From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn

by Henry M. Field

While observing these strange figures, the sound of a trumpet and the hurrying of soldiers to their ranks, told that the Sultan was about to move. "Far off his coming shone." Looking back we saw a great stir about the palace gates, out of which issued a large retinue, making a dazzling array, as the sun was reflected from their trappings of gold. And now a ringing cheer from the troops told that their sovereign had appeared. We drew up by the side of the street "to see great Cæsar pass." First came a number of high officers of State in brilliant dress, their horses mounted with rich trappings. These passed, and there was an open space, as if no other presence were worthy to precede near at hand the august majesty that was to follow; and on a magnificent white charger appeared the Sultan. The drums beat, the bands played, the troops presented arms, and cheers ran along the line. But I hardly noticed this, for my eye was fixed on the central figure, which I confess answered very well to my idea of an Oriental sovereign. It is said that the Sultan never looks so well as on horseback, as his rather heavy person then appears to the best advantage. He wore no insignia of his rank, not even a military cap or a waving plume, but the universal fez, with only a star glittering with diamonds on his breast. Slowly he passed, his horse never moving out of a walk, but stepping proudly as if conscious of the dignity of his rider, who held himself erect, as if disdaining the earth on which he rode; not bowing to the right or left, recognizing no one, and betraying no emotion at the sight of the crowd, or the cheers of his soldiers, or the music of the band, but silent, grave and stern, as one who allowed no familiarity, who was accustomed to speak only to be obeyed.

He passed, and dismounting on the marble steps of the mosque, which had been spread with a carpet, ascended by stairs to a private gallery, which was screened from the rest of the building, like a box in a theatre, where he bowed himself and repeated that "God is God, and Mohammed is his prophet," and whatever other form of prayer is provided for royal sinners.

But his devotions were not very long or painful. In half an hour he had confessed his sins, or paid his adoration, and stepped into a carriage drawn by four horses to return. As he drove by he turned towards us, his attention perhaps being attracted by seeing a carriage filled with foreigners, and we had a full view of his face. He looked older than I expected to see him. Though not yet fifty, his beard, which is clipped short, is quite gray. But his face is without expression. It is heavy and dull, not lighted up either by intelligence or benevolence. The carriage rolled into the gates of the palace, and the pageant was ended.

Such was the public appearance of the Sultan. But an actor is often very different behind the scenes. A tragic hero may play the part of Cæsar, and stride across the stage as if he were the lord of nations, and drop into nothing when he takes off his royal robes, and speaks in his natural voice. So the Sultan, though he appears well on horseback, and rides royally—though he has the look of majesty and "his bend doth awe the world"—yet when he retires into his palace is found to be only a man, and a very weak man at that. He has not in him a single element of greatness. Though he comes of a royal race, and has in his veins the blood of kings and conquerors, he does not inherit the high qualities of his ancestors. Some of the Sultans have been truly great men, born to be conquerors as much as Alexander or Napoleon. The father of the present Sultan, Mahmoud II., was a man of force and determination, one worthy to be called the Grand Turk, as he showed by the way in which he disposed of the Janissaries. This was a military body that had become all-powerful at Constantinople, being at once the protectors of the Sultan, and his masters—setting him up and putting him down, at their will. Two of his predecessors they had assassinated, and he might have shared the same fate, if he had not anticipated them. But preparing himself secretly, with troops on which he could rely, as soon as he was strong enough he brought the conflict to an issue, and literally exterminated, the Janissaries (besieging them in their barracks, and hunting them like dogs in the streets) as Mehemet Ali had massacred the Mamelukes in Egypt. Then the Sultan was free, and had a long and prosperous reign. He ruled with an iron hand, but though despotically, yet on the whole wisely and well. Had he been living now, Turkey would not be in the wretched condition in which she is to-day. What a contrast between this old lion of the desert, and the poor, weak man who now sits in his seat, and who sees the sceptre of empire dropping from his feeble hands!

The Sultan is a man of very small capacity. Though occupying one of the most exalted positions in the world, he has no corresponding greatness of mind, no large ideas of things. He is not capable of forming any wise scheme of public policy, or any plan of government whatever, or of pursuing it with determination. He likes the pomp of royalty (and is very exacting of its etiquette), without having the cares of government. To ride in state, to be surrounded with awe and reverence, suits his royal taste; but to be "bored" with details of administration, to concern himself with the oppressions of this or that pasha in this or that province, is quite beneath his dignity.

The only thing in which he seems to be truly great, is in spending money. For this his capacity is boundless. No child could throw away money in more senseless extravagance. The amount taken for his Civil List—that is, for his personal expenses and for his household—is something enormous. His great father, old Mahmoud II., managed to keep up his royal state on a hundred thousand pounds a year; but it is said that this man cannot be satisfied with less than two millions sterling, which is more than the civil list of any other sovereign in Europe. Indeed nobody knows how much he spends. His Civil List is an unfathomable abyss, into which are thrown untold sums of money.

Then too, like a true Oriental, he has magnificent tastes in the way of architecture, and for years his pet folly has been the building of new palaces along the Bosphorus. Although he had many already, the greater part unoccupied, or used only for occasional royal visits, still if some new position pleased his eye, he immediately ordered a new palace to be built, even at a fabulous cost. Some of these dazzle the traveller who has seen all the royal palaces of Western Europe. To visit them requires a special permission, but we obtained access to one by a liberal use of money, and drove to it immediately after we had seen the Sultan going to mosque. It is called the Cheragan Palace, and stands just above that which the Sultan occupies. It is of very great extent, and built of white stone, and as it faces the Bosphorus, it seems like a fairy vision rising from the sea. The interior is of truly Oriental magnificence. It is in the Moorish style, like the Alhambra. We passed through apartment after apartment, each more splendid than the last. The eye almost wearies with the succession of great halls with columns of richest marble, supporting lofty ceilings which are finished with beautiful arabesques, and an elaborateness of detail unknown in any other kind of architecture. Articles of furniture are wrought of the most precious woods, inlaid with costly stones, or with ivory and pearl. What must have been the cost of such a fairy palace, no one knows—not even the Sultan himself—but it must have been millions upon millions.

Yet this great palace is unoccupied. When it was finished, it is said that the Sultan on entering it, slipped his foot, or took a cold (I have heard both reasons assigned), which so excited his superstitious feeling (he thought it an omen of death) that he would not live in it, and so in a few weeks he returned to the palace which he had occupied before, where he has remained ever since. And so this new and costly palace is empty. Except the attendants who showed us about, we saw not a human being. It was not built because it was needed, but because it gratified an Imperial whim.

Extravagant and foolish as this is, there is no way to prevent such follies when such is the royal pleasure, for the Sultan, like many weak men—feeble in intellect and in character—is yet of violent temper, and cannot brook any opposition to his will. If he wants a new palace, and the Grand Vizier tells him there is no money in the treasury, he flies into a rage and sends him about his business, and calls for another who will find the money.

Yet the vices of the Sultan are not all his own. They are those of his position. What can be expected of a man who has been accustomed from childhood to have his own way in everything; to be surrounded with a state and awe, as if he were a god; and to have every caprice and whim gratified? It is one of the misfortunes of his position that he never hears the truth about anything. Though his credit in Europe is gone; though whole provinces are dying of famine, he is not permitted to know the unwelcome truth. He is surrounded by courtiers and flatterers whose interest it is to deceive him, and who are thus leading him blindly to his ruin.