Never did monarch lend himself to the delicious cheat more lovingly than Sultan Mahmoud; who, with all his energy of character, is the victim (for in his case I can apply no other term) of the most consummate personal vanity. We are accustomed in England to think of George the Fourth as the ne plus ultra of exquisitism—the Prince of Petit-maîtres—but what will honest John Bull say to a Turkish Emperor, an Imperial Mussulmaun, who paints white and red, and who considers himself sufficiently repaid for all the care and anxiety of a costly toilette, by the admiration and flattery of the ladies of the Seraglio? And yet such is the case—the Immolator of the Janissaries, the reformer of a mighty empire, the sovereign of the gravest people upon earth, is a very “thing of shreds and patches”—a consumer of cosmetics—an idolater of gauds and toys—the Sacrificing High Priest at the altar of self-adornment!
On a recent occasion, having caused his hair (of which he is extremely vain) to be cut by the court coiffeur, he withdrew his fèz and inquired of his son-in-law, Halil Pasha, if he approved of the style in which it had been done. The Favorite, with a sincerity which did him honour, replied that the Imperial Head had been most basely shorn; and was forthwith desired to display the honours of his own cranium to his Sublime Highness, who immediately acquiesced in the superior skill of the artist who had operated upon the Pasha; and desired that, without a moment’s delay, the happy mortal who had exhibited such distinguished taste in curling and cutting should be summoned to his presence.
In five minutes, half a dozen of the palace officers were en route in search of the coiffeur, who was accidentally from home: and it was not until after a considerable delay that he was discovered, basin in hand, and razor in grasp, busily engaged in shaving the head of a grave-looking Armenian, who had already undergone half the operation. Despite the lathered skull of the customer, and the terrified deprecations of the artiste, the officers, who were utterly ignorant of the Sultan’s motive for summoning their prisoner, pounced upon him without mercy, and rather dragged than conducted him to the caïque that was waiting to convey him to the palace; whither he was followed by the silent and pitying wonder of the men, and the low wailing of the women.
On his arrival, he was immediately led into the Imperial presence, where his trembling knees instinctively bent under him, as he wildly gasped out his innocence of any and every crime against His Sublime Highness; he wrung his hands, he implored a mercy for which he scarcely dared to hope, he writhed in his agony of spirit, expecting nothing less than the bowstring for some imputed delinquency, and he talked of his wife, and his young and helpless children so soon to be cast upon the world unless his life were spared; while the Sultan laid aside his fèz, and prepared his own head for a more simple operation.
“Peace, fool!” said His Highness at length, “did you not cut the hair of Halil Pasha?”
“I did, your Sublime Highness; and to the best of my poor skill,” faltered out the pale and terrified artiste; “have mercy upon my want of knowledge!”
“Compose your nerves, and produce your scissors,” returned the Sultan; “you shall have the distinguished honour of cutting mine, also—to your task at once.”
No sooner said than done: men of this craft have been gifted with ready wit and self-possession, from the days in which the red-robed ghost of the German barber shaved the adventurous student in the haunted castle; and ere long His Imperial Highness was cropped and curled to his sublime satisfaction; and the hairdresser found himself appointed keeper of the head of the Turkish Empire—a “man of mark”—and returned to his home in triumph, not only quitte pour la peur, but with his wildest visions realized!
During the short period that the Sultan remained in the mosque, the scene around us was far from unamusing: the horses were paraded to and fro; the troops rested on their arms, and conversed freely with each other; the officers, breaking through the spell that had lately bound them, resumed their stroll and their scrutiny; and many a glance was directed towards our little party, for which we were indebted to the curiosity of their Imperial Master. Then came a rush from the great entrance of the mosque; and, when a host of red-capped and turbaned Turks had issued forth, the Chèïk-Islam slowly descended the steps, and departed in the same state as he had come. The horses were led back into their ranks; the military shouldered their muskets; and once more the Seraskier Pasha with his train of attendants paced slowly along the line.
Those officers who were of sufficiently high grade to attract his attention made their graceful obeisance, first laying their right hand upon their lips, and then upon their foreheads, and bowing down nearly to the earth; while the Pashas, who were not of a rank elevated enough to appear mounted before the Sultan, moved amid the throng, with their diamond orders and embroidered sword-belts glittering in the light. Among these was Namik Pasha, whom I had known in England, and who approached the carriage to greet me, while the Seraskier reined up his horse beneath the window of a house that overlooked the scene, and paid his compliments to Madame de Boutenieff, who sat surrounded by secretaries and attachés.
One by one, all the Pashas re-appeared, and, having saluted each other with a ceremonious etiquette that distinctly marked their respective ranks, they marshalled themselves round the gateway according to their precedence of power; and then it was that I particularly remarked the unpleasant effect of their ungloved hands, so utterly inconsistent, according to European ideas, with the magnificence of all the other details of their costume.
By a happy, though not altogether singular, coincidence, the husband of one of the princesses, and the intended husband of the other, are both the adopted sons of the old Seraskier; and as they took their places on either side of him, they naturally excited considerable attention.
Halil Pasha is a good-looking man, but clumsily and ungracefully made, with a grave expression of countenance; which, if report speak truly, the temper of his Imperial helpmate is not calculated to gladden.
Having mentioned the Princess Salihè, I may as well introduce in this place a little anecdote, for whose veracity my informant pledged himself. Her Imperial Highness, on one occasion, only a few months back, chanced to pass in her araba by a coffee-kiosk, in which a party of Ulemas, about thirty in number, were gravely smoking their chibouks. It chanced that no individual among them remarked the approach of the Imperial carriage; and they consequently all remained seated, as though the owner of the equipage had not been the Cousin of the Sun and Moon, and herself one of the principal constellations. The rage of the Princess was unbounded; and she instantly despatched one of her kavashlir for an armed guard, to whom she gave orders to convey the whole party to the palace of the Seraskier, to receive the bastinado for the want of respect which they had displayed towards her sacred person. To hear was to obey; and forthwith the thirty Ulemas, members of the most powerful body of men now existing in the Empire, were marched off to the Seraskier; to whom, on their appearance in the court of the palace, it was immediately announced that a formidable group of Ulemas, attended by a number of soldiers, were approaching, as if to demand an audience of His Excellency.
The Seraskier, anxious as to the purport of their visit, ordered that they should instantly be admitted; and, suspicious of some popular discontent, resolved upon giving them a most courteous reception; when he was struck dumb by the intelligence that they were prisoners sent to receive the punishment of their crime! For a moment even the Seraskier was at fault; but, suddenly looking towards them with a smiling countenance, and affecting not to remark the lowering brows of the outraged professors—“Her Imperial Highness has condescended to make merry with me,” he said gaily. “She threatened that I should pay dear for some unpalatable advice that I ventured to give her, and you are to be the medium of her vengeance. I comprehend the jest, and must abide by her good pleasure.” Then, turning to his purse-bearer, he desired him to count out one hundred piastres to each individual, which was accordingly done, and the discomfited Ulemas left the palace.
But the affair might have proved