Part 8

The bread we used through this part of our expedition was, for the most part, baked under ashes. The people call these loaves ‘fugacias:’ they are sold by the girls and women, for there are no professional bakers in that district. When the women hear of the arrival of strangers, from whom they may expect to earn a trifle, they knead cakes of meal and water without any leaven, and put them under the hot ashes. When baked they carry them round for sale at a small price, still hot from the hearth. Other eatables are also very cheap. A sheep costs thirty-five aspres,[102] a fowl costs one; and fifty aspres make a crown. I must not forget to tell you of the dress of the women. Usually, their sole garment consists of a shirt or chemise of linen, quite as coarse as the cloth sacks are made of in our country, covered with needlework designs, of the most absurd and childish character, in different colours. However, they think themselves excessively fine; and when they saw our shirts—the texture of which was excellent—they expressed their surprise that we should be contented with plain linen instead of having worked and coloured shirts. But nothing struck us more than their towering head-dresses and singular bonnets—if bonnets they can be called. They are made of straw, woven with threads; the shape is exactly the reverse of that which is usually worn by our women in country districts; for their bonnets fall down on the shoulders, and are broadest at the lowest part, from which they gradually slope up into a peak. Whereas, in Bulgaria the bonnet is narrowest at the lowest part; above the head it rises in a coil about three-quarters of a foot; it is open at the top, and presents a large cavity towards the sky, so that it seems expressly made for the purpose of catching the rain and the sun, just as ours are made for the purpose of keeping them off.

The whole of the bonnet, from the upper to the lower rim, is ornamented with coins and figures, bits of coloured glass, and anything else that glitters, however rubbishy it may be.

This kind of bonnet makes the wearer look tall, and also obliges her to carry herself with dignity, as it is ready to tumble off at the slightest touch. When they enter a room you might imagine it was a Clytemnestra,[103] or Hecuba such as she was in the palmy days of Troy, that was marching on to the stage.

I had here an instance of the fickleness and instability of that which, in the world’s opinion, constitutes nobility. For when, on noticing some young women, whose persons had an air of better breeding than the rest, I inquired whether they belonged to some high family, I was told that they were descended from great Bulgarian princes, and, in some cases, even from royal ancestors, but were now married to herdsmen and shepherds. So little value is attached to high birth in the Turkish realm. I saw also, in other places, descendants of the imperial families of the Cantacuzeni[104] and Palæologi, whose position among the Turks was lower than that of Dionysius at Corinth. For the Turks do not measure even their own people by any other rule than that of personal merit. The only exception is the house of Othman; in this case, and in this case only, does birth confer distinction.

It is supposed that the Bulgarians,[105] at a time when many tribes were migrating of their own accord or under compulsion, left the Scythian river Volga to settle here, and that they are called Bulgarians (an equivalent for Volgarians) from that river.

They established themselves on the Balkan range, between Sophia and Philippopolis, in a position of great natural strength, and here they long defied the power of the Greek Emperors.

When Baldwin[106] the elder, Count of Flanders, gained possession of the imperial throne, they took him prisoner in a skirmish, and put him to death. They were not able to withstand the power of the Turks, who conquered them, and subjected them to their heavy yoke. They use the language of the Illyrians, as do the Servians and Rascians.[107]

In order to descend to the level country in front of Philippopolis it is necessary to cross the mountain by a very rough pass. This pass the Turks call ‘Capi Dervent’[108]—that is to say, The Narrow Gate. On this plain the traveller soon meets with the Hebrus, which rises at no great distance in Mount Rhodope. Before we had crossed the pass I mentioned above, we had a good view of the summit of Rhodope, which stood out cold and clear with its snowy covering. The inhabitants, if I am not mistaken, call the mountain Rulla. From it, as Pliny tells us, flows the Hebrus, a fact generally known from the couplet of Ovid:—

‘Quâ patet umbrosum Rhodope glacialis ad Hæmum, Et sacer amissas exigit Hebrus aquas.’

In this passage the poet seems to refer to the river’s want of depth and its scant supply of water; for though a great and famous stream, it is full of shallows. I remember, on my return, crossing the Hebrus by a ford close to Philippopolis, in order to reach an island, where we slept under canvas. But the river rose during the night, and we had great difficulty next day in recrossing and regaining our road.

There are three hills which look as if they had been torn away from the rest of the range. On one of these Philippopolis is situated, crowning the summit with its towers. At Philippopolis we saw rice in the marshes growing like wheat.

The whole plain is covered with mounds of earth, which, according to the Turkish legends, are artificial, and mark the sites of the numerous battles which, they declare, took place in these fields. Underneath these barrows, they imagine, lie the victims of these struggles.

Continuing our route, we followed pretty closely the banks of the Hebrus, which was for some time on our right hand, and leaving the Balkans, which ran down to the Black Sea, on our left, we at last crossed the Hebrus by the noble bridge built by Mustapha, and arrived at Adrianople, or, as it is called by the Turks, Endrene. The name of the city was Oresta until Hadrian enlarged it and gave it his own name. It is situated at the confluence of the Maritza, or Hebrus, and two small streams, the Tundja and Arda, which at this point alter their course and flow towards the Ægean Sea. Even this city is of no very great extent, if only that portion is included which is within the circuit of the ancient walls; but the extensive buildings in the suburbs, which have been added by the Turks, make it a very considerable place.

After stopping one day at Adrianople, we set out to finish the last stage of our journey to Constantinople, which is not far distant. As we passed through these districts we were presented with large nosegays of flowers, the narcissus, the hyacinth, and the tulipan (as the Turks call this last). We were very much surprised to see them blooming in midwinter, a season which does not suit flowers at all. There is a great abundance of the narcissus and hyacinth in Greece; their fragrance is perfectly wonderful, so much so, that, when in great profusion, they affect the heads of those who are unaccustomed to the scent. The tulip has little or no smell; its recommendation is the variety and beauty of the colouring.

The Turks are passionately fond of flowers, and though somewhat parsimonious in other matters, they do not hesitate to give several aspres for a choice blossom. I, too, had to pay pretty dearly for these nosegays, although they were nominally presents, for on each occasion I had to pull out a few aspres as my acknowledgment of the gift. A man who visits the Turks had better make up his mind to open his purse as soon as he crosses their frontier, and not to shut it till he quits the country; in the interval he must sow his money broadcast, and may thank his stars if the seed proves fruitful. But even assuming that he gets nothing else by his expenditure, he will find that there is no other means of counteracting the dislike and prejudice which the Turks entertain towards the rest of the world. Money is the charm wherewith to lull these feelings in a Turk, and there is no other way of mollifying him. But for this method of dealing with them, these countries would be as inaccessible to foreigners as the lands which are condemned (according to the popular belief) to unbroken solitude on account of excessive heat or excessive cold.

Half way between Constantinople and Adrianople lies a little town called Tchourlou, famous as the place where Selim was defeated by his father, Bajazet. Selim,[109] who was only saved by the speed of his horse Caraboulut (i.e. the dark cloud), fled to the Crimea, where his father-in-law exercised supreme power.

Just before we reached Selimbria, a small town lying on the coast, we saw some well-preserved traces of an ancient earthwork and ditch, which they say were made in the days of the later Greek emperors, and extended from the Sea of Marmora to the Danube.

These fortifications were intended to defend the land and property of the people of Constantinople which lay within their defences, against the inroads of barbarians. They tell of an old man in those days who declared that the existence of these works did not so much protect what was inside, as mark the surrender of the rest to the barbarians, and so encourage them to attack, while it damped the spirit of the defenders.

At Selimbria we stopped awhile to enjoy the view over the calm sea and pick up shells, while the waves rolled merrily on to the shore. We were also attracted by the sight of dolphins sporting in the waters; and, in addition to all these sights, we enjoyed the heat of that delicious clime. I cannot tell you how warm and mild the air is in this charming spot. As far as Tchourlou there was a certain amount of cold, and the wind had a touch of the North about it; but on leaving Tchourlou the air becomes extremely mild.

Close to Constantinople we crossed over bridges, which spanned two lovely bays.[110] If these places were cultivated, and nature were to receive the slightest assistance from art, I doubt whether in the whole world anything could be found to surpass them in loveliness. But the very ground seems to mourn its fate, and complain of the neglect of its barbarian master. Here we feasted on most delicious fish, caught before our eyes.

While lodging in the hostels, which the Turks call Imaret, I happened to notice a number of bits of paper stuck in the walls. In a fit of curiosity I pulled them out, imagining that there must be some reason for their being placed there. I asked my Turks what was written on the paper, but I could not find that they contained anything which could account for their being thus preserved. This made me all the more eager to learn why on earth they were kept; for I had seen the same thing done in other places. My Turks made no reply, being unwilling to answer my question, either because they were shy of telling me that which I should not credit, or because they did not wish to unfold so mighty a mystery to one outside the pale of their religion. Some time later I learned from my friends among the Turks, that great respect is paid to a piece of paper, because there is a possibility that the name of God may be written on it; and therefore they do not allow the smallest scrap to lie on the ground, but pick it up and stick it quickly in some chink or crack, that it may not be trodden on. There is no particular fault, perhaps, to be found with all this; but let me tell you the rest.

On the day of the last judgment, when Mahomet will summon his followers from purgatory to heaven and eternal bliss, the only road open to them will be over a red-hot gridiron, which they must walk across with bare feet. A painful ordeal, methinks. Picture to yourself a cock skipping and hopping over hot coals! Now comes the marvel. All the paper they have preserved from being trodden on and insulted, will appear unexpectedly, stick itself under their feet, and be of the greatest service in protecting them from the red-hot iron. This great boon awaits those who save paper from bad treatment. On some occasions our guides were most indignant with my servants for using paper for some very dirty work, and reported it to me as an outrageous offence. I replied that they must not be surprised at such acts on the part of my servants. What could they expect, I added, from people who are accustomed to eat pork?

This is a specimen of Turkish superstition. With them it is a fearful offence for a man to sit, even unwittingly, on the Koran (which is their Bible); in the case of a Christian the punishment is death. Moreover, they do not allow rose-leaves to lie on the ground, because they think that the rose sprang from the sweat of Mahomet, just as the ancients believed that it came from the blood of Venus. But I must leave off, or I shall tire you with these trifling matters.

I arrived at Constantinople on January 20, and there I found the colleagues I mentioned above, Antony Wranczy and Francis Zay. The Sultan was away in Asia with the Turkish army, and no one was left at Constantinople except the eunuch Ibrahim Pasha, governor of the city, and Roostem, who had been deprived of his office. Nevertheless, we visited the ex-chief-Vizier, showed him every courtesy, and gave him presents to mark our esteem; for we did not forget the great influence he once had, and his prospect of shortly regaining it.

Now that I am speaking of Roostem, I may as well tell you how he came to be deprived of his high office. Solyman had a son by a concubine, who came from the Crimea, if I remember rightly. His name was Mustapha, and at the time of which I am speaking he was young, vigorous, and of high repute as a soldier. But Solyman had also several other children by a Russian woman (Roxolana).[111] To the latter he was so much attached that he placed her in the position of a wife, and assigned her a dowry, the giving and receiving of which constitutes a marriage amongst the Turks. In taking her as his wife, he broke through the custom of his later predecessors on the throne, none of whom, since the days of Bajazet the elder, had a lawful wife. For of all the indignities which the vanquished Sultan endured, when he and his wife fell into the hands of Tamerlane,[112] nothing seemed more dreadful than the insults which his wife received before his eyes. His humiliation made so deep an impression on his successors that, up to the time of Solyman, they abstained from contracting a legal marriage with any woman, by way of insuring themselves, under all circumstances, against a similar misfortune. The mothers of their children were women in the position of slaves, the idea being that, if they were insulted, the disgrace to the Sultan would not be so great as in the case of a lawful wife. You must not be surprised at this, for the Turks do not consider the position of the children of concubines and mistresses inferior to that of the offspring of wives; both have precisely the same rights of inheritance to their father’s property.

Thus, then, matters stood. Mustapha’s high qualities and matured years marked him out, to the soldiers who loved, and the people who supported him, as the successor of his father, who was now in the decline of life. On the other hand, his step-mother, by throwing the claim of a lawful wife into the scale, was doing her utmost to counterbalance his personal merits and his rights as eldest son, with a view to obtaining the throne for her own children. In this intrigue she received the advice and assistance of Roostem, whose fortunes were inseparably linked with hers by his marriage with a daughter she had had by Solyman. Of all the Pashas at Solyman’s court none had such influence and weight as Roostem; his determined character and clear-sighted views had contributed in no small degree to his master’s fame. Perhaps you would like to know his origin. He was once a pig-driver;[113] and yet he is a man well worthy of his high office, were his hands not soiled with greed. This was the only point as to which the Sultan was dissatisfied with him; in every other respect he was the object of his love and esteem. However, this very fault his master contrived to turn to his advantage, by giving him the management of the privy purse and exchequer, Solyman’s chief difficulties being on the score of finance. In his administration of this department he neglected no gain, however trivial, and scraped up money from the sale of the vegetables and flowers which grew in the imperial gardens; he put up separately to auction each prisoner’s helmet, coat-of-mail, and horse, and managed everything else after the same fashion.

By these means he contrived to amass large sums of money, and fill Solyman’s treasury. In short, he placed his finances in a sound position. His success in this department drew from a very bitter enemy of his an expression, which will surprise you as coming from a Turk. He declared that, even had he the power to hurt Roostem, he would not use it against one whose industry, zeal, and care had re-established his master’s finances. There is in the palace a special vault, where these hoards are kept, and on it is this inscription, ‘The moneys acquired by the care of Roostem.’

Well, inasmuch as Roostem was chief Vizier, and as such had the whole of the Turkish administration in his hands, he had no difficulty, seeing that he was the Sultan’s adviser in everything, in influencing his master’s mind. The Turks, accordingly, are convinced that it was by the calumnies of Roostem and the spells of Roxolana, who was in ill repute as a practiser of witchcraft, that the Sultan was so estranged from his son as to entertain the design of getting rid of him. A few believe that Mustapha, being aware of the plans of Roostem and the practices of his stepmother, determined to anticipate them, and thus engaged in designs against his father’s throne and person. The sons of Turkish Sultans are in the most wretched position in the world, for, as soon as one of them succeeds his father, the rest are doomed to certain death. The Turk can endure no rival to the throne, and, indeed, the conduct of the Janissaries renders it impossible for the new Sultan to spare his brothers; for if one of them survives, the Janissaries are for ever asking largesses. If these are refused, forthwith the cry is heard, ‘Long live the brother!’ ‘God preserve the brother!’—a tolerably broad hint that they intend to place him on the throne. So that the Turkish Sultans are compelled to celebrate their succession by imbruing their hands in the blood of their nearest relatives. Now whether the fault lay with Mustapha, who feared this fate for himself, or with Roxolana, who endeavoured to save her children at the expense of Mustapha, this much at any rate is certain—the suspicions of the Sultan were excited, and the fate of his son was sealed.

Being at war with Shah Tahmasp, King of the Persians, he had sent Roostem against him as commander-in-chief of his armies. Just as he was about to enter the Persian territory, Roostem suddenly halted, and hurried off despatches to Solyman, informing him that affairs were in a very critical state; that treason was rife everywhere; that the soldiers had been tampered with, and cared for no one but Mustapha; that he (the Sultan) could control the soldiers, but that the evil was past his (Roostem’s) curing; that his presence and authority were wanted; and he must come at once, if he wished to preserve his throne. Solyman was seriously alarmed by these despatches. He immediately hurried to the army, and sent a letter to summon Mustapha to his presence, inviting him to clear himself of those crimes of which he was suspected, and indeed openly accused, at the same time assuring him that, if he proved innocent, no danger awaited him. Mustapha had now to make his choice. If he obeyed the summons of his angry and offended father, the risk was great; but if he excused himself from coming, it would be tantamount to an admission of treason. He determined to take the course which demanded most courage and involved most danger.

He left Amasia, the seat of his government, and went to his father’s camp, which lay at no great distance,[114] either trusting in his innocence, or feeling confident that no evil would happen to him in the presence of the army. However that may be, he fell into a trap from which there was no escape.

Solyman had brought with him his son’s death doom, which he had prepared before leaving home. With a view to satisfying religious scruples, he had previously consulted his mufti. This is the name given to the chief priest among the Turks, and answers to our Pope of Rome. In order to get an impartial answer from the mufti, he put the case before him as follows:—He told him that there was at Constantinople a merchant of good position, who, when about to leave home for some time, placed over his property and household a slave to whom he had shown the greatest favour, and entrusted his wife and children to his loyalty. No sooner was the master gone than this slave began to embezzle his master’s property, and plot against the lives of his wife and children; nay, more, had attempted to compass his master’s destruction. The question which he (Solyman) wished the mufti to answer was this: What sentence could be lawfully pronounced against this slave? The mufti answered that in his judgment he deserved to be tortured to death. Now, whether this was the mufti’s own opinion, or whether it was pronounced at the instigation of Roostem or Roxolana, there is no doubt that it greatly influenced Solyman, who was already minded to order the execution of his son; for he considered that the latter’s offence against himself was quite as great as that of the slave against his master, in the case he had put before the mufti.