The gates of the seraglio were thrown wide open, the discordant, clanging, and ear-piercing music was put to silence by a thundering roll of drums, and twelve mounted cavasses with great trouble and difficulty began clearing a way for the corps of viziers among the thronging crowd, belabouring all they met in their path with stout cudgels and rhinoceros whips. The indolent, gaping crowd saw that it was going to be flogged, yet didn't stir a step to get out of the reach of the whips and bludgeons.
The members of the Diván dismounted from their horses in the courtyard and ascended the steps, which were guarded by a double row of Janissaries with drawn scimitars, the blue and yellow curtains of the assembly hall of the Diván were drawn aside before them, and the mysterious inner chamber—the hearth and home of so much power and splendour, once upon a time—lay open before them.
It was a large octagonal chamber without any of those adornments forbidden by the Koran; its marble pavement covered by oriental carpets, its walls to the height of a man's stature inlaid with mother-o'-pearl. Along the walls were placed a simple row of low sofas covered with red velvet and without back-rests, behind them was a pillared niche concealing a secret door where Amurath was wont to listen unperceived to the consultations of his councillors.
Through the parted curtains passed the members of the Council of the Diván. First of all came the Grand Vizier, a tall, dry man with rounded projecting shoulders; his head was constantly on the move and his eyes peered now to the right and now to the left as if he were perpetually watching and examining something. His brown, mud-coloured face wore an expression of perpetual discontent; every glance was full of scorn, rage, and morbid choler; when he spoke he gnashed his black teeth together through which he seemed to filter his voice; and his face was never for an instant placid, at one moment he drew down his eyebrows till his eyes were scarce visible, at the next instant he raised them so that his whole forehead became a network of wrinkles and the whites of his eyes were visible; the corners of his mouth twitched, his chin waggled, his beard was thin and rarely combed, and the only time he ever smiled was when he saw fear on the face of the person whom he was addressing; finally, his robes hung about him so slovenly that despite the splendid ornaments with which they were plastered he always looked shabby and sordid.
After the Grand Vizier came Kiuprile, a full-bodied, red-faced Pasha, with a beard sprawling down to his knees; the broad sword which hung by his side raised the suspicion that the hand that was wont to wield it was the hand of no weakling; his voice resembled the roar of a buffalo, so deep, so rumbling was it that when he spoke quietly it was difficult to understand him, while on the battle-field you could hear him above the din of the guns.
Among the other members of the Diván there were three other men worthy of attention.
The first was Kucsuk Pasha, a muscular, martial man; his sunburnt face was seamed with scars, his eyes were as bright and as black as an eagle's; his whole bearing, despite his advanced age, was valiant and defiant; he carried his sword in his left hand; his walk, his pose, his look were firm; he was slow to speak, and rapid in action.
Beside him stood his son, Feriz Beg, the sharer of his father's dangers and glory, a tall, handsome youth in a red caftan and a white turban with a heron's plume.
Last of all came the Sultan's Christian doctor, the court interpreter, Alexander Maurocordato, a tall, athletic man, in a long, ample mantle of many folds; his long, bright, black beard reaches almost to his girdle, his features have the intellectual calm of the ancient Greek type, his thick black hair flows down on both shoulders in thick locks.
The viziers took their places; the Sultan's divan remains vacant; nearest to it sits the Grand Vizier; farther back sit the pashas, agas, and begs.