Some years ago, the late Sultan, on the occasion of the circumcision of one or two of his sons, gave a series of entertainments to his own functionaries, and one to the foreign diplomatic corps, in one of the valleys on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus, called Hyder Pacha. With the view of properly amusing the foreign legations, à la Franka, the Sultan got up an extemporary theatre, adjoining the splendid pavilion, in which his guests were assembled. The play selected as best calculated for the purpose, was the Milliner's Shop, the like of which the Sultan had noticed while passing through the great street of Pera—the windows filled with bonnets, dress-caps, crinolines, etc., and very handsome dolls, some quite as 'large as life,' decollé, and thanks to the miniature crinolines, often showing very well-made chaussures and ankles. The little stage was not much raised above the green sward of the valley—a ditch had been dug out for the use of the orchestra, and the counter of the milliner separated this from the audience. As the whole affair had been got up rather hurriedly, the entrepreneur had not been able to procure a sufficient number of blocks on which to exhibit the bonnets and caps, and as men were readily obtained for the purpose, holes were cut in the counter, through which these thrust their heads, and on them rested the articles in question. A man also figured against the wall, on whom to hang up a ready-made dress or two, while his head also served as a block for a first-rate bonnet with flowers and feathers to suit the occasion. Now the weather had threatened a change, and much to the regret of the Sultan and his Court, who had it at heart to give such an entertainment to the diplomatic corps of Europe as would tell largely in the papers, and prove the great progress made by him in civilization, just as the play commenced, the rain began to fall in torrents. In their pavilion, the foreign ambassadors, etc., were somewhat secure, but not so the dramatis personæ. The ditch soon filled with water, and the orchestra had to hold their instruments above their heads, while the water rose to their waists, and finally drove them to open 'secession.' But the man-blocks which supported the millinery were still more to be pitied. Their heads were fast in the holes made, and partially closed again in the centre, so that they were unable to escape from the rain which deluged the whole affair. The water fell in torrents over the gay bonnets, caps, crinolines, etc., until they became a mass of tawdry, and the bare pates of those under them came ludicrously into view. It required the assistance of a carpenter and his aids to get the poor fellows free from their bondage, and enable them to seek safety in flight. As to the man fastened against the wall, he bore his torture, and the merriment which he occasioned among the audience, for some time, but finally was compelled to put an end to his part of the entertainment by a timely retreat.
Sultan Mahmoud was the first reformer of the Ottoman Empire, and his second son, Sultan Abd-ul-Aziz, the last. The reforms of the late Sultan, Abd-ul-Mejid, nearly ruined him, and the consequence is, that the present sovereign has wisely concluded to fall back upon some of the older fashions of his people. Mahmoud thought to drive away the remembrance of the Dervish-Janissaries whose violences seldom allowed a Sultan to die of disease, and never of old age. To effect this, he disbanded their several corps, and created new ones, in another dress. Perhaps this was wise at the time, but the object once reached, he might—or his successor, at most—have restored the broken spirit of his people, by a return to their national costume. It was only by force and fear that he induced his new troops to adopt the dress of the deeply detested Ghiaours, and the measure greatly alienated the respect and affections of his subjects, especially those of the interior of the empire. The higher classes of the capital assumed it with less reserve, on account of the economy which it admitted, and because it was à la mode, but the lower were less disposed to lay that one aside which had been worn by their ancestors, and served to designate the true Mussulman. The picturesque costume of the natives of Arabia, of Egypt, Syria, and Albania, had to be thrown aside for the tight pantaloons and coat of the Infidel, and Mahmoud went so far even as to require the Bombardiers of his army to wear a head-dress, black, and tall as a hat, differing from it by the absence of a rim, and open on the top, covered only with a bag of dark silk, drawn together with a cord. This, how-ever, disappeared in the reign of his successor.
The present Sultan has adopted a middle course. Without either restoring the costumes of the Janissaries, or even assimilating the habiliments of his troops to that which they wear in their own country, which would have inspired a strong and useful esprit de corps, he has accepted the uniform of the Zouave and Turcos of the French army. It is sufficiently Oriental to meet the object desired, and is very popular in the Sultan's army. It leaves to the wearer the free use of his limbs, but as a parade-dress will not show so favorably, to European eyes, as the more dignified dress of the Guards. The most difficult part of a military costume is the head-dress; and the common red cap of the Turks, called the Fez, is even more objectionable than the unseemly slouched hat worn in the regular army of the United States. Around this cap the Sultan has had a small turban bound, in one or two folds, which is a relief to the eye, and easily kept in order. It is readily taken off, in case of need, and may be bound around the waist as a sash, or girdle.
This change in the dress of his army has given to his people the idea that their new Sultan is anti-Christian, and will restore the Ottoman Empire to its former state and condition. How far this will be verified, still rests to be seen. Reforms not entirely needed, and but half carried out, leave the recipients in that transitory state which weakens and demoralizes without effecting any permanent and real benefit. An external change is certainly less efficient than a moral one, but it goes far toward influencing the feelings of patriotism and loyalty which are so essential to man in his political condition, and it is more than probable that the anti-reforms of Sultan Abd-ul-Aziz will effect more real good in his capital, and elsewhere, than the boasted reforms of his illustrious father.
WITCHES, ELVES, AND GOBLINS.
The creative power of man, though so much boasted, is after all but a mere phantom—a vapor which rises from the ground and floats with little change of form from place to place. The diapason which we thought so extensive, appears, on inquiry, to consist of only a few notes, and the changes that may be rung upon them, may almost be counted upon the fingers. Homer's fables are near of kin to those of Shakspeare; the legends of ancient Greece find their details mirrored exactly in the traditions of Spain, Scotland, and Scandinavia. Whether in the remoter fogs of the past some glimmering traces of light may lead us to discover a common origin, a universal fountain, whence proceed pure and limpid all the streams that are contaminated by baser contact in their later course, is a question which might mightily task the most powerful minds. The gods of Greece and Rome are reproduced in Odin and Thor, Freia, and Gerda and Tduna. Aphrodite at Athens, Venus on the Seven Hills, Freia in the North, differ but in name. Dark hair and coal-black eyes, and a warm, sunny beauty may please the ardent inhabitants of Greece and Rome; the Swedes and Germans may bow before golden hair and blue eyes, fair and blooming cheeks. But transport the Grecian Aphrodite to the Dofrefield glaciers, and she will soon grow white as their snow, her eyes will fade to the pale cold blue of their skies, and with the winter frosts her hair will turn like fall leaves, golden yellow; and under the sun of Italy, Freia will tan to the burning, dark-hued, voluptuous Venus of the South. The two soils naturally breed the one cold statues, the other passionate life, but these two different phases are in themselves identical, Thor's hammer, and the various wonderful exploits of the Northern gods and goddesses, their dim, ill-defined notions of creation, of time and space, and of future worlds, are but natural growths from the nature of the North. Their gods, like their men, are all action, and to raise their actions above those of the human race, they naturally invest them with peculiar supernatural physical endowments, and a strange, mysterious mode of action. The powers of magic come to their aid; they are not absolutely omnipotent. Dwarfs forge them invincible arms in subterranean caverns; earth, air, fire, and water, conspire to assist them. The elements rage or are appeased at their command.
In the same way the gods of Greece and Rome are all repose. Their actions acquire a superiority over those of man not by supernatural agencies or extraordinary developments of physical power; their preëminence lies in the quiet assumption of power, in the immediate sequence of action on volition. Their divinity is esoteric, consisting in attributes innate and not assumed. Action with them is power; but in the North power must be superadded.
Thus we find all the various attributes embodied in the gods of the South, likewise deified and modified in the North, Thus Loke is the Mercury of the ancients. He is the same sly rogue as Hermes, though he has not some of the better qualities of that god. He is essentially the god of deceit. His deceptions are more subtle and deep-laid than those of the Grecian adept. He combines with the Pagan element something of the old Christian Satanic element. Without the horn and hoof of the Christian devil, he has all his peculiar mental qualities, and uses them to the great prejudice and harm of the other gods. So, likewise, with many of the more human μυθοι. We find the same ideas to spring up in the agora of Athens, the wilds and snows of Norway, and the heathers and hills of Scotland. The fable of the Sirens finds an exact counterpart in the North. Like Ulysses, Duke Magnus and innumerable others escape with difficulty from the charms and enticements of sea-nymphs. Sometimes it is their wonderful song which the earth and the elements obey as they did Orpheus, that attracts them. Sometimes it is by more sensual blandishments, and sometimes by sweet and tender persuasion, suadæ medullâ. Mountain elves start from the ground, and from unseen caverns, and attempt to entice brave knights to their ruin; they dance round them beneath the trees, and endeavor to make them join in their dances. The natural fortitude of the stalwart champions is rarely able to resist the temptation, and they are always on the point of falling, when some unoffending barn-yard fowl sounds the signal for retreat, or some Christian word is uttered, or sign made, and the fair visions vanish, either naturally or in divers shapes with odors of brimstone and sulphur. The differences between the Grecian and the Northern conceptions are striking. In the Greek the forms are clear and vivid. The sirens are beautiful women, with angelic voices and vulture's talons. There are nothing but conceivable realities in their story. There is nothing strange or supernatural in their accessories. But in the Scandinavian elves the case is different. They vanish and reäppear at different times; they have no actual, permanent existence. The crow of a cock or the sign of the cross is enough to drive them back to their hiding-places. They shun daylight and fixed, customary spots. They generally surprise casual travelers, and upon them in lone, romantic spots, practice all their arts of enticement and seduction. There is always something of magic, of the supernatural, connected with them. The Greek sirens are not like common women; but once conceive of their physical existence, and you understand them thoroughly. Their laws of action are purely human, and we do not find them one half so unnatural as our neighbor that has a splay foot or a hunchback. The Northern witches, however, are formed like human females, but obey unknown and mysterious powers. The commonest words and associations of men are bans to them. Only so long do they have power as nothing human disturbs and overthrows their supernatural spells.
Again let us look for a moment at another division of Grecian fiction. The grim Cyclops who toils for Vulcan, working like mortal men, and forging divine things, it is true, like any Grecian blacksmith, has a counterpart of a somewhat different character in the North. The reality and vividness of the Greek changes as we approach the Pole. In deep caverns distorted, strange little dwarfs work by the aid of supernatural powers wondrous weapons, swords of incredible qualities, armor that defies mortal blades, bracelets of wondrous and cunning finish and singular properties—all here is miraculous, the workman, the process, and the work. The vividness with which Homer presents to us the one-eyed Polyphemus, with his tree-staff and his ponderous body, is exchanged by the Scandinavian for smallness, indistinctness of form and of power. The grand in the South is obtained by giving enlarged pictures of man as he is; in the North, by investing him with strange, magic, mysterious qualities. In mental as well as material nature, a general haziness of outline conveys the idea of greatness as strongly, though in another manner, as the sharp and perceptible outline of any thing really great.