A few moments after my arrival, a damsel of about seventeen—daughter of the banker—set before me a ‘narghileh,’ and adroitly placed between my lips the amber mouthpiece. I had never used a ‘narghileh’ or smoked ‘tumbaki,’ which is the form of tobacco employed in that kind of pipe, and was glad to have an opportunity of trying it, as presented to me by the Armenian maiden.
She was a pretty girl, with brilliant dark eyes, and features much resembling those of a Jewess of Morocco. The Turkish costume, with its yellow satin ‘shalvas’ or trousers, and the graceful shawl which girded her waist, looked most picturesque and charming, and I sank back on the cushions and gurgled my hubble-bubble with satisfaction; whilst another pretty damsel, a younger sister, brought in coffee, which she presented with a graceful bow.
The banker and I talked and puffed, drank coffee and sherbet, and eat sweetmeats of all kinds which were brought to us in succession. I felt happy, as if I had reached the seventh heaven of the Mohammedan. Time slipped by very quickly. I had finished the business of my mission when the old banker looked at his watch, put aside his ‘narghileh’ and fidgeted a little, thus giving me clearly to understand it would be convenient that I should leave. Much as I was enjoying myself, I was also of the same opinion, and made an effort to rise and get my feet to the ground—for I was seated cross-legged on the divan—but could not move them; they seemed to be paralysed. The banker, not knowing my state, and fancying perhaps that my admiration for his pretty daughters had checked my departure, told them rather roughly, when they again appeared smiling and bringing more Turkish sweetmeats, that their presence was no longer required, and then, looking once more at his watch, he said most politely, and with profuse apologies, ‘I see the hour is past at which I ought to present myself to the Porte.’
I made many excuses for not having taken my leave and told him, with a nervous laugh, that I felt very strange sensations, but did not know the cause; that on attempting to rise I found I had no control over my legs, and could not remove them from the divan, feeling as if my body did not belong to me. I added, ‘You can see however I am not deprived of my senses.’ Could it be the effect of the narghileh—which I had never smoked before—and that the tumbaki had produced this extraordinary languor in my limbs, as it possibly contained opium?
The Armenian appeared much amused on hearing of my helpless state. He assisted me from the divan, supporting me while I tried to walk, and finding that I could not do so, a daughter was summoned to fetch some cordial, which the maiden, with an expression of mirth, brought and administered. Having taken this and rested awhile, I regained the use of my legs. The banker, on my taking leave, expressed repeatedly his regret that I should have suffered any inconvenience from the effects of the narghileh, and added that were not his presence required at the Porte he would have insisted on my remaining at his house to rest for that night at least.
About a year or more after this incident, when Sir Stratford Canning had replaced Lord Ponsonby as Ambassador, a fancy ball was given by Lady Canning at the Embassy at Pera, and I was requested by her Ladyship to take the lead and the direction of the dancing. I was dressed in Highland costume, and had selected for my partner in the cotillon the daughter of the Armenian banker mentioned in this story. In those days Armenian ladies rarely mixed in European society, but she had been permitted on this special occasion to appear at the ball at the Embassy, accompanied by her father. She was beautifully dressed in the ancient Armenian costume, was certainly the belle of the evening, and waltzed like a sylph, so made a perfect partner for one who loved dancing as I did, and we led the various figures in the cotillon with great spirit. Our conversation was carried on in Turkish, which I spoke fluently.
Whilst we danced I observed that one of the Turkish Ministers, who was present at the ball, took every opportunity of coming close to where I happened to halt with my partner; gazing at her rudely, as I thought, especially as she was a shy and modest girl.
At last, when the cotillon was drawing to a close, the Pasha came up to us smiling and said, ‘Pekkei, pekkei’ (very good). ‘You are suited to each other. She is “chok ghazal” (very pretty), and you are a well-favoured youth. You must marry her: she will have money; you have position. My friend the banker will consent; I am pleased.’ And so the old fellow rattled on, much to my dismay and to the confusion of the pretty Armenian maiden.
I remonstrated courteously with the old Minister, saying, ‘My partner is very beautiful, but we have not thought of love or marriage, for we are of different nations and creeds. Moreover, she would not accept me as a candidate for wedlock, even if I offered myself; but I shall always look back with pleasure to this evening when I have been honoured by having such a lovely partner for this dance.’
‘Ah,’ said the Pasha, ‘she is, I know, the daughter of the banker. I will speak to him and arrange matters, for I should like to make you both happy.’