Invitation from Mustapha Pasha of Scodra—The Caïque, and the Caïquejhes—How to Travel in a Caïque—Hasty Glances—Self-Gratulation—Scutari—Imperial Superstition—The Seraglio Point—Dolma Batchè—Beshiktash—The Turning Dervishes—Beglièrbey—The Kiosks—A Dilemma—A Ruined Palace—An Introduction—A Turkish Beauty—A Discovery—A New Acquaintance—The Buyuk Hanoum—Fatiguing Walk—Palace of Mustapha Pasha—The Harem—Turkish Dyes—Ceremonies of Reception—Turkish Establishment—The Buyuk Hanoum—Turkish Chaplets—The Imperial Firman—Pearls, Rubies, and Emeralds—The Favourite Odalique—Heyminè Hanoum—A Conversation on Politics—Scodra Pasha—Singular Coincidence—Convenience of the Turkish Kitchen—Luxury of the Table—Coquetry of the Chibouk—Turkish Mode of Lighting the Apartments—Gentleness towards the Slaves—Interesting Reminiscences—Domestic Details—Dilaram Hanoum—A Paragraph on Pearls—A Turkish Mirror—A Summons—Scodra Pasha—Motives for Revolt—The Imperial Envoy—Submission—Ready Wit of the Pasha’s Son—The Reception Room—Personal Appearance of the Scodra Pasha—Inconvenient Courtesy—Conversation on England—Philosophy—Pleasant Dreams—The Plague-Smitten.
Accompanied by a Greek lady of my acquaintance, I embarked one fine morning on board our caïque, to pay a visit to the wife and daughter of Mustapha Pasha of Scodra. As his palace was situated in a distant quarter of the city, and we were anxious to avoid the necessity of rattling over the rude and broken pavement of the streets in an araba, we resolved to stretch out beyond the Seraglio Point; and, following the walls that are now crumbling into ruin along the coast, disembark at Yani-capu, or the New Gate pier.
Our sturdy rowers accordingly bent to their oars, and the arrowy caïque shot across the port, and out into the wider sea beyond, like a wild bird. The boatmen were clad in their summer garb, for the sunshine lay bright upon the water, and scarcely a breath of air murmured among the dark branches of the cypress groves. They wore shirts of silk gauze, of about the thickness of mull-muslin, with large hanging sleeves, and bordered round the breast with a narrow scallopping of needlework; their ample trowsers were of white cotton, and their shaven heads were only partially covered by small skull-caps of red cloth, with pendent tassels of purple silk; their feet were bare.
My companion and myself occupied cushions spread along the bottom of the boat: the most comfortable, as well as the safest way to travel in a caïque, which, from its peculiar formation, is liable to be overset by the slightest imprudence; while our Greek servant, with his legs folded under him, was seated on the raised stern of the boat, immediately behind us.
What pretty peeps we had of the Seraglio gardens, as we shot along; through the many latticed openings contrived for the gratification of the fair prisoners. What magnificent glimpses of domes and minarets, of bursting foliage, of marble fountains, and of gilded kiosks! But, alas! how vain must have been all the luxurious inventions of the most luxurious of Sultans, to insure happiness to the tenants of this painted prison! I looked around me on the sea-birds that were sporting upon the wave—above me, to the fleecy clouds that were sailing over the blue ether—far into the distance where a shoal of dolphins were gamboling almost above the water; and, as I felt the motion of the swift caïque, while it was gently heaved up and down by the current of the sea of Marmora, and saw how rapidly we sped along, I breathed a silent thanksgiving that I too was free! Free to come and to go—to love or to reject—to gaze in turn upon every bright and beautiful scene of nature, untrammelled, and unquestioned—that no Sultan could frown me into submission—no Kislar Agha frighten me into hypocrisy—in short, that I was not born a subject of his Sublime Highness, Mahmoud the Powerful.
On our left, rose the lordly mountain of Bulgurlhu Dagi, above Scutari, whose shores were fringed with country-houses, and hanging gardens; gradually deepening into a sterner character as they receded from the Bosphorus, and lifting to the sky the palace-like barrack, and the elegant Persian kiosk of the Sultan. The present Sovereign has a superstition derived from an astrologer whom he consulted in his youth, that, while he is constructing Imperial residences, he is sure to be fortunate in his other undertakings; and hence he is continually adding to the almost countless numbers of palaces and kiosks, that occupy the loveliest spots throughout the vicinity of the capital.
The most extensive and ancient of these is that which is situated at the entrance of the harbour, and gives its name to the “Seraglio Point,” the walls of the Imperial Seraï running, as I have already mentioned, far along the coast. On the opposite shore is the small but elegant palace of Scutari, with its bowery terraces, which are overlooked by the Sultan’s principal residence of Dolma Batchè; and you may shoot an arrow from the many-coloured and irregularly constructed palace of Dolma Batchè to the vast edifice now building on the same border of the Bosphorus, with infinitely less taste and more architectural pretension—although, with true Eastern inconsistency, the whole of the stupendous palace above Beshiktash, save the foundation, is of wood, surrounded by a colonnade, supported on stately columns of white marble.
This palace, of which the expence is estimated at a million sterling, has been already a considerable time in progress; and is erected on a locality that was partly occupied by a beautiful kiosk of Sultan Selim, and partly by a Tekiè and Chapel of Turning Dervishes.
These latter, with a tenacity altogether incompatible with our European ideas of a despotic government, resolutely refused to quit their convent, when the plan of the new palace which rendered their ejection indispensable was explained to them. They had come to a resolution not to move—their mausoleum contained the holy ashes of a saint, and, in short, they were determined to measure their strength with the Sultan. Accordingly, raising the cry of sacrilege, they continued snugly within their convent walls, which were soon overtopped by the Imperial pile that rose gradually on either side of them.
But Sultan Mahmoud was born a century too late to be thus baffled—the work went on; and he bore the opposition to his will with most exemplary patience so long as it did not retard the operations of his architects. But, when the moment at length arrived which rendered expedient the removal of the fraternity, he claimed from the Chèïk Islam, or High Priest, his permission to expel them; and, having failed in procuring it, quietly mounted his horse, and rode up to the convent gate. The Chief Dervish met him on the threshold, and the dialogue was brief:—