As has already been described, the usual mode of salutation in the east is the temennah, made by touching the hand to the lips and then to the forehead, which signifies affection and humility. With the desire, however, to be more respectful, they often bend down to the ground, as if willing to take up the very dust upon which the honored feet have rested, or attempt to kiss the hem of the garment. But all these ordinary modes of salutation are insufficient at a royal reception; when a beautifully embroidered rug is spread before the sultan, on one end of which his feet rest.
As they present themselves, they slowly bend their persons and touch their lips and foreheads to the border of the carpet, which ceremony is called the kissing of the sultan’s feet; for, no one is allowed any actual proximity to the royal person—thus guarding him from the assassin’s dagger.
After kissing the end of the carpet they arrange themselves in two opposite lines on each side of the sultan, to witness the homages of the various pashas and other dignitaries. Those who take their stand in the presence are only the heads of the departments, both civil and religious.
After the ceremony is over, every one retires to hit own dwelling, to enact the sultan to his subordinates.
The Courban Bairam is the great festival celebrated by the pilgrims at Mecca, in commemoration of the offering up of Ishmael; and is generally observed throughout the Mohammedan dominions,—on which occasion every Mussulman must kill a sheep with his own hand, and distribute the meat to the poor.
The sultan performs this sacrifice at his own palace before the morning prayers. As he stands at the threshold, a ram with gilded horns is laid at his feet, and girding himself with a silken towel, he completes the sacrifice.
The solution of this act of devotion is, that they believe that the faithful will be transported over the surat or bridge of hair into paradise on the backs of these immolated victims.
The old seraglio, which was the residence of so many sultans, and the scene of the aggrandizement and downfall of so many good Mussulmans; under whose latticed windows the Bosphorus flows so deeply as to tell no tales of the hundreds of living and beautiful maidens that have perished in the blue waves and left no sign of their sad fate—the bloody and mysterious seraglio is now deserted, save on such occasions as have been described—notwithstanding travellers’ assertions to the contrary.
How many of the royal blood, even sultans themselves, within this time-worn palace, have either drained the insidious and poisoned potion, or been dispensed with by the surer cord, or assassin’s dagger!
The last victim was Sultan Mustafa, or the uncle of the present monarch; and Mahmoud himself was miraculously preserved by the attachment and perseverance of his lala or eunuch, who concealed him in the fire-place of the bath, until the fury of the mob had subsided—thus saving him, whom Allah had reserved for the proud distinction of being the savior and regenerator of his country.