This fair spot is the “Sweet Waters” of Broussa; and as we chanced to visit it for the first time on a Turkish Sunday, its effect was considerably heightened. Surrounded by lofty mountains, overtopped by mouldering ruins, shaded by stately trees, and fresh with springing verdure, its aspect was yet further gladdened by groups of happy idlers in their holyday costume, seated on their mats along the margin of the source, or lounging beneath the shade of two rudely constructed coffee-kiosks; one of which, built immediately beside the spring, and resting against the rock whence it issued, was shaded from the north wind by a small but elegant mosque, whose tall minaret was reflected in the clear stream; while the other, erected beneath the shade of two majestic maples, seemed to contend the prize of coolness and comfort with its neighbour. From one ridge of rock an elegant kiosk overhung the valley; while from another a cherry tree, laden with fruit, tempted the hand with its clustering riches.
Altogether, I never beheld a more lovely scene; and the last touch of beauty was given by the distant view of a Turkish cemetery, which clomb the side of the mountain, and whose grave-stones were shaded by clumps of the dark, silent cypress, relieved here and there by a stately walnut tree, with its bright leaves dancing in the wind. The groups that were scattered over the valley were eminently picturesque: there was the employé with his ill-cut frock-coat and unbecoming fèz—the Emir, with his ample green turban, and his vest and drawers of snowy cotton—the Tatar, clad in crimson, wrought with gold, his waist bound with a leathern belt, and his legs protected by Albanian gaiters—the Ulema, with a white shawl twisted about his brow, and a brass ink-bottle thrust into his girdle—the Turning Dervish, with his high cap of gray felt, and his pelisse of green cloth—the Greek serudjhe, with a black shawl twined round his fèz, his jacket slung at his back, his gaily-striped vest confined by a shawl about his waist, his full trowsers fastened at the knee, and his legs bare—the Armenian, with his tall calpac and flowing robe—all sitting in groups, smoking their chibouks, sipping their coffee, and drinking huge draughts of the cold rock-water, from goblets of crystal as clear and sparkling as the liquid which they contained.
At the coffee-kiosk of the source, groups were engaged in conversation, without any regard to rank or situation in life. The Turks are perfectly destitute of that morgue which renders European society a constant state of warfare against intrusion. Every individual is “eligible” in Turkey—no one loses caste from the contact of unprivileged associates—the hour of relaxation puts all men on a level; and the Bey sits down quietly by the caïquejhe, and the Effendi takes his place near the fisherman, as unmoved by the difference of their relative condition, as though they had been born to the same fortune.
There is something beautiful and touching in this utter absence of self-appreciation; and the young noble rises from the mat which he has shared with the old artisan, as uncontaminated by the contact as though he had been partaking the gilded cushions of a Pasha. But, ready as I am to admire this state of things, I am well aware that it could not exist with us; the lower orders of Turkey and the lower orders of Europe are composed of totally different elements. The poor man of the East is intuitively urbane, courteous, and dignified—he is never betrayed into forgetfulness, either of himself or of his neighbour—he never knows, although he was bred in a hut, that he may not die in a palace—and with this possibility before his eyes, he always acts as though the hour of his metathesis were at hand.
It is probably from this feeling that an Osmanli smiles when he hears a Frank vaunting himself on his high blood; and that he replies tersely and gravely to the boast that “every Turk is born noble.”
No greater proof of the superiority of the working classes of Turkey over those of Europe can be adduced, than the tranquillity of the Empire under a government destitute alike of head, heart, and hand—a government whose hollowness, weakness, and venality, will admit of no argument—whose elements are chicane, treachery, and egotism—and which would be unable to govern any other people upon earth even for a twelvemonth. Perhaps the great secret of this dignified docility is to be found in the high religious feeling which is universal among the Turks, and to which I have made allusion elsewhere. Should my judgment on this point be erroneous, however, it is certain that the character of the mass in Turkey must be moulded by principles and impulses, in themselves both respectable and praiseworthy, to produce so powerful a moral effect.
At the maple-tree kiosk the crowd was greater, for there one of the itinerant Improvvisatori, or Eastern story-tellers, was amusing his hearers with a history, which, judging from its length, and the patience with which it was heard to an end, ought to have been exceedingly interesting. But no sound of boisterous merriment arose amid the grave and bearded auditors; once or twice, a low chuckle, and a denser cloud of smoke emitted from the chibouk, gave slight indications of amusement: but that was all; every thing was as quiet, as orderly, and as well-conducted, as though every individual of the party had been under priestly surveillance. On quitting the Valley of the Source, we visited the Tekiè of the Turning Dervishes, with its two fine fountains and its elegant chapel; and then proceeded to one of the public Khans, or Caravanserais, in which are lodged all travelling merchants, and such strangers as have not the opportunity of procuring private houses during their residence in Broussa. The building was inconvenient, ill-built, and confined in size, being a very inefficient substitute for one which was destroyed a few years ago by fire in its immediate vicinity; but its court was adorned with a very handsome fountain richly ornamented, beneath whose projecting roof the inhabitants of the Khan congregate to smoke and converse.
A small erection just within one of the gates of the court attracted my attention, from the circumstance of its roof being occupied by three eagles; two of them about half fledged, and the other evidently sick. I inquired the meaning of this location, and learnt that the little edifice was appropriated to the use of such wild birds as the hunters and peasants chanced to meet during their rambles among the mountains, and which were suffering either from disease, desertion, or injury. Being carefully transported hither, they are fed, and attended to until they voluntarily take wing, and return to their rocky haunts. The present patients were two eaglets, which had been abandoned in the nest, and a wounded bird, which, without assistance, must have died from starvation. Such a trait of national character is well worthy of mention.
Upon the roof of a mosque about a hundred yards from the house which we occupied, a couple of storks had made their nest, and, at the time of our visit, were carefully tending their young, apparently quite indifferent to all the noise and clamour going on immediately beneath. The Turks repay the confidence thus reposed in them with an almost superstitious reverence for these feathered children of the wilderness; and the destruction of a bird of this species would be sure to draw down upon the aggressor the displeasure, if not the vengeance, of every neighbouring Musselmaun.
I must not omit to mention the covered bridge; a curious Roman remain in the Armenian quarter of the city, forming a street across a rapid torrent, which, falling from the mountain, pours itself into the plain. It is entirely tenanted by silk weavers, and its numerous windows are so patched and built up as to render it extremely picturesque. Its single arch is finely formed, and from a distance it is a very attractive object; but it is rapidly falling to decay.