leave it open; but told her that, however little she might have deserved it, I intended to keep my part of the engagement, though she had neglected hers, and not only to pay her in full, but to give her a little extra douceur as well. I had promised seven pieces of gold, and she should receive ten, to prevent her regretting my having forced my way into her house. When she saw her hand filled with more gold than she had hoped for, she suddenly altered her tone, and overwhelmed me with thanks and civilities, while the rest of her Hebrew friends followed suit. The lady also, whom I mentioned as being intimate with Roostem’s family, echoing the praises of my hostess, thanked me profusely in her name. Some Cretan wine and sweetmeats were then produced for my refreshment. These I declined, and hurried home as fast I could, followed by the good wishes of the party, planning as I went a fresh battle with my cavasse, to whom I should have to answer for having broken open the doors in his absence.

I found him sitting disconsolately in the vestibule, and he at once assailed me with a long complaint, saying, I ought not to have gone out without his consent or have broken the doors. He declared that it was a breach of the law of nations, &c. I answered shortly that had he chosen to come in time, as he had promised, there would have been no need for me to burst the doors; and I made him understand that it was all his fault for not keeping his word, and for trifling with me. I concluded by asking whether they considered me an ambassador or a prisoner? ‘An ambassador,’ he answered. ‘If a prisoner,’ I rejoined, ‘it is useless employing me to make peace, as a prisoner is not a free agent; but if you consider me an ambassador, why am I not at liberty? Why am I prevented leaving my house when I please? It is usual,’ I repeated, ‘for prisoners to be kept shut up, but not for ambassadors. Indeed the freedom of ambassadors is a right recognised by the law of nations.’ I told him also to remember that he had been attached to me, not as a jailor or policeman, but, as he was always saying himself, to assist me by his services, and to take care that no injury was done to myself or my servants. He then turned to the Janissaries, and began quarrelling with them for giving me advice, and helping my men to open the doors. They said that I had not needed their advice, I had ordered them to open the doors and they had obeyed. They told him, with perfect truth, that in doing this but little exertion had been required, as the bars had given way under very slight pressure, and that nothing had been broken or injured. Thus the cavasse’s remonstrances were stopped whether he would or no, and nothing more was heard of the matter.

A few days later I was summoned across the sea myself. They considered it politic that I should pass some time in their camp, and be treated courteously as the ambassador of a friendly prince. Accordingly, a very comfortable lodging was assigned me in a village adjoining the camp. The Turks were encamped in the neighbouring fields. As I stayed there three months, I had opportunities of visiting their camp, and making myself acquainted with their discipline. You will hardly be satisfied if I do not give you a few particulars on the subject. Having put on the dress usually worn by Christians in those parts, I used to sally out incognito with one or two companions. The first thing that struck me was, that each corps had its proper quarters, from which the soldiers composing it were not allowed to move. Everywhere order prevailed, there was perfect silence, no disturbances, no quarrels, no bullying; a state of things which must seem well nigh incredible to those, whose experience is limited to Christian camps. You could not hear so much as a coarse word, or a syllable of drunken abuse. Besides, there was the greatest cleanliness, no dunghills, no heaps of refuse, nothing to offend the eyes or nose. Everything of the kind is either buried or removed out of sight. Holes are dug in the ground, as occasion requires, for the use of the men, which are again filled in with earth. Thus the whole camp is free from dirt. Again, no drinking parties or banquets, and no sort of gambling, which is the great fault of our soldiers, are to be seen. The Turks are unacquainted with the art of losing their money at cards and dice.

A little while ago I came across some soldiers from the borders of Hungary, amongst whom was a rough fellow, who, with a woe-begone face, sang or rather howled, to the accompaniment of a melancholy lyre, a lugubrious ditty, purporting to be the last words of a comrade dying of his wounds in a grassy meadow by the bank of the Danube. He called upon the Danube, as he flowed to the country of his kinsfolk, to remember to tell his friends and clansmen that he, while fighting for the extension of his religion and the honour of his tribe, had met with a death neither inglorious nor unavenged. Groaning over this his companions kept repeating, ‘O man, thrice happy and thrice blessed, how gladly would we exchange our lot for thine!’ The Turks firmly believe that no souls ascend to heaven so quickly as those of brave heroes who have fallen in war, and that for their safety the Houris daily make prayers and vows to God.

I had a fancy also to be conducted through the shambles where the sheep were slaughtered, that I might see what meat there was for sale. I saw but four or five sheep at most, which had been flayed and hung up, although it was the slaughter-house of the Janissaries, of whom I think there were no fewer than four thousand in the camp. I expressed my astonishment that so little meat was sufficient for such a number of men, and was told in reply that few used it, for a great part of them had their victuals brought over from Constantinople. When I asked what they were, they pointed out to me a Janissary, who was engaged in eating his dinner; he was devouring, off a wooden or earthen trencher, a mess of turnips, onions, garlic, parsnips, and cucumbers, seasoned with salt and vinegar, though, for the matter of that, I fancy that hunger was the chief sauce that seasoned his dish, for, to all appearance, he enjoyed his vegetables as much as if he had been dining off pheasants and partridges. Water, that common beverage of men and animals, is their only drink. This abstemious diet is good both for their health and their pockets.

I was at the camp just before their fast, or Lent[216] as we should call it, and thus was still more struck with the behaviour of the men. In Christian lands at this season, not only camps, but even orderly cities, ring with games and dances, songs and shouts; everywhere are heard the sounds of revelling, drunkenness, and delirium. In short, the world runs mad. It is not improbable that there is some foundation for the story, that a Turk, who happened to come to us on a diplomatic mission at one of these seasons, related on his return home, that the Christians, on certain days, go raving mad, and are restored to their senses and their health by a kind of ashes, which are sprinkled on them in their temples. He told his friends that it was quite remarkable to see the beneficial effects of this remedy; the change was so great that one would hardly imagine them to be the same people. He referred of course to Ash Wednesday and Shrove Tuesday. His hearers were the more astonished, because the Turks are acquainted with several drugs which have the power of rendering people insane, while they know of few capable of speedily restoring the reason.

During the days which immediately precede the season of abstinence, they do not alter their former mode of life, or allow themselves any extra indulgence in the way of food and drink. Nay rather, on the contrary, by diminishing their usual allowance they prepare themselves for the fast, for fear they should not be able to bear the sudden change. Their fast recurs every twelve months; and, as twelve lunar months do not make up a year, it annually comes some fifteen days earlier. Hence it follows that, if the fast is at the beginning of Spring, six years later it will be kept at the commencement of Summer. The Turks limit their fast to the period of one lunar month, and the most severe fasts are those which fall in summer, on account of the length of the days. Inasmuch as they keep it so strictly as to touch nothing, not even water—nay, they hold it unlawful even to wash out the mouth—till the stars appear at even, it follows of course that a fast which occurs when the days are longest, hottest, and most dusty, is extremely trying, especially to those who are obliged to earn their livelihood by manual labour. However, they are allowed to eat what they please before sunrise, or to speak accurately, before the stars are dimmed by the light of that luminary, the idea being that the Sun ought to see no one eating during the whole of the fast. On this account the fast, when it falls in winter, is not so hard to bear.

On a cloudy day of course some mistake might be made about sunset. To meet this difficulty the priests, who act as sacristans, put lighted paper lanterns on the pinnacles of the minarets. (It is from these minarets that they utter the loud cry which summons the people to prayer, and they therefore answer to our belfries.[217]) These lights are intended to remove all doubt as to the time being come when food may be taken. Then at last, after first entering a mosque and reciting their customary prayers, they return to supper. On summer days I remember seeing them making in crowds from the mosque to a tavern, opposite our abode, where snow was kept for sale (of which, by the way, there is an unfailing supply from Mount Olympus, in Asia), and asking for iced water, which they drank, sitting cross-legged, for the Turks have a scruple about eating or drinking standing, if they can help it. But as the evening was too far gone for me to be able to see what they were squatting down for, I got some of my acquaintance, who understood Turkish customs, to enlighten me, and found that each took a great draught of cold water to open a passage for their food, which otherwise would stick in their throats, parched as they were by heat and fasting, and also that their appetite was stimulated by the cold drink. No special kinds of food are appointed to be eaten during the fast; nor does their religion prescribe abstinence during that season from anything which they are allowed to eat at other times. Should they happen to have any illness which prevents their observing the fast, they may disregard it, on condition, however, of making up, when they get well, the number of fasting days which their health has compelled them to miss. Likewise, when they are in an enemy’s country and an engagement is apprehended, they are ordered to postpone their fast to some other time, lest they should be hungry and faint on the day of battle. If they hesitate to do so, the Sultan himself takes food publicly at midday before the eyes of the army, that all may be encouraged by his example to do the same. But as at other times of the year they are forbidden, by their religion, to drink wine, and cannot taste it without committing a sin, so they are most scrupulous in observing this rule all the days of the fast, and even the most careless and profligate people not only abstain from wine, but shun the very smell of it.

I remember that, after I had made many enquiries as to the reason why Mahomet had so strictly forbidden his followers to drink wine, I was one day told this story. Mahomet happened to be travelling to a friend, and halted on his way at midday at a man’s house, where a wedding feast was being celebrated. At his host’s invitation he sat down with them, and greatly admired the exceeding gaiety of the banqueters and their earnest demonstrations of affection—such as shaking of hands, embraces, and kisses. He asked his host the reason, and was informed that such feelings were the consequence of wine. Accordingly on his departure he blessed that beverage as being the cause of such affection among mankind. But on his return the day after, when he entered the same house, a far different sight was presented to his eyes; on all sides were the traces of a cruel fight, the ground was stained with gore and strewn with human limbs; here lay an arm and there a foot; and other fragments were scattered all about. On his asking what had been the cause of so much mischief, he heard that the banqueters he had seen the day before had got maddened with wine and quarrelled, and that a fearful butchery had been the consequence. On this account, Mahomet changed his opinion and cursed the use of wine, making a decree for all time that his followers should not touch it.

So, drinking being prohibited, peace and silence reign in a Turkish camp, and this is more especially the case during their Lent. Such is the result produced by military discipline, and the stern laws bequeathed them by their ancestors. The Turks allow no crime and no disgraceful act to go unpunished. The penalties are degradation from office, loss of rank, confiscation of property, the bastinado, and death. The most usual is the bastinado, from which not even the Janissaries themselves are exempt, though they are not subject to capital punishment. Their lighter faults are punished with the stick, their graver with dismissal from the service or removal to a different corps, a penalty they consider worse than death, by which indeed such a sentence is almost always followed. For when the Janissaries are stripped of their uniform, they are banished to distant garrisons on the furthest frontiers, where their life is one of ignominy and disgrace; or if the crime is so atrocious as to render it necessary to make an example of the culprit, an excuse is found for putting him to death in the place to which he has been banished. But the punishment of death is inflicted on him not as a Janissary, but as a common soldier.

The endurance of the Turks in undergoing punishment is truly marvellous. They often receive more than a hundred blows on their soles, ankles, and buttocks, so that sometimes several sticks of dogwood are broken on them, and the executioner has to say repeatedly, ‘Give me the other stick.’[218] Although remedies are at hand, yet it sometimes happens that many pounds of gangrened flesh have to be cut off from the places which have been beaten. They are obliged notwithstanding to go to the officer by whose orders they have been punished, and to kiss his hand and thank him, and also to pay the executioner a fixed fee for every stroke. As to the stick with which they are beaten, they consider it a sacred thing, and are quite convinced that the first bastinado stick fell down from the same place from which the Romans believed their sacred shields descended, I mean from heaven. That they may have some consolation for such pain, they also believe that the parts, which have been touched by the stick, will after this life be safe from the fires of purgatory.

In saying that the camp was free from quarrels and tumults, it is necessary to make one exception, for some trouble was caused by my people. A few of them had gone out of the camp to stroll along the shore without Janissaries, having only taken with them some Italian renegadoes. Among the various advantages which such renegadoes enjoy, the greatest perhaps is the power of ransoming prisoners. They go to the people who have possession of the captives, and pretend that they are their relations or connections, or at any rate their fellow-countrymen. After speaking of the great pain it gives them to see their friends in such a position, they ask the masters to take their value and emancipate them, or else to make them over to themselves. To such a request the masters make no difficulty in agreeing; whereas, if a Christian were to ask the same favour, they would either refuse it or demand a much higher price. To return to my subject, when my men had gone out they came upon some Janissaries, who, by way of performing their ablutions, had taken a swim in the sea. They had left their turbans behind, and their only head-dress was a piece of linen roughly folded. The Janissaries seeing my men were Christians began to abuse them. For the Turks not only consider it lawful to call Christians by insulting names and otherwise abuse them, but even think it meritorious, on the ground that they may possibly be shamed into changing their religion for the faith of the Turks, when they see what insults they are exposed to on its account. My men, when thus assailed, abused them in return, and at last from words they came to blows, the Italians I mentioned taking the side of my men. The end of it was, that the head-wrapper of one of the Janissaries was lost in the scuffle, how or where I cannot say. The Janissaries, having traced my people to my quarters, went to their commanding officer and charged them with having caused this loss. The officer ordered them to summon my interpreter, who had been present at the skirmish. They seized him, as he was sitting at the door, while I was looking down from the verandah above. I felt that this was a very gross insult; here was one of my people being carried off without my permission, and not only so, but carried off, as I knew right well, having heard of the affair from my servants, to receive a flogging. This was certain to be his fate, for he was a Turkish subject. I went down and laying my hand on him told them to let him go, which they did; but they went off to their commander more savage than ever. He directed them to take some more men, and bring before him the renegade Italians I mentioned, charging them at the same time to be careful not to use violence to me or the house where I was staying. Accordingly they came again making a great uproar, and standing on the road demanded the surrender of the men with loud cries and threats. But the Italians foreseeing what would happen, had already crossed the Bosphorus to Constantinople. This went on for a long time with much bad language on both sides, till at last the cavasse I was then employing, an old man on the brink of the grave, becoming nervous at the uproar, thrust into their hands, without my knowledge, some pieces of gold as the price of the lost head-wrapper, and thus our peace was made.

One reason for telling you this adventure is, that it gave me an opportunity of learning from Roostem himself the light in which the Janissaries are regarded by the Sultan. For when he heard of this disturbance he sent a man warning me, to use his own words, ‘to remove every cause of offence which might occasion a quarrel with those atrocious scoundrels. Was I not aware, that it was war time, when they were masters, so that not even Solyman himself had control over them, and was actually himself afraid of receiving violence at their hands?’ These were no random words of Roostem’s; he knew what he was talking about, for his master’s anxieties were no secret to him. What the Sultan dreaded most in the world was secret disaffection among the Janissaries; disaffection which would lie hidden for a time, and then break out at a critical moment when he had no power to counteract it. His alarm is certainly not without foundation; for while there are great advantages to a Sovereign in the possession of a standing army, there are on the other hand, if proper precautions be not taken, considerable disadvantages. The greatest of all is, that the soldiers have it in their power to depose their Sovereign and place another on the throne; and the fear of a revolution of this kind must be ever present to the minds of the masters. Striking instances might be quoted of Sovereigns who were dethroned by their own troops; but it is by no means impossible to guard against such occurrences.

During my stay at the camp, Albert de Wyss,[219] a gentleman and a good scholar, arrived. If I am not mistaken, he is a native of Amersfort. He brought as presents from the Emperor to the Sultan some gilded cups and a clock of skilful workmanship, which was mounted like a tower on the back of an elephant, and also some money for distribution among the Pashas. Solyman desired me to present these gifts to him in the camp, in the sight of the army, as a fresh proof to his subjects that he and the Emperor were firm friends. He was anxious that such an idea should prevail, and also that an impression should be produced, that no warlike movement on the part of the Christians was likely to take place.

I now return to the point from which I began this digression, namely to Bajazet, who had retreated from the battle field of Koniah to Amasia, his own government, apparently with the resolution of remaining quiet there, if his father should allow him to do so. He had obeyed the dictates of his passion and his youthful ambition; now he seemed to intend for the future to play the part of a dutiful son. He continually endeavoured to ascertain his father’s disposition by letters and agents. Solyman did not show himself averse to a reconciliation. At first he made no difficulty in giving the messengers audience, read the letters and did not answer them harshly, so that a report was prevalent throughout the camp that the father would be reconciled to the son, and pardon his youthful indiscretion, on his promising to be loyal for the future. But in reality the crafty old man was playing a very deep game suggested to him by the Pashas, he was deluding Bajazet with hopes of forgiveness until the toils should be prepared, and he should be ready to seize his prisoner alive. For it was apprehended that, if he was driven to despair, he would make his escape to the territory of the King of Persia, which was his only refuge, before the governors of the intervening country had time to guard and watch the roads. Solyman kept sending messenger after messenger to them, urging them not to leave any loophole however small for Bajazet to escape to Persia. Meanwhile anyone suspected of a leaning towards Bajazet who fell into the Sultan’s hands was secretly executed, after being questioned by torture. Among them were some whom Bajazet had sent to clear his character.

The kingdom of Persia, though Solyman has torn away from it much territory by war, namely Babylonia itself, Mesopotamia, and part of Media, includes at the present time all the tribes that dwell between the Caspian Sea and the Persian Gulf, with some portion of Greater Armenia. The Sovereign of this country is Shah Tahmasp, who, besides the territory I mentioned, reigns over regions still more remote, as far as the dominions of the Prince who is called by the Turks Humayoum Padischah.[220] The father of the present Shah was defeated many years ago by Selim in a great battle on the plains of Tschaldiran,[221] and from that time the fortunes of Persia have been declining, under the powerful attacks of the Emperor Solyman, for Tahmasp has defended himself with but little vigour and in no way displayed the spirit of his father. At the present time he is said to be leading the life of a mere voluptuary; he never leaves his harem, where he divides his time between dallying with his favourites and forecasting the future by means of lots. Meanwhile he neglects to enforce the laws or to administer justice, and consequently, brigandage and outrages of every kind prevail throughout the different tribes that are subject to his sway, and so the poor and helpless throughout Persia are suffering every kind of oppression at the hands of the strong, and it is useless for innocence to resort to the King for protection. This culpable neglect of his duty as a ruler has so little impaired either his influence or the superstitious veneration with which his person is regarded, that they think that a blessing falls on those who have kissed the doorposts of his palace, and they keep the water in which he has washed his hands as a sovereign cure for divers diseases. Of his numerous offspring one son is called Ismael after his grandfather, and on him has also descended his grandfather’s spirit. He is extremely handsome, and is a deadly enemy of the house of Othman. They say that when he first entered the world his baby hand was found to be full of blood, and this was commonly regarded by his countrymen as a sign that he would be a man of war. Nor did he belie the prediction, for hardly had he grown up to manhood when he inflicted a bloody defeat on his Turkish enemies. One of the articles of the treaty between his father and Solyman was, that he should not be allowed to attack the Turks, and in accordance with this stipulation he was sent to a distance from the frontier and there confined in prison. He is, however, the person marked out by the aspirations of the nation as successor to the throne on his father’s decease.

Accordingly Solyman was afraid that the Shah, who, by the way, is better known to us as the Sophi, would have a keener recollection of their ancient quarrels than of the peace which he had been recently compelled to make, and that consequently, if his son should escape into Persia, he would not allow him to be taken away without a great deal of trouble, and that possibly a long and harassing war would be the result. He therefore took the utmost pains to apprehend Bajazet, before he should escape thither. He remembered that the support, which, a few years before, he himself had given to Elkass, the brother of Tahmasp, who had taken refuge with him,[222] had been the cause of many years of annoyance and anxiety to Tahmasp, and his conscience told him that this would be an opportunity for the latter to retaliate, and perhaps to make an attempt to recover the territory which he had lost in war.

Although the designs of Solyman were kept very secret, they were not unobserved by Bajazet’s friends, who repeatedly warned him not to trust his father, to be on his guard against plots, and to take betimes the best measures in his power for his safety. A little matter is often the immediate cause of a very serious step, and so it was in this case. What drove him to take his friends’ advice was, as I have heard, the circumstance that one of his spies, who was arrested in the camp, was by Solyman’s orders publicly executed by impalement, on the pretext that he had been enlisted by Bajazet after he had been strictly forbidden to enroll any more soldiers. When informed of his follower’s execution, Bajazet immediately felt that his only chance was to fly for his life. Solyman, on the other hand, thinking he had now made certain of his not escaping, or perhaps to deceive him the more, ordered his army to return to Constantinople the day after the festival of Bairam.

At Amasia, on the very day of the feast, as soon as the usual ceremonies were finished, Bajazet ordered his baggage to be packed up and began his ill-starred journey to Persia; he knew right well that he was going to the ancient enemy of the house of Othman, but he was fully resolved to throw himself on any one’s mercy rather than fall into his father’s hands. Every man marched out who was capable of bearing arms; none but women and children unequal to the fatigues of a long journey were left behind. Among the latter was a newly born son of Bajazet, with his mother; his father preferred to leave the innocent babe to his grand-father’s mercy, rather than take him as a companion of his anxious and miserable flight. This child Solyman ordered to be taken care of at Broussa, feeling as yet uncertain what his father’s fate might be.

I should have returned to Constantinople on the day before the Bairam,[223] had I not been detained by my wish to see that day’s ceremonies. The Turks were about to celebrate the rites of the festival on an open and level plain before the tents of Solyman; and I could hardly hope that such an occasion of seeing them would ever present itself again. I gave my servants orders to promise a soldier some money and so get me a place in his tent, on a mound which commanded a good view of Solyman’s pavilions. Thither I repaired at sunrise. I saw assembled on the plain a mighty multitude of turbaned heads, attentively following, in the most profound silence, the words of the priest who was leading their devotions. They kept their ranks, each in his proper position; the lines of troops looked like so many hedges or walls parting out the wide plain, on which they were drawn up. According to its rank in the service each corps was posted nearer to, or farther from, the place where the Sultan stood. The troops were dressed in brilliant uniforms, their head-dresses rivalling snow in whiteness. The scene which met my eyes was charming, the different colours having a most pleasing effect. The men were so motionless that they seemed rooted to the ground on which they stood. There was no coughing, no clearing the throat, and no voice to be heard, and no one looked behind him or moved his head. When the priest pronounced the name of Mahomet all alike bowed their heads to their knees at the same moment, and when he uttered the name of God they fell on their faces in worship and kissed the ground. The Turks join in their devotions with great ceremony and attention, for if they even raise a finger to scratch their head, their prayer, they think, will not be accepted. ‘For,’ say they, ‘if you had to converse with Pashas would you not do so with your body in a respectful attitude? how much more are we bounden to observe the same reverence towards God, who is so far above the highest earthly eminence?’ Such is their logic. When prayers were finished, the serried ranks broke up, and the whole plain was gradually covered with their surging masses. Presently the Sultan’s servants appeared bringing their master’s dinner, when, lo and behold! the Janissaries laid their hands on the dishes, seized their contents and devoured them, amid much merriment. This licence is allowed by ancient custom as part of that day’s festivity, and the Sultan’s wants are otherwise provided for. I returned to Constantinople full of the brilliant spectacle, which I had thoroughly enjoyed.

I have a little more news to give you about Bajazet and then I will release you, as you are probably as tired of reading as I am of writing. Bajazet, as you have heard, having started from Amasia with his escort in light marching order, travelled with such speed that his arrival almost everywhere anticipated the tidings of his approach, and many who had been ordered to look out for his passage were taken by surprise, before their preparations were completed. He gave the Pasha of Siwas the slip by the following stratagem. There were two roads, of which the Pasha had occupied the one which was of importance to Bajazet; the latter, however, sent some pretended deserters to tell the Pasha that he had already passed by the other road. As the Pasha thought this not improbable, he left his position on the road he had occupied, and hastily led his forces across to the other road, by which he believed Bajazet to be going, and so left him a free passage.

He likewise imposed on the Pasha of Erzeroum by a somewhat similar stratagem. When he was not far off and knew there was much danger awaiting him in his passage through that Pashalik, he had recourse to the following device; he sent messengers to salute him, and told them to relate his misfortunes in the most pathetic manner, in hopes of exciting his sympathy. They were to conclude their appeal by asking permission to get shoes for the horses, telling the Pasha, the Prince’s troops were quite worn out by the hardships of the march, and that he intended remaining a day or two where there was plenty of fodder, in order to rest his horses, and to put new shoes on them. The Pasha courteously replied that he did not forbid him to take what he wanted; whether he was influenced by pity for Bajazet’s misfortunes, or by inclination to his party, as some people thought, I cannot say; perhaps, after all, his design was to throw Bajazet off his guard and so take him prisoner, or time may have been needed to concentrate his troops, who had been surprised by Bajazet’s rapid march. He also sent him some small presents as a compliment, and congratulated him on his safe arrival; but Bajazet, instead of making any halt, pressed on, allowing his troops no rest by day and only a short one by night.

When the Pasha of Erzeroum became aware that Bajazet was hurrying on, he quickened his movements and joined the other Pashas who were following in pursuit, for, as soon as it was known that Bajazet had left Amasia, Solyman sent several Sanjak-beys and Pashas after him, threatening them with the loss of their heads if they did not bring him back, alive or dead. But this was all in vain on account of Bajazet’s hasty departure, and also because the fugitive’s speed was greater than that of his pursuers. But after all, Bajazet’s flight cost none more dear than the above-mentioned Pasha of Erzeroum, who was removed from his Pashalik by Solyman, and put to death by Selim, with his two young sons, after they had first been horribly ill-treated. Meanwhile, both Selim and Mehemet Pasha and the Beyler-bey of Greece, although a long way behind, continued their pursuit of Bajazet.

His departure came upon Solyman as a very heavy blow, for he surmised correctly that Bajazet was making for Persia; he could scarcely be kept from marching, with the whole Imperial guard, both foot and horse, and making a demonstration against the King of Persia. But his rash impetuosity was moderated by his counsellors, who pointed out what danger might arise from the disaffection of the soldiery. There was also the risk of Bajazet’s marching round by the North of the Black Sea and the Sea of Azoff, and suddenly making a desperate attack on Constantinople; it would then be in his power to create an army by offering their freedom to the slaves and the recruits whom they call Agiamoglans,[224] and to penetrate into the deserted capital. By such warnings they induced Solyman to abandon his design. Moreover, Bajazet left notices on the doorposts of the mosques, wherever he passed, promising to give double pay to any soldiers who went over to his side. These proclamations made the officers anxious, as they felt they could not trust their men, and this feeling was increased by the fact that remarks were constantly heard in the ranks, which showed a strong tendency in Bajazet’s favour.

At last Bajazet reached the river Araxes, which divides the Turkish territory from Persia. Even after he had passed it he did not feel secure, and, to prevent the Sanjak-beys, who were in pursuit, from crossing, he placed on the bank of the river, as guards, some of his men who had volunteered for that duty. They were, however, easily routed by the Sanjak-beys, who penetrated a considerable distance beyond the Persian frontiers, till they met Persian officers with a large body of cavalry, who demanded what they meant and what they wanted in foreign territory. The Turks replied that they were trying to recover the runaway son of their Sovereign. The Persians retorted that the Turks were violating the treaty by crossing the frontier with arms in their hands. There was peace and friendship, they said, between Shah Tahmasp and their master, and this state of things ought to be respected. The Shah’s decision about Bajazet would be one worthy of himself, and he would loyally fulfil his obligations. Meanwhile they would do well if they departed from a country in which they had no right to be. By these arguments the Turks were induced to return.

Soon afterwards there came to Bajazet envoys sent by the Persian King to salute him and enquire the reason of his coming, and also to ascertain what forces he brought with him.[225] Bajazet told them that he had been driven from his country by his brother’s wrongful acts and his father’s partiality, and had fled to the protection of the King of Persia, as the only sanctuary he had left, and expressed his hope that the Shah, remembering the uncertainties of human fortune, would not refuse the prayers of a suppliant who had no one else to help him. In reply to this appeal he received a message from the Shah, saying that he had acted but inconsiderately in coming to him, as he knew that there was peace and friendship between himself and his father, and also that they had agreed to hold each other’s friends and foes as their own, which terms he felt bound to observe. However, as circumstances had taken this course, he bade him come in God’s name, give him his hand and become his guest; he promised that he would leave nothing undone to restore him to favour with his father.

Accordingly Bajazet paid a visit to the Shah,—a visit which was destined to be his ruin. At first everything presented an aspect of welcome, the Shah’s countenance wore a cheerful and friendly expression, gifts were exchanged as between host and guest, and they had frequent interviews and feasted at the same table, but these courtesies only served as screens for their secret intentions. A marriage alliance was also spoken of, one of the daughters of the Persian King being betrothed to Orchan, Bajazet’s son, and Bajazet’s hopes were confirmed that the Shah would not rest till Solyman had given him the Pashalik of Mesopotamia, Babylonia, or Erzeroum. The Shah represented the advantages of these governments in glowing terms, telling him that he could live there without any fear, since he would be at a distance from his brother and father, while, if he was threatened with any danger, his retreat was secured, as he could depend on the protection of his son’s father-in-law, who would defend him and keep him safe from every possible peril.

The object of such language on the part of the Shah was, in all probability, to prevent Bajazet’s perceiving the danger he was incurring. Indeed he believed himself so sure of Tahmasp’s goodwill, that, when the latter was sending an ambassador to Solyman at Constantinople for the purpose, as was generally believed, of effecting a reconciliation between him and his son, he desired the envoy to tell Solyman, that though he had lost one father in Turkey he had found another in Persia. Whether, however, the Persian King was sincere in his efforts to restore Bajazet to his father’s favour by means of the numerous ambassadors he sent, may be reasonably doubted. For my own part, I consider it more probable that in all this the Shah’s concern for Bajazet’s welfare was pretended rather than genuine, and that his real object was to sound Solyman’s intentions; for in the meantime there was no pause in making all the preparations for his destruction. When they were sufficiently advanced, it was artfully suggested that his present quarters were too small for such a number of men, that provisions were getting scarce, and that it was advisable to distribute them among the neighbouring villages; this arrangement, it was urged, would be a more convenient one in many ways, and especially with regard to the supply of provisions. Shah Tahmasp, who had not his father’s courage, was indeed dreadfully alarmed, fancying that he was cherishing a serpent in his bosom. This is my own opinion, though there are people who maintain that it was not the Shah’s original intention to destroy Bajazet, but that he was forced to do so by the monstrous wickedness of some of the latter’s friends, who, forgetful of the benefits they had received and the ties of hospitality, urged Bajazet to rob him of his kingdom; that unmistakable proofs of such intentions were detected, nay, that an atrocious speech made by one of Bajazet’s chief officers was brought to the King’s ears; namely, ‘What are we about, and why do we hesitate to kill this heretic and seize his throne? Can any one doubt that through his treacherous plots we are in imminent danger of destruction?’ This it was, they say, that induced Shah Tahmasp to stoop to an expedient dictated by necessity rather than by honour.

Though the forces Bajazet had were not large, yet they were warlike, and among them were many brave men who were ready for any adventure; the Persian King was afraid of them, and not without reason either. He knew that his dynasty was one of recent origin, and that it had obtained the throne under the pretence of religion.[226] Who could guarantee that among the numerous nations which owed him allegiance there would not be many persons who were dissatisfied, and consequently ripe for revolution? For them nothing more opportune could occur than Bajazet’s arrival, as he was a bold and vigorous man in the flower of youth, and had the most important qualification for a leader; namely, that his position was desperate. Hitherto, the Shah reflected, he seemed to be more in Bajazet’s power than Bajazet in his. A change must be made, and he must no longer treat him as a guest, but chain him like a wild beast. Nor would this be difficult to accomplish, if his troops were first dispersed, and he were then surprised and seized himself, when none of his men could help him. It was obvious that he could not be captured in open fight without much bloodshed. The Persian troops were enervated by a long peace, and were not concentrated; Bajazet’s, on the other hand, were on the spot, ready for action, and well drilled.

Accordingly it was suggested to Bajazet that he should separate his troops, and all the arguments in favour of such a course were pressed upon him. He felt that the appeal was unanswerable, though some gallant men in his service had the sagacity to see that the proposed arrangement wore a most suspicious appearance. But how could he refuse in his helpless position, when he had no other hope left, when his life was at the mercy of the Shah,—indeed he might deem himself lucky to be alive at all,—and when to doubt his host’s honour might be taken as a sign of the most treacherous intentions? So the poor fellows, who were never to meet again, were conducted to different villages and quartered where the Persians thought fit. After waiting a few days for a favourable opportunity, these scattered detachments were each surrounded by greatly superior forces, and butchered. Their horses, arms, clothes, and all their other effects became the booty of their murderers. At the same time Bajazet was seized while at the Shah’s table, and was thrown into chains. Some people think this violation of the laws of hospitality greatly aggravated the baseness of the act. His children likewise were placed in confinement.

You wished to have the latest news of Bajazet, so here it is for you. As to what is in store for him in the future, I think no one would find it easy to predict. Opinions vary; some people think he will be made a Sanjak-bey, and as such will be given Babylonia or some similar province, on the most distant frontiers of the dominions of the two monarchs. Others place no hope either in Tahmasp or Solyman, considering it all over with Bajazet, who, they think, will either be sent back here for execution, or perish miserably in prison. They argue that the Persian King, when he used force against Bajazet, did not do so without much consideration, fearing no doubt that if that active and high-spirited young man, who was a far better soldier than his brother, should succeed his father on the throne, much mischief would be thereby caused to his kingdom and himself. It would be much more to his advantage, if Selim, who is naturally inclined to gluttony and sloth, should become Sultan, since in that case there is good hope of peace and quiet for many a year. They are of opinion that for these reasons the Shah will never let Bajazet escape alive out of his hands, but will prefer to kill him in his prison; giving out a story, which no one could consider improbable, that the young man’s spirit had given way under confinement, and that he had died from mental depression. However that may be, it is in my judgment impossible for him to hope that one, whom he has so deeply injured, will ever be his friend.

You see different people have different opinions; I consider myself, that, whatever the end of the business may be, it will be a complicated one, as indeed I wish it may, for the success of our negotiations is closely connected with the fortunes of Bajazet. They will not be inclined to turn their arms against us till they see their way out of this difficulty. Even now they are trying to force on me for transmission to the Emperor despatches, and I know not what proposals for peace, which, they want me to believe, are very nearly in accordance with his wishes, but they do not give me any copy of them according to the usual practice, and this omission makes me suspect that they are not sincere. On this account I make a rule of resolutely refusing to forward despatches to the Emperor, without the purport of them being previously communicated to me. But, if after presenting me with a copy they should still deceive me, then I should be in possession of a document, which would at once free me from all responsibility, and convict them of dishonesty. In this course I am determined to persevere, and so to relieve my master from the difficulty of replying to their quibbling despatches, for he will accept no terms of peace that are not honourable. But you will say that by refusing proposals of peace, whatever their nature may be, a step towards war seems to be taken. Well, for my part, I consider it better policy to wait and see what will happen, without committing ourselves to any engagements. Meanwhile I will take the blame of not forwarding the despatches upon myself, and if the Turkish negotiators are disappointed in their hopes with regard to Bajazet’s speedy death, I do not think I shall find much trouble in clearing myself of it. In the other alternative, I shall have somewhat greater difficulties to overcome, but I consider that I shall have very good explanations to offer, and shall be able to assign adequate reasons for all I have done. The Turks are not in the habit of showing resentment towards those who they see are taking pains to manage their master’s affairs to the best of their ability. Besides, the Sultan is getting old, which is another point in my favour, as in the opinion of the Pashas he requires rest, and ought not to be exposed unnecessarily to the hardships of war. As regards myself, the policy I have sketched out must of course involve me in further trouble and vexation; but I feel that I am right, and if matters turn out as I hope, I shall have no reason to regret the sacrifice I am making.

Now you have got a book, not a letter. If I am to blame for this, you are equally so; you imposed the task; the labour bestowed on this despatch was taken at your desire. Complaisance is the only thing I can be blamed for, and yet this between friends is often considered a ground for commendation. I have some hopes however that you will find pleasure in reading what I found pleasure in writing. After I had once commenced my letter I was tempted to spin it out. For whilst writing to you I found that I felt free once more, and fancied myself to be enjoying your society in a far-distant land; you must therefore consider any trifling passages in my letter as the casual chit chat of a crony by your side. A letter has always been thought entitled to the same allowances as conversation. Neither ought to be closely criticised. Amongst friends you may say what first comes uppermost, and the same rule holds good when one is writing to intimate friends; to weigh one’s expressions would be to abandon one’s privileges. Just as public buildings require the perfection of workmanship, while nothing of the sort is expected in domestic offices, so this letter of mine does not pretend to be a work of general public interest, but simply some unpretentious jottings for the benefit of yourself and the friends to whom you may care to show it. If it only pleases you, I for my part am content. My Latin, some one might say, would bear improvement, and also my style. Well, I never said they would not. But what more can you expect of a man than his best? It is my ability, not my will, that is in fault. Besides it is absurd to expect scholarship from this land of barbarism. In fine, you must agree, if you do not despise my present letter, to receive an account of my remaining adventures till I return to Vienna, if, indeed, I ever do return; but whether I shall or not, I will now end and trouble you no further. Farewell.

Constantinople, June 1, 1560.

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[LETTER IV.]

Introduction—Great disaster of the Christians at Djerbé—Their fleet surprised by Pialé Pasha—Flight of the Duke of Medina to Sicily—Arrival of the news at Constantinople—Exultation of the Turks—Unsuccessful attempt of Don Alvaro de Sandé to cut his way out, followed by the surrender of the garrison—Their hardships during the siege—Triumphal return of the victorious fleet to Constantinople—Solyman’s demeanour—Treatment of the prisoners—Busbecq rescues the royal standard of Naples—Fate of the Duke of Medina’s son—De Sandé brought before the Divan and then imprisoned in the Castle of the Black Sea—Busbecq’s efforts to relieve the prisoners—Complaints of the ingratitude of some of them—Charity of Italian merchants—One notable exception—Religious scruples of the Sultan—He prohibits the importation of wine to Constantinople—Exemption of Busbecq and his household—Story of some Greeks—Busbecq’s request to leave his house on account of the plague refused by Roostem, but granted by Ali, his successor—Death of Roostem—Busbecq’s physician dies of the plague—Description of the Princes’ Islands—Fishing there—Pinnas—Franciscan Friar—Death rate from the plague at Constantinople—Turkish notions of Destiny—The Metropolitan Metrophanes—Return to Constantinople—Characters of Ali Pasha and Roostem contrasted—Anecdote of Roostem—The Emperor presents Busbecq with the money intended for Roostem—Busbecq’s interview with Ali—Accident of the latter—Incursion of John Basilicus into Moldavia—Conversation with Ali on the subject—Imprisoned pilgrims released by the intervention of Lavigne, the French ambassador—His character—Story of him and Roostem—Account of the Goths and Tartars of the Crimea—Gothic vocabulary—Turkish pilgrim’s account of China and of his journey thither—Extraordinary feats of Dervishes—Strictness of Busbecq’s imprisonment relaxed—His troubles in consequence of the quarrels between his servants and the Turks—Story given as an example—Annoyance of the Porte at the Treaty of Cateau Cambrésis—Ibrahim, the first dragoman of the Porte, degraded from office through Lavigne’s, and restored to it through Busbecq’s, influence—Failure of Salviati’s attempt to procure the release of the Spanish prisoners—By Ibrahim’s advice Busbecq intervenes and obtains their release—The Mufti’s opinion—Continuation of the story of Bajazet—Persian ambassadors—Open [316]house kept by Pashas before Ramazan—Story of a Khodja at a Pasha’s table—Solyman’s negotiations for Bajazet’s surrender—Strong feeling of the army in his favour—Hassan Aga and the Pasha of Marasch sent to the Shah, who gives leave for Bajazet’s execution—He and his sons are executed in prison—Touching account of the death of the youngest at Broussa—Argument between Busbecq and his cavasse about predestination—Peace negotiations unfavourably affected by Bajazet’s death—Further difficulties apprehended on account of the defection of some Hungarian nobles from John Sigismund to Ferdinand—Terms of peace previously settled adhered to notwithstanding the remonstrances of John Sigismund’s ambassadors—The dragoman Ibrahim selected to return with Busbecq—Ali’s presents to Busbecq—Busbecq’s farewell audience of Solyman—He starts on his return—At Sophia Leyva and Requesens part company and go to Ragusa—Pleasant journey home of Busbecq and de Sandé—Quarrel at Tolna between the Janissary stationed there and one of Busbecq’s servants—Arrival at Buda after meeting Turkish fanatics—Arrival at Gran, Komorn, Vienna—Busbecq learns that the Emperor is at the Diet at Frankfort—He proceeds thither with Ibrahim and is graciously received—Coronation of Maximilian—Peace ratified—Busbecq longs for home—His bad opinion of courts—His preference for a quiet country life—Panegyric of Ferdinand—His Fabian tactics against the Turks justified—His private life—Animals and curiosities brought back by Busbecq—Balsam—Lemnian earth—Coins—MSS.—Dioscorides—Conclusion.

I must first acknowledge the kind and cordial manner in which you congratulate me on my return. Next, as regards your request for a narrative of my experiences during the latter part of my embassy, and for any pleasant stories I may have heard, I beg to assure your Excellency that I am fully sensible of the obligation I have undertaken. I have not forgotten it, and have no intention of defrauding so obliging a creditor as yourself. So here at your service are the events that followed my last letter, whether trifling, amusing, or serious. I intend, as in my other letters, to jot things down as they occur to me, though in this case I shall have to begin with a most disheartening tale.

I had scarcely recovered from the bad news of Bajazet’s misfortunes and imprisonment, when we were overwhelmed by a piece of intelligence, which was equally unfavourable. Tidings were then expected at Constantinople of the result of the expedition of the Turkish fleet, which had been summoned to Meninx by the reports of the Spanish successes on that island, which is now called Djerbé.[227] Solyman was deeply hurt at hearing that this island had been taken by the Christians, new outworks added to the citadel, and a garrison thrown into the place; as master of a great empire in the full tide of prosperity, he felt that he must avenge the insult. For this reason he determined to assist a nation which was attached to him by the ties of a common faith, and despatched an army and fleet to their assistance under the command of the Admiral Pialé Pasha, who had manned his ships with a numerous body of picked soldiers. The men, however, were anxious, dreading the length of the voyage, and being cowed by the prestige which the enemy had acquired. The great successes gained by the Spanish arms both in ancient and modern times, had made a deep impression on the minds of the Turks. They remembered the Emperor Charles, and heard every day of his son King Philip, who had inherited both the valour and the realms of his father. Hence great anxiety prevailed, and many, under the idea they were bound on a desperate service, made their wills before leaving Constantinople, like men convinced they were fated to return no more. Thus the whole city was distracted by various apprehensions, and everyone, whether he embarked or not, suffered keenly from the strain caused by the uncertainty of the result of the war.

But the winds were favourable to the Turkish fleet; our men were taken by surprise, and such a panic ensued, that they had neither the courage to fight nor the sense to fly; some galleys that were ready for action sought safety in flight; the remainder ran aground, and were either miserably wrecked on the shoals, or surrounded and taken by the enemy. The Duke of Medina, the commander of the expedition, retreated into the citadel with John Andrew Doria, the admiral. Favoured by the darkness, they embarked early in the night in a small boat, and boldly steering through the enemy’s blockading squadron, reached Sicily in safety.

Pialé sent a galley here with news of this victory, and, to proclaim more openly the tidings she brought, she trailed in the water from her stern a large flag, on which, according to the account the Turks gave, was embroidered a representation of our Saviour Christ on the Cross. When she entered the harbour, the report of the Christian defeat ran through the whole city, and the Turks began congratulating each other on their great success. They gathered in crowds at my door, and asked my men in mockery, had they any brother, kinsman, or relation in the Spanish fleet? ‘If so,’ said they, ‘you will soon have the pleasure of seeing them.’ They were loud moreover in extolling the valour of their people, and expressing their scorn at the cowardice of the Christians. ‘What power,’ they asked, ‘had we left that could resist them, now that the Spaniard was vanquished?’

My men were obliged to listen to these speeches to their great sorrow, but they had to bear them, as God had so ordered it, and it could not be changed. One thought alone sustained us, the hope that the defence of the citadel, which the Spaniards still held with a strong garrison, could be made good, till winter or some accident should compel the enemy to raise the siege. We had not much hope, however, as we knew that success was far more likely to attend the victors than the vanquished, and so indeed it proved, for the besieged being hard pressed and in great want of everything, especially water, at last surrendered the citadel and themselves.

Don Alvaro de Sandé, who commanded the troops, a man of great courage and reputation, when he saw they could hold out no longer, attempted to sally out of the citadel with a few attendants, and seize a small ship, and so cross to Sicily; hoping thus to save the high character he had earned as a soldier from the disgrace which accompanies a surrender, however unavoidable; for he was determined that, whoever might have to bear the responsibility, it should not rest on his shoulders.

The result of his attempt was that the citadel fell into the hands of the enemy, for the soldiers opened the gates, which they could no longer defend, in the hope of appeasing the enemy by a voluntary surrender. Don Juan de Castella refused to leave the outwork entrusted to his charge, but fought against the enemy with his brother at his side, till he was wounded at last, and taken prisoner.

The citadel had been defended by the Spaniards with great resolution for more than three months, though almost every necessary, and—worst of all—even the hope of relief, had failed them. In that burning climate nothing was more trying to the troops than the want of water. There was only one reservoir, and though it was large and well supplied with water, it was not sufficient for such a number. Accordingly a fixed allowance was distributed to each man, just sufficient to sustain life. Many eked out their ration by adding sea-water, which had been purified of most of its salt by distillation. This expedient had been imparted to them, when they had sore need of it, by a skilful alchemist; however, it was not everyone that had the necessary apparatus, so that many were to be seen stretched on the ground at the point of death with their mouths gaping, and continually repeating the one word ‘water.’ If anyone had compassion on them and poured a little water into their mouths, they would get up and raise themselves to a sitting posture, till, when the good effect of the draught was exhausted, they would fall back on the same spot, and at last expire of thirst. Accordingly, besides those who were slain, and those who died from sickness and the want of medical attendance on that desolate spot, numbers perished in the manner I have described from want of water.

In the month of September the victorious fleet returned to Constantinople, bringing with it the prisoners, the spoils, and the galleys they had taken from our people, a sight as joyful for the eyes of the Turks, as it was grievous and lamentable for us.

That night the fleet anchored off some rocks near Constantinople, as they did not wish to enter the harbour till morning, when the spectacle would be more striking, and there would be a greater crowd of spectators. Solyman had gone down to the colonnade close to the mouth of the harbour, which forms part of his gardens, that he might have a nearer view of his fleet as it entered, and also of the Christian officers who were exhibited on the deck. On the poop of the admiral’s galley were Don Alvaro de Sandé and the commanders of the Sicilian and Neapolitan galleys, Don Berenguer de Requesens and Don Sancho de Leyva. The captured galleys had been stripped of their oars and upper works and reduced to mere hulks, in which condition they were towed along; and thus made to appear small, ugly, and contemptible compared with those of the Turks.

Those who saw Solyman’s face in this hour of triumph failed to detect in it the slightest trace of undue elation. I can myself positively declare, that when I saw him two days later on his way to the mosque, the expression of his countenance was unchanged: his stern features had lost nothing of their habitual gloom; one would have thought that the victory concerned him not, and that this startling success of his arms had caused him no surprise. So self-contained was the heart of that grand old man, so schooled to meet each change of Fortune however great, that all the applause and triumph of that day wrung from him no sign of satisfaction.

A few days afterwards the prisoners were conducted to the Palace. The poor fellows were half dead from the privations they had undergone. The greater part could scarcely stand on their feet; many fell down from weakness and fainted; some were actually dying. They were insulted and hustled on the way, and compelled to wear their armour with the front turned to the back like so many scarecrows.

Around them were heard the voices of the Turks, who taunted them, and promised themselves the dominion of the world. For now that the Spaniard had been conquered, they said, what enemy was left that could be feared?

There was in that expedition a Turkish officer of the highest rank, with whom I was acquainted. The first or royal standard of the Neapolitan galleys, bearing the arms of all the provinces of the Kings of Spain quartered with the Imperial Eagle, had fallen into his hands. When I heard that he meant to present it to Solyman, I determined to make an effort to anticipate him and get possession of it. The matter was easily arranged by my sending him a present of two silk dresses. Thus I prevented the glorious coat-of-arms of Charles V. from remaining with the enemy as a perpetual memorial of that defeat.

Besides the officers I have mentioned, there were among the prisoners two gentlemen of high birth, namely, Don Juan de Cardona, the son-in-law of Don Berenguer, and Don Gaston, the son of the Duke of Medina; the latter, though hardly yet arrived at manhood, had held a high post in his father’s army. Don Juan had cleverly managed, by promising a large sum, to get himself left at Chios, which is still occupied by its ancient Genoese inhabitants.[228] Pialé had concealed Gaston in hopes of getting a great price for his ransom. But this trick proved well nigh fatal to its contriver. For Solyman, having by some means or other got wind of it, was extremely displeased, and at Roostem’s instigation made diligent search for Gaston’s hiding-place, intending to produce him in evidence of Pialé’s guilt, and thereby justify the execution of the latter.[229] But the plan failed through Gaston’s death. Some believe he died of the plague, but it is more probable that Pialé had him murdered, for fear of anything transpiring against himself. At any rate, he could not be traced, though the agents of his father, the Duke of Medina, spared no pains to find him. One may well suspect that Pialé had no scruple in securing his own safety by the murder of Gaston. Notwithstanding, he lived a long time in great fear, and avoiding Constantinople, on various pretexts kept coasting about the islands of the Ægean with a few galleys. He was afraid to come into the presence of his offended master, feeling sure that he would be forthwith manacled, tried, and condemned. At last Solyman was softened by the entreaties of the chief of the eunuchs of his bedchamber, and of his son Selim, and gave him his royal pardon, the very words of which I am glad to be able to repeat. ‘As far as I am concerned let him enjoy pardon and impunity for his terrible crime; but after this life may God, that most just avenger of evil deeds, inflict on him the punishment he deserves.’ So rooted is his conviction, that no evil deed ought to go unpunished.

Fortune was more favourable to Don Juan de Cardona. Luckily for him his amiable sister is the wife of a distinguished Austrian Baron, Adam von Dietrichstein,[230] who, after a great deal of trouble, got him sent back to Spain, on my becoming surety for his ransom.

When de Sandé was brought into the Divan, or Assembly of the Pashas, and Roostem asked him, ‘What had put it into his master’s head to attack the territories of others when he could not defend his own?’ he replied, ‘This was no matter for him to decide; his duty was to be faithful in executing his master’s orders to the utmost of his ability. He had done his best and had been unfortunate.’ Then kneeling down he entreated the Pashas to intercede with Solyman for his life, saying, that he had a wife and a young family at home, and he entreated them to spare his life for their sake. Roostem replied, ‘His Emperor was of a clement disposition, and he had good hopes of obtaining mercy for him.’

So de Sandé was ordered to be taken to the fortress they call Caradenis, which means ‘of the Black Sea,’ but he had not gone far when he was recalled. The only reason for his being sent for again was, that the chief of the bedchamber eunuchs, whom I mentioned before, and who has great influence with the Sultan, had not yet seen him, and wished to do so. It was noticed that as he came back his nerves, usually so strong, appeared to be shaken, and he seemed to be afraid that the Pashas had altered their decision, and were bringing him back for execution.

The other prisoners of importance were confined in the Tower of Pera, or Galata, as it is sometimes called. Among them were Don Sancho de Leyva, with his two bastard sons, and also Don Berenguer.

After I had been informed of their condition and the great privations they were undergoing, I felt it my duty to come to their relief. I therefore sent visitors to express my sympathy, and assure them of my readiness to give them such assistance as lay in my power. From that time my house was the general rendezvous of all the prisoners, nor was I ever backward in giving them help as far as my means allowed.

The Turks consider they have made ample provision for their prisoners, if they have bread and water enough. As to what the age of each prisoner, his habits and state of health, or the season of the year may demand, they take no account, and treat all in the same way, whether they are sick or well or just recovering from illness, strong or delicate, old or young. I had, therefore, a wide field for the exercise of my charity, inasmuch as each case required special treatment. A great multitude of the sick were lying in a mosque in Pera, the town situated opposite Byzantium, immediately across the bay. About them the Turks did not think it worth while to take any more trouble, indeed they considered them as good as dead. Many of them died from want of proper nourishment, either during the illness itself or during convalescence; for they had no bowl of soup or dainty dish to tempt their feeble appetite, and thus enable them gradually to regain their strength. Being informed of this, I commissioned a citizen of Pera, who was a friend of mine, to buy some sheep every day, boil them at home, and divide them among the prisoners, giving meat to some and broth to others, as each man’s case happened to require, and this was of service to not a few. This I did for the sick; those who were well required help of another kind.

My house from early morning till evening was filled with a crowd of those who sought assistance for their different troubles. Some, who had been accustomed to sumptuous tables, could not digest their daily ration of dry black bread, and required the means of procuring some relish to eat with it. There were others whose stomachs could not endure perpetual water-drinking, and wanted a little wine to mix with it. Some needed blankets, as they had nothing but the bare ground to sleep on, and therefore suffered from cold at night; one was in want of a cloak, another of shoes. The most numerous requests were for the means wherewith to fee their jailers, and thus render them more merciful.

To cure all these troubles money was the only remedy, so that a day never passed without several pieces of gold being thus expended.

But this evil was endurable and not fatal; another and a more ruinous one was impending from the persons who demanded that larger sums should be lent them, or wanted me to be surety for the amount of their ransom. None of them lacked some plausible pretext for puffing himself off, and maintaining that his own case had the best claim on my bounty. One put forward his high rank and his powerful relations or connections, another his long service and his captain’s commission, a third his great wealth at home and his ability to pay the debt without delay. Some too boasted of their own valour, and their glorious exploits in war. All, in a word, thought they had a fair claim for assistance on some ground or other. If a question was asked as to their credit and whether they would remember to pay, they told me to make myself perfectly easy; for what, said they, could be more unjust than to involve the man who had done them this great service in pecuniary difficulties and losses, when they owed to him their freedom and their lives, and had been rescued by him as it were from the very jaws of death?

And indeed it was most grievous for me to hear, ‘Unless I have this moment in ready money two hundred pieces of gold, it is all over with me; I shall be taken over into Asia, or sent I know not whither as a galley-slave,[231] without any hope of ever recovering my freedom or seeing my home again. There is a merchant, who will not refuse to supply goods sufficient to raise the sum, if you will only go security.’ Such statements were the only warranty they generally gave me; but I could not help being influenced by them when I reflected that what they said was true. Unless they were assisted, a large part of them must inevitably perish by various calamities, and there was no one on the spot, who had greater means of helping them than myself, or on whom they had a stronger claim.

But you will say against me, I know, ‘No one is to be trusted;’ but who in the world could suppose that anyone would be such a monster of ingratitude as not to repay the money, which had been advanced to save his life? Suppose one or two lacked, not the will, but the means. Well, I must risk it, and after all what is spent in doing a good turn to a good man is never really lost. The majority at any rate will act honestly.

I was induced by such considerations to pledge my credit for many thousand crowns, and to plunge myself into such a deep abyss, that I do not know how I am to get out of it; indeed I am afraid that in getting them out of prison I have got myself into it. I have been explicit on this subject, as I wish to clear myself of blame for want of judgment in being too ready to lend. I must admit that the neglect to repay in certain cases has made me suspect that I shall not get out of the business without heavy loss. Nay, I have been already obliged to pay the money for which I went security for some of them, and I remember that remarks of certain among them came to my ears, who, though they had been saved by my good offices, yet made a joke of my extreme readiness in complying with their requests, and dubbed me for my pains a scatter-brained fool. From this I can gather how some of them will treat their obligations. But all this is in God’s hands. However it may turn out, I do not see why I should regret having done a kindness to many.

Ipsa sibi virtus semper pulcherrima merces.

I look for no extraordinary recompense for myself, and wish no honours, no statue voted me. All I ask is, that they should carry their gratitude so far as to repay honestly what I have spent to save their lives. I do not despair of this from so gallant a nation as the Spaniards.

I am glad to say that I not only did my part in contributing, but also by my example was the means of inducing many others to come forward and give valuable assistance. There are among the citizens and residents of Pera many Italian merchants, and these displayed extraordinary zeal in assisting the prisoners. There was, however, one exception, and I shall never forget his reasoning on the matter, it was so absurd. He was an Italian Greek, i.e., both in birth and manners half Greek and half Italian. When all his countrymen were doing their utmost to forward the good work, he never could be induced to spend a farthing on any of the prisoners. When he was accused on that score, he defended himself thus, in broken and barbarous Italian, for Greek was more familiar to him. ‘I do not know what sort of people these are, but I can easily guess they have not been brought into this misery except by the just judgment of God. I will not run counter to the Divine Will; as far as I am concerned, let them stay in the place where God has chosen them to be. I shall not be surprised if you, who so daringly come between them and the decrees of Providence, have reason to repent of it hereafter. No one shall persuade me to lay out on them as much as a single penny.’ Such was his view of the matter. So much for this foolish prognosticator.

This naval defeat of the Christians, coupled with Bajazet’s disaster, caused me great anxiety; I was afraid that I should find the Turks elated by success, and consequently more exacting in my negotiations for peace. Besides the public misfortunes, I also sustained a personal loss; the plague invaded my house, carrying off one of my most faithful servants, and causing a panic among the other members of my household.

Of this I will speak a little later, when I have mentioned another trouble that befell us, which, though less than the former, caused me considerable anxiety. The Sultan is becoming every day more scrupulous in religious matters, or in other words, more superstitious. He used to enjoy hearing a choir of boys, who sang to the accompaniment of stringed instruments. But all this has been done away with by the interposition of some old hag, renowned for her profession of sanctity, who threatened him with heavy punishments hereafter if he did not give up this amusement. Alarmed by her denunciations, he broke up all his musical instruments and threw them into the fire, though they were of excellent workmanship, and adorned with gold and jewels.

Some one found such fault with him for eating off silver plate, that he has used nothing but earthenware ever since.

Then some one appeared who blamed the Sultan for allowing wine to be used so freely in the city, and so made him feel conscientious scruples at neglecting Mahomet’s directions on this head. Therefore proclamation was made that thenceforth no wine should be imported into Constantinople, not even for the Christians or the Jews. This proclamation concerned me and mine not a little, as we were by no means accustomed to drinking water. For where could we get wine, if it was not allowed to enter the walls of the city? Long home-sickness and the continued uncertainty about the result of our negotiations had already told upon our strength, and this compulsory change in our diet was, in consequence, likely to be very prejudicial to our health. I commissioned my interpreters to make strong representations to the Pashas in the Divan, and to maintain our ancient privileges. There opinions were divided. Some thought we ought to be content with drinking water, for what would the neighbourhood say, demurred they, if they saw we had wine brought into our house? Why, that while they were strictly forbidden its use, Christians in the midst of Constantinople were swilling away to their hearts’ content, and polluting the city far and wide with the fumes of their liquor. Nay, even Mussulmans who came to me went away reeking with wine. These considerations proved well nigh fatal to our suit. However, the opinion of the Pashas who took special charge of our interests, finally prevailed. They declared that we were not able to stand such a change of diet, and warned the Divan that sickness and death would in many cases be the consequence. The end of it was, that we were allowed the choice of one night, on which we might have as much wine as we wished conveyed to the sea-gate, this being the most convenient point for us. There we had carts and horses to meet it, and bring it into the house with as little noise as possible, and so we retained our rights.

Some members of the Greek nation did not fail to put the Sultan to the test in the following fashion. Having ascertained that he was about to pass through a district which was planted with numerous vineyards, they assembled in great numbers, and began tearing up the vines by the roots. Some of them commenced to block the road with the vine stocks, and others to load carts with them. When the Sultan came to the place, he stopped, wondering what the matter could be, and calling to him the nearest of the men, inquired what they were about. They answered, that as by his proclamation they were forbidden to drink wine, they were rooting up the vines for firewood, as they would be useless for the future. Then Solyman replied, ‘You are wrong, and have not understood my intentions, as you ought to have done. If I enjoined abstinence from wine, I did not therefore prevent anyone’s eating grapes. Grapes are to be reckoned among the most excellent of the fruits which God has granted to man. There is nothing to hinder you from enjoying their juice while fresh, so long as you do not put it up in casks, and turn it to a wrong use by your pernicious art. Do you think pear-trees and apple-trees ought to be rooted up because they do not produce wine? Leave off, you fools, and spare the vines, which will bear you excellent fruit.’ Thus the Greeks took nothing by their scheme.

I now return to the plague, which, as I told you, had attacked our house. When it broke out, I sent to Roostem to ask for permission to remove to some place that was free from infection. I did so with hesitation, as I was acquainted with his character; still I could not incur the imputation of neglecting my own health and that of my servants. Roostem answered, he would lay my request before the Sultan, and the next day sent me back word that his master had made this reply: ‘What did I mean, or where did I think of flying? did I not know that pestilence is God’s arrow which never misses its mark? where in the world could I hide myself, so as to be shielded from the stroke of His weapons? If He ordained that the pestilence should strike me, neither flight nor concealment would be of any avail. To try to escape from the inevitable was a vain attempt. His own palace was not at that very moment free from the plague, but nevertheless he stayed there, and it was likewise my duty to remain where I was.’ Thus I was obliged to await my doom in that plague-stricken house.

But not long afterwards it came to pass that Roostem was carried off by an attack of dropsy.[232] He was succeeded by Ali, who was then the second of the Vizieral Pashas, the most courteous and sagacious statesman I ever met among the Turks.[233] When I sent him a valuable silken robe with my congratulations on his promotion, I received a gracious reply, for he asked me to treat him as a friend on every occasion, and not to hesitate to apply to him if necessary, and indeed he was as good as his word.

The first occasion on which I experienced his kindness was, when the plague broke out afresh in my house, and, besides attacking other members of my household, carried off the excellent gentleman, who, under God, had been our chief support in time of sickness. I sent to Ali Pasha to ask the same permission I had formerly asked of Roostem. He replied that he could give me leave to go where I pleased, but it would be more prudent to ask that of the Sultan as well, for fear that if he should happen to fall in with my men going about at large, he should be angry at my being outside my lodgings without his knowledge. Everything, he said, depended on the way in which a matter was brought to the Sultan’s notice, and that he would lay the subject before him in such a manner as to leave no doubt of his assent. Soon afterwards he informed me that I had permission to go wherever I thought proper.

The island they call Prinkipo[234] appeared to be the most convenient place for my retirement. It is four hours’ sail from the city, and is the most agreeable of the numerous little islands which are in the neighbourhood of Constantinople, for the others have only one village or none at all, but this has two.

As to what I said, that the person on whose skill we had chiefly relied had been taken away from us by death, this was none other than my most excellent and faithful companion during my long sojourn abroad, our doctor, William Quacquelben.

I had ransomed a man, who (though I did not know it at the time), proved to be stricken with the plague. While William was endeavouring to treat him for the disease, being not sufficiently careful of himself, he got infected with the plague poison. On this point he did not agree with the rest of his profession, but declared that, when the plague was rife there was more panic than real danger; his opinion being that, at such times there is about the average amount of different kinds of illness, and that people are then so nervous, that they think most of them are the plague, and that consequently every sort of ulcer or pimple is then regarded as a plague boil, and treated accordingly. And so, although he was already sickening of the plague, he never suspected what was the matter with him, until the sickness, which had been increased by his concealing it, broke out with violent paroxysms. He all but died in the hands of those who ran to support him, and not even then could he be induced to believe it was an attack of the plague. When I sent, the day before he died, to make inquiries, he replied he was better, and asked me to come to him, if I could spare the time. I sat with him a long time, and he told me how very ill he had been. All his senses, he said, and especially his sight, had been so impaired that he could recognise no one. He was now better in this respect and had the command of all of them; the phlegm only continued, which interfered with his breathing, and if this were relieved he would be well at once. As I was leaving him, I said, I heard he had some sort of abscess on his breast. He admitted that such was the case, and throwing back the bed-clothes showed it me, saying, there was nothing bad about it, he had got it from the knots of a new doublet he had put on, which was too tight.

In the evening, according to the rules of my house, two of my servants went to attend him for the night, and were preparing to change his shirt. When he was stripped, he noticed on his body a purple spot which they said was a flea-bite, and then he saw more and bigger ones. ‘These are no flea-bites,’ said he, ‘but messengers to tell me my death is near. Let us therefore profit by this warning.’ From that moment he devoted the whole of the night to prayer, pious meditation, and listening to the Scriptures being read, until as morning broke, he departed this life with full assurance of God’s mercy.[235]

Thus I lost a very dear friend and excellent fellow-worker, while the loss to the literary world was not less than mine. He had seen, learnt, and taken note of many things, and intended sooner or later to publish the results of his observations, but death cut short the work he had so admirably planned. So highly did I appreciate his loyalty and his tact, that, if the state of my negotiations had permitted, and I had been granted permission to return, I should not have hesitated to leave him as my deputy at Constantinople. From that time it appeared as if my labours were doubled, and now that I have returned home, I seem to have left a portion of myself behind in my dear friend’s grave at Constantinople. May peace be with his blessed spirit! His virtues are recorded on the monument, which I erected to his memory.

But to return to my islands,[236] on which I lived very pleasantly for three months. I enjoyed the greatest privacy, there was neither crowd nor noise. There were a few Greeks on the island in whose houses we lodged, but there was no Turk to act the jailer and dog my footsteps when I wanted to amuse myself; for the Turkish servants, to whom I had grown accustomed, did not interfere with me, and I was allowed to wander freely where I would, and to coast about the numerous islands as I pleased.

Every place there is full of plants of different sorts, cottonweed, narrow-leaved myrtle, knapweed, and many others. The sea abounds with fish of every kind, which I caught sometimes with a hook and sometimes with a net. Boats were to be had with Greek fishermen, whom we employed to help us.

I used to cross to any spot that presented an agreeable view, or held out good hopes of sport. Sometimes, where the water was clear and shallow, I took a fancy to carry on open warfare by spearing with a trident a crab or a lobster as he scuttled along, and so pulling him into the boat. But the mode of fishing, which was at once the most pleasant and the most profitable, was that with a seine or drag-net.

I had a place, which the fishermen thought likely, surrounded with a drag-net, and, by making use not only of the net itself but also of the long ropes with which its two ends were dragged ashore, we managed to enclose a very considerable space. Round these ropes the sailors twined a quantity of green boughs to scare the fish and prevent their escaping into deep water. So, when the ends of the net on either side were drawn to land, the fish were driven into a narrow space; they then began to get frightened and did their best to escape, each following its natural instinct. Some tried to avoid the danger by a bold leap over the net. Others, on the contrary, by burrowing in the sand endeavoured to save themselves from being entangled. Some tried to gnaw through the meshes, though they were made of very coarse twine; these were mostly of the shark tribe, which are armed with powerful teeth. These creatures have such instinct that when they have bitten away twine enough to open a passage for one, the whole shoal follows where the first has got out, and leaves not one for the fisherman. As I was afraid of this trick, of which I had been warned beforehand, I stood in the bows holding a pole with which I kept striking their noses as they gnawed at the net, much to the amusement of my attendants. My efforts were rewarded with only partial success; a few were caught, but a great many got away. So you see that even a fish, when hard put to it, can turn cunning. However, we took plenty of other fish to console us for the loss of some of the sharks—such as sea bream, sea scorpions, weavers, char, rock-fish, and ruffs. Their variety made them a pretty sight, and I greatly enjoyed making out their names and habits. So at night I returned to my camp with my bark wreathed with laurels, and laden with booty and prisoners. The next day I shared my spoils with Ali Pasha and his major-domo, who returned me their grateful thanks, and said the present was very acceptable.

I sometimes took a fancy to capture pinnas, for which I used a pole and iron contrivance made for the purpose, with which I pulled them up from the bottom. They are very plentiful in that sea, so much so that they seem to have been artificially laid down. I found in them the pinna-guards, celebrated by Cicero, Pliny, and Athenæus, which were usually in pairs, a male and a female, but sometimes in larger numbers. I am afraid, however, that the other statements made about them by the above authors are not altogether to be trusted. That they are interesting, I admit; the question is, are they based on fact. They relate that the pinna with its shells wide open lies in wait for tiny fishes, but that, as it is a blind and senseless lump of flesh, it would not know when they are inside its fortalice, if it were not warned by a bite from the pinna-guard; then it closes its shells, and shares with the pinna-guard the fishes that are shut in. For the shape of the pinna, you may consult Belon.[237] It fixes the sharper of its two ends into the bottom of the sea, and fastens itself by a tuft of hair or thread, so firmly, that one might think it was planted there. By these threads it sucks up its nutriment, which is clearly proved from the fact that, if torn up from its place, it dies from want of nourishment, like vegetables and plants when severed from their roots. But it is probable the pinna-guard chooses this home in order to have a strong defence against the violence of ravenous fishes and a quiet haven when the sea is boisterous, from which it can sally out when it likes, and retreat again in safety. I should not, however, wish in saying this to be suspected of intending to detract at all from the authority of such great men; my object is simply to draw the attention of others to the subject in the hope of its being investigated more thoroughly.[238] We used to have no difficulty in filling our boat with pinnas; they are not good eating, and you would soon get tired of them, being coarse and tasting like mussels. But the fisherman told us to pick out the pinna-guards, of which a dish was made, that was alike agreeable to the palate and wholesome for the stomach.

Among the rest there is a small island, which is uninhabited. Close to it I recollect capturing monstrous and extraordinary creatures, such as starfishes, razorshells, clusters of cuttlefish eggs, sea-horses, enormous snails, and some yellow balls like oranges, but no fishes, except one skate or sting-ray, which is capable of inflicting a serious wound with its sting. It tried to strike us, and in so doing impaled itself and was caught.

When the weather kept us from the sea, I amused myself on shore in looking for rare and new plants. Sometimes by way of exercise, I walked round the island, dragging with me a Franciscan friar, a capital young fellow, but, though young, very fat and unaccustomed to exertion. He had gone with me as a companion from the monastery at Pera. One day, as I was walking fast to warm myself, he followed me with difficulty, puffing and blowing, ‘What need is there,’ he would cry, ‘for such a hurry? We are not running for our lives or chasing anybody! Are we postmen charged with letters of importance?’ This went on till the sweat broke out in his back through his clothes in a great round patch. When we returned to our lodging, he made the house echo with his groans and lamentations, and threw himself on his bed, crying out he was done for. ‘What harm,’ he exclaimed, ‘have I ever done you that you should try to kill me before my time?’ And it was only by dint of much pressing that we could induce him to come to supper.

Occasionally friends from Constantinople and Pera and some Germans of Ali’s household paid us a visit. When I asked them ‘Whether the plague was abating?’ one of them replied, ‘Yes, in a marked degree.’ ‘What is the daily death-rate then?’ quoth I, ‘About five hundred,’ said he. ‘Good God,’ I exclaimed, ‘do you call this the plague abating? How many used to die when it was at its height?’ ‘About a thousand or twelve hundred,’ he answered.

The Turks imagine that the time and manner of each man’s death is inscribed by God on his forehead, and that therefore they have no power of avoiding the fatal hour, and that till that time there is no need for fear. This belief renders them indifferent to the dangers of the plague, but does not secure them against its attacks. And so they handle the clothes and sheets in which plague-stricken people have expired, while they are still reeking with their death-sweat, and even rub their faces with them. ‘If God,’ say they, ‘has decreed that I shall die thus, it must happen; if not, it cannot injure me.’ This of course is just the way to spread contagion, and sometimes whole households perish to a man.

While I lived in the islands I made friends with the Metropolitan[239] Metrophanes, who was abbot of a monastery in Chalcis, one of the islands, a polite and well-educated man, who was very anxious for a union of the Latin and Greek Churches. In this he differed from the views entertained by Greeks generally, for they will hold no communion with members of the Latin Church, which they consider an impure and profane sect. This shows how strong is each man’s conviction of the truth of his own faith.

When I had spent about two months in the island, some of the Pashas became suspicious of my long stay, sought an interview with Ali, and told him that they considered it would be more convenient if I were recalled to the city. For what if I should escape? I had ships at my command, and everything that was needful to facilitate my flight, should I be so inclined. Ali told them to set their minds at ease, saying, he had the most perfect confidence in me. He sent me, notwithstanding, a cavasse to tell me of this. The man, after examining everything, without appearing to do so, and finding nothing to indicate an intention of running away, returned with a message from me to Ali Pasha not to be afraid; I would do nothing which would give him cause to repent of his confidence in me. I took care, by the way, to give the cavasse a douceur. So my holiday was prolonged into the third month, and I returned to the city, at my own time, without being recalled.

From that time forward Ali Pasha and I became firm friends, and were for ever interchanging views with the object of re-establishing peace. He is a Dalmatian by birth, and the only polished gentleman I came across among the Turkish savages. He is of a quiet and gentle disposition, courteous, and extremely intelligent, possesses great capacity for business, and has had much experience both as general in the field and statesman in the cabinet. For he is now advanced in life, and the posts he has held have always been important ones. He is above the average height, and, while his habitual expression is grave and serious, it has about it an ineffable charm. To his master he is deeply attached, and he shows it by his anxiety to arrange a peace, for he feels that the Sultan’s health and years require rest. The end which Roostem had sought to bring about by rudeness and intimidation he endeavoured to compass by courtesy and moderation;—in short, Ali treated me like a friend.

Roostem was always sour, always overbearing, and meant his word to be law. It was not that he was ignorant of how matters stood. He knew right well what the condition of the times and the Sultan’s advancing years required, but he was afraid that, if any word or act of his should betoken a milder mood, he would be suspected of hankering after a bribe, for his master had no confidence in his integrity in this respect. For this reason he did not desist from his usual rudeness, although he was desirous of patching up a peace. Accordingly, when anything was said that did not please him, he refused to listen to me, and showed me the door, so that every conference I had with him ended in his losing his temper; though I cannot be sure that his anger was not sometimes assumed.

On one occasion, I remember, when I had been treating with him on matters concerning the peace, and he had rejected my propositions as inadmissible, and had told me to be off, if I had no other proposals to make, I immediately rose and went home, having first said that it was not in my power to go beyond my instructions. As he thought I had done this with unusual warmth, he called back my interpreter and asked him if I was displeased. When the interpreter replied in the negative, ‘I want your opinion,’ said Roostem; ‘if I were to obtain from my master the terms he has mentioned to me, do you think he would be as good as his word and pay me down the present he has promised me?’ When the interpreter said he felt no doubt that I would most faithfully perform whatever I had promised, Roostem replied, ‘Go home and ask him.’ I had by me in ready money 5,000 ducats, which are equivalent to 6,000 crowns. With these I loaded my interpreter, and ordered him to tell Roostem to keep them as a proof of my good faith and as a first instalment, saying, that the rest would follow when the business was concluded (for I had promised him a still larger sum), I was not in the habit of breaking my word. Roostem was delighted to see the money, fingered it, and then gave it back to the interpreter, saying, ‘I do not doubt his good faith; but as to the peace there are difficulties of no ordinary kind in the way; I cannot give him any positive assurance about it, indeed I do not yet know my master’s intentions. Go, take the money back to the Ambassador that he may keep it for me, till it is certain what turn the business will take. In the mean time he must be my banker.’

So I saved my money after all, Roostem himself being carried off by death some months afterwards.

I must now tell you of the goodness of our most gracious Emperor. When there seemed no object in keeping this sum any longer, after giving due notice to the Emperor, I applied it to meet a year’s expenditure (for our annual outlay amounted to 6,000 crowns). I afterwards repented of this, when I began to reflect on the number of years and the great labours and dangers this embassy had cost me already; I thought I had not done myself justice, inasmuch as though I knew the money was but my due, and I had a most excellent and generous master, a most just judge of everyone’s deserts, I had forgotten to avail myself of the opportunity, and had made no effort to secure for myself the money which had been saved, beyond all hope, like a lamb snatched from the very jaws of the wolf. There are many at court who have obtained far greater rewards for far smaller services. I determined to call the Emperor’s attention to the case, admit my error, and ask him to restore the entire sum, and to set right with his usual princely generosity the mistake I had committed through my carelessness. I had no difficulty in making out my case before so considerate a judge; he ordered the six thousand pieces of gold to be repaid me out of his treasury. If I shall ever allow my master’s great generosity to fade from my memory, I shall account myself unworthy to live.

But to return to my subject; there was a striking contrast between the characters of the Pashas Ali and Roostem. The career of the former had been such as to place his integrity in money matters above all suspicion. Consequently he was under no apprehension that courtesy or kindness on his part would injure him with his master. But Roostem, on the contrary, was always grasping, always mean, and one who made self-interest and money his first consideration.[240] Roostem used to have very short interviews with me, but Ali would purposely keep me for several hours, and make my visit pleasant by his great civility. Meanwhile the Turks, who had come either to call or on business, kept murmuring because they were detained so long waiting for their audience, while the Pasha was closeted with me. I confess I got very hungry at these interviews, for he used to summon me to him in the afternoon, and I did not care to eat before I went, as I wished to have my brain as clear as possible for my conference with this able statesman. In these conversations he strenuously urged, that we should each advise our own master to take the course we considered most for his interests. ‘He was well aware,’ he said, ‘that his master required nothing more urgently than repose, as his course was nearly run, and he had had his fill of military glory; on the other hand, he felt that there was no need to prove to me that peace and quiet would be likewise to my master’s interests. If he desired to consult the safety and tranquillity of his subjects, he ought not to rouse the sleeping lion, and provoke him once more to enter the lists. Just as mirrors, which are naturally empty, take the reflections of whatever objects may be placed before them, even so the minds of Sovereigns,’ he argued, ‘are blanks, which receive what may be called impressions of what is presented to them, and therefore we ought to put before our masters’ minds what would be most conducive to their advantage. Also we ought,’ said he, ‘to imitate good cooks, who do not season their dishes to suit the palate of this person or that, but consult the general taste; in like manner we, in settling the terms of peace, ought to regulate them so as to attain results which would be agreeable and honourable to both parties alike.’

He used very sensibly to repeat these and many similar arguments, and whenever an opportunity presented itself, displayed his good will towards me, and if in turn I showed him any sign of attention, he received it with marked gratitude.

About this time he met with an accident. He was returning home from the Divan, and had arrived at the turn of the road, where it was his habit to bid his colleagues farewell. There he chanced to wheel his horse round too sharply, and, while engaged in giving them a parting salute, bowed low with his whole weight on his steed’s neck. The horse, which had not yet got its foothold, being unequal to the weight, fell with its rider to the ground.

When I heard of this, I ordered my servants to visit him and inquire if he had received any harm from the accident. He was gratified by the attention, and after thanking me replied, ‘he was nowhere injured, and it was not strange if an old worn-out soldier was liable to fall.’ Then turning to the bystanders, he said, ‘I cannot tell you how much kindness that Christian always shows me.’

Sometimes he used to tell me that riches, honour, and dignities had fallen in abundance to his lot, and that now his only object in life was to show kindness to every one, and thus to hand down to posterity a grateful recollection of his name.

When we had been already engaged for some time in peace negotiations, and I was in great hopes of obtaining the result I desired, an accident occurred, which might have upset and ruined everything.

A Greek by birth, whom they honoured with the title of Despot,[241] invaded Moldavia, under the protection of the Emperor’s troops who were guarding the Hungarian frontier, and occupied it, after driving out the Voivode, who was then in possession of that country. The Turks were greatly disturbed by this event, which was serious enough in itself, and might, they feared, be only the first step to further enterprises, but they deemed it wise to conceal their anxiety, and not to make bad worse by unseemly alarm. But Ali thought he ought not to let it pass without communicating with me, and ascertaining my views. I received information from one of his domestics that in the course of a few hours I should be summoned to him about this affair. I must confess I was seriously alarmed by this message. Our negotiations were well nigh completed, in fact we were like players who are about to conclude their piece, of which only the last act remains. I was in great fear that this new event would disturb everything, and carry us away again from the harbour which was just in sight. I was summoned to Ali Pasha, as I had been warned. He received me with his usual politeness, and conversed with me on various topics, especially those relating to the conclusion of peace, without showing either in his words or expression any change from his usual demeanour, till I was just preparing to go, and had risen to bid him farewell. Then, as if he had just recollected the subject of Moldavia, he told me to sit down again and said, just as one does when some trifle has come into one’s head, ‘Indeed I had almost forgotten one thing I wanted to tell you. Have you heard that your Germans have come into Moldavia?’ ‘Into Moldavia!’ said I; ‘no, indeed I have not, and what is more, it seems to me most improbable. For what could Germans have to do with so distant a country as Moldavia?’ ‘Yet it is true,’ said he, ‘and you will find it to be so.’ He then began to repeat at greater length what he had told me, and to assure me that the news which had arrived was certain. ‘To conclude,’ said he, ‘to prevent your having any doubt about it, we will catch a German and send him to you that you may find out the truth from him.’ I then took the line of saying, that in any case I felt quite certain that nothing had been done by the Emperor’s orders or authority. The Germans were a free nation, and in the habit of taking foreign service. Perhaps some of those who had served under the Emperor’s generals had after their discharge enlisted as mercenaries under some one who required such troops, and in my judgment he would not be far wrong in attributing the cause of this disturbance to the neighbouring Hungarian magnates, who, wearied of the wrongs which were heaped on them every day by the Turks, had planned to pay them back in their own coin, and if I might express what I felt, ‘I do not see,’ said I, ‘on what ground they can be blamed, if, when harassed so often and goaded on by their wrongs, they remembered they were men and ventured to retaliate. Is there anything that your soldiers have not for many years past thought they might not perpetrate in Hungary? What species of outrage or what acts of hostility are there that they have abstained from inflicting on the Emperor’s subjects? Here indeed hopes of peace are put forward, but there war in all its worst forms is to be found. I have now been detained here as a prisoner for many years, and no one at home knows for certain whether I am alive or dead. The men who have borne your insults so long deserve, in my opinion, praise, not blame, if they avail themselves of any opportunity of revenge that presents itself.’

‘Be it so,’ said Ali; ‘let them do their worst, provided they keep within the borders of Hungary itself or the adjoining districts; but that they should invade Moldavia, which is only a few days’ journey from Adrianople, that indeed is more than we can put up with.’

I replied, ‘Men accustomed to war, and more experienced in wielding arms than in law, should not be expected to make nice or fine-drawn distinctions. They seized the first opportunity that offered, and thought it was not for them to consider where or how far they had leave to go.’ Thus I left him without his being at all angry, as far as I could judge; and in fact he did not show himself on the following days a bit more hard to deal with in the peace negotiations.

While we were in the midst of this business, I received a great kindness, for so I interpret it, from the Ambassador of the most Christian King (the King of France). There were in the Sultan’s prisons at Constantinople thirteen men, most of them young, including some of noble birth, partly Germans and partly Netherlanders, who had been reduced to that state by a curious accident. They had embarked at Venice in the ship, by which pilgrims to the holy city of Jerusalem are conveyed every year to Syria with passports from the Republic of Venice. Some were making the pilgrimage from religious motives, and others were travelling for pleasure; the journey, however, was destined to be disastrous to all. They landed at a most unfortunate time, as the knights of Malta had just made a descent upon that part of the coast of Palestine, and had carried off many prisoners. The Syrians, whose parents, children, and relations had been kidnapped, finding that they had no other means of revenging themselves and recovering their friends, laid hands on the travellers who were under the protection of Venetian passports, and accused them of belonging to the pirates, saying, ‘You must either get our kinsfolk restored to us, or like them be reduced to the condition of slaves.’ They showed their passports from the Venetian government, they appealed to the treaties and engagements of the Porte. It was all of no use; might proved stronger than right, and they were carried off to Constantinople in chains. Their youth also was much against them, as it prevented even the Pashas thinking it likely that they were bonâ fide pilgrims, because, as a general rule, it is only the older Turks who make religious pilgrimages.

When I obtained information of these events, I left no stone unturned to deliver them from their miserable condition; but my endeavours were wholly unsuccessful. The Venetian Baily[242] was appealed to, because they were under the protection of his Republic when they had fallen into misfortune. He frankly admitted their claim to his assistance, but pointed out the difficulty of his doing them any service when he had to deal with such insolent barbarians as the Turks. Meanwhile I did what I could to lighten their misfortunes. However, to my great surprise and joy they one day came to me in a body and told me they were sent home, thanks to the Ambassador of the most Christian King; through his good offices they had obtained their freedom. I was indeed delighted at this unhoped-for event, and had my warmest thanks conveyed to the Ambassador. The said Ambassador, Lavigne, being about to leave, had managed, when he was having a farewell audience of Solyman and was kissing his hand according to the established etiquette, to thrust into it a paper, in which he asked that those men, whose calamity had been caused by their undertaking a pilgrimage, should be granted their liberty as a favour to his King. Solyman complied with his request and ordered them to be instantly released.[243] I provided them with means for their journey, and having put them on board ship, sent them to Venice, and thence to their own country.

This Lavigne had at first made himself troublesome to me in many ways, and, whenever he could, tried to impede my negotiations, and did his best, without any fault of mine, to prejudice the Pashas against me. He used to say I was a subject of the King of Spain, as I was born in the Netherlands, and was as much that King’s servant as the Emperor’s. He told them King Philip was informed through me of everything that went on at Constantinople; that I had suborned men for that purpose, who disclosed to me all the greatest secrets, among whom Ibrahim, the first dragoman of the Sultan, about whom I shall speak later on, played the principal part. All this had happened before peace had been made between the Kings of Spain and France; and when peace was concluded he seems to have sought an opportunity to make amends for what he had done.

Lavigne was a man of a rude and brutal frankness; he always said what was uppermost in his mind, quite regardless of the feelings of his hearer. The consequence was that Roostem himself shrank from meeting him, although other people were afraid of conversing with Roostem on account of the rudeness of his language. Lavigne would send his dragomans to demand an audience for himself; Roostem would make excuses, and tell him to communicate what he wanted through them, and spare himself the trouble, assuring him that it could be done just as well without his coming. But this used to be all in vain, for he would presently come and say such things as seldom failed to give offence to Roostem. To take an instance, he one day complained that they did not have as much regard for his master as they ought to have. ‘For what is your opinion?’ said he; ‘perhaps you think Buda, Gran, Stuhlweissenburg, and the other towns of Hungary were taken by your valour, but you are quite mistaken. It is through us you hold them. For had it not been for the quarrels and perpetual wars, which have existed between our Kings and those of Spain, you would have been so far from being able to get possession of those towns, that scarcely at Constantinople itself would you have been safe from Charles V.’ Roostem bore this no longer, but burst into a violent passion, and exclaimed, ‘Why do you talk to me of your Kings and those of Spain? Such is the power of my master that, if all your Christian princes were to unite their forces and make war on him at once, he would not care a straw for it, and would win an easy victory over them all.’ With these words he retreated to his chamber in a rage, after ordering the Ambassador to leave.

I cannot here omit what I learnt about a tribe[244] which still dwells in the Crimea, which I had often heard showed traces of a German origin in their language, customs, and lastly in their face and habit of body. Hence I had long been eager to see one of that tribe, and, if possible, to procure from them something written in that language; but in this I was unsuccessful. However, at last an accident in some measure satisfied my wishes, as two men had been sent to Constantinople from those parts, to lay before the Sultan some complaints or other in the name of that tribe. My dragomans fell in with them, and recollecting my orders on the subject, they brought them to me to dinner.

One of them was about the middle height, and had an air of superior breeding—you might have taken him for a Fleming or Batavian; the other was shorter, more strongly built, and of a dark complexion, being by birth and language a Greek, but by having traded there for some time he had acquired a fair acquaintance with their tongue; while the other man had lived and associated so much with the Greeks that he had picked up their language and forgotten his own. When questioned about the nature and customs of these people he answered my inquiries in a straightforward manner. He said the tribe was warlike, and even now inhabited numerous villages, from which the chief of the Tartars raised, when expedient, 800 infantry, armed with fire-arms, the mainstay of his army. Their chief towns are called Mancup and Scivarin.

He told me also much about the Tartars and their barbarism, among whom, however, he said a good many men of remarkable ability might be found. For when asked about matters of importance they answered shortly and to the purpose. On this account the Turks, not without reason, say that all other nations have their wisdom written in books, but the Tartars have devoured their books, and so have it stored up in their breasts, and consequently are able to bring it out when needful, and talk like men inspired. They are very dirty in their habits; if any broth is served at table they require no spoons, but use instead the palm of the hand. They devour the flesh of slaughtered horses without cooking it in any way; all they do is to spread the pieces under their horses’ saddles, this warms them slightly, and they then proceed to eat the meat, as if it had been dressed after the most dainty fashion. The chief of the nation eats off a silver table. The first and also the last dish served is a horse’s head, as among us butter is honoured with the first and last place.

Now I will write down a few of the many German words, which he repeated, for the form of quite as many was totally different from ours, whether because this is due to the genius of that language, or because his memory failed him, and he substituted foreign for the native words. To all words he prefixed the article ‘tho’ or ‘the.’ The words which were the same as ours, or only a little different, were these:[245]

Gothic.	English.xxxxxx	Flemish.
Broe	Bread	Brood
Plut	Blood	Bloed
Stul	Stool	Stoel
Hus	House	Huys
Wingart	Vine	Wijngaert
Reghen	Rain	Regen
Bruder	Brother	Broeder
Schwester	Sister	Zuster
Alt	Old	Oud
Wintch	Wind	Wind
Silvir	Silver	Zilver
Goltz	Gold	Goud
Kor	Corn	Koren
Salt	Salt	Zout
Fisct	Fish	Visch
Hoef	Head	Hoofd
Thurn	Door	Deure
Stern	Star	Star
Sune	Sun	Zon
Mine	Moon	Maen
Tag	Day	Dag
Oeghene	Eyes	Oogen
Bars	Beard	Baert
Handa	Hand	Hand
[358]Boga	Bow	Bogen
Miera	Ant	Mier
Rinck or Ringo	Ring	Ring
Brunna	Spring	Bron
Waghen	Waggon	Wagen
Apel	Apple	Appel
Schieten	To shoot	Schieten
Schlipen	To sleep	Slapen
Kommen	To come	Komen
Singhen	To sing	Zingen
Lachen	To laugh	Lachen
Criten	To cry	Kryten
Geen	To go	Gaen
Breen	To roast	Braên
Schwalch	Death

Knauen Tag meant good day. Knauen signified good, and he used many other words which did not agree with our tongue, for example:

Iel, life or health	Stap, a goat
Ieltsch, alive or well	Gadeltha, beautiful
Iel uburt, be it well	Atochta, bad
Marzus, marriage	Wichtgata, white
Schuos, a bride	Mycha, a sword
Baar, a boy	Lista, too little
Ael, a stone	Schedit, light
Menus, flesh	Borrotsch, a wish
Rintsch, a mountain	Cadariou, a soldier
Fers, a man	Kilemschkop, drink up your cup
Statz, the earth	Tzo warthata, thou didst
Ada, an egg	Ies varthata, he did
Ano, a hen	Ich malthata, I say
Telich, foolish

Being told to count he did so thus: Ita, tua, tria, fyder, fyuf, seis, sevene, precisely as we Flemings do. For you men of Brabant, who pretend you talk German, are, on this point, in the habit of lauding yourselves to the skies, and ridiculing us on account of what you are pleased to call our abominable pronunciation of that word, which you pronounce seven. He went on thus: athe, nyne, thiine, thiinita, thunetua, thunetria. Twenty he called stega, thirty treithyen, forty furderthien, a hundred sada, a thousand hazer. He also repeated a song in that language, which began as follows,

Wara, wara ingdolou;

Scu te gira Galizu

Hæmisclep dorbiza ea.

Whether they are Goths or Saxons I cannot decide. If Saxons, I think they were transported thither in the time of Charlemagne, who dispersed that nation through various regions of the world, as the cities in Transylvania,[246] which are to this day inhabited by Saxons, bear witness. And perhaps it was decided that the bravest of them should be removed yet further, as far as the Tauric Chersonese, where, though in the midst of enemies, they still retain the Christian religion. But if they are Goths, I am of opinion that even in ancient times they occupied those tracts, which adjoin the Getæ. And perhaps one would not be wrong in thinking that the greatest part of the country which lies between the island of Gothland and what is now called Perekop was at one time inhabited by Goths.

Hence came the various clans named Visigoths and Ostrogoths; hence they started on their career of victory, all over the world; this was the vast hive of that barbarian swarm. Now you have heard what I learnt about the Tauric Chersonese from these men of Perekop.

Now listen to what I heard from a Turkish pilgrim about the city and country of Cathay (China). He belonged to the sect who hold it a religious duty to wander through distant regions, and to worship God on the highest mountains and in wild and desert places. He had traversed almost the whole of the East, where he had made acquaintance with the Portuguese; and then, excited by the desire of visiting the city and kingdom of Cathay, he had joined some merchants who were setting out thither, for they are accustomed to assemble in large numbers, and so journey in a body to the frontiers of that realm. Few reach their destination safely, as the risk is great. There are many intervening tribes who are treacherous to travellers, and whose attacks are to be feared every moment.

When they had travelled some distance from the Persian frontier, they came to the cities of Samarcand, Bokhara, and Tashkend, and to other places inhabited by Tamerlane’s successors. To these there succeeded vast deserts or tracts of country, sometimes inhabited by savage and inhospitable clans, and sometimes by tribes of a more civilised description; but everywhere the country is so poor that there is great difficulty in getting provisions. On this account every man had provided himself with food and the other necessaries of life, and great numbers of camels were loaded with these supplies. A large party of this kind is called a caravan.

After many months of toil they arrived at the passes, which may be termed the keys of the kingdom of Cathay (for a great part of the dominions of the King of Cathay is inland, and surrounded by wild mountains and precipitous rocks, nor can it be entered except by certain passes which are held by the King’s forces). At this point the merchants were asked, what they brought, where they came from, and how many of them there were? This information the King’s garrison troops transmit by smoke in the day time, and by fire at night, to the next beacon, and that in turn to the next, and so on, till news of the merchants’ arrival is forwarded to the King of Cathay, which otherwise could not be done for the space of several days. In the same manner and with equal speed he sends back word what his pleasure is, saying whether he chooses them all to be admitted, or part of them to be excluded, or their entrance delayed. If admitted, they are conducted by appointed guides by halting-places established at proper stages, where the necessaries of food and clothing are supplied at a fair price, till they reach Cathay itself. Here they first declare what each of them has brought, and then, as a mark of respect, present the King with whatever gift they think proper. In addition to receiving the gift, he has also the right of purchasing at a fair valuation whatever articles he pleases.

The rest they sell or barter as they choose, a day for their return being fixed, up to which they have the power of carrying on business, for the Cathayans do not approve of foreigners sojourning too long, for fear their national customs should be corrupted by foreign manners. They are then courteously sent back by the same stages by which they came.

The same pilgrim described that nation as very ingenious, and said they were civilised and well governed. They have a religion of their own, distinct from Christianity, Judaism, or Mahomedanism, but more like Judaism without its ceremonies. For many centuries back the art of printing has been in use among them, as is sufficiently proved by the books printed in that country. For this purpose they use paper made of silkworms’ cocoons, so thin, that it will only bear the impression of the type on one side; the other is left blank.

There are numerous shops in that city which sell the scent they call musk. It is the secretion of a beast the size of a kid.

No article of merchandise is more prized among them than a lion; this beast being uncommon in those countries is exceedingly admired, and nothing fetches a higher price.

These statements about the kingdom of Cathay I learned from the mouth of this wanderer, for which their author must be responsible. For indeed it is quite possible, that, when I was asking him about Cathay, he might have been answering me about some other neighbouring country, and according to the proverb, when I was asking for a sickle, have answered me about a spade.

When I heard this story from him, I thought it well to ask, whether he had brought from any place he had visited any rare root, or fruit, or stone. ‘Nothing at all,’ said he, ‘except that I carry about this root for my own use, and if I chew and swallow the least particle of it, when I am suffering from languor or cold, I am stimulated and get warm.’ As he spoke he gave it me to taste, warning me at the same time that it must be used very sparingly. My physician, William Quacquelben, who was at that time still alive, tasted it, and from the heat with which it inflamed his mouth, pronounced it to be true Napellus or Aconite.[247]

This, I think, is the proper place to tell you of the miracle wrought by another Turkish pilgrim and monk. He went about in a shirt and white mantle reaching down to the feet, and let his hair grow long, so that he resembled the apostles as they are usually depicted by our painters. Under an engaging appearance was concealed the mind of an impostor; but the Turks venerated him as a man famous for his miracles. They urged my dragomans to bring him to me that I might see him. He dined with me, behaving soberly and modestly, and then went down into the courtyard of the house, and returned soon afterwards carrying a stone of enormous weight, with which he struck himself on his bare breast several blows that had well nigh felled an ox. Then he laid his hand on an iron which had been made white hot in a fire lighted for the purpose. He put this into his mouth, and turned it about in every direction so that his saliva hissed. The iron he took into his mouth was oblong, but thicker at either end and rectangular, and so heated by the fire that it was just like a glowing coal. When he had done this, he put the iron back in the fire and departed, after bidding me farewell, and receiving a present.

My servants, who were standing around, were astonished, except one who thought himself cleverer than the rest. ‘And why,’ said he, ‘you stupid fellows, do you wonder at this? Do you believe these things are done in reality; they are mere feats of legerdemain and optical delusions?’ Without more ado he seized the iron by the part that stood a good way out of the fire, to prove it could be handled without injury. But no sooner had he closed his hand, than he drew it back, with the palm and fingers so burnt that it was several days before he was well; an accident which was followed by great laughter from his fellow-servants, who asked him, ‘Whether he now believed it was hot, or was still incredulous?’ and invited him to touch it again.

The same Turk told me at dinner, that his abbot, a man renowned for the sanctity of his life and for his miracles, was accustomed to spread his cloak on the lake which adjoined his monastery, sit down on it, and so take a pleasant sail wherever he liked.[248] He also was in the habit of being tied to a sheep, which had been flayed and dressed, with his arms fastened to its fore, and his legs to its hind quarters, and being thrown in this condition into a heated oven, where he stayed till he gave orders for himself and the sheep to be taken out, when it was well roasted and fit to eat, and he none the worse.[249]

I don’t believe it, you will say; for the matter of that, neither do I! I only tell you what I heard; but as to the white hot iron, I saw it with my own eyes. Yet this feat is not so astonishing after all, as no doubt while he pretended to be looking for a stone in the court yard, he fortified his mouth against the fierceness of the fire by some medicament, such as you know have been discovered.[250] For I remember seeing a mountebank in the Piazza at Venice handle molten lead, and as it were wash his hands in it without injury.

I mentioned already that a few days before Roostem’s death the severity of my prison rules was relaxed. This was exceedingly agreeable to me, on account of the liberty of access to me which was thus granted to men of foreign and distant nations, from whom I received much information that amused me; but this pleasure was counterbalanced by an equal inconvenience, because my servants abused the privilege given them of going abroad, and often wandered about the city unescorted by Janissaries. The consequences were quarrels and disturbances with the Turks, which gave me a great deal of trouble; and, out of the many that happened, I will relate one as a specimen, from which you can imagine the others, that you may know everything about us.

Two of my servants crossed over to Pera without Janissaries, either because they were all out, or because they did not think they required their escort. One of them was my apothecary and the other my butler. Having finished their business in Pera, they hired a boat to return to Constantinople; but scarcely had they taken their seats in it, when there came a boy from the judge, or cadi, of that place, who ordered them to get out, and give up the boat to his master. My servants refused, and pointed out there were boats enough about for the cadi to cross in, and told him this one had already been engaged by them. However, he persevered, and tried to get them out by force. My men resisted, and that right stoutly, so that they soon came to blows. As all this was going on before the eyes of the judge, who was approaching, he could not restrain himself from running down to help the boy, who was a great favourite with him for reasons that need not be explained. But while he was carelessly rushing down the steps leading to the sea, which were slippery with ice (for it was winter), he missed his footing and would have tumbled into the sea—his feet were already wet with the water—had not his companions assisted him. The Turks gathered from all Pera, and an outcry was raised that Christians had laid violent hands on the judge, and all but drowned him in the sea. They seized my servants, and with great tumult dragged them before the voivode, or judge who tries capital charges. The sticks were got ready and their feet were inserted in the posts, for the purpose of administering the bastinado. One of my men, who was an Italian, being in a furious passion, never stopped shouting the whole time ‘Vour, chiopecklar, vour. Strike us, you dogs, strike us! ‘Tis we who have been wronged, and we have deserved no punishment. We are servants of the Emperor’s Ambassador. You will be punished by your Sultan when he knows of this.’ All this, in spite of his speaking in broken Turkish, his hearers could quite understand. One of the Turks among the rioters was amazed at his boldness and exclaimed, ‘Do you think this one-eyed fellow a human being?’ (for he had lost one eye), ‘believe me, he is no such thing, but belongs to the race of oneeyed Genies.’ The voivode however, who was himself struck by such courage, that he might not do more or less than was right, decided on sending them to Roostem unhurt. They went to him, accompanied by a great crowd of false witnesses, who had been procured to crush by their evidence those innocent men. The Turks think it an act of great piety to bear witness against a Christian; they do not wait to be asked but come unbidden, and obtrude themselves of their own accord, as happened on this occasion. Therefore they all exclaimed with one voice, ‘These robbers have dared to commit a most atrocious crime, and have knocked the judge down with their fists, and if they had not been stopped, they would have thrown him into the sea.’ My men denied these charges, and said they were accused unjustly, and then declared they were my servants. Roostem soon perceived that it was a case of false accusation; but to divert the anger of the excited multitude, he assumed a stern expression, and saying that he would punish them himself, ordered them to be taken to prison. The prison served as a fortress to my servants against the violence of the raging mob. Roostem then heard the evidence of those whom he considered worthy of credit, and found my servants were innocent, and that it was the judge that was to blame.

Through my dragomans I demanded the surrender of my servants. Roostem thought the matter important enough to be laid before the Council, saying he was afraid, that, if the Sultan should hear of it, he would suspect it was through the influence of money that the wrong the judge had sustained had been passed over. Already there existed some intimacy between me and Ali Pasha; and I expostulated with him in strong terms, through the same dragomans, and demanded that an end should be put to the persecution of my servants. Ali undertook the case and told me to set my mind at ease, as this trouble would soon be at an end. Roostem, however, was still shilly-shallying; he was always afraid to do me a kindness for fear of being suspected of receiving a bribe; on that account he would have preferred having the business settled on such terms, that the judge should be left no cause for complaint. He sent me word that it seemed to him to be the wisest plan to appease the judge by giving him some pieces of gold as a sop, and that five and twenty ducats would be enough for the purpose. I replied that I was obliged to him for his advice. If he told me, as a personal favour to himself, to throw fifty ducats into the sea, I would do so at once; but here it was not a question of money but of precedent, that was at stake. For if it were laid down as a rule, that whoever had injured my men, should, instead of being punished, be actually paid for doing so, I should soon come to the end of my purse. Whenever anyone’s dress began to get worn or torn, he would resolve to do my servants some harm, inasmuch as he would feel sure of getting paid for his trouble, and thus obtaining a new dress at my expense. Nothing could be more disgraceful than this or more injurious to my interests. Accordingly my servants were sent back, thanks, in a great measure, to the advocacy of Ali Pasha. But when the Venetian Baily[251] heard of it he sent for one of my dragomans, and begged him to tell him how much I had paid to settle the affair. ‘Not a penny,’ he replied. Then the Baily said, ‘If we had been concerned, I warrant you we should hardly have got out of it for 200 ducats.’ The man whom it cost most dear was this model of a judge, who was removed from office, because, according to their notion, a man is disgraced who has received a thrashing from a Christian, and this, by his own admission, had been the case with him.

You ask for news about the Spanish generals, telling me that there is a report in your neighbourhood that they owe their liberty to me. They were the following, viz., de Sandé, the commander of the land forces, and Leyva and Requesens, the admirals of the Neapolitan and Sicilian fleets. I will give you a short account of how I managed it.

The Turks were much annoyed at the conclusion of peace between the Kings of Spain and France, which was by no means favourable to their interests;[252] especially as they found the treaty was not such as they had believed it to be at first, for they had been convinced that they would have been high in the list of those entitled to enjoy the benefits of the same peace. Accordingly, when they found themselves passed over, thinking that a bad return had been made them, though they dissembled their vexation, they sought an opportunity to give some hint that their feelings were no longer so friendly as they had been. Solyman had written to the King of France to say he approved of the peace, but at the same time desired the King to remember that old friends do not easily become foes, or old foes friends.

The offence the Turks felt on these grounds was not a little favourable to my negotiations, and I was aided in addition by Ali Pasha’s kindly feeling towards me, and Ibrahim’s great desire of proving his gratitude.

You remember I mentioned previously that when Lavigne was calumniating me, he at the same time used to accuse Ibrahim, implying that he betrayed to me all the designs of the Turks.

This Ibrahim, the Sultan’s first dragoman (the Turkish word for interpreter), was a Pole by birth; he was hated by Lavigne, because he thought that Ibrahim, in a deadly quarrel between himself and de Codignac, his predecessor in the embassy, had taken de Codignac’s part too strongly. I need not trouble you with the whole story, as it has not much to do with our subject. Lavigne, recollecting this, was always Ibrahim’s bitter enemy; and whenever he had an opportunity of addressing the Pashas, every other word he spoke was abuse of Ibrahim. At last he got him degraded from office and reduced to a private position.

This concerned me but little, as there had never been any friendship between Ibrahim and myself, but on the contrary a somewhat hostile feeling, as I had often found him on the side against us. I was sorry however that the story should get abroad that it was for my sake he had been removed from office. While Ibrahim was living in this condition, deeply humiliated by the loss of his post, as indeed is usually the case with men who have ceased to be what they were, I tried to lighten his misfortunes by any attentions in my power, and on several occasions, when there was a press of business in the course of the peace negotiations, I employed him as an extra dragoman, and made him a medium of communication with the Pashas. This was readily allowed by Ali from his good feeling towards me, and because he was well aware that Ibrahim had been wrongfully degraded. At last I effected his restoration to his former position and dignity. From these circumstances he became much attached to me, so that his great desire was to find some means of proving his gratitude for my services. Most loyally did he plead my cause in every question; and did his best to obtain for me the favour of all whom he could influence. This was an easier task for him from their disgust at the recent peace, on account of which, as I said, the Turks were secretly angry with the French, so that, when a gentleman named Salviati came to Constantinople to obtain de Sandé’s freedom in the name of the King of France, his errand was a complete failure. De Sandé had for some time been eagerly looking forward to this embassy, hoping thereby to procure his liberty, and, feeling certain that this was the only chance of recovering his freedom, had gone to great expense in providing presents to do honour to the Pashas and the Sultan himself, according to the usual custom. And now, to make a long story short, all was over, Salviati had taken his departure, and his embassy had proved a failure.

The servants whom de Sandé had employed as his agents, terrified by this, came to me, and confessed they did not venture to inform him of such a disappointment; he had entirely depended on his hopes from this mission, and now they were afraid he would become desperate, and not only lose his health, but also his life; they therefore asked me to give them my assistance and to write to him myself.

I was inclined to refuse, as I had neither arguments nor language to console a man who had received such a cruel blow. De Sandé was a man of great spirit and exceedingly sanguine temperament, and did not know what fear was. But when men, whose temper inclines them to hope that everything they wish will come about, find everything taking an adverse turn and going against their wishes, there is generally a great reaction, and their spirits become so depressed that it is no easy matter to raise them to a proper level.

While our business was at a standstill from this difficulty, the dragoman Ibrahim most fortunately called on me, and when in the course of conversation mention was made of the Spanish prisoners, he told me in so many words, that, if I were to request their release, it would not be refused. He knew what he was saying and had it on good authority.

He had indeed been previously in the habit of throwing out rather obscure hints, calculated to make me hope they might be liberated if I were to intercede; but I did not take much heed of what he said, for how could I venture to make such an attempt when I was not yet sure of peace? I was also restrained by the fear that I should do no good myself, if I interfered at an unfavourable moment, and might perhaps also hinder Salviati’s negotiations. But when, after his departure, I heard Ibrahim, who was closely attached to me, make such a declaration, there seemed to be something in it, and I began to pay more attention to his words, cautioning him, however, at the same time not to place me in a false position, and expose his friend to ridicule. This would certainly be my fate if I were to undertake unsuccessfully a task which was generally supposed to be hopeless, and in which there had already been an adverse decision. He persevered notwithstanding, and told me that I might rely on what he said; and that he would absolutely guarantee my success.

Relying on his assurances I wrote to de Sandé, and informed him of the result of Salviati’s negotiations, but told him not to despair, for, unless all Turks were liars, there was hope in store for him, and then I related what I had heard from Ibrahim. Having taken this step, I next consulted certain friends of mine who had great experience in Turkish affairs. They replied that they wished me success in my undertaking, but they did not see how I could obtain what had just been denied to the Ambassador of a King who was an old friend, especially while the result of our negotiations for peace was still doubtful; and they pointed out that all precedents showed how difficult it was to prevail on the Turks to liberate important prisoners. However, I wrote to the Emperor, and acquainted him with the hopes that had been held out to me, at the same time earnestly entreating him to ask Solyman to release the prisoners.

To make a long story short, after large presents had been promised the Pashas, if they should show themselves gracious and favourable to their liberation, on the eve of St. Laurence’s day (August 9), they were all taken out of prison and conducted to my lodging.

De Sandé and Leyva hated each other worse than if they had been brothers! for which reason it was necessary to have a table laid separately for the latter, with whom Requesens dined. De Sandé sat at the same table with myself. At dinner there came in a steward from the chargé d’affaires of the King of France, bringing me some notes which had come into his hands. De Sandé asked him if he knew him. ‘I think,’ said he, ‘you are Don Alvaro.’ ‘I am indeed,’ said he, ‘and you will convey my best compliments to your master, and tell him how you saw me here a free man, thanks to the Ambassador before you.’ ‘I see it indeed,’ he replied, ‘but yet I can hardly believe my own eyes.’ This was done by de Sandé because the chargé d’affaires, though in other respects an excellent fellow, was one of the persons who could not be convinced that Solyman would liberate the prisoners as a favour to the Emperor Ferdinand.[253]

But before they were released from prison, the Mufti, the head of the Turkish religion, was consulted on the question, if it were lawful to exchange a few Christians for a larger number of captive Turks? for I had promised that not fewer than forty Turkish prisoners, who, however, might be common people of no rank, should be given in exchange. The Mufti replied that there were two authorities on the point, and that they held different opinions, one approving of the exchange and the other not. The Pashas, however, adopted the more liberal opinion.[254]

I have still to tell you of Bajazet’s final catastrophe, for I know you are expecting to hear the rest of his story. You will remember that he was thrown into prison by Shah Tahmasp. From that time many messengers went backwards and forwards from the King of Persia to the Sultan, some of whom held the title of Ambassador, bringing presents of the usual kind, such as tents of exquisite workmanship, Assyrian and Persian carpets, and a Koran, the book which contains their holy mysteries;[255] amongst other gifts, rare animals were sometimes sent, for example there was an Indian ant,[256] as large as a fair-sized dog, and extremely fierce and snappish, which, I remember, they were said to have brought.

The ostensible reason for their arrival was to reconcile Bajazet and his father; great honours were paid them, and they were entertained magnificently by the Pashas. Ali made me a partaker in one of these banquets by sending me eight large porcelain dishes of sweetmeats. The Romans used to send something from their table to their friends, a custom which the Spaniards retain to this day. The Turks, on the other hand, carry off dainties from the banquet for themselves, but generally only intimate friends do so, who have wives and children at home. They usually carried home from my table handkerchiefs full of fragments of eatables, and were not afraid of soiling their silk robes with drops of gravy, although they consider cleanliness of the highest importance. When I mention this, it recalls to my memory an amusing incident, which I shall not be sorry to tell you. You will have a hearty laugh over it, I am sure, as I had myself; and is not laughter worth cultivating? Is it not man’s peculiar attribute, and the best recipe in the world for tempering human misfortunes? Besides, we are no Catos.

The Pashas observe the custom of giving dinner for a few days before their fast, which answers to our Lent, to all who choose to come, and no one is excluded. However, the people who come are generally neighbours, friends, or recognised dependants. A leather tablecloth, which is loaded with a crowd of dishes, is laid on the ground over an oblong mat. Such a table will hold a large company. The Pasha himself sits in the chief place, and about him those of higher rank, and then in a long row the guests who belong to inferior families, till no more room remains for anyone, and many are left standing, for the table cannot hold all at once. However, as they eat with great moderation and do not talk, it is not long before the first party have appeased their hunger, they then conclude their meal with a draught of water sweetened with honey or sugar, and, after bidding the master of the feast farewell, make room for others who have not yet sat down; these again are succeeded by another set, till in a short space many are satisfied off the same table, the attendants in the meantime washing the plates and dishes, and supplying fresh ones as fast as they are emptied.

A Pasha who was giving one of these entertainments at his house had invited a Sanjak-bey, who happened to have come there, to sit by him. The second place from him was occupied by an old man of the class the Turks call Khodjas, which means Scholars. As he saw before him a great mass of various eatables, and wished, having had his fill, to take something away for his wife, he began looking for his handkerchief to put it in; but found he had left it at home. He was, however, equal to the emergency, and like a good general was able to extemporise a plan on the field of battle. He seized the bag of a turban which was hanging down behind him[257] (which, however, was not his own as he thought, but the Sanjak-bey’s). This he crammed as full as he could, finishing with a good slice of bread by way of a stopper to prevent anything slipping out. When he was bidding his host farewell, in accordance with the Turkish fashion, he had to salute his superiors by placing his hands on his breast or thighs. Having paid his respects he gathered up the bag again, but this time took his own, and when he left the dining-room, he felt it carefully all over and, to his utter amazement, found it empty. But what was he to do? He went home in disgust.

Not long afterwards the Sanjak-bey also rose, and after saluting the Pasha was going away, in happy ignorance of the load that was hanging behind him. But soon the bag began to deliver itself of its contents; every step the Sanjak-bey took, something fell out, and his progress was marked by a long line of fragments. Every one began to laugh; he then looked back, and his face grew crimson, when he saw his bag disgorging pieces of food.

Then the Pasha, who had guessed the truth, called him back, told him to sit down, and ordered the Khodja to be summoned; and turning to him said, ‘As you are a neighbour and old friend of mine, and have a wife and children at home, I wonder why you did not carry away something for them from my table, where there was enough and to spare.’ The Khodja replied, ‘This happened, sir, from no fault of mine, but from the anger of my guardian angel. For, as I had carelessly left my handkerchief at home, I stuffed the remains of my dinner into the bag of my turban, but lo and behold, when I left the dining room, it proved to be empty, but how this came to pass is more than I can tell.’ So the Sanjak-bey’s character as a gentleman was re-established, and the disappointment of the old Khodja, and the oddness of the accident, furnished the bystanders with food for another merry laugh.

But I will return to my subject. Bajazet’s hopes were at a low ebb, for his merciless father was demanding that he should be given up alive for execution; to this the King of Persia refused to agree and pretended to act as his protector, while all the time he intended to betray him.

Solyman at one time tried persuasion on the Shah, reminding him of the treaty, by which he had agreed they should both have the same friends and enemies, and at another, endeavoured to frighten him with menacing language and threatened him with war, if Bajazet were not surrendered. He had placed strong garrisons in all his towns on the Persian frontier, and filled Mesopotamia and the bank of the Euphrates with soldiers, who were taken for the most part from the Imperial guard, and the troops he had employed against Bajazet. These forces were commanded by Mehemet Pasha, the third of the Vizierial Pashas, and the Beyler bey of Greece, for Selim had soon returned home. He also sent frequent messages to the tribes they call Georgians, who dwell between the Caspian and the Black Sea, and border on Media, urging them to take up arms against the King of Persia. They sagaciously replied that ‘they had not sufficient confidence in their own strength to venture to attack Shah Tahmasp by themselves; let Solyman only come with his army and they would know, when they saw him on the spot, what they ought to do. In that case they would be wanting neither in counsel nor in courage.’

In another direction are still to be found five Turkoman chiefs descended from Tamerlane; and these also were invited to join their arms against the common foe.

Solyman wished it to be believed that he himself was going to Aleppo, a city of Syria on the banks of the Euphrates,[258] and that he intended from that base to make war on the King of Persia. Nor was the latter free from apprehension, as he had too often experienced the might of Solyman’s arm. But the angry Sultan was completely checked by the opposition of the soldiers and the reluctance they felt to engaging in such a war. They shrank from an unnatural contest, and began to desert. A great number of them, especially of the cavalry, returned to Constantinople, without orders from their commanders, and when bidden to return to the camp without delay, though they obeyed, they did so in such a way as to leave it evident how little they could be relied on, if any accident or change should occur.

For this reason, when it became sufficiently clear to Solyman that the King of Persia would not surrender Bajazet, pleading that he was afraid of delivering him up alive, lest by any chance he should escape, and live to take vengeance for the wrongs he had received, he decided, as the next best course, to get him executed in Persia. He had great hopes of prevailing thus far on the Shah; for in the last letter he had received from that monarch, the latter had expressed his surprise at his careless method of managing such an important affair; observing that he had several times sent ambassadors to him, but he, on the contrary, had sent him nothing but letters and messengers, conduct, which made him doubt if he were really in earnest. ‘Let him,’ said the Shah, ‘send noblemen of high authority and name, with whom the negotiations might be carried on and concluded in a way that befitted their importance. The Sultan was much in his debt; Bajazet’s coming had been a great injury to him, and he had incurred great expense before he had got him into his power. It was just that these circumstances should be taken into account.’

Solyman saw that money was his object, and so, rather than involve himself in an unnecessary war, for which he was unfitted by his years, he determined to follow the Pashas’ advice, and to fight the King of Persia with money, instead of arms.

Hassan Aga, one of the chiefs of the eunuchs of the bed-chamber, was first selected as ambassador to Persia, and the Pasha of Marasch, a man of venerable years, was ordered to accompany him. About the middle of winter they started with the fullest powers; they travelled, in spite of the difficulties of the road, with the utmost speed, and at last, after losing many of their suite, arrived at Casbin, where the King of Persia was.

They first asked leave to see Bajazet, and found him so disfigured by the dirt and filth of his prison, and with his hair and beard so long that they could not recognise him. They were obliged to have him shaved, and it was only then that Hassan was able to identify the features of the prince. He had been brought up with him from his earliest years, and it was especially for that reason that Solyman had committed this office to him.

It was agreed that the King of Persia should be indemnified for the loss he said he had sustained, and should receive in addition a present commensurate with the importance of the business, and that then Solyman should be allowed to put Bajazet to death.

Hassan hurried back and told his master of the arrangement he had concluded. The present was prepared, along with the sums demanded as expenses, and was conveyed, under the protection of a Turkish guard, to the frontiers of the Persian dominions. Hassan, too, came again as the unfortunate Bajazet’s appointed executioner, for Solyman had specially ordered that he should put him to death with his own hands. Accordingly the bow-string was put round Bajazet’s neck, and he was strangled to death. He is said to have asked one boon before his death, namely, to be allowed to see his children and share his kisses among them as a last token of affection; but this he asked in vain, being told ‘There was other business which required his immediate attention.’[259]

Such was the end of Bajazet’s ill-starred designs, whose ruin was precipitated by the very efforts he made to avoid it. His four sons shared their father’s fate.

I mentioned that one, who had been lately born, had been left at Amasia when his father fled, and that he had been removed by his grandfather to Broussa, where he was being brought up; but, when the Sultan knew it was all over with Bajazet, he sent a eunuch, whom he trusted, to Broussa to kill him. As the eunuch’s own disposition was too tender, he took with him one of the doorkeepers, a hard-hearted ruffian who was capable of any atrocity, to be the child’s murderer. When the doorkeeper entered the room, and was fitting the cord to the child’s neck, it smiled at him, and, raising itself as much as it could, threw up its little arms to give him a hug and a kiss. This so moved the cruel fellow that he could not bear it, and fell down in a swoon. The eunuch, who was waiting outside, wondered that he was so long, and at last going in himself, found the doorkeeper lying senseless on the ground. He could not afford to let his mission be a failure, and so with his own hands he stopped for ever the feeble breath of that innocent child.

From this it was clear enough that the grandson had been spared till then, not from the mercy of his grandfather, but from the Turkish superstition of referring all successful enterprises, whatever may have been the motive from which they were undertaken, to the instigation of God. On this account, as long as the issue of Bajazet’s attempts remained doubtful, Solyman determined to do no violence to the child, for fear that if afterwards Bajazet’s fortunes should take a turn for the better, he should be found to have been striving against the will of God. But now that he had perished, and thus had, as it were, been condemned by the sentence of God, he thought there was no reason for sparing Bajazet’s son any longer, that according to the proverb, not an egg of that mischievous crow might be left.

I once had a long argument with my cavasse on this subject, when I was in the islands I told you about. As I was returning from one of my more distant excursions, it happened that I could not double a projecting point, the wind being contrary. After striving for some time in vain, we were obliged to disembark and dine there, for in case of such an accident I used always to take about with us in the boat some cooked provisions. Several Turks, who had been forced to land there from the same cause, followed my example. My table was laid in a green meadow. The cavasse and dragomans sat down along with me. Bajazet happening to be mentioned, the cavasse began to inveigh against him without mercy for taking up arms against his brother. I on the other hand said, I thought he was to be pitied, because he had no choice except to take up arms or submit to certain death. But when the cavasse went on abusing him in as strong terms as before, I said, ‘You are making out Bajazet guilty of a monstrous atrocity, but you do not charge Selim, the father of the present Sultan, with any crime, though he took up arms not merely to resist his father’s will, but against his very person.’[260] ‘And with good reason,’ replied the cavasse, ‘for the issue of his enterprise showed clearly enough that he did what he did by prompting from above, and that it had been predestinated by Heaven.’ I answered, ‘On this principle you will interpret whatever has been undertaken, although from the most wicked motives, if it proves successful, to be done rightly, and will ascribe it to God’s will; and will thus make out God to be the author of evil, nor will you reckon anything to have been done well or the contrary, except by the result.’

We continued our argument for some time, each of us defending his position with great spirit and in a high tone of voice. Many texts of Scripture were cited on either side, ‘Can the vessel say to the potter, why hast thou formed me thus?’ ‘I will harden Pharaoh’s heart,’ ‘Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated,’ and others, as they came into our heads.

The Turks, who were a little way off, wondered what we were arguing about; so, after we had risen and the table had been removed, the cavasse went straight to his countrymen. They all came round him, and he appeared to be haranguing them, while they listened with the utmost attention. Then, as it was just noon, they kept silence and worshipped God after their manner with foreheads bowed to the ground. The time seemed long to me till the cavasse came back, as I was anxious to know what had been the subject of his earnest conversation with his countrymen. I felt a little afraid that he had repeated something I had said, and given it an unfavourable turn, although I had had sufficient proofs of his honesty.

At last, when the wind had gone down, and it was time to embark, we went on board again, and set out once more. Then the first thing I did was to ask the cavasse what he had been talking about so earnestly with his countrymen. He replied with a smile, ‘I will honestly confess to you what it was. They wanted to know from me what the subject was, on which we had been arguing so hotly. I said, “Predestination,” and repeated to them the texts, both those which you had cited on your side and those which you had recognised when quoted by me. Hence I argued that it was certain you had read our books, and were well acquainted with Holy Scripture, and that you wanted nothing to secure eternal happiness, except being initiated into our religion. Accordingly we exhorted each other to pray that God would bring you to the true faith; and these were the prayers you saw us making.’

When the news of Bajazet’s death was brought to Constantinople, I was seized with great alarm for the issue of our negotiations. We were indeed in a good position and there seemed to be a prospect of the end we desired; but our anxiety was renewed by Bajazet’s misfortune, for fear the Turks should become more haughty, undo what had been done, and call on us to accept less favourable terms. We had successfully got past numerous rocks, among them the defeat at Djerbé, Bajazet’s imprisonment, and the unlucky accident of the expulsion of the Voivode from Moldavia, yet two formidable ones remained, namely, Bajazet’s death, of which I have spoken, and another besides, of which I shall speak presently.

Ali had been the first to communicate the news to me, by a domestic slave, in these words, ‘Know for certain that Bajazet is dead. You cannot now go on trifling with us any longer in reliance on his making a diversion in your favour. Remember that an old friendship can be restored between two princes who share the same faith more easily than a new one can be cemented between two Sovereigns of different religions. Take my word for it, it is not safe for you to go on shuffling any longer and raising unreal difficulties.’

Such a message made a deep impression on my mind. But, as the news came from a suspicious quarter, I sent round to my friends to enquire if any certain intelligence of Bajazet’s death had arrived, and all to a man replied, that there remained no doubt about it. I then understood I must shorten sail. There was no possibility of aspiring to better terms; I ought to be contented if I could maintain the position I had gained, and if no change for the worse should be made in the conditions. They had now been before the Sultan for some time, and he had not been averse to them, subject to a few additions or omissions, among which however there were some things I was sorry to lose. Certain points were expressed too obscurely, so as to leave room for controversy hereafter, if any one were to place an unfair construction on them. I used my utmost efforts to get these either removed or altered to our advantage. The conditions had been once or twice sent to my Emperor for his perusal, and he had graciously approved of them; but I felt dissatisfied myself, and was always wishing to obtain some further concession, when, in the midst of my negotiations, the news I mentioned came upon me like a thunderbolt.

But previously also a serious difficulty had arisen in consequence of the revolt of certain Hungarian nobles from the Voivode of Transylvania to the Emperor, or, to speak correctly, in consequence of their return from error to the path of duty. They brought over with them the forts and castles which they held.[261]

This startling event was calculated to upset all the steps towards peace that had been taken. For the Turks were thus supplied with a plausible argument: ‘No change ought to have been made while negotiations about the terms of peace were going on. If you are really anxious for peace you ought to restore the advantage which you have unfairly gained. The deserters are at liberty to do as they please, but let the places they hold remain in the hands of the Voivode, our dependant and vassal.’

However, not only was no such claim asserted by Ali, but when I expressly put down in the articles of peace that these matters should remain as they were, he willingly approved of their ratification.

But the ambassadors, who had then recently arrived from the Voivode, did their utmost to chafe that sore, and filled the court with their outcries, exclaiming that their unfortunate young master was being betrayed, the rights of friendship profaned, and enemies preferred to old friends. These remonstrances had indeed some effect upon the other Pashas, but not on Ali. So at last it was agreed to adhere to the terms of peace, as they had been already settled.

Although there could be no doubt about the wishes of my master, yet, as I remembered that among the attendants of princes there never is any lack of people ready to blacken the good deeds of others, however worthy they may be, especially if they are foreigners, I decided that everything, as far as it could be managed, should be left as open as possible for his decision. Therefore I negotiated with Ali in such a way as to point out that, although the proposed conditions did not altogether answer my Sovereign’s expectations, yet I was confident he would agree to them, provided that some one was sent with me who could explain the points that were obscure, or which might in any way be made a subject of dispute, saying that Ibrahim seemed the best person for the service, as he could report to them the Emperor’s desire for peace. He readily agreed to this proposal, so the last touch was thus put to these protracted peace negotiations.

It is the custom for the Pashas to invite to their table in the Divan an ambassador who is in favour when he leaves. But as I wished to make it appear that everything remained undecided and uncertain till a reply was brought back from my master, this honour was not paid me, the want of which however did not trouble my peace of mind.[262]

I was anxious to take with me some well-bred horses, and therefore had charged my servants to go about the market frequently on the chance of being able to find any to suit. When Ali heard of this, he had a capital thorough-bred of his own brought out as if for sale. My men hurried up to bid for him, 120 ducats was named as the price, and they offered eighty, without knowing who was the owner. The people who had charge of the horse refused to let him go for such a low price. But a day or two afterwards, the same horse, with two others every bit as good, was sent as a present by Ali Pasha, one of them being a beautifully shaped palfrey. When I thanked him for his present, he asked me if I did not think the horse, which my men had wanted to buy in the market for eighty ducats, was not worth more. I replied, ‘Much more, but they had a commission from me not to go beyond that price, that I might not incur too great a loss, if they should, without knowing it, purchase some likely looking animal, which should afterwards prove unsound. Such things do sometimes happen in the horse-market.’ He then told me how Turkish horses are fed at the beginning of a journey, namely, with a very small allowance of food, and advised me to travel by very short stages, till the horses had got accustomed to the work, and to divide the journey to Adrianople into nine or ten days, which usually took only five. He presented me also with an exceedingly elegant robe interwoven with gold thread, and a casket full of the finest theriac of Alexandria,[263] and lastly added a glass bottle of balsam, which he highly commended, saying, ‘The other presents he had given me he did not think much of, as money could buy them, but this was a rare gift and his master could give no greater present to a friendly or allied prince. He had been governor of Egypt for some years, and thus had an opportunity of procuring it.’ The plant produces two sorts of juice; there is the cheap black extract made from the oil of the boiled leaves, while the other kind flows from an incision in the bark. This last, which is yellow and is the true balsam, was the one he gave me.[264]

He wished some things sent him in return, namely, a coat of mail large enough to fit him, as he is very tall and stout, and a powerful horse, to which he could trust himself without being afraid of a fall, for being a heavy man he has great difficulty in finding a horse equal to his weight, and lastly a piece of curled maple or some other wood similarly marked, with which our countrymen veneer tables.

No presents were given me by Solyman, except the ordinary ones of the kind usually given to every ambassador on taking leave, such as I had generally received in former years.

At my farewell audience he curtly inveighed against the insolence of the Heydons and the soldiers of the garrison of Szigeth. ‘What use,’ said he, ‘has it been for us to make peace here, if the garrison of Szigeth will break it and continue the war?’ I replied, ‘I would lay the matter before the Emperor, and I hoped he would do what was needful.’

Thus auspiciously, towards the end of the month of August, I commenced my wished-for journey, bringing with me as the fruit of eight years’ exertions a truce for eight years, which however it will be easy to get extended for as long as we wish, unless some remarkable change should occur.

When we arrived at Sophia, from which there is a road not only to Belgrade but to Ragusa, whence it is only a few days’ passage to Venice, Leyva and Requesens asked my leave to go by Ragusa, which was their shortest way to Italy, for the purpose of discharging at the earliest possible date their obligations to the Pashas, and paying off the debts they had incurred at Constantinople for various purposes. They said they would give me letters to the Emperor to thank him for the recovery of their freedom, which they would have preferred to do in person, if they had not been hindered by the considerations I have mentioned. I complied with their wishes without hesitation, and the death of Requesens, which happened soon after, gave me less cause to regret having done so, for before he reached Ragusa he died, being a very old man. I am glad I granted him the favour, as a refusal might have been thought to have been partly the cause of his illness.

De Sandé and I accomplished the rest of the journey very merrily, without meeting with any serious inconvenience. De Sandé was a pleasant fellow, and always making jokes, being quite capable, when it was necessary, of concealing his anxiety and assuming a cheerfulness he did not feel. The daily occurrences of our journey furnished us with many a merry jest. Sometimes we had a fancy to leave our carriages, and try which of us could walk the longest. In this, as I was thin and had no load of corpulence to carry, I easily beat my friend, who was stout and too fat for walking, not to mention that the effects of his confinement still made him incapable of much exertion. Whenever our road lay through a village, it was amusing to see Ibrahim, who followed us very gravely on horseback with his Turks, riding up and entreating us by all we held most dear to get into our carriages again, and not to disgrace ourselves utterly by allowing the villagers to see us travelling on foot, for among the Turks this is considered a great dishonour. With these words he sometimes prevailed on us to re-enter our carriages, and sometimes we laughed at him and disobeyed.

Now listen to one of de Sandé’s many witty sayings. When we left Constantinople, not only was the heat still overpowering, but I was in a languid state from the late hot weather, so that I had hardly any appetite for food, or at any rate, was satisfied with very little. But de Sandé, being a strong man and accustomed to a great deal of food, of which he always partook with me, used to devour rather than eat his meals, exhorting me from time to time to follow his example, and eat like a man. In this however he was unsuccessful, until, about the beginning of October, we were approaching the borders of Austria. There, partly from the nature of the country, and partly from the time of year, I was refreshed by the cooler climate, and began to be better in health and also to eat more freely than before. When this was observed by de Sandé, he exclaimed, ‘He was amply rewarded for his trouble, the pains and training he had spent on me had not been thrown away, inasmuch as, thanks to his teaching and instruction, I had learnt at last how to eat, though I had lived so many years without acquiring any knowledge of, or practice in, this most needful art. Let me consider him as much in my debt as I pleased for delivering him from a Turkish prison; I was no less indebted to him, as it was from him I had learnt how to eat!’

Amusing ourselves in this manner we arrived at Tolna, where we came in for a certain amount of annoyance. De Sandé used to stay under the same roof with me, where my quarters consisted of several rooms; but where there was only one he used to lodge at an adjoining house, that he might not inconvenience me. Accordingly at Tolna he ordered the Janissary, whom I took with me from Constantinople to Buda as my attendant, to look out for quarters for him. One of my servants and a Spanish doctor of medicine, who had been ransomed at de Sandé’s expense at Constantinople, accompanied the Janissary. They happened to go into a house near us, which belonged to a Janissary who had been entrusted with the charge of the town. For it is the custom of the Turks, in order to protect the Christians from the outrages of travellers, to appoint in each of the wealthier villages or small towns one or two Janissaries,[265] who take advantage of the position in which they are thus placed, and turn it to their own profit in many ways. This Janissary had committed some fault for which he had deserved to lose his office; and the fear of such a punishment hanging over his head had made him crusty, and completely soured his temper. Our people inspected his house without opposition, went all over it, and began to retreat, as they did not like it. My Janissary was going first, the servant was following, and the doctor was last. Meanwhile, the Janissary who lived there, and who was then in his garden, was told that Christians were looking for a lodging in his house. Mad with rage he hurried up with a stick that might have served Hercules for a club, and without a word brought it down with all his might on the doctor’s shoulders, who flew out of the house for fear of a repetition of the blow. My servant looked back, and saw behind him the Janissary on the point of giving him a similar greeting, his stick being already raised for the blow; but this servant of mine, who was carrying a small hatchet in his hand, as people generally do in that country, seized the blade of it with one hand, and the end of the handle with the other, and holding it cross-wise over his head parried several blows without injury. As the other, however, did not stop striking, the handle of the hatchet began to give way, so my servant was obliged to alter his tactics, and closing with the Janissary aimed a blow at his head, but the latter did not like this change in the mode of fighting, and forthwith took to his heels. As my servant could not reach him, he flung the hatchet at his back as he ran away. The Janissary was wounded by the blow and fell; and so our people escaped.

In the meantime the doctor was rousing the neighbourhood with his cries, exclaiming that it was all over with him, he was as good as dead, and all his bones were broken.

De Sandé, when he heard the story, was both vexed and amused. He was unaffected by the doctor’s exclamations, thinking he was more frightened than hurt. But he was tormented by a terrible anxiety, fearing that he would be recalled to Constantinople, and could not be persuaded that there was not some treachery at the bottom of the affair. The Pashas, he thought, had sought an opportunity of pretending to do me a favour, and would soon show their real intentions, and find an excuse for dragging him back to Constantinople, where he must lie rotting in a filthy jail to the end of his days. He was therefore much vexed at the behaviour of my servant, who, instead of expressing any sorrow at the severe wound he had inflicted on the Janissary, swore that he was exceedingly sorry to hear he was still alive. Accordingly, he addressed him as follows, ‘My good Henry (for that was his name), I beg you to control your anger. This is no place for displaying your courage or avenging your wrongs; in our present situation it is no mark of cowardice to pocket an affront. Whether we will or no, we are in their power. Pray, remember how much mischief this ill-timed passion of yours may bring on us; we may in consequence be all brought back to Constantinople, and everything that has been done may be undone, or at any rate, unsettled, the result of which will be fresh worries and endless trouble. I beg you another time, if you have no regard for your own safety, for my sake at any rate, to control yourself more.’

But his remonstrances fell on deaf ears. Henry was a man of obstinate disposition, and when angered, most unreasonable. ‘What would it have mattered to me,’ he answered, ‘even if I had killed him? Had he not resolved to murder me? if but one of all the blows he aimed at my head had reached me, he had butchered me like a sheep. The idea of my being guilty for slaying a man, who was endeavouring to kill me! I am desperately sorry for one thing, and that is, that I do not feel quite sure that he will not recover from my blow.’ Then he swore he would spare no Turk, who wanted to wound him, but would, at all hazards, do his best to kill him. De Sandé did not approve of these sentiments.

The Janissary, having received the wound I mentioned, made it out to be worse than it was. Two Jews, who were acquainted with the Spanish tongue, came to me, saying that the Janissary was in great danger; I must give him some compensation, or else I should hear more of it; much trouble was in store for me on this account. I replied as I thought politic.

But as I knew the Turkish habit of bringing false accusations, I considered it better to be beforehand with them. I immediately asked Ibrahim, through a servant, to lend me one of his suite, to escort one of my men to Constantinople, saying that the case was urgent. Ibrahim wondered what the reason could be, and came to me at once. I said that I must ask Ali Pasha to have more trustworthy precautions taken for my safety on the journey, otherwise I could not feel confident of reaching the borders of my country uninjured, as two of my suite had been within an inch of being murdered. I then told him what had happened. Ibrahim understood how closely the affair concerned himself, and asked me to have the patience to wait a few moments, and immediately went across the road to the Janissary, whom he found in bed. He rated him soundly for behaving in such a way to my people; saying ‘we were returning, after peace had been concluded, in high favour with Solyman and all the Pashas. None of my requests had been denied me, and many concessions had been made unasked; he himself had been attached to me as my companion on the journey to take care that proper respect was paid to me everywhere. The Janissary had been the first person found to do us any injury, and that I wished to send to Constantinople to complain about it. If this were done, the Janissary well knew what the consequences would be.’

By this speech not only was the Janissary’s comb cut, but it was now his turn to be frightened.

On the following day we pursued our journey towards Buda, the doctor being as nimble as before in spite of his terrible bruises. When we were just in sight of Buda, by order of the Pasha some of his household came to meet us, along with several cavasses; a crowd of young men on horseback formed the most remarkable part of our escort on account of the strangeness of their attire, which was as follows. They had cut a long line in the skin of their bare heads, which were for the most part shaved, and inserted in the wound an assortment of feathers; though dripping with blood they concealed the pain and assumed a gay and cheerful bearing, as if they felt it not. Close before me were some of them on foot, one of whom walked with his bare arms a-kimbo, both of which he had pierced above the elbow with a Prague knife. Another, who went naked to the waist, had stuck a bludgeon in two slits he had made in his skin above and below his loins, whence it hung as if from a girdle. A third had fixed a horse’s hoof with several nails on the top of his head. But that was old, as the nails had so grown into the flesh, that they were quite immovable.

With this escort we entered Buda, and were conducted to the Pasha, who conversed with me for some time about the observance of the truce, with de Sandé standing by. The company of young men, who showed such strange proofs of their indifference to pain, took up a position inside the threshold of the court-yard, and when I happened to look in that direction, the Pasha asked me what I thought of them. ‘Capital fellows,’ I replied, ‘save that they treat their skin in a way that I should not like to treat my clothes!’ The Pasha laughed and dismissed us.

On the next day we came to Gran, and proceeded from there to Komorn, which is the first fortress of his Imperial Majesty, and stands on the river Waag. On either bank of the river the garrison of the place with the naval auxiliaries, who are there called Nassadistas, was awaiting us. Before I crossed, de Sandé embraced me and thanked me once more for the recovery of his freedom, disclosing at the same time the anxiety he had so long kept a secret. He told me frankly, that up to this time he had been under the belief that the Turks could not be acting in good faith in the business, and therefore had been in perpetual fear that he would have to go back to Constantinople, and end his days in a dungeon. Now at last he felt that he was not to be cheated of the liberty he owed me, for which he would be under the deepest obligations to me to his last breath.[266]

A few days afterwards we reached Vienna. At that time the Emperor Ferdinand was at the Diet of the Empire with his son Maximilian, whose election as King of the Romans was then proceeding. I informed the Emperor of my return and of Ibrahim’s arrival, asking his pleasure concerning him, for he was anxious to be conducted to Frankfort.

The Emperor at first replied, that he thought it more advisable that the Turks should await his return at Vienna, deeming it impolitic that men of so hostile a nation should be conducted all the way from Vienna to Frankfort through the heart of the Empire.

But it was tedious to wait, and might have given the Turks many grounds for suspicion, and there was no cause for alarm, if Ibrahim with his suite should travel through the most flourishing part of the Empire; on the contrary, it was desirable that he should thereby form a just estimate of its strength and greatness, and, most of all, that he should see at Frankfort how unanimous the chief princes of the Empire were in electing Maximilian as his father’s successor.

When I had laid these arguments before the Emperor, he gave his consent to Ibrahim and his attendants being conducted to Frankfort. So we set out on our journey thither by Prague, Bamberg, and Wurzburg.

Ibrahim was unwilling to pass through Bohemia without paying his court to the Archduke Ferdinand; but the Archduke did not think fit to give him an audience, except incognito.

When I was only a few days’ journey from Frankfort, I decided to precede the Turks by one or two days, that I might, before they arrived, inform the Emperor about certain matters connected with my embassy. I therefore took post, and arrived at Frankfort the eve of the day, on which seven years before I had commenced my second journey from Vienna to Constantinople. I was received by my most gracious Emperor with a warmth and indulgence which was due not to my own poor merits, but to the natural kindness of his character. You may imagine how much I enjoyed, after so many years, seeing my Master not only alive and well, but also in the utmost prosperity. He treated me in a manner betokening his high satisfaction at the way in which I had discharged the duties of the embassy, thanked me for my long services, expressed his complete approval of the result of my negotiations, loaded me with tokens of his esteem, and, in short, bestowed on me every possible mark of favour.

On the day before the coronation (November 29, N.S.), Ibrahim arrived at Frankfort very late in the evening, after the gates of the town had been shut, which according to ancient custom are not allowed to be opened the whole of the following day. But his Imperial Majesty gave express orders that the gates should be opened for the Turks the next day. A place was assigned them from which they could see the Emperor elect passing, with the whole of the show and procession. It appeared to them a grand and magnificent spectacle, as indeed it was. There were pointed out, among the others who accompanied the Emperor to do him honour, three Dukes, those of Saxony, Bavaria, and Juliers,[267] each of whom could, from his own resources, put a regular army in the field; and many other things were explained to them about the strength, dignity, and grandeur of the Empire.

A few days afterwards Ibrahim had an audience of the Emperor, related the reasons of his coming, and presented to him such gifts as are considered the most honourable among the Turks. After the peace had been ratified, the Emperor honoured him with magnificent presents, and sent him back to Solyman.

I am still detained here by my private affairs, though longing to fly from the court and return home. For, indeed, the life of a court is by no means to my liking. Full well do I know its cares. Beneath its gaudy show lurk endless miseries. In it deceit abounds, and sincerity is rare. There is no court which is not haunted by envy, in which it is not vain to seek for friendship that can be trusted, and in which there is not cause to fear a change of favour and a sudden fall. For even monarchs themselves are human. I have seen a man, who had entered the palace escorted by a hundred friends, return home with hardly a single companion, on account of the Sovereign’s displeasure. A court does not recognise real merit till too late, but is guided by mere shadows, such as rumour, outward appearances, intrigues and popular mistakes, so that I should not hesitate to call those fortunate, who have been granted a speedy and happy release from its annoyances. To be able to live for oneself and literature, and to grow old in some quiet country nook, with a few honest friends, is indeed an enviable lot. If there is any true life to be found in this earthly pilgrimage, surely it must be this. Far too often in a court is a buffoon of rank valued more highly than a man of merit; indeed a picture of an ass among monkeys gives an excellent notion of the position of an honest man among courtiers.

It is of ordinary courts that I speak. For I freely admit that many courts, and especially this one, derive lustre from the presence of men of distinction in every walk of life, who shed around them a glorious light. Be this as it may, I prefer a peaceful retired life, with plenty of time for reading, to the throng and tumult of a court. But, though I long to depart, I am afraid my most gracious Sovereign may detain me, or at any rate summon me back, when I have reached my retirement at home. He has consented to my departure, it is true, but only on condition of my returning if recalled. But if this occurs (for who could refuse the courteous request of a Sovereign who is able to command, and to whom one owes so much?) then one consolation will be left me, namely, that it will be granted me to gaze upon the most Sacred Person of my Emperor, or, to express it better, upon the living image of real virtue.

For I assure you my master is the noblest prince on whom the sun ever shone. His character and his virtues give him a claim to empire such as few have ever possessed. Supreme power must everywhere command respect, even when held by unworthy hands, but to deserve supreme power and to be fit to wield it, is, in my judgment, a far more glorious thing.

I speak not therefore of his birth, nor of his illustrious ancestors; his greatness requires no extraneous support, but can stand on its own merits; it is his personal virtues and his personal fitness for his high station that strike me most forcibly.

There have been many bad Emperors, who did not deserve to be elevated to such a pinnacle of power; but, of all the Emperors that ever lived, not one has merited that dignity more than my master.

Again, how many originally upright and faultless characters when raised to power, have been quickly corrupted by their freedom from restraint and by the temptations of a court, and have plunged headlong into every form of vice. They forgot they were mortal, and conceiving arrogant thoughts beyond the limits of human ambition, they claimed to be elevated to heaven, and ranked among the gods, while all the time they were unworthy to be reckoned among men.

But few men’s necks can bear the load of an exalted lot; many sink beneath it, and when placed in a high position forget themselves. It is a hard trial to have unlimited power, and yet to curb one’s desires.

There is none whose eyes have been less dazzled than my master’s by the splendour of high position, and no one has kept a firmer hold on virtue, or guarded more diligently against his naturally upright disposition being corrupted by the temptations to which royalty is exposed. He has always felt, that those who shine before men in the glory of exalted rank ought to influence their minds to good by the purity of their lives.

He is most zealous for religion, and piously serves and worships God, always living as if he were in His immediate presence, measuring all his actions by His law, and thereby governing his whole life. Whether in prosperity or adversity, he recognises the Hand which gives and takes away. In short, while still on earth he leads a life such as saints in heaven may lead.

He feels intensely the seriousness of his position. All his words and actions have the common weal for their object, and he ever makes his personal interests subordinate to his subjects’ welfare. So much is this the case that some people accuse him of sacrificing the legitimate claims of his household and his children to the welfare of the state.

To those about him he shows every possible kindness, and treats us all as if he were responsible for our welfare, and, in fact, were the father of every member of his vast household. Who is there who has implored his protection in vain, when he needed assistance, or has not had proof of his generosity? He thinks every day lost in which he has not benefited some one; and, while he welcomes every one with the greatest affection, towards the members of his household he is especially gracious. Among them there is no one who can complain of being neglected or passed over; he knows by heart the life, habits, merits, and even the name, of everyone, however low his rank may be. Mighty prince as he is, when he sees them leading careless and unbecoming lives, he does not hesitate, at a fitting opportunity, to remind them of their duty and rebuke them; and, if they reform, to praise and reward them. Therefore, when they leave his presence, they declare that they find the Emperor not a master, but a father.

It is also his constant practice, when he has punished their errors by his displeasure for some days, after he has pardoned them, to restore them to exactly their former position, blotting out from his memory all recollection of their fault.

He lays down the law most uprightly, and as strictly for himself as for others. For he does not think he has the right of disregarding himself the rules he prescribes for others, or of allowing himself a license which he punishes in them.

He keeps his passions under control, and confines them within the limits of reason. Hatred, anger, and harsh language are strangers to him. No man alive has heard him disparage another; not even those whom he knows to be unjust to himself. He has never said a harsh word of any one, nor does he ever speak ill of people behind their backs.

Beneath his protection goodness is secure; malice, violence, deceit, dishonesty, all vices in a word, fly from his presence, and crimes and outrages receive the punishment they deserve.

The Romans had their censors appointed to regulate morals, and to keep the nation firm in the path of duty and the customs of their sires, but among us no censor is required, as the life of our Sovereign supplies his place. His bright example shows us what to follow and what to avoid.

He is extremely kind towards men of worth and learning, who are trained in the pursuits which do the State good service. In dealing with men of this description he lays aside his royalty and treats them, not as a master, but as an intimate friend on a footing of perfect equality, as one who would be their companion and rival in striving after what is right, making no distinction between those who owe their high position to the credit they derive from the glory of their ancestors, and those who have been elevated by their own merits and have proved their worth. With them he enjoys passing the time he has to spare from business, which, however, is but little. These are the men he values, holding, as he does, that it is of great public importance that merit should occupy the position which is its due.

He is naturally eager for information, and desirous of knowing everything worthy of a human being’s attention, and therefore always has some subject about which he wishes to hear the opinion of men of learning, from time to time interposing some shrewd and pointed observation of his own, to the great admiration of his hearers. Thus he has acquired no mean store of useful information, so that it is impossible to ask him a question on any subject with which he is wholly unacquainted.

He knows several languages. Spanish, as his mother tongue, takes the first place, then come French, German, Latin, and Italian. Although he can express anything he means in Latin, yet he has not learnt it so accurately as not to infringe, at times, the rules of grammar, a fault to be blamed in a man of letters, but not, in my humble judgment, to be hardly criticised in an Emperor.[268]

No one will deny that what I have said so far is true, but perchance some will regret that he has not paid more attention to warlike enterprises, and won his laurels on the battle-field. The Turks, such an one will say, have now for many years past been playing the tyrant in Hungary, and wasting the land far and wide, while we do not give any assistance worthy of our name. Long ago ought we to have marched against them, and allowed fortune by one pitched battle to decide which was to be master. Such persons, I grant, speak boldly, but I question if they speak prudently. Let us go a little deeper into the matter. My opinion is that we should judge of the talents of generals or commanders rather from their plans than from results. Moreover, in their plans they ought to take into account the times, their own resources, and the nature and power of the enemy. If an enemy of an ordinary kind, with no great prestige, should attack our territories, I frankly confess it would be cowardly not to march against him, and check him by a pitched battle, always supposing that we could bring into the field a force equal to his. But if the enemy in question should be a scourge sent by the wrath of God (as was Attila of yore, Tamerlane in the memory of our grandfathers, and the Ottoman Sultans in our own times), against whom nothing can stand, and who levels to the ground every obstacle in his way; to oppose oneself to such a foe with but scanty and irregular troops would, I fear, be an act so rash as to deserve the name of madness.

Against us stands Solyman, that foe whom his own and his ancestors’ exploits have made so terrible; he tramples the soil of Hungary with 200,000 horse, he is at the very gates of Austria, threatens the rest of Germany, and brings in his train all the nations that extend from our borders to those of Persia. The army he leads is equipped with the wealth of many kingdoms. Of the three regions, into which the world is divided, there is not one that does not contribute its share towards our destruction. Like a thunderbolt he strikes, shivers, and destroys everything in his way. The troops he leads are trained veterans, accustomed to his command; he fills the world with the terror of his name. Like a raging lion he is always roaring around our borders, trying to break in, now in this place, now in that. On account of much less danger many nations, attacked by superior forces, have left their native lands and sought new habitations. When the peril is small, composure deserves but little praise, but not to be terrified at the onset of such an enemy, while the world re-echoes with the crash of kingdoms falling in ruins all around, seems to me to betoken a courage worthy of Hercules himself.[269] Nevertheless, the heroic Ferdinand with undaunted courage keeps his stand on the same spot, does not desert his post, and stirs not an inch from the position he has taken up. He would desire to have such strength that he could, without being charged with madness and only at his own personal risk, stake everything on the chance of a battle; but his generous impulses are moderated by prudence. He sees what ruin to his own most faithful subjects and, indeed, to the whole of Christendom would attend any failure in so important an enterprise, and thinks it wrong to gratify his private inclination at the price of a disaster ruinous to the state. He reflects what an unequal contest it would be, if 25,000 or 30,000 infantry with the addition of a small body of cavalry should be pitted against 200,000 cavalry supported by veteran infantry. The result to be expected from such a contest is shown him only too plainly by the examples of former times, the routs of Nicopolis and Varna, and the plains of Mohacz, still white with the bones of slaughtered Christians.[270]

A general must be a novice indeed, who rushes into battle without reckoning up his own strength or that of the enemy. And then what follows when too late? Why, simply that excuse, unpardonable in a general, which is ushered in by the words, ‘But I never thought’[271]....

It makes an enormous difference what enemy we have to encounter; I should not ask you to accept this assertion if it were not supported by the evidence of the greatest generals. Cæsar, indeed, the greatest master of the art of war that ever existed, has abundantly demonstrated how much depends on this, and has ascribed to the good fortune of Lucullus and Pompey that they met with such cowardly enemies, and on this account won their laurels at a cheap and easy rate. On the only occasion that he met with such a foe in Pharnaces, speaking as if in jest of an exploit, which had cost him no pains, and therefore deserved no praise, he showed the easiness of his victory by his despatch, ‘Veni, vidi, vici.’ He would not say the same thing if he were now-a-days to wage war with those nations; in his time they were enervated and made effeminate by luxury, but now they lead a frugal and hardy life, are enured to hunger, heat, and cold, and are trained by continual toil and a rigorous system of discipline to endure every hardship and to welcome every danger.

It is not without reason that Livy argues, that Alexander of Macedon would have made war with far different results, if he had had the Romans for enemies, instead of the Persians or the unwarlike Indians. It is one thing to make war with warlike nations, and another to fight with peoples ruined by luxury or unaccustomed to arms. Among the Persians mere numbers were much thought of, but in dealing with those same Persians it proved to be more trouble to slaughter than to conquer them. I consider Hannibal’s three victories, at the Trebia, Lake Thrasimene, and Cannæ, are to be placed far above all the exploits of Alexander. Why so? the former won his successes over famous warriors, the latter had the effeminate nations of Asia to contend with.

Fabius Maximus had no less courage than T. Sempronius, C. Flaminius, or Varro, but more sagacity. That prudent general knew that he must not rashly hazard everything against an enemy brought up in the camp, whose whole life had been passed in arms, who had been trained in the school of great commanders, who was distinguished by so many trophies, and attended by some extraordinary destiny or good fortune; delay and opportunity were absolutely necessary to make his defeat a possibility. When he had to contend with such an enemy, the only hope he had left was to avoid a battle, until there was a chance of fighting with success. Meanwhile he had to stand up against the foe, keep him in check, and harass him. In this Fabius was so successful, that perhaps he is entitled to quite as much credit for defeating Hannibal as Scipio himself, although the latter won the final victory. For who can tell whether Scipio would have had an opportunity of conquering at Zama, if Fabius had not checked Hannibal’s victorious career? Nor should a victory won by strategy be thought less of than one gained by force. The former has nothing in common with animals, the latter has.

The Emperor Ferdinand’s plan was the same as that of Fabius Maximus, and accordingly, after weighing his own strength and that of Solyman, he came to the conclusion that it would be the height of bad generalship to tempt fortune, and encounter in a pitched battle the attack of so mighty an enemy. There was another course open to him, namely, to endeavour to check his inroad by the same means as we should use to stay the overflow of a swollen stream, and accordingly he directed all his energies to the construction of walls, ditches, and other fortifications.

It is forty years, more or less, since Solyman at the beginning of his reign, after taking Belgrade, crushing Hungary, and slaying King Louis, made sure of obtaining not only that province but also those beyond; in this hope he besieged Vienna, and renewing the war reduced Güns, and threatened Vienna again, but that time from a distance. Yet what has he accomplished with his mighty array of arms, his boundless resources and innumerable soldiery? Why, he has not made one single step in Hungary in advance of his original conquest. He, who used to make an end of powerful kingdoms in a single campaign, has won, as the reward of his invasions, ill-fortified castles or inconsiderable villages, and has paid a heavy price for whatever fragments he has gradually torn off from the vast bulk of Hungary. Vienna he has certainly seen once, but as it was for the first, so it was for the last time.[272]

Three things Solyman is said to have set his heart on, namely, to see the building of his mosque finished (which is indeed a costly and beautiful work),[273] by restoring the ancient aqueducts to give Constantinople an abundant supply of water, and to take Vienna. In two of these things his wishes have been accomplished, in the third he has been stopped, and I hope will be stopped. Vienna he is wont to call by no other name than his disgrace and shame.

But I return to the point from which I made this digression, namely, that I do not hesitate to claim for Ferdinand a foremost place among generals, inasmuch as, with resources wholly inadequate to the occasion, he has never quailed, but for many a long year has, with marvellous fortitude, sustained the attacks of a foe of no ordinary kind. He has preserved a large portion of Hungary for better days; a greater feat in my eyes than many a triumph won under favourable circumstances over conquered kings and vanquished nations. The greater his need at the critical hour, the brighter his courage shone. Of course I cannot expect those to appreciate his conduct who think that everything ought to be risked in a single action, without the slightest regard to the time, the circumstances, or the strength of the foe. But to anyone else it must seem well nigh miraculous, that a realm so open and exposed as that of Hungary, and one so torn by civil war, should be capable of being defended so long, and should not have altogether passed under the yoke of its powerful assailant. That so much has been done is wholly owing to God’s special mercy, and under Him to the ceaseless toil and anxious care of this most prudent monarch.

In this task what difficulties had he not to encounter, each more grievous than the preceding! The enemy was in sight, his friends were far off; the succours his brother Charles sent came from a distance and arrived too late; Germany, although nearest to the conflagration, was weary of supplying aid; the hereditary states were exhausted by their contributions; the ears of many Christian princes were deaf to his voice when he demanded assistance; though the matter was one of vital importance to them, it was about the last they were likely to attend to. And so at one time, by his own valour, with the forces he could gather from Hungary, Austria, and Bohemia, at another, by the resources of the Empire, at another, by hiring Spanish or Italian troops, he held his ground, though at vast cost. By a line of garrisons he has protected the frontiers of Hungary, which extend for fifteen days’ journey, for he is obliged always to keep some troops embodied, even during a time of truce. For at times there are truces; and he condescends, when there is fear of the Sultan’s attack, and he has no other means of stopping him, to send ambassadors and presents to appease his wrath, as the best chance of saving the necks of the unfortunate Hungarians from the coming storm.

It is ridiculous to suppose that a man thus engaged can enjoy a good night’s rest. For the benefit of the state he must forego sleep. Affairs so weighty demand continual watchfulness, and great anxiety. You may think it is a panegyric I am composing, but I am writing my letter with strict historical accuracy.

To manage these affairs he has ministers, few indeed, but good. The leading men among them, whom perhaps you have heard of, are John von Trautson and Rodolph von Harrach,[274] both of whom are persons of singular loyalty and prudence.

I will conclude with a few details of his private life. He rises at five, even in the severest winter months, and after prayers and hearing mass retires to the council chamber, where he devotes himself to public business until it is time for dinner. He is occupied the same way in the afternoon till supper. When I say supper, I mean, not his own, but that of his councillors, for he never touches supper himself, and does not take food more than once a day and then sparingly; nor does he indulge more freely in drinking, being content to finish his dinner with two draughts of wine. Since he lost his wife, no other woman has been allowed to take her place. He does not care for jests and the amusements by which many are attracted. Fools, jugglers, buffoons, parasites, the darlings, but also the curses, of ordinary courts, are banished from his palace. He avoids leisure, and is never idle. If, which is an unusual event, he has any time to spare from business, he devotes it, as I previously mentioned, to conversations with men of worth and learning, which he greatly enjoys. In particular, they stand by him at dinner, and talk with him on various topics.

You may be sure that not many of his subjects would wish to change their mode of life for his, which is so frugal and severe. For how rarely can you find a man who does not devote some fraction of his life to pleasure? Who would cheerfully endure the loss of all his amusements? Who would not be disgusted at spending his last years in the midst of unceasing business and anxieties—a condition which more resembles slavery than sovereignty? But the Emperor is of a different opinion, and when talking with his friends is wont to say, that ‘it is not for his own sake that he has been appointed by God to so important an office; the helm of empire has not been entrusted to him that he may wallow in pleasures and amusements; the terms on which private fortunes are inherited are far different from those which regulate the succession to kingdoms and empires. No one is forbidden to use and enjoy the advantages of his patrimony, but all these numerous nations have been committed by God to his charge, that he may take care of them and bear the toil, while they enjoy the fruits of his labours; that he may endure the burden and heat of the day, while rest and peace are secured for them.’

Hunting is the only amusement of which he ever partakes, and that not so much for the sake of pleasure as of health. For, when he feels his mind and body require bracing after a long spell of sedentary work, he chooses a day to refresh himself by out-of-door exercise and plenty of fresh air. On such occasions, very early in the morning, in summer at daybreak, in winter some hours before sunrise, he goes out to hunt, whatever the weather may be. Sometimes, however, only the afternoon is devoted to this occupation. I remember once hearing him say, when I was standing by him at dinner, ‘I have done all my work, I have finished all my business, I have come to the bottom of my despatch-box, there is nothing left in the chancery to keep me; the rest of the day I will spend in bodily exercise.’ And so he returns home, when the night is already advanced, delighted at having killed a boar, or a stag, or, sometimes, even a bear, and without taking any food or drink, composes himself to sleep, all wearied by his various exertions.

It is absurd, therefore, for anyone to look back with regret on Trajan, Verus, and Theodosius, and to wish that such wonderful Emperors were living in our times. I seriously and solemnly declare, that I believe there is more real merit in my master than in the three of them put together.

But my admiration for so great a man is carrying me away too far. It is not my design to speak of his merits as they deserve; that would require a volume, not a letter, and would call for talents and faculties that are far beyond me, but, as I have narrated my other adventures to you, I wished that you should not remain in ignorance of the character of the Emperor I serve. I shall conclude with that which is the universal prayer with regard to the saint and champion of our age—‘Serus in cœlum redeat.’

As to your inquiries about Greek books and your writing that you hear I have brought back many curiosities and some rare animals, there is nothing among them that is much worth mentioning. I have brought back a very tame ichneumon, an animal celebrated for its hatred to the crocodile and asp, and the internecine war it wages with them. I had also a remarkably handsome weasel, of the kind called sables, but I lost him on the journey. I also brought with me several beautiful thoroughbred horses, which no one before me has done, and six she-camels. I brought back some drawings of plants and shrubs, which I am keeping for Mattioli,[275] but as to plants and shrubs themselves I have few or none. For I sent him many years ago the sweet flag (Acorus calamus[276]) and many other specimens. Carpets too, and linen embroidered in Babylonian fashion, swords, bows, and horse-trappings, and many nicknacks elegantly made of leather, which is generally horse leather, and other trifling specimens of Turkish workmanship I have, or rather, to speak more correctly, I ought to say, I had. For, as in this great assemblage of Sovereigns, both male and female, here at Frankfort, I give, of my own accord, many presents to many people as compliments, and am ashamed to refuse many others who ask me, what I have left for myself is but little. But, while I think my other gifts have been well bestowed, there is one of which I regret having been so lavish, namely, the balsam,[277] because physicians have thrown doubts on its genuineness, declaring that it has not got all the properties which according to Pliny mark the true balsam, whether because the strength of the very old plants, from which it flows, has been in some degree impaired by age, or for some other reason. This much, at any rate, I know for certain, that it flowed from the shrubs which are cultivated in the gardens of Matarieh, near Cairo.[278]

Before I left Constantinople I sent a Spanish physician, named Albacar, to Lemnos, that he might be there on August 6, at the digging out of that famous earth,[279] and so might write us a full and certain account of its position and source, and the mode of extracting it and preparing it for use; which I do not doubt he would have done, had he not been prevented by circumstances over which he had no control. For a long time I wanted to cross over there, that I might be an eye-witness myself. As the Turks did not allow me to do so, I took pains to make myself, at least, an ear-witness, if I may say so.

I am also bringing back a great medley of ancient coins, of which I shall present the most remarkable to my master.

I have besides, whole waggonfuls, whole shiploads, of Greek manuscripts. There are, I believe, not much fewer than 240 books, which I sent by sea to Venice, to be conveyed from there to Vienna, for their destination is the Imperial Library. There are some which are not to be despised and many common ones. I ransacked every corner to collect, in a sort of final gleaning, all that remained of such wares. The only one I left at Constantinople was a copy of Dioscorides,[280] evidently a very ancient manuscript, written throughout in uncial characters and containing drawings of the plants, in which, if I am not mistaken, there are also some fragments of Cratevas and a treatise on birds. It belongs to a Jew, the son of Hamon, who was Solyman’s physician, and I wanted to buy it, but was deterred by the price. For he demanded 100 ducats, a sum suiting the Imperial purse, but not mine. I shall not leave off pressing the Emperor till I induce him to ransom so famous an author from such foul slavery. The manuscript is in very bad condition from the injuries of age, being so worm-eaten on the outside that hardly anyone, if he found it on the road, would take the trouble of picking it up.

But my letter is too long already; expect to see me in person very shortly; if anything remains to be told, it shall be kept for our meeting. But mind you invite men of worth and learning to meet me, so that pleasant company and profitable conversation may serve to rub off the remains of the rust I have contracted during my long sojourn among the Turks. Farewell.

Frankfort, December 16, 1562.

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