On his return from the Mosque, the Sultan puts on a sacrificial dress, and, while two attendants hold the lamb which is to be honoured by suffering the stab of the Imperial knife, he slaughters it with his Sublime hands. The first victim that he destroys is a propitiation for himself, but he afterwards offers up one for each member of his family, and consequently his office is by no means a sinecure.
Nor is this the only occasion on which this ancient Jewish rite is observed by the Turks. On recovery from a severe illness, on the birth of a child, on return from a pilgrimage—in short, in every leading circumstance of his life, the Musselmaun immolates a victim: but the Kourban-Baïram is the great sacrificial anniversary, and is observed with much splendour and rejoicing by all the population of the capital. The vessels in the harbour are gaily decked out with flags; all business is suspended; men grasp each other by the hand in the streets, and utter a fraternal greeting—and the poor are seen hastening from house to house to secure the flesh of the sacrifices, which is divided among themselves and the dogs of the city, scarcely less sacred than their own kind in the eyes of the Osmanlis.
A friend of mine was told the other day by a Turk with whom he is intimate, and who had just returned to Stamboul after an absence of six months, that he had ascertained that while he was away from home his wife had not once quitted the house; a piece of intelligence which so rejoiced him, that he had sacrificed six sheep, one for each month, in gratitude to Allah and the Prophet, who had bestowed on him so virtuous a helpmate.
What a glorious burst of light flooded the enclosure when the sun at length clomb the horizon! It was not only a time of human festival, but nature’s own peculiar holyday; and there was an elasticity and balminess in the air that swept through the carriage, which made the heart leap for gladness.
The troops presented a better appearance in line than I had expected, but Sultan Mahmoud has yet much to do if he ever intends to make them look like soldiers. They are dirty, slouching, and awkward; tread inwards from their habit of sitting upon their feet, and march as though they were dragging their slippers after them. The frightful fèz is pulled down to their very eyebrows, and the ill-cut clothing is composed of the coarsest and dingiest materials.
But what shall I say of the officers? How shall I describe the appearance of the gallant individuals who were constantly passing and repassing, and making frequent pauses in our immediate vicinity; incited thereto, as I have no doubt, by the presence of two lovely young Turkish ladies, who had quitted their carriage, and established themselves on the footboard behind, in order to secure a better sight of the “Brother of the Sun,” whom we were all anxiously awaiting; and whose yashmacs were so gracefully, or shall I say coquettishly, arranged, that I doubt whether they would have been so attractive without them. They were of the whitest and clearest muslin, through which I not only saw the flowers that rested on their foreheads, and the diamonds that sparkled in the embroidered and richly-fringed handkerchiefs bound about their heads, but even the very colour of their lips. And then the magic of their long, sleepy, jet-black eyes, and the constant flinging back and refolding of the jealous feridjhe, by fingers white, and slender, and henna-tipped! I really pitied the sword-girt Moslems.
I was still gazing at these lovely women, when a party of about thirty field-officers passed the carriage, on their way to their places near the door of the Mosque, at which the Sultan was to enter. They were all similarly attired in surtout coats of Spanish brown, gathered in large folds at the back of the waist, and buttoned beneath a cloth strap; a very common and ugly fashion among the Turks; and wore sword-belts richly embroidered with gold. Many among them were some of the stoutest men I ever saw.
In about five minutes after them, arrived the led horses of the Sultan; and these formed by far the most splendid feature of the procession; they were ten in number, and wore on their heads a panache of white and pink ostrich feathers mixed with roses, and fastened down upon the forelock with a clasp of precious stones. Each was attended by a groom, controlling, with some trouble, the curvettings and capers of the pampered animals, who were caparisoned in a style of splendour which, if it have ever been equalled, can certainly never have been surpassed. Their housings, which were either of silk or velvet, all differing the one from the other, were embroidered with gold and silver, large pearls, and jewels. One of them bore, on a ground of myrtle-coloured velvet, the cypher of the Sultan wrought in brilliants, and surrounded by a garland of flowers formed of rubies, emeralds, and topaz. Another housing, of rich lilac silk, was worked at the corners with a cluster of musical instruments in diamonds and large pearls, and, as the sunshine flashed upon it, it was like a blaze of light. The remainder were equally magnificent; and the well-padded saddles of crimson or green velvet were decorated with stirrups of chased gold, while the bridles, whose embroidered reins hung low upon the necks of the animals, were one mass of gold and jewels.
The Sultan’s stud was succeeded by the Seraskier Pasha in state, mounted on a tall gray horse, (whose elaborate accoutrements were only inferior to those that I have attempted to describe,) and surrounded and followed by a dozen attendants on foot: his diamond-hilted sword—the rings upon his hands—the star in front of his fèz, and the orders on his breast, were perfectly dazzling.
At intervals of about a minute, all the great officers of state passed in the same order, and according to their respective ranks; and at length we heard the welcome sounds of the Imperial band, which struck up the Sultan’s Grand March, as Mahmoud the Powerful, the Brother of the Sun, and Emperor of the East, passed the gates of the court.