Outside the gate of the Nicchia del Burro were ranged two rows of infantry soldiers, in great part boys, who presented arms in their usual fashion, one after the other, and when we had passed, put their uniforms over their heads to shelter them from the sun. We crossed the Pearl River by a small bridge, and found ourselves in the place destined for the reception, where we all dismounted.
It was a vast square, closed on three sides by high battlemented walls with large towers. On the fourth side ran the River of Pearls. In the corner furthest from us opened a narrow road bordered by white walls, which led to the gardens and houses of the Sultan, completely concealed by bastions.
A Saint. Fez.
The square when we arrived presented an admirable coup-d’œil In the middle a throng of generals, masters of ceremonies, magistrates, nobles, officials, and slaves, Arab and black, all dressed in white, were divided into two great ranks, opposite each other, and distant about thirty paces. Behind one of these ranks, toward the river, were disposed in files all the Sultan’s horses, large and beautiful creatures, with trappings of velvet embroidered with gold; each one held by an armed groom. At the end of the files of horses stood a small gilded carriage, which the Queen of England had given to the Sultan, who always displays it at every reception. Behind the horses, and behind the other rank of court personages, were drawn up in interminable lines the imperial guard, dressed in white.
All around the square, at the foot of the wall and along the river bank, three thousand foot-soldiers looked like four long lines of flaming red; and on the other bank of the river was an immense crowd of people all in white. In the middle of the place were arranged the cases containing the presents from the King of Italy—a portrait of the king himself, mirrors, pictures in mosaic, candelabra, and arm-chairs.
We placed ourselves near to the two ranks of personages, so as to form with them a square open toward that part of the place where the Sultan was to come. Behind us were the cases; behind the cases, all the soldiers of the embassy. On one side Mohammed Ducali, the commandant of the escort, Solomon Affalo, and the sailors in uniform.
A master of ceremonies, with a very crabbed expression of countenance, and armed with a knotty stick, placed us in two rows,—in front, the commandant, the captain, and the vice-consul; behind, the doctor, the two painters, and myself. The Ambassador stood five or six paces in advance of us, with Signor Morteo, who was to interpret.
At one moment we seven advanced a few paces unconsciously. The master of ceremonies before mentioned made us all go back, and pointed out with his stick the exact place where we were to remain. This proceeding made a great impression on us, the more that we fancied we saw the gleam of an astute smile in his eye. At the same moment a great buzz and murmur arose from above. We looked up, and saw at a certain height beyond the bastions four or five windows, closed with green curtains, behind which a quantity of heads seemed to be in movement. They were women’s heads—the buzz came from them; the windows belonged to a kind of balcony, which communicated by a long corridor with the Sultan’s harem; and the master of ceremonies had made us stand in that position by express order of the Sultan himself, who had promised his ladies that they should see the Christians. What a pity that we were not near enough to hear their observations upon our high hats and our swallow-tailed coats!
