Part 11

Angora formed our nineteenth halting place from Constantinople. It is a town of Galatia, and was, at one time, the head-quarters of the Tectosages, a Gallic tribe. Pliny and Strabo both mention it, but it is not improbable that the present city covers only a part of the ancient town. The Kanûns[133] call it Anquira.

Here we saw a very beautiful inscription,[134] containing a copy of the tablets in which Augustus gave a summary of his achievements. We made our people copy out as much as was legible. It is engraven on the marble walls of a building now ruinous and roofless, which formerly may have formed the official residence of the governor. As you enter the building one half of the inscription is on the right, and the other on the left. The top lines are nearly perfect; in the middle the gaps begin to present difficulties; the lowest lines are so mutilated with blows of clubs and axes as to be illegible. This is indeed a great literary loss, and one which scholars have much reason to regret; the more so as it is an ascertained fact that Ancyra was dedicated[135] to Augustus as the common gift of Asia.

Here we also saw how the famous watered stuff, or mohair, which is woven of the hair of the goats I have already described, is dyed; and how, when water has been poured on, it takes those waves from the action of the press, from which it derives its name, and for which it is prized. The stuff which bears the mark of a very large wave, and keeps its pattern, is considered the best; but if, in any part, smaller and uneven waves occur, although the colour and material be precisely the same, it is worth less by several gold pieces on account of the flaw. Elderly men among the Turks, when they are of high rank, are generally distinguished by dresses made of this material. Solyman prefers it to any other dress for state occasions, wearing that which is of a green colour; a hue which, according to our notions, is hardly becoming to a man of advanced years; but their religion, and the example of their prophet Mahomet, who wore it constantly, even in his old age, gives it favour in the eyes of the Turks. Among them black is considered a mean and unlucky colour, and for any one in Turkey to appear dressed in black is held to be ominous of disaster and evil. On some occasions the Pashas would express their astonishment at our going to them in black clothes, and make it a ground for serious remonstrance. No one in Turkey goes abroad in black unless he be completely ruined, or in great grief for some terrible disaster. Purple is highly esteemed, but in time of war it is considered ominous of a bloody death. The lucky colours are white, orange, light blue, violet, mouse colour, &c. In this, and other matters, the Turks pay great attention to auguries and omens. It is a well-known fact that a Pasha has sometimes been dismissed from office because his horse stumbled, under the idea that it portended some great misfortune, and that, if the man were removed from his office, it would fall on a private individual, and not on the state.

From Angora we came to the village of Balygazar, thence to Zarekuct, next to Zermeczii, after which we arrived at the bank of the river Halys (Kizil Irmak).

As we crossed the country towards the village of Algeos, we had a distant view of the mountains near Sinope. They have a red appearance from the red chalk which takes its name from Sinope.

Here is the famous Halys, once the boundary between the kingdoms of Media and Lydia, about which the ancient prophecy said that ‘Crœsus, if he crossed the Halys to make war on the Persians, would destroy a mighty realm’—but he did not know that the realm he was to destroy was his own. On the bank was a copse of trees, which at first excited our attention, as we thought we had discovered a new kind of fruit tree; but we soon became aware that it was the liquorice tree, and gorged ourselves with the juice from its roots.

It happened that a country fellow was standing there, so we asked him through an interpreter whether there were plenty of fish in the river, and how they were caught. His answer was, that there were plenty of fish, but that it was impossible to catch them. When we expressed our surprise at this intelligence, the man explained the matter thus: ‘Well, if anyone tries to put his hand on one of these fish, they jump away, and will not wait for him to catch them.’

On a former occasion, when we met with some birds of a species unknown to us, and asked how they could be caught, another fellow declared that ‘it was impossible to catch them, because, when anyone tried to lay hold of them, they flew away.’ One of my colleagues, Francis Zay, had with him nets, which he ordered to be unpacked with a view to fishing. Amongst other fish, we caught the common Danube shad. There are also crabs in the Halys in large numbers, which, if they are not sea crabs, are, at any rate, very like them.

The Turks, who stood by, were amazed at the great pains we Christians took in fishing. ‘How so,’ you will say, ‘are there no fishermen in Turkey?’ Well, there are some, but in those districts they are very rare. I remember, in another place, we were greeted with roars of laughter when we drew off the water of a stream and captured a quantity of gudgeons. They were greatly amused at our fishing for anything so small, and could not make out what gain or advantage we expected to get from them. The foolish fellows did not understand that a large supply of these little fishes enabled us to prepare big dishes of stew sufficient to dine a great many people.

But these Turks live so sparingly, and care so little for the pleasures of the table, that if they have bread and salt with an onion or leek, or a kind of sour milk which Galen mentions by the name of oxygala, and they call yoghoort, they are quite content. They mix this milk with very cold water, and crumble bread into it, using it when the heat is overpowering, to allay their thirst. We, too, often found this drink most useful in hot weather, for not only is it very pleasant and wholesome, but it also has, to a remarkable degree, the power of quenching thirst.

At all the caravanserais (or Turkish inns, as I explained before) there is plenty of it for sale, and other relishes are also to be bought. For the Turks do not, when travelling, require hot dishes or meat; their relishes are sour milk, cheese, dried prunes, pears, peaches, quinces, figs, raisins, cornel berries. Dainties of this description are set out for sale on great pans of earthenware, having been first boiled in plain water. Each man buys what he fancies most, and eats the fruit with his bread by way of a relish; when he has finished the fruit he drinks the water. Thus these men’s food and drink costs them very little, so little, indeed, that I would venture to say that one of our people will spend more on his food in one day than a Turk does in twelve. Moreover their yearly feasts generally consist only of cakes and buns, and other confectionery, with several dishes of rice, to which they add mutton and chickens—not capons,[136] for poultry of that kind is unknown to the Turks. As to pheasants, thrushes, becaficos, &c., they have never even heard them mentioned. If honey or sugar be mixed with their draught of water, they would not envy Jove his nectar.

I must not, however, pass over one kind of drink, if I am to give you a full account. They take raisins and have them ground; when ground and pounded they throw them into a wooden vessel, and pour over them a certain proportion of hot water and mix them up; they then cover the vessel carefully, and leave the liquor to ferment for a couple of days; if the fermentation is not sufficiently active they add the lees of wine. If you taste it when first it begins to ferment, it seems insipid and disagreeably sweet; afterwards it gets a kind of acid flavour; in this stage it is extremely palatable when mixed with the sweet liquor. For three or four days it forms a most pleasant drink, especially when cooled with plenty of snow, of which there is an unfailing supply at Constantinople. They call it ‘Arab sherbet,’ i.e. ‘the drink of the Arabs.’ But after three or four days it is spoilt, and gets quite sour. In this stage it affects the head, and makes people stagger quite as much as wine, and on this account is condemned by the religious laws of the Turks. I must confess that I thought sherbet a most pleasant drink.

I found also the grapes, which in many places they keep till the summer, most refreshing at times. The following is their method of preserving them, as I took it down from their lips:—They select a bunch in which the grapes are of a good size and fully ripe, a condition which is easily brought about by the sun in Turkey. This bunch they put into a vessel of wood or earthenware, after first covering the bottom with a good layer of ground mustard; on the top of this they put the grapes; then they pour the mustard flour in gradually, so as to pack the grapes in it; lastly, having filled the vessel with grapes up to the top, they end by pouring in unfermented wine as fresh as possible; this done, they shut up the vessel and keep it till the hot summer weather sets in, when people are thirsty, and refreshment of this kind is acceptable. They then unseal the vessel, and put out the grapes for sale, together with the sauce, which last the Turks like quite as well as the grapes themselves. But the flavour of mustard was not at all to my taste, so I had my grapes carefully washed. I found them very refreshing and wholesome during the great heats.

You must not be surprised at my gratefully recording in my letter to you the things which proved beneficial to myself, for you will remember that the Egyptians carried this feeling to such an absurd length, that they worshipped as gods the vegetables of their own gardens from which they had derived benefit.

But it is high time for me to return to my road. Leaving the bank of the Halys (which the Turks, I think, call Aitoczu) we came to Goukurthoy, and thence to Choron (Chorum), and after this to Theke Thioi (Tekiyeh). Here there is a famous monastery of Turkish monks, or dervishes, from whom we learned a great deal about a hero named Chederle, a man of great prowess and courage, whom they try to identify with our St. George, ascribing to him the same feats as we claim for our saint—to wit, that he saved a maiden, who had been given up to a fierce and terrible dragon, by slaying the monster; to this they add many other stories of their own invention, telling how their hero was wont to wander through distant lands, and at last came to a river whose waters gave immortality to those that drank thereof.

They do not mention the geographical position of this river (methinks it ought to be marked down in Dreamland); all they tell me is that it is concealed beneath a covering of deep darkness and thick night, and that no mortal since Chederle has had the luck to see it; but that Chederle himself, being released from the laws of death, rides to and fro on a gallant steed, which, like its master, has, by a draught of this same water, purged itself of mortal dross. They represent him as one who loves the battle shock, and helps in war those who are in the right, and those who have invoked his aid, of whatever faith they may be. These tales seem absurd, but I will tell you one still more ridiculous. They declare that he was one of the companions and friends of Alexander the Great. The Turks have not the slightest idea of chronology, or of different epochs, and they mix up together in a wonderful way all historical events. Should the thought occur to them, they have no hesitation in stating that Job was king Solomon’s seneschal, and Alexander the Great commander-in-chief of his armies. Even these are not the greatest of their absurdities.

There is in the mosque (as the Turks call their temples) a fountain of choice marble, fed by a spring of the purest water; and this they believe to have been miraculously produced by Chederle’s steed. They have many stories also about Chederle’s comrades, his groom and his sister’s son, whose tombs they show in the neighbourhood. They tried hard to persuade us that miracles daily took place for the benefit of those who come to these tombs to ask for aid. They firmly believed, moreover, that chips of stone and earth taken from the spot, where Chederle stood waiting for the dragon, were, when mixed with water, efficacious against fever, headache, and diseases of the eye. I must tell you that the neighbourhood is full of snakes and vipers; they are so numerous that some places in the hot hours positively swarm with the venomous beasts, who are basking in the sun, to such an extent that men dare not approach them. I must not forget to tell you that the Turks shake with laughter when they see in the Greek churches pictures of St. George, whom they declare to be their own Chederle, with a boy sitting on the haunches of his master’s steed, mixing wine and water for him—for this is the manner in which St. George is painted by the Greeks.

But our journey has been long and we must shortly rest. There was now only one stage, namely Baglison (Baglijah), between us and our destination, Amasia, which last we reached on April 7, thirty days after our departure from Constantinople. As we drew near we were met by some Turks, who came to congratulate us on our arrival, and to do us the compliment of escorting us into the city.

Amasia is the chief town of Cappadocia, and there the governor of the province is wont to hold his courts, and to keep the main body of his troops. But even from the time of Bajazet the place seemed in some mysterious fashion to be associated with misfortune, and that this idea was not groundless is proved by the miserable end of Mustapha. Strabo tells us that this was his native place. The town lies between two ranges of hills, and the river Iris (Yeshil-Irmak) flows through its centre; so that both banks are covered with houses, which rise gradually up the sides of the hills, like the tiers of seats in a theatre; every part of the town therefore commands a view of the river, and those who live on one side of the town are completely exposed to the eyes of those who live on the other. It is, indeed, so hemmed in by hills that there is only one road by which carriages and beasts of burden can enter or leave the city.

On the night of our arrival there was a great fire, which the Janissaries extinguished after their own fashion by pulling down the neighbouring buildings. How it arose I cannot say, but there is no doubt that the soldiers have good reasons for wishing for fires, for, inasmuch as they are employed to put them out, and in most cases this is only effected by pulling down the neighbouring houses, as I told you before, they pillage, not only the goods and chattels of the people whose houses are on fire, but also those of their neighbours as well. So the soldiers themselves are often guilty of incendiarism in order to get an opportunity of plundering the houses.

I remember an instance of this when I was at Constantinople. There had been a great many fires, and it was quite certain that they were not accidental, yet the incendiaries were never caught. Most people laid the blame on Persian spies; but at length, after a more careful investigation, it was discovered that they were the work of marines from ships lying in the harbour, who set fire to the houses in order to cover a raid on the goods of the neighbourhood.

On the highest of the hills which overhang Amasia there is a citadel of respectable strength, which is permanently occupied by the Turks, either to overawe the tribes of Asia, who (as I shall explain later) are not over well disposed towards their Turkish masters, or to hold the Persians in check; for, great as the distance is, they have sometimes extended their raids as far as Amasia.

On this hill are many traces of ancient monuments, possibly those of the kings of Cappadocia themselves. But neither the houses nor streets of Amasia have any beauty to attract one’s notice. The houses are built of white clay, almost in the same fashion as those in Spain; even the roofs are made of this material, being flat without any gable. They use a fragment of some ancient pillar for a roller, and when any part of the roof is damaged by rain or wind, they pull this roller backwards and forwards until the roof is once more solid and smooth. In summer time the inhabitants sleep on these roofs in the open air. In these districts rain does not fall either often or heavily; but when it does come down, the clothes of the people walking in the streets are terribly soiled by the mud which drips everywhere from the roofs. On a house top near our lodgings I saw a young Sanjak-bey eating his supper on a couch after the fashion of the ancients.

On our arrival at Amasia we were taken to call on Achmet Pasha (the chief Vizier) and the other pashas—for the Sultan himself was not then in the town—and commenced our negotiations with them touching the business entrusted to us by King Ferdinand. The Pashas, on their part, apparently wishing to avoid any semblance of being prejudiced with regard to these questions, did not offer any strong opposition to the views we expressed, and told us that the whole matter depended on the Sultan’s pleasure. On his arrival we were admitted to an audience; but the manner and spirit in which he listened to our address, our arguments, and our message, was by no means favourable.

The Sultan was seated on a very low ottoman, not more than a foot from the ground, which was covered with a quantity of costly rugs and cushions of exquisite workmanship; near him lay his bow and arrows. His air, as I said, was by no means gracious, and his face wore a stern, though dignified, expression.

On entering we were separately conducted into the royal presence by the chamberlains, who grasped our arms. This has been the Turkish fashion of admitting people to the Sovereign ever since a Croat,[137] in order to avenge the death of his master, Marcus, Despot of Servia, asked Amurath for an audience, and took advantage of it to slay him. After having gone through a pretence of kissing his hand, we were conducted backwards to the wall opposite his seat, care being taken that we should never turn our backs on him. The Sultan then listened to what I had to say; but the language I held was not at all to his taste, for the demands of his Majesty breathed a spirit of independence and dignity, which was by no means acceptable to one who deemed that his wish was law; and so he made no answer beyond saying in a tetchy way, ‘Giusel, giusel,’ i.e. well, well. After this we were dismissed to our quarters.

The Sultan’s hall was crowded with people, among whom were several officers of high rank. Besides these there were all the troopers of the Imperial guard,[138] Spahis, Ghourebas, Ouloufedgis, and a large force of Janissaries; but there was not in all that great assembly a single man who owed his position to aught save his valour and his merit. No distinction is attached to birth among the Turks; the deference to be paid to a man is measured by the position he holds in the public service. There is no fighting for precedence; a man’s place is marked out by the duties he discharges. In making his appointments the Sultan pays no regard to any pretensions on the score of wealth or rank, nor does he take into consideration recommendations or popularity; he considers each case on its own merits, and examines carefully into the character, ability, and disposition of the man whose promotion is in question. It is by merit that men rise in the service, a system which ensures that posts should only be assigned to the competent. Each man in Turkey carries in his own hand his ancestry and his position in life, which he may make or mar as he will. Those who receive the highest offices from the Sultan are for the most part the sons of shepherds or herdsmen, and so far from being ashamed of their parentage, they actually glory in it, and consider it a matter of boasting that they owe nothing to the accident of birth; for they do not believe that high qualities are either natural or hereditary, nor do they think that they can be handed down from father to son, but that they are partly the gift of God, and partly the result of good training, great industry, and unwearied zeal; arguing that high qualities do not descend from a father to his son or heir, any more than a talent for music, mathematics, or the like; and that the mind does not derive its origin from the father, so that the son should necessarily be like the father in character, but emanates from heaven, and is thence infused into the human body. Among the Turks, therefore, honours, high posts, and judgeships are the rewards of great ability and good service. If a man be dishonest, or lazy, or careless, he remains at the bottom of the ladder, an object of contempt; for such qualities there are no honours in Turkey!

This is the reason that they are successful in their undertakings, that they lord it over others, and are daily extending the bounds of their empire. These are not our ideas, with us there is no opening left for merit; birth is the standard for everything; the prestige of birth is the sole key to advancement in the public service. But on this head I shall perhaps have more to say to you in another place, and you must consider what I have said as strictly private.