It must be a severe trial to sink from a leader to a vassal; even when it is from a rebel chief to the dependent Pasha of a Sultan. Mustapha Pasha had been almost a sovereign in Albania, a brave soldier, and a powerful prince; and, when he accepted the conditions of his Imperial Master, and bought his life at the price of his country and his fortune, the struggle of the spirit must have been a bitter one.
It was a singular circumstance that, at the period of my first visit to his harem, he was occupying a palace adjoining that in which resided another attainted noble—the Ex-Pasha of Bagdad! Both men of information—both blighted in their ambition, and bowed beneath the power they had defied—they amused the ennui of their monotonous existence with writing poetry; and moralizing on the instability of human greatness. I have remarked elsewhere that the Turks are seldom found wanting in philosophy.
As we did not arrive at the Pasha’s palace for several hours after we were expected, it was supposed that some accidental circumstance had prevented our visit, and the family had consequently dined before we got there: but such an occurrence as this never causes the slightest inconvenience in a Turkish house, where the culinary arrangements are so regulated that you can command an excellent repast at whatever moment you may chance to require it.
On the present occasion, I rather regretted that the profuse and even sumptuous dinner that was served up to us was, from an excess of courtesy on the part of our entertainers, perfectly European in its arrangement, being accompanied by silver forks, knives, and chairs; but the luxury of the East had, nevertheless, its part in the banquet, for the cloth that covered the table was enriched with a deep border of exquisite needlework, and the napkins of muslin, almost as impalpable as a cobweb, were richly embroidered in gold. Wine was handed to us on a beautifully chased golden salver, and the glasses from which we drank it were of finely cut crystal; while the table stood upon a tapestry carpet.
But the most beautiful objects employed during the repast were the silver basin, strainer, and vase, that were held by two black slaves for us to wash our hands, while a third stood a pace behind them, bearing upon his arm the napkin, wrought with a border of flowers in coloured silks, whereon they were to be dried. The vase, shaped like that from which Ganymede might have poured wine for Imperial Jove, was chased in the most delicate manner with grapes and vine leaves; and the same design enriched the border of the capacious basin.
As soon as we had dined, we adjourned to the private apartment of Heyminè Hanoum, at her especial invitation; when the young beauty, freed from the restraint of her mother’s presence, clapped her hands, and ordered her pipe, which she smoked with as much grace and gusto as any Moslem of the Empire. They who cavil at this application of the word grace, have certainly never seen a young Turkish woman manage her chibouk—Nothing can be more coquettish!
The chapter on fans, so celebrated in the “Spectator,” might be out-written a hundredfold by one competent to describe the manœuvres of an Eastern beauty, with her amber-lipped and gold-twisted pipe. Such soft and studied attitudes—such long and slowly-drawn respirations, having all the sentiment of a sigh without its sadness—such clasping and unclasping of the delicate fingers about the slender tube—-no novice should venture to smoke beside a Turkish woman, who is not satisfied to look as awkward as a poor mortal can desire!
We were all comfortably nestled among our cushions; and, on a small round table at the extremity of the apartment, stood a tray, bearing four wax lights. This custom of clustering the candles together is common in both Turkish, Armenian, and Greek houses; and is peculiarly congenial to the indolence of Eastern habits, as it leaves such deep shadows in the distance, that those who have no immediate occupation to confine them to the vicinity of the glare may doze in undisturbed twilight on their sofas.
At intervals, a slave entered to trim the candles, or to replenish the pipe of Heyminè Hanoum; and each lingered awhile, unchidden, to listen to a fragment of the conversation, or to indulge in another gaze at the Frank strangers; among the rest, one pale, languid-looking woman, who complained of sudden and severe suffering, and to whom the Pasha’s daughter spoke even more kindly and gently than to any of the others, squatted down near the door, and remained a considerable time, with her head drooping on her bosom, apparently amused in spite of her indisposition.
The slaves, both black and white, were innumerable—I should think that we had at least a score in attendance on us during dinner.