Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 58, No. 362, December 1845

"They cannot read, and so don't lisp in criticism;
Nor write, and so they don't affect the muse – "

The second class comprises the funds devoted to the maintenance of public baths, libraries, fountains, alms-houses, and of useful and charitable institutions in general. They are frequently charged with annuities to the representatives of the founder; and in all foundations for gratuitous education, or distribution of alms or food, founders' kin have the preference. They are all registered in the treasury; but the foundation is invalidated if the property assigned for its support be encumbered by mortgages or other obligations: – nor can any one labouring under an incurable disease convert freehold property into wakoof except as a testator, in which case the inalienable rights of the heirs to two-thirds of the property are secured: – a third part only, according to law, being otherwise disposable by will. The third class of wakoofs (called ady or customary, the others being termed shary or legal, as sanctioned by religious law) are considered as secular foundations, consisting of lands purchased by the religious wakoofs from their accumulations, on reversion at the death of the assigner, or failure of his direct heirs, for an inconsiderable portion of their value, leaving to the vendors in the interim the full enjoyment of the property, which is frequently continued to their nephews and brothers on the same terms. "At first this plan was not considered lucrative for the wakoofs: but when the system was widely extended, the multitude of assignments, which fell in every year from death and default of issue, soon crowned the speculation with success, in a country where the tenure of life is eminently uncertain, not only from the caprices of sultans, but from the constant ravages of plague… The advantages to sellers were equally great. They secured themselves from confiscation, and their heirs from spoliation at their demise. They were enabled to raise money to the value of a sixth or eighth of their capital, on payment of a trifling interest, and yet retained the full enjoyment of the whole for themselves and immediate issue. By founding these wakoofs, sellers are also enabled to check the extravagance of their children, who can neither mortgage nor alienate the property – a practice nearly as common in Turkey as in other countries."

Not less than three-fourths of the buildings and cultivated lands throughout the empire, according to the author, and even the imperial domains, are held under one or other of these wakoof tenures, which thus represent the great landed interests of the country. Formerly, the domains belonging to the mosques in each pashalik were let on annual leases (as the public revenues are still farmed) to multezim or contractors, generally the pashas of the provinces: but the system of subletting and dilapidation to which this course of short leases gave rise, was so ruinous to the agricultural population and the property of the wakoofs, that a thorough reform was introduced in the reign of Abdoul-Hamid, the father of Mahmood II. The lands were now let on life tenancies, (malikania,) on the same system of beneficial leases and large fines on renewals which prevails with respect to the property of collegiate and other corporate bodies in England; which has greatly improved their condition, as it is no longer the interest of the lessee to rack the peasantry, or damage the property, for the sake of present advantage. "More than one monarch has entertained projects of dispossessing the mosques of these privileges, and of placing the wakoofya under the exclusive superintendence of government. Sultan Mahmood II. seriously contemplated carrying this plan into effect, and probably would have done so, had his life been spared. The government in this case would have paid the salaries of all sheikhs, priests, and persons attached to the sacred edifices, together with all repairs and expenses of their dependent institutions, and would have converted the surplus to state purposes. Various plans were suggested to Mahmood's predecessors; but during the existence of the janissaries, no one dared to interfere with institutions whence the Oolema, (men of law and religion,) intimately connected with the janissaries, derived invariable profit."

Returning at length from this long digression to the jewel bezestan, and passing from the south-eastern, or mercers' gate, "through lines of shops stored with a variety of ready-made articles required by ladies," we reach the Silk Bezestan, (Sandal Bezestany,) which, like the other, has four arched gates named after different trades, and is surmounted by twenty domes, four in a line. Though occupied solely by Armenians, and regulated by a committee of six Armenian elders, it is directed by a Turkish kehaya or president, with his deputy, whose duty it is to superintend the police and collect the government dues. The scene presented by the interior presents a striking contrast to the other, and (we regret to say) not at all to the advantage of the Christians. "The building is gloomy and badly lighted, and appears not to have been white-washed or cleansed since the first construction; and while a stranger may repeatedly enter the jewel bezestan, and its tenants, though they see him gazing with covetous eyes on some antiquated object, will scarcely condescend to say 'Né istersiniz?' (what want you?) … the clamours of the Armenians to attract purchasers are only to be surpassed by their want of honesty. Strangers may often pay too much to Turkish shopkeepers, but they will receive fair weight to a hair: whereas they will be subject not only to overcharge, but to short quantity, at the hands of the Armeninians and their more profligate imitators, the Greek dealers." The original silk manufactories were established before the conquest of Constantinople at the old capital of Broussa, whence most of the raw material is still derived, the abundance of mulberry trees in its neighbourhood being favourable to the nurture of the silkworm; little Broussa silk is, however, now sold in the sandal bezestany, the manufacture being principally carried on along the shores of the Bosphorus. "But within the last ten years, and especially since the conclusion of commercial treaties with the Porte, the silk trade in home-made articles has decreased 50 per cent. A large supply of common imitation goods is now received from England, France, and Italy, and the richer articles, principally manufactured at Lyons, have completely superseded those formerly received from Broussa, or fabricated at Scutari and Constantinople."

The trade in furs, as well as that in silk, is entirely in the hands of the Armenians, but has greatly fallen off since the European dress, now worn by the court and the official personages, replaced the old Turkish costume. In former times, the quality of the fur worn by different ranks, and at different seasons of the year, was a matter of strict etiquette, regulated by the example of the sultan, who, on a day previously fixed by the imperial astrologer, repaired in state to the mosque arrayed in furs, varying from the squirrel or red fox, assumed at the beginning of autumn, to the samoor or sable worn during the depth of winter; while all ranks of persons in office changed their furs, on the same day with the monarch, for those appropriated to their respective grades. The most costly were those of the black fox and sable, the former of which was restricted, unless by special permission, to the use of royalty: while sable was reserved for vizirs and pashas of the highest rank. The price of these furs, indeed, placed them beyond the reach of ordinary purchasers, 15,000 or 20,000 piastres being no unusual price for a sable lined pelisse, while black fox cost twice as much. In the present day the kurk or pelisse is never worn by civil or military functionaries, except in private: but it still continues in general use among the sheikhs and men of the law, "who may be seen mounted on fat ambling galloways, with richly embroidered saddle-cloths and embossed bridles, attired in kurks faced with sables, in all the pomp of ancient times." The kurk is, moreover, in harem etiquette, the recognised symbol of matronly rank: – and its assumption by a Circassian is a significant intimation to the other inmates of the position she has assumed as the favourite of their master. The same rule extends to the imperial palace, where the elevation of a fair slave to the rank of kadinn (the title given to the partners of the sultan) is announced to her, by her receiving a pelisse lined with sables from the ket-khoda or mistress of the palace, the principal of the seven great female officers to whom is entrusted the management of all matters connected with the harem. The imperial favourites are limited by law to seven, but this number is seldom complete; the present sultan has hitherto raised only five to this rank, one of whom died of consumption in 1842. These ladies are now always Circassian slaves, and though never manumitted, have each their separate establishments, suites of apartments, and female slaves acting as ladies of honour, &c. Their slipper, or (as we should call it) pin money, is about 25,000 piastres (£240) monthly – their other expenses being defrayed by the sultan's treasurer. Mr White enters into considerable detail on the interior arrangements of the seraglio, the private life of the sultan, &c.; but as it does not appear from what sources his information is derived, we shall maintain an Oriental reserve on these subjects.

The slave-markets and condition of slaves in the East is treated at considerable length: but as the erroneous notions formerly entertained have been in a great measure dispelled by more correct views obtained by modern travellers, it is sufficient to observe, that "the laws and customs relative to the treatment of slaves in Turkey divest their condition of its worst features, and place the slave nearly on a level with the free servitor: nay, in many instances the condition of the slave, especially of white slaves, is superior to the other; as the path of honour and fortune is more accessible to the dependent and protected slave than to the independent man of lower degree." It is well known that many of those holding the highest dignities of the state – Halil Pasha, brother-in-law of the Sultan – Khosref, who for many years virtually ruled the empire, with numberless others, were originally slaves: and in all cases the liberation of male slaves, after seven or nine years' servitude, is ordained by adet or custom, which, in Turkey, is stronger than law. This rule is rarely infringed: – and excepting the slaves of men in the middle ranks of life, who frequently adopt their master's trade, and are employed by him as workmen, they in most cases become domestic servants, or enter the army, as holding out the greatest prospect of honour and promotion. The condition of white female slaves is even more favourable. In point of dress and equipment, they are on a par with their mistresses, the menial offices in all great harems being performed by negresses; – and frequent instances occur, where parents prefer slaves educated in their own families to free women as wives for their sons: – the only distinction being in the title of kadinn, which may be considered equivalent to madame, and which is always borne by these emancipated slaves, instead of khanum, (or lady,) used by women of free birth. Female slaves are rarely sold or parted with, except for extreme misconduct; and though it is customary for their masters, in the event of their becoming mothers, to enfranchise and marry them, "the facility of divorce is such, that women, if mothers, prefer remaining slaves to being legally married: as they are aware that custom prevents their being sold when in the former condition: whereas their having a family is no bar to divorce when married."

The guilds, or corporations of the different trades and professions, to which allusion has more than once been made, and which constitute what may be called the municipality of Constantinople, were formerly mustered and paraded through the city, on every occasion when the Sandjak-Shereef (or holy banner of Mahommed) was taken from the seraglio to accompany the army. This gathering, the object of which was to ascertain the number of men who could be levied in case of extremity for the defence of the capital, was first ordained by Mourad IV., [31 - Mr White erroneously calls him Mourad III., and places the expedition against Bagdad in 1834.] before his march against Bagdad in 1638; when, according to Evliya Effendi, 200,000 men fit to bear arms passed in review – and the last muster was in the reign of Mustapha III., at the commencement of the disastrous war with Russia in 1769. Its subsequent discontinuance is said to have been owing to an insult then offered by the guild of emirs (or descendants of the Prophet) to the Austrian Internuncio, who was detected in witnessing incognito the procession of the Sandjak-Shereef, deemed too sacred for the eyes of an infidel – and a tumult ensued, in which many Christians were maltreated and murdered, and which had nearly led to a rupture with the court of Vienna. On this occasion the number of guilds was forty-six, subdivided into 554 minor sections; and, excepting the disappearance of those more immediately connected with the janissaries, it is probable that little or no change has since taken place. These guilds included not only the handicraft and other trades, but the physicians and other learned professions, and even the Oolemah and imams, and others connected with the mosques. Each marched with its own badges and ensigns, headed by its own officers, of whom there were seven of the first grade, with their deputies and subordinates, all elected by the crafts, and entrusted with the control of its affairs, subject to the approbation of a council of delegates: while the property of these corporations is invariably secured by being made wakoof, the nature of which has been already explained. The shoemakers', saddlers', and tanners' guilds are among the strongest in point of numbers, and from them were drawn the élite of the janissaries stationed in the capital, after the cruel system of seizing Christian children for recruits had been discontinued; the tailors are also a numerous and resolute craft, generally well affected to government, to which they rendered important services in the overthrow of the janissaries in 1826, when the Sandjak-Shereef[32 - Mr White here introduces a digression on the other relics of the Prophet, the Moslem festivals, &c., his account of which presents little novelty; but he falls into the general error of describing the Mahmil, borne by the holy camel in the pilgrim caravan, as containing the brocade covering of the Kaaba, when it is in fact merely an emblem of the presence of the monarch, like an empty carriage sent in a procession. – (See Lane's Modern Egyptians, ii. p. 204, 8vo. ed.) It is indeed sufficiently obvious, that a box six feet high and two in diameter, could not contain a piece of brocade sufficient to surround a building described by Burckhardt as eighteen paces long, fourteen broad, and from thirty-five to forty feet high.] was displayed in pursuance of the Fethwa of the mufti excommunicating the sons of Hadji-Bektash, and the guilds mustered in arms by thousands for the support of the Sheikh al Islam and the Commander of the Faithful.

Among these fraternities, one of the most numerous is that of the kayikjees or boatmen, of whom there are not fewer than 19,000, mostly Turks, in the city and its suburbs; while 5000 more, nearly all of whom are Greeks, are found in the villages of the Bosphorus. They are all registered in the books of the kayikjee-bashi, or chief of the boatmen, paying each eight piastres monthly (or twice as much if unmarried) for their teskera or license: and cannot remove from the stations assigned them without giving notice. The skill and activity of these men, in the management of their light and apparently fragile skiffs, has been celebrated by almost every tourist who has floated on the waters of the Golden Horn and the Bosphorus: and not less precise is the accuracy with which is adjusted the number of oars to be employed by the members of the European corps diplomatique, and the great officers of the Porte, according to their relative ranks; the smallest infringement of which would be regarded as an unpardonable breach of etiquette. The oars and mouldings are painted of the national colours, with the hulls white or black; the latter colour is usually affected by the Turkish grandees, with the exception of the capitan-pasha, who is alone privileged to use a green boat. Ambassadors-extraordinary are entitled to ten oars; and the same number is assigned to the grand-vizir, the mufti, and ministers holding the rank of mushir, or marshal, the highest degree in the new scale of Ottoman precedence. Pashas of the second rank, the cazi-askers or grand judges of Anatolia and Roumelia, with other functionaries of equivalent grade, are allowed eight oars, the number employed by the Austrian Internuncio, and by ministers-plenipotentiary; while three or five pair of sculls are allotted to chargés d'affaires, and the heads of different departments at the Porte. The procession of the sultan, when he proceeds to the mosque by water, consists of six kayiks, the largest of which is seventy-eight feet in length, and pulled by twenty-four rowers – under the old régime the crew was taken from the bostandjis, whose chief, the bostandji-bashi, held the helm; but since the abolition of that corps, they have been chosen, without distinction of creed, from the common boatmen. The imperial barge is distinguished, independent of its superior size, by the gold-embroidered canopy of crimson silk, surmounted by crescents at the stern; it is painted white within and without, with rich gilt mouldings, under which runs a broad external green border, ornamented with gilded arabesques. The oars are painted white, with gold scrolls; the stern is adorned with massive gilt carvings; and the long projecting prow with a richly-gilded ornament, representing a palm-branch curling upwards. Behind this flutters a gilded falcon, the emblem of the house of Osman. The carvings and ornaments of these boats are elaborately finished, and exquisitely light and graceful. These embellishments, combined with the loose white dresses, blue-tasselled red caps, and muscular forms of the boatmen, as they rise from their seats, vigorously plunge their oars into the dark blue waters, and propel the kayiks with racehorse speed, give to these splendid vessels an air of majesty and brilliancy, not less characteristic than original and imposing.

Many instances have occurred, in which men have risen from the class of boatmen to stations of high honour and dignity; the most recent instance of which was in the case of the arch-traitor Achmet Fevzy Pasha, who, in 1839, betrayed the Ottoman fleet under his command into the hands of Mohammed Ali – a deed of unparalleled perfidy, for which he righteously received a traitor's reward, perishing in January 1843 (as was generally believed) by poison administered by the orders of the Egyptian Viceroy. The kayikjees, as a class, are generally considered, in point of personal advantages, the finest body of men in the empire; and share with the sakkas, or water-carriers – another numerous and powerful guild, equally remarkable with the kayikjees for their symmetry and athletic proportions – the dangerous reputation of being distinguished favourites of the fair sex – doubly dangerous in a country where, in such cases, "the cord or scimitar is the doom of the stronger sex – the deep sea-bed that of the weaker. Money will counterbalance all crimes in Turkey save female frailty. For this neither religious law nor social customs admit atonement. Tears, beauty, youth, gold – untold gold – are of no avail. The fish of the Bosphorus and Propontis could disclose fearful secrets, even in our days: " – and as a natural transition, apparently, from cause to effect, Mr White proceeds, in the next chapter, to give an account of the Balyk-Bazary, the Billingsgate of Stamboul. But we shall not follow him through his enumeration of such a carte as throws the glories of a Blackwall dinner into dim eclipse, and which no other waters of Europe could probably rival: – since, in Mr White's usual course of digression upon digression, the mention of the Fishmarket Gate, the usual place of executions, leads him off again at a tangent to the consideration of the criminal law, and its present administration in the Ottoman Empire.

There is no change among those wrought since the introduction of the new system, more calculated forcibly to impress those who had known Constantinople in former years, than the almost total cessation of those public executions, the sanguinary frequency of which formed so obtrusive and revolting a feature under the old régime. Since the fate of the unfortunate Pertef Pasha in 1837, no one has suffered death for political offences: – and the abolition by Sultan Mahmoud, immediately after the destruction of the janissaries, of the Moukhallafat Kalemy, or Court of Confiscations, put an end to the atrocious system which had for centuries made wealth a sufficient pretext for the murder of its possessors. In all cases of banishment or condemnation to death, however arbitrary, confiscation of property inevitably followed: but the wealthy Armenians and Greeks were usually selected as the victims of these ruthless deeds of despotism and rapacity; numerous records of which may be seen in the Christian burying-grounds, where the rudely-carved figure of a headless trunk, or a hanging man, indicates the fate of the sufferer. But the humane and politic act of Mahmoud, which rendered riches no longer a crime, has produced its natural effects in the impulse which has been given to commercial activity and public confidence by the security thus afforded to life and property. "The government finds the Armenians willing to advance money in case of need; and there is scarcely a pasha of rank who has not recourse to their assistance, which is the more readily afforded, as the Armenians are aware that their debtors' lives and property, as well as their own, are secure, and that they shall not endure extreme persecution in the event of suing those on whom they have claims."

In criminal cases, the administration of justice by the Moslem law appears at all times to have been tempered by lenity; and the extreme repugnance of the present sultan to sign death-warrants, even in cases which in this country would be considered as amounting to wilful murder, has rendered capital punishments extremely rare: while the horrible death by impalement, and the amputation of the hand for theft, have fallen into complete disuse. Offences are tried, in the first instance, in the court of the Cazi-asker or grand judge of Roumelia or Anatolia, according as the crime has been committed in Europe or Asia: from this tribunal an appeal lies to the Supreme Council of justice, the decisions of which require to be further ratified by the Mufti. The procès-verbal of two of the cases above referred to, is given at length; in one of which the murderer escaped condign punishment only because the extreme youth of the only eye-witness, a slave, nine years old, prevented his testimony from being received otherwise than as circumstantial evidence: – in the other, "it being essential to make a lasting and impressive public example, it was resolved that the criminals should not be put to death, but condemned to such ignominious public chastisement as might serve during many years as a warning to others." The sentence in the former case was ten, and in the latter, seven years' public labour in heavy irons – a punishment of extreme severity, frequently terminating in the death of the convict. Nafiz Bey, the principal offender in the second of the above cases, did not survive his sentence more than twenty months. "On examining a multitude of condemnations for crimes of magnitude, the maximum average, when death was not awarded, was seven years' hard labour in chains, and fine, for which the convict is subsequently imprisoned as a simple debtor till the sum is paid. The average punishment for theft, robbery, assault, and slightly wounding, is three years' hard labour, with costs and damages. These sentences (of which several examples are given) were referred, according to established forms, from the local tribunals to the supreme council: and before being carried into effect, were legalized by a fethwa (decree) of the Sheikh-Islam, (Mufti,) and after that by the sultan's warrant; a process affording a triple advantage to the accused, each reference serving as an appeal."

The exclusive jurisdiction over the subjects of their own nation, exercised by the legations of the different European powers in virtue of capitulations with the Porte, was doubtless at one time necessary for the protection of foreigners from the arbitrary proceedings of Turkish despotism; it has, however, given rise to great abuses, and at the present day its practical effect is only to secure impunity to crime, by impeding the course of justice. The system in all the legations is extremely defective; "but in none is it more flagrantly vicious and ineffective than in that of Great Britain." This is a grave charge; but only too fully borne out by the facts adduced. Not fewer than three thousand British subjects are now domiciled in and about the Turkish capital, chiefly vagabonds and desperadoes, driven by the rigour of English law from Malta and the Ionian Isles: – and half the outrages in Stamboul "are committed by or charged to the Queen's adopted subjects, who, well knowing that eventual impunity is their privilege, are not restrained by fear of retribution." All the zeal and energy of our consul-general, Mr Cartwright, (in whom are vested the judicial functions exercised by chancellors of other legations,) are paralysed by the necessity of adhering to the forms of British law, the execution of which is practically impossible. "In a case of murder or felony, for instance, – a case which often occurs – a pro formâ verdict of guilty is returned; but what follows? The ambassador has no power to order the law to be carried into effect: nothing remains, therefore, but to send the accused, with the depositions, to Malta or England. But the Maltese courts declare themselves incompetent, and either liberate or send back the prisoner; and English tribunals do not adjudicate on documentary evidence. The consequence is, that unless witnesses proceed to England, criminals must be liberated at Pera, or sent to be liberated at home, for want of legal testimony. They have then their action at law against the consul-general for illegal arrest." It appears scarcely credible that a state of things, so calculated to degrade the British national character in the eyes of the representatives of the other European powers, should ever have been suffered to exist, and still more that it should have remained so long unheeded. A bill was indeed carried through Parliament in 1835, in consequence of the urgent reclamations of Lord Ponsonby and Mr Cartwright, for empowering the Crown to remedy the evil; but though the subject was again pressed by Sir Stratford Canning in 1842, it still remains a dead letter. Mr White has done good service in placing this plain and undeniable statement of facts before the public eye; and we trust that the next session of Parliament will not pass over without our seeing the point brought forward by Mr D'Israeli, Mr Monckton Milnes, or some other of those members of the legislature whose personal knowledge of the East qualifies them to undertake it. "One plan ought to be adopted forthwith, that of investing the consul-general with such full powers as are granted to London police magistrates, or, if possible, to any magistrates at quarter-sessions. He would then be able to dispose of a multitude of minor correctional cases, which now pass unpunished, to the constant scandal of all other nations. The delegated power might be arbitrary, and inconsistent with our constitutional habits, but the evil requires extrajudicial measures."

In pursuing Mr White's devious course through the various marts of Constantinople, we have not yet brought our readers to the Missr Tcharshy, or Egyptian market, probably the most diversified and purely Oriental scene to be seen in Constantinople, and a representation of which forms the frontispiece to one of the volumes. The building, the entrance to which is between the Fishmarket Gate and the beautiful mosque of the Valida, (built by the mother of Mohammed IV.,) consists of an arcade lighted from the roof, like those of our own capital, 140 yards long, and 20 wide, filled on each side with shops, not separated from each other by partitions, so as to impede the view; the tenants of which are all Osmanlis, and dealers exclusively in perfumes, spices, &c., imported chiefly through Egypt from India, Arabia, &c. Here may be found "the Persian atar-gul's perfume," sandalwood, and odoriferous woods of all kinds from the lands of the East; opium for the Teryakis, a race whose numbers are happily now daily decreasing; ambergris for pastilles; "cinnamon and ginger, nutmegs and cloves;" the pink henna powder brought from Mekka by the pilgrims for tinging ladies' fingers, though these "rosy-fingered Auroras" (as Mr W. kindly warns the poetasters of Franguestan) are now only to be found among slaves and the lower orders, the custom being now utterly exploded among dames of high degree: "add to the above, spices, roots, dyewoods, and minerals, and colours of every denomination, and an idea may be formed of the contents of this neatly-arranged and picturesque bazar. Its magnitude, its abundance and variety of goods, the order that reigns on every side, and the respectability of the dealers, render it one of the most original and interesting sights of the city; it serves to refresh the senses and to dispel the unfavourable impressions caused on first landing."

In the foregoing remarks and extracts, it has been our aim rather to give a condensed view of the information to be derived from the volumes before us, on topics of interest, than to attempt any thing like a general abstract of a work so multifarious in its nature, and so broken into detail, as to render the ordinary rules of criticism as inapplicable to it as they would be to an encylopædia. In point of arrangement, indeed, the latter would have the advantage; for a total absence of lucidus ordo pervades Mr White's pages, to a degree scarcely to be excused even by the very miscellaneous nature of the subject. Thus, while constant reference is made, from the first, to the bezestans, the names of their different gates, &c., no description of these edifices occurs till the middle of the second volume, where it is introduced apropos to nothing, between the public libraries and the fur-market. The chapter headed "Capital Punishments," (iv. vol. 1.) is principally devoted to political disquisitions, with an episode on lunatic asylums and the medical academy of Galata Serai, while only a few pages are occupied by the subject implied in the title; which is treated at greater length, and illustrated by the procès-verbaux of several criminal trials, at the end of the second volume, where it is brought in as a digression from the slavery laws, on the point of the admissibility of a slave's evidence! But without following Mr White further through the slipper-market, the poultry-market, the coffee-shops, and tobacco-shops, the fruit and flower market, the Ozoon Tcharshy or long market, devoted to the sale of articles of dress and household furniture, cum multis aliis; it will suffice to say that there is no article whatever, either of luxury or use, sold in Constantinople, from diamonds to old clothes, of which some account, with the locality in which it is procurable, is not to be found in some part or other of his volumes. We have, besides, disquisitions on statistics and military matters; aqueducts and baths, marriages and funerals, farriery and cookery, &c. &c. – in fact on every imaginable subject, except the price of railway shares, which are as yet to the Turks a pleasure to come. It would be unpardonable to omit mentioning, however, for the benefit of gourmands, that for the savoury viands called kabobs, and other Stamboul delicacies, the shop of the worthy Hadji Mustapha, on the south side of the street called Divan-Yolly, stands unequaled; while horticulturists and poetasters should be informed, that in spite of Lord Byron's fragrant descriptions of "the gardens of Gul in their bloom," the finer European roses do not sympathize with the climate. Lady Ponsonby's attempts to introduce the moss-rose at Therapia failed; and the only place where they have succeeded is the garden of Count Stürmer, the Austrian Internuncio, whose palace is, in more respects than one, according to Mr White, the Gulistan of Stamboul society.

But we cannot take leave of this part of the subject without remarking, that while all praise is due to Mr White's accuracy in describing the scenes and subjects on which he speaks from personal knowledge, his acquaintance with past Turkish history appears to be by no means on a par with the insight he has succeeded in acquiring into the usages and manners of the Turks of the present day. The innumerable anecdotes interspersed through his pages, and which often mar rather than aid the effect of the more solid matter, are frequently both improbable and pointless; and the lapses which here and there occur in matters of historical fact, are almost incomprehensible. Thus we are told (i. 179,) that the favour enjoyed (until recently) by Riza Pasha, was owing to his having rescued the present sultan, when a child, from a reservoir in the Imperial Gardens of Beglerbey, into which he had been hurled by his father in a fit of brutal fury – an act wholly alien to the character of Mahmoud, but which (as Mr W. observes,) "will not appear improbable to those acquainted with Oriental history" – since it is found related, in all its circumstances, in Rycaut's history of the reign of Ibrahim, whose infant son, afterwards Mohammed IV., nearly perished in this manner by his hands, and retained through life the scar of a wound on the face, received in the fall. This palpable anachronism is balanced in the next page by a version of the latter incident, in which Mohammed's wound is said to have been inflicted by the dagger of his intoxicated father, irritated by a rebuke from the prince (who, be it remarked, was only seven years old at Ibrahim's death, some years later) on his unseemly exhibition of himself as a dancer. As a further instance of paternal barbarity in the Osmanli sultans, it is related how Selim I. was bastinadoed by command of his father, Bajazet II., for misconduct in the government of Bagdad! with the marvellous addition, (worthy of Ovid's Metamorphoses,) that from the sticks used for his punishment, and planted by his sorrowing tutor, sprung the grove of Tchibookly, opposite Yenikouy! History will show that Selim and Bajazet never met after the accession of the latter, except when the rebellious son met the father in arms at Tchourlou; and it is well known that Bagdad did not become part of the Ottoman empire till the reign of Soliman the Magnificent the son of Selim. The mention of the City of the Khalifs, indeed, seems destined to lead Mr White into error; for in another story, the circumstances of which differ in every point from the same incident as related by Oriental historians, we find the Ommiyade Khalif, Yezid III., who died A.D. 723, (twenty-seven years before the accession of the Abbasides, and forty before the foundation of Bagdad,) spoken of as an Abbaside khalif of Bagdad! Again, we find in the list of geographical writers, (ii. 172,) "Ebul Feredj, Prince of Hama, 1331" – thus confounding the monk Gregory Abulpharagius with the Arabic Livy, Abulfeda, a prince of the line of Saladin! This last error, indeed, can scarcely be more than a slip of the pen. But instances of this kind might be multiplied; and it would be well if such passages, with numerous idle legends (such as the patronage of black bears by the Abbasides, and brown bears by the Ommiyades,) be omitted in any future edition.

We have reserved for the conclusion of our notice, the consideration of Mr White's observations on the late constitution (as it has been called) of Gul-khana, a visionary scheme concocted by Reshid Pasha, under French influence, by which it was proposed to secure equal rights to all the component parts of the heterogeneous mass which constitutes the population of the Ottoman empire. The author's remarks on this well-meant, but crude and impracticable coup-d'état, evince a clear perception of the domestic interests and relative political position of Turkey, which lead us to hope that he will erelong turn his attention on a more extended scale, to the important subject of Ottoman politics. For the present, we must content ourselves with laying before our readers, in an abridged form, the clear and comprehensive views here laid down, on a question involving the future interests of Europe, and of no European power more than of Great Britain.

"The population of the Turkish empire consists of several distinct races, utterly opposed to each other in religion, habits, descent, objects, and in every moral and even physical characteristic. The Turkomans, Kurds, Arabs, Egyptians, Druses, Maronites, Albanians, Bosnians, Bulgarians, Greeks, Jews, and Armenians, are so many distinct nations, inhabiting the same or contiguous soils, without having intermixed in the slightest degree from their earliest conquest, and without having a single object in common. Over these dissentient populations stands the pure Ottoman race, the paramount nation, charged with maintaining the equilibrium between all, and with neutralizing the ascendancy of one faction by the aid of others. Were this control not to exist – were the Turks, who represent their ancestors, the conquerors of the land, to be reduced to a level with those now beneath them, or were the preponderating influence of the former to be destroyed by the elevation and equalization of the latter, perpetual revolts and civil wars could not fail to ensue. The dependent populations, now constituting so large a portion of the empire, would continue the struggle until one of them obtained the supremacy at present exercised by the Turkish race, or until the territory were divided among themselves, or parcelled out by foreign powers. In this last hypothesis will be found the whole secret of the ardent sympathy evinced by most foreigners, especially by the press of France, for the subjugated races.

"Many benevolent men argue, that the surest means of tranquillizing the tributaries of the Porte, and attaching them to the government, is by raising them in the social scale, and by granting to all the same rights and immunities as are enjoyed by their rulers. But it has been repeatedly proved, that concessions do but lead to fresh demands, and that partial enfranchisement conducts to total emancipation. 'And why should they not?' is often asked. To this may be replied, that the possession of the Bosphorus and Dardanelles by any other power, or fraction of power, than the Porte, would be a source of interminable discord to Europe, and irreparable detriment to England. It would not only affect our commerce, and undermine our political influence throughout the East, but would add enormously to our naval expenditure, by requiring an augmentation of our maritime force equivalent to that now remaining neuter in the Golden Horn. Treaties, it is said, might be concluded, exacting maritime restrictions. But what are treaties in the face of events? Whoever possesses the Bosphorus, Propontis, and Archipelago, must become a maritime nation in spite of treaties. Whoever possesses Constantinople must become a great manufacturing and exporting nation, in defiance of competition. In less than half a century, the romantic villas and tapering cypresses that now fringe the blue Bosphorus, would be replaced by factories and steam-chimneys – every one of which would be a deadly rival to a similar establishment in Great Britain. I argue as an Englishman, whose duty it is to consider the material interests of his country, now and hereafter, and not to occupy himself with the theories of political philanthropists.

"According to the levelling system, recommended as the basis of reforms, all classes would eventually be assimilated – the desert Arabs to the laborious Maronites, the intractable Arnoots to the industrious Bulgarians, the thrifty Armenians to the restless and ambitious Greeks, and the humble and parsimonious Jews to the haughty and lavish Osmanlis. Thus, contiguous populations, which now keep each other in check, because their interests are divergent and their jealousies inveterate, would find their interests assimilated; and in the event of opposition to government, the Porte, in lieu of being able to overcome one sect through the rivalry of another, would find them all united against the dominant power. The Ottoman government should therefore avoid establishing any community of rights or interests among the races subjected to its rule. Each of these races ought to be governed according to its own usages and individual creed; there should be uniformity in the principles of administration, but diversity in the application. The Ottoman tenure cannot be maintained but by decided and peremptory superiority. Adhesion on the part of the subjugated is impossible; connexion is all that can be expected; and to preserve this connexion, the supremacy of conquest must not be relaxed. The Porte cannot expect attachment; it must consequently enforce submission. When this absolutism ceases to exist, the power will pass into other hands; and where is the politician that can calculate the results of the transfer? One issue may be safely predicted – England must lose, but cannot gain by the change. With the increasing embarrassments to commerce and industry, which continental states are raising against Britain, it is essential that we should not allow a false cry of philanthropy to throw us off our guard in the Levant. France in Africa, and Russia on the Danube, are intent on the same object. Their battle-cries are civilization and religion; their pretext the improvement of the Christian populations. But who is there that has studied the recent policy of the one, and the undeviating system of the other, since the days of Catherine, that can question for a moment the purport of both? And yet England and Austria have acted recently as if France were sincere, and Russia disinterested."

THE MOUNTAIN AND THE CLOUD

(A Reminiscence of Switzerland.)

The cloud is to the mountain what motion is to the sea; it gives to it an infinite variety of expression – gives it a life – gives it joy and sufferance, alternate calm, and terror, and anger. Without the cloud, the mountain would still be sublime, but monotonous; it would have but a picture-like existence.

How thoroughly they understand and sympathize with each other – these glorious playmates, these immortal brethren! Sometimes the cloud lies supported in the hollow of the hill, as if out of love it feigned weariness, and needed to be upheld. At other times the whole hill stands enveloped in the cloud that has expanded to embrace and to conceal it. No jealousy here. Each lives its own grand life under the equal eye of heaven.

As you approach the mountains, it seems that the clouds begin already to arrange themselves in bolder and more fantastic shapes. They have a fellowship here. They built their mountains upon mountains – their mountains which are as light as air – huge structures built at the giddy suggestion of the passing breeze. Theirs is the wild liberty of endless change, by which they compensate themselves for their thin and fleeting existence, and seem to mock the stationary forms of their stable brethren fast rooted to the earth. And how genially does the sun pour his beam upon these twin grandeurs! For a moment they are assimilated; his ray has permeated, has etherealized the solid mountain, has fixed and defined the floating vapour. What now is the one but a stationary cloud? what is the other but a risen hill? – poised not in the air but in the flood of light.

I am never weary of watching the play of these giant children of the earth. Sometimes a soft white cloud, so pure, so bright, sleeps, amidst open sunshine, nestled like an infant in the bosom of a green mountain. Sometimes the rising upcurling vapour will linger Just above the summit, and seem for a while an incense exhaling from this vast censer. Sometimes it will descend, and drape the whole side of the hill as with a transparent veil. I have seen it sweep between me and the mountain like a sheeted ghost, tall as the mountain, till the strong daylight dissolved its thin substance, and it rose again in flakes to decorate the blue heavens. But oh, glorious above all! when on some brightest of days, the whole mass of whitest clouds gathers midway upon the snow-topped mountain. How magnificent then is that bright eminence seen above the cloud! How it seems rising upwards – how it seems borne aloft by those innumerable wings – by those enormous pinions which I see stretching from the cloudy mass! What an ascension have we here! – what a transfiguration! O Raphael! I will not disparage thy name nor thy art, but thy angels bearing on their wings the brightening saint to Heaven – what are they to the picture here?

Look! there – fairly in the sky – where we should see but the pure ether – above the clouds which themselves are sailing high in serenest air – yes, there, in the blue and giddy expanse, stands the solid mountain, glittering like a diamond. O God! the bewildered reason pent up in cities, toils much to prove and penetrate thy being and thy nature – toils much in vain. Here, I reason not – I see. The Great King lives – lo there is his throne.

To him who quits the plain for the mountain, how the character of the cloud alters. That which seemed to belong exclusively to the sky, has been drawn down and belongs as plainly to the earth. Mount some noble eminence and look down – you will see the clouds lying on and about the landscape, as if they had fallen on it. You are on the steadfast earth, and they are underneath you. You look down perhaps on the lake, and there is a solitary cloud lying settled on it; when the rest of the fleecy drove had risen from their couch, this idle sleeper had been left dreaming there.

Or stay below, and see the sun rise in the valley. When all is warm and clear upon the heights, and the tops of the hills are fervid with the beams of heaven, there still lies a cold white mass of cloud about your feet. It is not yet morning in the valley. There the cloud has been slumbering all night – there it found its home. It also will by and by receive the beam, and then it will arise, enveloping the hill as it ascends; the hill will have a second dawn; the cloud will assume its proud station in the sky; but it will return again to the valley at night.

I am sailing on the lake of Brienz on a day golden with sunbeams. The high ridge of its rocky castellated hills is distinct as light can make it. Yet half-way up, amidst the pine forests, there lies upon the rich verdure a huge motionless cloud. What does it there? Its place was surely in the sky. But no; it belongs, like ourselves, to the earth.

Is nature gaily mocking us, when upon her impregnable hills she builds these castles in the air? But, good heavens! what a military aspect all on a sudden does this mountain-side put on. Mark that innumerable host of pine-trees. What regiments of them are marching up the hill in the hot sun, as if to storm those rocky forts above! What serried ranks! and yet there are some stragglers – some that have hastened on in front, some that have lingered in the rear. Look at that tall gigantic pine breasting the hill alone, like an old grenadier. How upright against the steep declivity! while his lengthened shadow is thrown headlong back behind him down the precipice. I should be giddy to see such a shadow of my own. I should doubt if it would consent to be drawn up by the heels to the summit of the mountain – whether it would not rather drag me down with it into the abyss.

I have seen hills on which lay the clear unclouded sky, making them blue as itself. I have gazed on those beautiful far-receding valleys – as the valley of the Rhone – when they have appeared to collect and retain the azure ether. They were full of Heaven. Angels might breathe that air. And yet I better love the interchange, the wild combination of cloud and mountain. Not cloud that intercepts the sun, but that reflects its brilliancy, and brightens round the hills. It is but a gorgeous drapery that the sky lets fall on the broad Herculean shoulders of the mountain. No, it should not intercept the beams of the great luminary; for the mountain loves the light. I have observed that the twilight, so grateful to the plain, is mortal to the mountain. It craves light – it lifts up its great chalice for light – this great flower is the first to close, to fade, at the withdrawal of the sun. It stretches up to heaven seeking light; it cannot have too much – under the strongest beam it never droops – its brow is never dazzled.

But then these clouds, you will tell me, that hover about the mountain, all wing, all plumage, with just so much of substance for light to live in them – these very clouds can descend, and thicken, and blacken, and cover all things with an inexpressible gloom. True, and the mountain, or what is seen of it, becomes now the very image of a great and unfathomable sorrow. And only the great can express a great sadness. This aspect of nature shall never by me be forgotten; nor will I ever shrink from encountering it. If you would know the gloom of heart which nature can betray, as well as the glory it can manifest, you must visit the mountains. For days together, clouds, huge, dense, unwieldy, lie heavily upon the hills – which stand, how mute, how mournful! – as if they, too, knew of death. And look at the little lake at their feet. What now is its tranquillity when not a single sunbeam plays upon it? Better the earth opened and received it, and hid for ever its leaden despondency. And now there comes the paroxysm of terror and despair; deep thunders are heard, and a madness flashes forth in the vivid lightning. There is desperation amongst the elements. But the elements, like the heart of man, must rage in vain – must learn the universal lesson of submission. With them, as with humanity, despair brings back tranquillity. And now the driving cloud reveals again the glittering summits of the mountains, and light falls in laughter on the beaming lake.

How like to a ruined Heaven is this earth! Nay, is it not more beautiful for being a ruin?

Who can speak of lakes and not think of thee, beautiful Leman? How calm! how exquisitely blue! Let me call it a liquid sky that is spread here beneath us. And note how, where the boat presses, or the oar strikes, it yields ever a still more exquisite hue – akin to the violet, which gives to the rude pressure a redoubled fragrance – akin to the gentlest of womankind, whose love plays sweetest round the strokes of calamity.

Oh, there is a woman's heart in thy waters, beautiful Leman!

I have seen thee in all thy moods, in all thy humours. I have watched thee in profoundest calm; and suddenly, with little note of preparation, seen thee lash thy blue waves into a tempest. How beautiful in their anger were those azure waves crested with their white foam! And at other times, when all has been a sad unjoyous calm, I have seen, without being able to trace whence the light had broken, a soft expanse of brightness steal tremulous over the marble waters. A smile that seemed to speak of sweet caprice – that seemed to say that half its anger had been feint.

Yes, verily there is a woman's heart in thy waters, beautiful Leman!

I lie rocking in a boat midway between Vevay and Lausanne. On the opposite coast are the low purple hills couching beside the lake. But there, to the left, what an ethereal structure of cloud and snowy mountain is revealed to me! What a creation of that spirit of beauty which works its marvels in the unconscious earth! The Alps here, while they retain all the aërial effect gathered from distance, yet seem to arise from the very margin of the lake. The whole scene is so ethereal, you fear to look aside, lest when you look again it may have vanished like a vision of the clouds.

And why should these little boats, with their tall triangular sails, which glide so gracefully over the water, be forgotten? The sail, though an artifice of man, is almost always in harmony with nature. Nature has adopted it – has lent it some of her own wild privileges – her own bold and varied contrasts of light and shade. The surface of the water is perhaps dark and overclouded; the little upright sail is the only thing that has caught the light, and it glitters there like a moving star. Or the water is all one dazzling sheet of silver, tremulous with the vivid sunbeam, and now the little sail is black as night, and steals with bewitching contrast over that sparkling surface.

But we fly again to the mountain. Tourists are too apt to speak of the waterfall as something independent, something to be visited as a separate curiosity. There may be some such. But in general, the waterfall should be understood as part of the mountain – as the great fountain which adorns the architecture of its rocks, and the gardens of its pine forests. It belongs to the mountain. Pass through the valley, and look up; you see here and there thin stripes of glittering white, noiseless, motionless. They are waterfalls, which, if you approach them, will din you with their roar, and which are dashing headlong down, covered with tossing spray. Or ascend the face of the mountain, and again look around and above you. From all sides the waterfalls are rushing. They bear you down. You are giddy with their reckless speed. How they make the rock live! What a stormy vitality have they diffused around them! You might as well separate a river from its banks as a waterfall from its mountain.

And yet there is one which I could look at for hours together, merely watching its own graceful movements. Let me sit again in imagination in the valley of Lauterbrunnen, under the fall of the Staubbach. Most graceful and ladylike of descents! It does not fall; but over the rock, and along the face of the precipice, developes some lovely form that nature had at heart; – diffuses itself in down-pointing pinnacles of liquid vapour, fretted with the finest spray. The laws of gravity have nothing to do with its movements. It is not hurled down; it does not leap, plunging madly into the abyss; it thinks only of beauty as it sinks. No noise, no shock, no rude concussion. Where it should dash against the projecting rock, lo! its series of out-shooting pinnacles is complete, and the vanishing point just kisses the granite. It disappoints the harsh obstruction by its exquisite grace and most beautiful levity, and springs a second time from the rock without trace of ever having encountered it.

The whole side of the mountain is here barren granite. It glides like a spirit down the adverse and severe declivity. It is like Christ in this world. The famous fall of the Griesbach, near the lake of Brienz, thunders through the most luxuriant foliage; the Staubbach meets the bare rock with touches of love, and a movement all grace, and a voice full of reconcilement.

Mont Blanc! Mont Blanc! I have not scaled thy heights so boldly or so far as others have, but I will yield to none in worship of thee and thy neighbour mountains. Some complain that the valley of Chamouni is barren; they are barren souls that so complain. True, it has not the rich pastures that lie bordering on the snow in the Oberland. But neither does it need them. Look down the valley from the pass of the Col de Balme, and see summit beyond summit; or ascend the lateral heights of La Flegère, and see the Alps stretched out in a line before you, and say if any thing be wanting. Here is the sculpture of landscape. Stretched yourself upon the bare open rock, you see the great hills built up before you, from their green base to their snowy summits, with rock, and glacier, and pine forests. You see how the Great Architect has wrought.

And for softer beauty, has not the eye been feasted even to excess – till you cried "hold – enough!" till you craved repose from excitement – along the whole route, from Lausanne to this spot? What perfect combinations of beauty and sublimity – of grandeur of outline with richness of colouring – have you not been travelling through!

It seems a fanciful illustration, and yet it has more than once occurred to me, when comparing the scenery of the Oberland with that of the valley of Chamouni and its neighbourhood; the one resembles the first work – be it picture or poem – of a great genius; the other, the second. On his first performance, the artist lavishes beauties of every description; he crowds it with charms; all the stores of his imagination are at once unfolded, and he must find a place for all. In the second, which is more calm and mature, the style is broader, the disposition of materials more skilful: the artist, master of his inspiration, no longer suffers one beauty to crowd upon another, finds for all not only place, but place sufficient; and, above all, no longer fears being simple or even austere. I dare not say that the Oberland has a fault in its composition – so charming, so magnificent have I found it; but let me mark the broad masterly style of this Alpine region. As you journey from Villeneuve, with what a gentle, bland magnificence does the valley expand before you! The hills and rocks, as they increase in altitude, still fall back, and reveal in the centre the towering Dent du Midi, glittering with its eternal snows. The whole way to Martigny you see sublimity without admixture of terror; it is beauty elevated into grandeur, without losing its amenity. And then, if you cross by the Col de Balme, leaving the valley of the Rhone as you ascend, and descending upon the valley of Chamouni, where the Alps curve before you in most perfect grouping – tell me if it is possible for the heart of man to desire more. Nay, is not the heart utterly exhausted by this series of scenic raptures?

For ever be remembered that magnificent pass of the Col de Balme! If I have a white day in my calendar, it is the day I spent in thy defiles. Deliberately I assert that life has nothing comparable to the delight of traversing alone, borne leisurely on the back of one's mule, a mountain-pass such as this. Those who have stouter limbs may prefer to use them; give me for my instrument of progression the legs of the patient and sure-footed mule. They are better legs, at all events, than mine. I am seated on his back, the bridle lies knotted upon his neck – the cares of the way are all his – the toil and the anxiety of it; the scene is all mine, and I am all in it. I am seated there, all eye, all thought, gazing, musing; yet not without just sufficient occupation to keep it still a luxury – this leisure to contemplate. The mule takes care of himself, and, in so doing, of you too; yet not so entirely but that you must look a little after yourself. That he by no means has your safety for his primary object is evident from this, that, in turning sharp corners or traversing narrow paths, he never calculates whether there is sufficient room for any other legs than his own – takes no thought of yours. To keep your knees, in such places, from collision with huge boulders, or shattered stumps of trees, must be your own care; to say nothing of the occasional application of whip or stick, and a very strong pull at his mouth to raise his head from the grass which he has leisurely begun to crop. Seated thus upon your mule, given up to the scene, with something still of active life going on about you, with full liberty to pause and gaze, and dismount when you will, and at no time proceeding at a railroad speed, I do say – unless you are seated by your own incomparable Juliet, who has for the first time breathed that she loves you – I do say that you are in the most enviable position that the wide world affords. As for me, I have spent some days, some weeks, in this fashion amongst the mountains; they are the only days of my life I would wish to live over again. But mind, if you would really enjoy all this, go alone – a silent guide before or behind you. No friends, no companion, no gossip. You will find gossip enough in your inn, if you want it. If your guide thinks it is his duty to talk, to explain, to tell you the foolish names of things that need no name – make belief that you understand him not – that his language, be it French or German, is to you utterly incomprehensible.

I would not paint it all couleur de rose. The sun is not always shining.

There is tempest and foul weather, fatigue and cold, and abundant moisture to be occasionally encountered. There is something to endure. But if you prayed to Heaven for perpetual fair weather, and your prayer were granted, it would be the most unfortunate petition you could put up. Why, there are some of the sublimest aspects, the noblest moods and tempers of the great scene, which you would utterly forfeit by this miserable immunity. He who loves the mountain, will love it in the tempest as well as in the sunshine. To be enveloped in driving mist or cloud that obscures every thing from view – to be made aware of the neighbouring precipice only by the sound of the torrent that rushes unseen beneath you – how low down you can only guess – this, too, has its excitement. Besides, while you are in this total blank, the wind will suddenly drive the whole mass of cloud and thick vapour from the scene around you, and leave the most glorious spectacle for some moments exposed to view. Nothing can exceed these moments of sudden and partial revelation. The glittering summits of the mountains appear as by enchantment where there had long been nothing but dense dark vapour. And how beautiful the wild disorder of the clouds, whose array has been broken up, and who are seen flying, huddled together in tumultuous retreat! But the veering wind rallies them again, and again they sweep back over the vast expanse, and hill and valley, earth and sky, are obliterated in a second.

He who would ponder what man is, should journey amongst the mountains. What men are, is best learnt in the city.